I haven’t even had the computer on for days. It has been nice after needing to use it everyday for the last semester; I feel liberated.
The heat of a few days ago reminded most of us of August and seemed quite abnormal. One of those hot evenings, I decided I better water the garden, the peas are stunted and the seedlings were looking droopy. As I readjusted the sprinkler, a humming bird quickly took up pursuit of some fresh water. He stayed within the arch of the spray and appeared to be drinking the drops. Tonight, I again watered some seedlings, and the little hummer came by for another drink. I don’t put out a bird bath since I live next to the river, but I guess for the hummingbird fresh drops of cool water were a treat. I wonder if he goes out in the rain to catch drops?
With the garden needing planting and tending, my focus has been on the small circle of my yard. I tend to notice the bird songs, but my head is bent over the ground and my field of view has shrunk. I keep finding worms. Three years ago I had none here, so I am doing something right. I have added compost, wood chips and many bales of hay or straw, along with leaves each fall. The slug population has diminished. I think the chickens helped that while they foraged for two years; I wonder what will happen without them now.
There is a pair of chickadees nesting in a rotten birch stump (which is about four feet high) by the garden. They nested there last year too. Luckily for them it is near the asparagus patch and I have don’t go in that area very often. It is fun to watch then flit in and out. Right now they are in most of the time. The cardinal at the day care where I work abandoned her nest with one beautiful spotted egg. It is mottled grays and browns, and blends in almost perfectly with the grasses and leaves that the female built the nest with. We think they have made a new nest outside of the play yard, where the children don’t make so much noise.
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Monday, May 17, 2010
The first arrival to a party that I had on Saturday was a snapping turtle. I happened to look out into the driveway to see a small dark shape moving toward the house. Upon closer inspection, I realized it was a turtle. I think it was moving from a drying up wet area, and looking for a new place to be. I went out and moved it into a vernal pool on the other side of the house. I begrudged the fact that the tadpoles would soon become the turtles lunch and dinner. By rescuing the turtle, I have caused the demise of many amphibians, but we are all part of a circle. In order for one creature to live another must die, and there is a balance of sorts in the chaos of the ecosystem. Will this one act cause a greater imbalance, probably not? But many of the other things I do may. If there were just my action s to consider, there may not be an imbalance, but compound my human actions by all the other humans doing the same things (consuming resources, creating waste, creating a monoculture in our lawns… and the list goes on and on.) Even this journal I keep…
Tonight, Monday, I hear the white throated sparrow and oven bird out the window. I have been preparing myself for a public meeting with a CMP representative and towns people. CMP is upgrading their power lines to meet the demands of the North Eastern Grid. I do not know that any of us have a real say in the matter at this point, but…we shall see.
As the sun descends toward the western horizon, the shade is getting deep. The oaks are still unfurling their leaves, but the poplar and maples are fully developed. The verdant color of spring is darkening. And I hear the new call of the Green Frog in the nearby pool.
The first arrival to a party that I had on Saturday was a snapping turtle. I happened to look out into the driveway to see a small dark shape moving toward the house. Upon closer inspection, I realized it was a turtle. I think it was moving from a drying up wet area, and looking for a new place to be. I went out and moved it into a vernal pool on the other side of the house. I begrudged the fact that the tadpoles would soon become the turtles lunch and dinner. By rescuing the turtle, I have caused the demise of many amphibians, but we are all part of a circle. In order for one creature to live another must die, and there is a balance of sorts in the chaos of the ecosystem. Will this one act cause a greater imbalance, probably not? But many of the other things I do may. If there were just my action s to consider, there may not be an imbalance, but compound my human actions by all the other humans doing the same things (consuming resources, creating waste, creating a monoculture in our lawns… and the list goes on and on.) Even this journal I keep…
Tonight, Monday, I hear the white throated sparrow and oven bird out the window. I have been preparing myself for a public meeting with a CMP representative and towns people. CMP is upgrading their power lines to meet the demands of the North Eastern Grid. I do not know that any of us have a real say in the matter at this point, but…we shall see.
As the sun descends toward the western horizon, the shade is getting deep. The oaks are still unfurling their leaves, but the poplar and maples are fully developed. The verdant color of spring is darkening. And I hear the new call of the Green Frog in the nearby pool.
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
May 12, 2010
An exhausting three days, but sometimes I wonder what else is new. Work can be draining no matter what. There are ten to twenty children always hovering and needing. I love it, but I do get tired.
Monday amidst the chaos and din of children’s voices, singing, fighting, yelling, laughing, we watched a female cardinal build a nest two feet from the window. She methodically brought twigs to a sheltered area in a bush by the window. Every time she arrived with a new twig, she nestled into the concave center of the twigs, placed the new twig and turned a full circle adjusting and rearranging. By the end of the day it looked like she had a completed nest. Many of the children sat and watched for brief periods of time. Then we of course created a teachable moment and brought out some books that we have on birds and their nests. I did not see the cardinal on Tuesday or today. I inspected the nest while outside. She has twigs, and some leaves and a bit of plastic; all rather solidly molded together. I do not know if she decided to abandon that nest, or if she is taking a few days reprieve before she is ready to lay her eggs. The male continues to sing in the trees nearby, though.
I haven’t been around the river since the weekend. I had dinner with the neighbors and we talked about the fish they caught in the pool that adjoins our property, and I told them about the small patch of fiddleheads I found on their bank. (They bought the house last fall, and come up when they can while working another year or two before they retire).
An exhausting three days, but sometimes I wonder what else is new. Work can be draining no matter what. There are ten to twenty children always hovering and needing. I love it, but I do get tired.
Monday amidst the chaos and din of children’s voices, singing, fighting, yelling, laughing, we watched a female cardinal build a nest two feet from the window. She methodically brought twigs to a sheltered area in a bush by the window. Every time she arrived with a new twig, she nestled into the concave center of the twigs, placed the new twig and turned a full circle adjusting and rearranging. By the end of the day it looked like she had a completed nest. Many of the children sat and watched for brief periods of time. Then we of course created a teachable moment and brought out some books that we have on birds and their nests. I did not see the cardinal on Tuesday or today. I inspected the nest while outside. She has twigs, and some leaves and a bit of plastic; all rather solidly molded together. I do not know if she decided to abandon that nest, or if she is taking a few days reprieve before she is ready to lay her eggs. The male continues to sing in the trees nearby, though.
I haven’t been around the river since the weekend. I had dinner with the neighbors and we talked about the fish they caught in the pool that adjoins our property, and I told them about the small patch of fiddleheads I found on their bank. (They bought the house last fall, and come up when they can while working another year or two before they retire).
Sunday, May 9, 2010
From this day forward
Sunday, May 9, 2010
It appears that anything posted from now on is superfluous to my college career. However, I had enjoyed the nature writing, so will continue until life takes a turn and the urge to write dies out.
It’s Mother’s Day. I talked to both of my children earlier in the day. They’ll be up next weekend! As my gift to me, went for two walks. It is very chilly today. Three layers and gloves, and I still felt chilled. I took the loop along the river; I try to make it a daily ritual, or at least three times a week. The leaves have popped out quite a bit, since last time I went around. The fiddleheads that I picked last Sunday are now waist high, and I could not find any that were small enough to eat. It was windy which was nice; between the wind and the cold, the black flies were not around. I checked out the vernal pool on the property line. My neighbor and I share the pool and we both watch to see how life is progressing. I saw no egg masses, nor tadpoles, but I did scare a frog. Unfortunately, I didn’t see it. The Rhodora is beginning to bloom in the wet places. I spotted some Canadian Dogwood in bloom also.
After I got home, I hopped in the car and drove over to Northern Pond. It is some property that the town of Monroe put under an easement, and is open to the public. Being on the Conservation Commission and on the Board of the Land Trust that holds the easement, I am there for work quite a bit. I don’t get there enough for just the fun of it. I don’t think I have ever been there alone either. Well, I did have some purpose; I took the camera to take pictures for the land trust. Since it rained yesterday, the leaves were damp and my footsteps muted. If not for the wind I may have noticed more birds, I certainly would have been able to sneak up on them. I did see a warbler, and that is the closest I can get to naming it. I wish I knew birds better! The painted trillium was in bloom, and there were many scattered along the path. It felt like I was on a scavenger hunt, and just when I thought I wouldn’t see anymore another one was there in front of me. I wondered if the person before me happened to notice them, or were they too busy walking their dog. Up on top of the Hemlock ridge, I took a break and marveled at the stillness under the trees. The slope was too steep to log, so large hemlocks were left standing. It is a peaceful spot and a place where I am reminded that I am small. Then down the hill through the beeches. They are leaving out and an incredible emerald green right now. I think if the word verdant, when I see spring greens. To be green, to think, live and breath green. It is so alive and explosive, not like the lazy heavy greens of summer, when you want to sleep and dream green.
It appears that anything posted from now on is superfluous to my college career. However, I had enjoyed the nature writing, so will continue until life takes a turn and the urge to write dies out.
It’s Mother’s Day. I talked to both of my children earlier in the day. They’ll be up next weekend! As my gift to me, went for two walks. It is very chilly today. Three layers and gloves, and I still felt chilled. I took the loop along the river; I try to make it a daily ritual, or at least three times a week. The leaves have popped out quite a bit, since last time I went around. The fiddleheads that I picked last Sunday are now waist high, and I could not find any that were small enough to eat. It was windy which was nice; between the wind and the cold, the black flies were not around. I checked out the vernal pool on the property line. My neighbor and I share the pool and we both watch to see how life is progressing. I saw no egg masses, nor tadpoles, but I did scare a frog. Unfortunately, I didn’t see it. The Rhodora is beginning to bloom in the wet places. I spotted some Canadian Dogwood in bloom also.
After I got home, I hopped in the car and drove over to Northern Pond. It is some property that the town of Monroe put under an easement, and is open to the public. Being on the Conservation Commission and on the Board of the Land Trust that holds the easement, I am there for work quite a bit. I don’t get there enough for just the fun of it. I don’t think I have ever been there alone either. Well, I did have some purpose; I took the camera to take pictures for the land trust. Since it rained yesterday, the leaves were damp and my footsteps muted. If not for the wind I may have noticed more birds, I certainly would have been able to sneak up on them. I did see a warbler, and that is the closest I can get to naming it. I wish I knew birds better! The painted trillium was in bloom, and there were many scattered along the path. It felt like I was on a scavenger hunt, and just when I thought I wouldn’t see anymore another one was there in front of me. I wondered if the person before me happened to notice them, or were they too busy walking their dog. Up on top of the Hemlock ridge, I took a break and marveled at the stillness under the trees. The slope was too steep to log, so large hemlocks were left standing. It is a peaceful spot and a place where I am reminded that I am small. Then down the hill through the beeches. They are leaving out and an incredible emerald green right now. I think if the word verdant, when I see spring greens. To be green, to think, live and breath green. It is so alive and explosive, not like the lazy heavy greens of summer, when you want to sleep and dream green.
Saturday, May 8, 2010
Week 15: A nature journal
May 8, 2010
A rainy day. I’ve actually stayed in a good part of the day; I am feeling tired and lazy. Yesterday, I had someone cutting down many of the dead standing oaks around my property. I strategically left some that could be used for woodpecker habitat, but I now have a good start on the winter’s supply of wood. When I got home yesterday, Dave, the wood cutter was still hauling the firewood that was felled along and across the driveway. I donned outdoor work clothes and helped to bring it in. While working, I could hear the oven bird, with its song of “teacher, teacher, teacher” and the hermit thrush off in the distance. Hauling wood wasn’t in my evening plan, but it was a good end to my day, but something that needed to be done.
This morning I was up very early. It was drizzling, but not enough to force me in. I split some of the wood, and moved compost, which also got delivered this week. I will have wood splitting on the chore agenda for quite a bit. I planted some raspberries that I ordered too.
The leaves on the trees have emerged and grown overnight. It always seems to happen like that. One day they are small, the next, especially after a rain, they are full grown. I guess when the seasons are short; nature has to work more quickly. Already it is harder to see the birds that are coming through. One evening during the week a white throated sparrow landed on the railing of my steps. From inside, I was able to get about three feet away. The reflection on the glass must have been just right, because he didn’t react to me. It was exciting to see the bird so close. There was a little patch of yellow just forward from its eye, and a little patch of white outlined in black on its throat. I even managed to get some good pictures of it.
A rainy day. I’ve actually stayed in a good part of the day; I am feeling tired and lazy. Yesterday, I had someone cutting down many of the dead standing oaks around my property. I strategically left some that could be used for woodpecker habitat, but I now have a good start on the winter’s supply of wood. When I got home yesterday, Dave, the wood cutter was still hauling the firewood that was felled along and across the driveway. I donned outdoor work clothes and helped to bring it in. While working, I could hear the oven bird, with its song of “teacher, teacher, teacher” and the hermit thrush off in the distance. Hauling wood wasn’t in my evening plan, but it was a good end to my day, but something that needed to be done.
This morning I was up very early. It was drizzling, but not enough to force me in. I split some of the wood, and moved compost, which also got delivered this week. I will have wood splitting on the chore agenda for quite a bit. I planted some raspberries that I ordered too.
The leaves on the trees have emerged and grown overnight. It always seems to happen like that. One day they are small, the next, especially after a rain, they are full grown. I guess when the seasons are short; nature has to work more quickly. Already it is harder to see the birds that are coming through. One evening during the week a white throated sparrow landed on the railing of my steps. From inside, I was able to get about three feet away. The reflection on the glass must have been just right, because he didn’t react to me. It was exciting to see the bird so close. There was a little patch of yellow just forward from its eye, and a little patch of white outlined in black on its throat. I even managed to get some good pictures of it.
Thursday, May 6, 2010
Week 14 #2: Using yourself differently.
To read a book.
To teach a young child, three and four year olds, about books, they say you should remember to point out the title, the author, the illustrator, the publisher and the copyright date. As you read, explain the period, the comma, and the question mark. Point out the phonemes, the upper and lower case letters and why they are used. Dissect the book and leave the wonder out of the equation. Who cares if the story is understood, or the gift of words is actually realized? It’s all about getting ready to teach for that test.
To teach a love of reading, forget the lesson. Animate and sing the words, inflect them with feeling. Enjoy the words and let them run over your tongue in bits of rhyme and rhythm; let them feel that period. Let the images be born, let the child feel the possibility of escape, let them believe the rabbit can talk. Tell the story as the ancient traditions would, weave the words with body and soul. Imbue the child with excitement, and love and a yearning for more.
What is most important at four? To understand grammar and research or the excitement that the written word can contain?
To teach a young child, three and four year olds, about books, they say you should remember to point out the title, the author, the illustrator, the publisher and the copyright date. As you read, explain the period, the comma, and the question mark. Point out the phonemes, the upper and lower case letters and why they are used. Dissect the book and leave the wonder out of the equation. Who cares if the story is understood, or the gift of words is actually realized? It’s all about getting ready to teach for that test.
To teach a love of reading, forget the lesson. Animate and sing the words, inflect them with feeling. Enjoy the words and let them run over your tongue in bits of rhyme and rhythm; let them feel that period. Let the images be born, let the child feel the possibility of escape, let them believe the rabbit can talk. Tell the story as the ancient traditions would, weave the words with body and soul. Imbue the child with excitement, and love and a yearning for more.
What is most important at four? To understand grammar and research or the excitement that the written word can contain?
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Week 15: A nature journal
May 3, 2010
Home for the day by mid afternoon. I planted two blueberry bushes that I bought from Reny’s. I haven’t felt quite right today—a bit lightheaded so I lay down for a bit. An hour later I decided to go walking in spite of the heat, the wind and how I felt. I followed the loop by the river. I heard a group of crows raucously calling to each other. They must have been near the farmer’s field across the river. The wind brought me whiffs of manure and the throttle of a tractor. Under the oaks the wind threw some acorns at me, and I wondered about the wisdom of this walk in the woods. I decided not to dawdle too much today.
The water is already down to its summer level. No more opportunity to run the river. I have thought about it a number of years, but have yet to actually do it. During the heat of summer I will tube from the falls to my rock, the beaver’s rock, the turtle’s rock. You have to walk periodically, but it is still a fun way to get cool.
As I rounded the last bend in the river before heading east into the woods, I got a clear view of very dark and ominous clouds. I realized I better hustle even more. I did check to see if the lady slippers were beginning to show, they weren’t, and I checked a little boggy area. By the time I got to the field, drops of rain were sprinkling down. I made it to my yard just as the wind increased with a loud roar, and I heard a tree fall. Just as I ducked onto the porch the rain let go with a fury. Such incredible timing. I sat on the porch and watched the wind and rain. After the ten minute squall, the sun is now clearing and the temperature has dropped from 82 to 75.
I have to eat an early supper and head off to a Conservation Commission meeting. I spend time inside, talking with others about how to help conserve and maintain trails on some town properties. It is the least I can do for the privilege of having woods to roam.
Home for the day by mid afternoon. I planted two blueberry bushes that I bought from Reny’s. I haven’t felt quite right today—a bit lightheaded so I lay down for a bit. An hour later I decided to go walking in spite of the heat, the wind and how I felt. I followed the loop by the river. I heard a group of crows raucously calling to each other. They must have been near the farmer’s field across the river. The wind brought me whiffs of manure and the throttle of a tractor. Under the oaks the wind threw some acorns at me, and I wondered about the wisdom of this walk in the woods. I decided not to dawdle too much today.
The water is already down to its summer level. No more opportunity to run the river. I have thought about it a number of years, but have yet to actually do it. During the heat of summer I will tube from the falls to my rock, the beaver’s rock, the turtle’s rock. You have to walk periodically, but it is still a fun way to get cool.
As I rounded the last bend in the river before heading east into the woods, I got a clear view of very dark and ominous clouds. I realized I better hustle even more. I did check to see if the lady slippers were beginning to show, they weren’t, and I checked a little boggy area. By the time I got to the field, drops of rain were sprinkling down. I made it to my yard just as the wind increased with a loud roar, and I heard a tree fall. Just as I ducked onto the porch the rain let go with a fury. Such incredible timing. I sat on the porch and watched the wind and rain. After the ten minute squall, the sun is now clearing and the temperature has dropped from 82 to 75.
I have to eat an early supper and head off to a Conservation Commission meeting. I spend time inside, talking with others about how to help conserve and maintain trails on some town properties. It is the least I can do for the privilege of having woods to roam.
Monday, May 3, 2010
Week 15: A nature journal
May 2, 2010
Aaron and I went for a walk today. We went over to Sears Island to get away from the black flies. He’s still a newbie in Maine, and they terrorize those of us who haven’t built up or been born with the natural resistance. He can’t handle them at all. We walked along the shore towards Mack Point. I did my best to ignore the presence of the docks by keeping my eyes on the beach. Isn’t that what we do anyway when we walk along the shore? I remember those childhood years looking for beach glass, shells and treasures to put in my bucket and bring home. (Maybe this is a better bucket to fill than a list of potential regrets.) I rarely take stuff now. You can’t find beach glass like you used to, and I feel guilty taking shells and stones. Maybe I should start collecting beach plastic, although it doesn’t have the romantic feel that the beach glass does.
We both brought our binoculars and spotted gulls, eider ducks, buffleheads and mergansers. We watched three male mergansers display for a female. They bobbed their heads and fluffed open their wings. Then one swam off in front of the others, the others chasing after him, including the female who had to keep close tabs on whatever quality she was looking for. I would have opted for the third male in the row, but I’m no merganser.
Further along we spotted two ospreys overhead. They were soon out of sight behind the breakwater. Because I continued to walk with my head in the sand, Aaron was the one to spot their nest on the buoy marker. The two ospreys sat on their nest of sticks, overlooking the boat channel, maybe directing traffic, maybe just knowing that being on the buoy was safe because boats couldn’t come too near. The only other osprey nest that I have seen is high up on a power line near the Goose River. I guess they can take advantage of man’s constructions.
It is dark and I am just now coming in from outside. I heard the peepers so tried to find them. Tonight they were not afraid of my noise, and continued to call when I got very close. I got close enough to touch the sound but never saw its makers. They are great at camouflage, and very small for such a loud voice. I heard, too, the trill of the Grey Tree Frog for the first time this spring.
I then walked down to the bank overlooking the river. The water was rippling in an unusual way so with my binoculars I began searching for the disturbance. Soon I found the resident beaver doing laps around and around and around. He swam tirelessly for at least twenty minutes. I really do share “my” swimming hole. I’ve been a little angry with the beaver. He has been chewing on a huge oak tree that I cannot get my arms around. After watching its silent grace, I am ashamed to say I thought about having it trapped. I’ve cut down trees to provide warmth and indirectly for shelter. I am no different than the beaver who cuts down trees for food and shelter. Why he’s chewing on a huge oak? I don’t know, but he probably wonders why I cut down the dead pine by my house. I leave off tonight listening to the peepers and the frogs, with my cat curled up on my feet.
Aaron and I went for a walk today. We went over to Sears Island to get away from the black flies. He’s still a newbie in Maine, and they terrorize those of us who haven’t built up or been born with the natural resistance. He can’t handle them at all. We walked along the shore towards Mack Point. I did my best to ignore the presence of the docks by keeping my eyes on the beach. Isn’t that what we do anyway when we walk along the shore? I remember those childhood years looking for beach glass, shells and treasures to put in my bucket and bring home. (Maybe this is a better bucket to fill than a list of potential regrets.) I rarely take stuff now. You can’t find beach glass like you used to, and I feel guilty taking shells and stones. Maybe I should start collecting beach plastic, although it doesn’t have the romantic feel that the beach glass does.
We both brought our binoculars and spotted gulls, eider ducks, buffleheads and mergansers. We watched three male mergansers display for a female. They bobbed their heads and fluffed open their wings. Then one swam off in front of the others, the others chasing after him, including the female who had to keep close tabs on whatever quality she was looking for. I would have opted for the third male in the row, but I’m no merganser.
Further along we spotted two ospreys overhead. They were soon out of sight behind the breakwater. Because I continued to walk with my head in the sand, Aaron was the one to spot their nest on the buoy marker. The two ospreys sat on their nest of sticks, overlooking the boat channel, maybe directing traffic, maybe just knowing that being on the buoy was safe because boats couldn’t come too near. The only other osprey nest that I have seen is high up on a power line near the Goose River. I guess they can take advantage of man’s constructions.
It is dark and I am just now coming in from outside. I heard the peepers so tried to find them. Tonight they were not afraid of my noise, and continued to call when I got very close. I got close enough to touch the sound but never saw its makers. They are great at camouflage, and very small for such a loud voice. I heard, too, the trill of the Grey Tree Frog for the first time this spring.
I then walked down to the bank overlooking the river. The water was rippling in an unusual way so with my binoculars I began searching for the disturbance. Soon I found the resident beaver doing laps around and around and around. He swam tirelessly for at least twenty minutes. I really do share “my” swimming hole. I’ve been a little angry with the beaver. He has been chewing on a huge oak tree that I cannot get my arms around. After watching its silent grace, I am ashamed to say I thought about having it trapped. I’ve cut down trees to provide warmth and indirectly for shelter. I am no different than the beaver who cuts down trees for food and shelter. Why he’s chewing on a huge oak? I don’t know, but he probably wonders why I cut down the dead pine by my house. I leave off tonight listening to the peepers and the frogs, with my cat curled up on my feet.
Week 15: A nature journal
Saturday, May 1, 2010
Today, I worked in the garden. I transferred composted leaves and dug them into the soil. I saw so many worms and remember the first garden here and the absence of worms. I am getting organic matter built in. The worms enjoyed the moist pile of leaves, with a fresh and ready stash of food for them.
The hermit thrush continued to sing as I worked in the garden. It is somewhere off in the woods and I have yet to see it, even though I stop my work and go looking. I didn’t have the binoculars, which might have helped. It is easier to look for the birds while the leaves are still small. In a few more weeks it will be much harder. It has such a vivid song. It trills upward and then descends like a waterfall or a chime that hangs under a rain gutter. Every time I hear it, I feel a quickening in my heart, and a surety of peace beyond this tormented human existence.
After turning the soil, I was hot and since it is May first, I decided to do my semi- traditional May Day dip in the river. Today, I went to the swimming hole by the house. I haven’t yet put the steps down the slope, so I slid down the bank. I hope that I didn’t disturb too much soil, or the moss that is growing there. I took off my clothes and sat on the edge of the rock where the water is about two feet deep. The water was frigid, but the sun was warm. I lay on the rock and closed my eyes. The chill from the water lowered my temperature enough so the black flies were fooled, and I rested undisturbed. I heard an unusual sound and looked up. There about five feet from me was a turtle, it had decided to take advantage of the warm sun on the rock, too. We stared at each other, the turtle and I. We were both motionless, he (or she) trying to blend into the rock, I trying to pretend I was a beached log. Unfortunately, my temperature had risen and the flies discovered some warm human blood. They got the best of me, I swatted and the turtle took flight through the water. The underside of its neck and legs was a vivid orange red, but the top of its shell was a drab and muddy gray. It was a good thing that I watched its descent into the water. It nestled into some rocks and soon could not be distinguished from its hiding place. I possessively think of this as my swimming hole, but it isn’t mine at all. I decided it was time for me to leave and let the turtle have its turn on the rock.
Today, I worked in the garden. I transferred composted leaves and dug them into the soil. I saw so many worms and remember the first garden here and the absence of worms. I am getting organic matter built in. The worms enjoyed the moist pile of leaves, with a fresh and ready stash of food for them.
The hermit thrush continued to sing as I worked in the garden. It is somewhere off in the woods and I have yet to see it, even though I stop my work and go looking. I didn’t have the binoculars, which might have helped. It is easier to look for the birds while the leaves are still small. In a few more weeks it will be much harder. It has such a vivid song. It trills upward and then descends like a waterfall or a chime that hangs under a rain gutter. Every time I hear it, I feel a quickening in my heart, and a surety of peace beyond this tormented human existence.
After turning the soil, I was hot and since it is May first, I decided to do my semi- traditional May Day dip in the river. Today, I went to the swimming hole by the house. I haven’t yet put the steps down the slope, so I slid down the bank. I hope that I didn’t disturb too much soil, or the moss that is growing there. I took off my clothes and sat on the edge of the rock where the water is about two feet deep. The water was frigid, but the sun was warm. I lay on the rock and closed my eyes. The chill from the water lowered my temperature enough so the black flies were fooled, and I rested undisturbed. I heard an unusual sound and looked up. There about five feet from me was a turtle, it had decided to take advantage of the warm sun on the rock, too. We stared at each other, the turtle and I. We were both motionless, he (or she) trying to blend into the rock, I trying to pretend I was a beached log. Unfortunately, my temperature had risen and the flies discovered some warm human blood. They got the best of me, I swatted and the turtle took flight through the water. The underside of its neck and legs was a vivid orange red, but the top of its shell was a drab and muddy gray. It was a good thing that I watched its descent into the water. It nestled into some rocks and soon could not be distinguished from its hiding place. I possessively think of this as my swimming hole, but it isn’t mine at all. I decided it was time for me to leave and let the turtle have its turn on the rock.
Sunday, May 2, 2010
Week # 14: Using yourself differently
Bucket List: A list off all the things we want to do before we die, so we leave this world without regrets.
1. Witness a tropical rainforest.
2. Go above the Arctic Circle.
3. Let loved ones know they are loved.
4. Visit Greece and meet the Olympian Gods.
5. See a Native American Shaman.
6. Visit a Buddhist Monastery.
7. Intimately know one square mile.
8. Eat only homegrown food for a year.
9. Help 5 people less fortunate.
10. Visit the outback.
11. Ride a whale, or at least a dolphin.
12. Read and reread all of Shakespeare.
Hell, a bucket list is bunk. How can there not be regrets when a person sets such goals?
New list:
1. Let loved ones know they are loved.
2. Be honest.
3. Accept where you are in life.
1. Witness a tropical rainforest.
2. Go above the Arctic Circle.
3. Let loved ones know they are loved.
4. Visit Greece and meet the Olympian Gods.
5. See a Native American Shaman.
6. Visit a Buddhist Monastery.
7. Intimately know one square mile.
8. Eat only homegrown food for a year.
9. Help 5 people less fortunate.
10. Visit the outback.
11. Ride a whale, or at least a dolphin.
12. Read and reread all of Shakespeare.
Hell, a bucket list is bunk. How can there not be regrets when a person sets such goals?
New list:
1. Let loved ones know they are loved.
2. Be honest.
3. Accept where you are in life.
Week 13: Water
I hear a drop of water as the rain hits the window pane. I watch it descend in its irregular path until it hits the windowsill. There, it converges with all the other drops of water to hang on the edge until the weight of many causes a drop of water to fall to the ground. I imagine as it descends in its irregular path through the soil until it reaches the edge of the foundation. There, it converges with all the other drops of water until the weight of many pushes it through a crack in the wall.
Barbara Kingsolver wrote that “Water is life. It’s the briny origins, the pounding circulation system of the world, a precarious molecular edge on which we survive. It makes up two thirds of our bodies, just like the map of the world…Even while we take Mother Water for granted; humans understand in our bones that she is the boss. We stake our civilizations on the coasts and mighty rivers. Our deepest dread is the threat of having too little moisture—or too much…”
I think of water often. It surrounds me every day. I drink it every day, use it for cooking and I grow my food using water. I shower in water, I clean my dishes in water, and I flush my waste using water. I would not be here if it were not for water. I would dry up, a desiccated shell to wither and blow away in the wind. But there can be too much water.
Water overwhelms me much of the time. It seeps through the walls of my cellar and pools on the floor. The sump-pump kicks in every thirty seconds using energy derived from water. It pumps it out about 20 feet from the house. There, the water descends back down into the soil. Soon it hits the impermeable layer of clay and races back toward the foundation, to be pumped out again. The cycle never ends.
Barbara Kingsolver wrote that “Water is life. It’s the briny origins, the pounding circulation system of the world, a precarious molecular edge on which we survive. It makes up two thirds of our bodies, just like the map of the world…Even while we take Mother Water for granted; humans understand in our bones that she is the boss. We stake our civilizations on the coasts and mighty rivers. Our deepest dread is the threat of having too little moisture—or too much…”
I think of water often. It surrounds me every day. I drink it every day, use it for cooking and I grow my food using water. I shower in water, I clean my dishes in water, and I flush my waste using water. I would not be here if it were not for water. I would dry up, a desiccated shell to wither and blow away in the wind. But there can be too much water.
Water overwhelms me much of the time. It seeps through the walls of my cellar and pools on the floor. The sump-pump kicks in every thirty seconds using energy derived from water. It pumps it out about 20 feet from the house. There, the water descends back down into the soil. Soon it hits the impermeable layer of clay and races back toward the foundation, to be pumped out again. The cycle never ends.
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