It is snowing today. March roars and shakes its lion’s head and duff and dander fall white upon the earth. I have been out walking twice today. Early this morning I took the dog and we headed out. We came upon a curve in the road and I looked up to see two neighbor dogs, a shepherd and a pit-bull. I do not know these dogs, but I do know something of their owner, and I did not feel so good. They saw me though and turned and ran. I decided to continue my walk, but found a good stick to bring with me. I have not felt this discomfort when I have watched a coyote parallel my path through the fields, nor when I saw the markings of bears in woods in western Mass. Wild would choose to flee, but maybe not these dogs bred by man. I thought of a movie I watched not too long ago called “The Grey”. It is a movie of man pitted against the elements, but mostly against a pack of wolves. I chuckled at the running joke my friend and I now have from the repeated line of “Don’t be afraid”. What did I fear in this moment? I admit the walk was clouded with a different feeling and I never felt those moments of exaltation.
I went out again a few hours ago. The snow was coming down hard. Trees were covered and at times I needed to bend down under the laden branches of the hemlocks and pines. The woods were almost silent. It took a few moments of being still before I could notice a few calls from birds, the tzzz of a kinglet, was basically all that I heard, and that only in the deepest of the hemlocks. Walking by the beech with its dressing of dry golden leaves the sound of the snow was that of a rain-stick tilting slowly and gently. Or, is the sound of a rain-stick that of snow falling on the dry leaves of beech.
I have enjoyed this day. Reading, painting, writing, walking. So in a way I did get yesterday’s extra day.
Thursday, March 1, 2012
Leap Day
It is Thursday, but I am taking the time to enter yesterday’s piece. I was home later than usual last night and didn’t get around to posting.
Leap day, I heard on the radio it is a day used to calibrate us with nature’s rhythm. Maybe I will use this day to return to nature.
Glints of yellow
As the goldfinch
Slowly changes its attire
From winter into spring
To spite the cold
The summer’s glittering gold.
12 degrees this morning. Gus, the dog, and I walked the half loop again this morning, in the reverse direction; west through the woods, then east along the river. Last night’s moisture lays silver, frozen on branch and twig; shimmering where the sun rises above the pine. I was not dressed for the temperature. I walked fast and did not stop. Yet, still, the morning crept inside me bringing me to that moment of awe in the quiet still cold.
Leap day, I heard on the radio it is a day used to calibrate us with nature’s rhythm. Maybe I will use this day to return to nature.
Glints of yellow
As the goldfinch
Slowly changes its attire
From winter into spring
To spite the cold
The summer’s glittering gold.
12 degrees this morning. Gus, the dog, and I walked the half loop again this morning, in the reverse direction; west through the woods, then east along the river. Last night’s moisture lays silver, frozen on branch and twig; shimmering where the sun rises above the pine. I was not dressed for the temperature. I walked fast and did not stop. Yet, still, the morning crept inside me bringing me to that moment of awe in the quiet still cold.
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
returning
I have not written in a very long time. Life happens, so I can just let that go. But I have taken a trip to the west and for reasons not to be discussed here I am now feeling the need to write. I need to find something to ground me, so I think that if I decide to write, maybe I will pay attention more closely again and find that I can have this mix of flight and being grounded at the same time. So I hope to continue, to write about what I see and feel around me, and to pay attention to nature and what keeps me.
Last night, it snowed a gentle quiet snow. It was, just a little, but enough to make the world fresh and white.
Right now, I have the luxury, or maybe the impetus, of dog sitting again. Having another creature to tend, take out to the bathroom, to exercise gives me an added push to get out, where I might instead have chosen to stay in and drink another cup of coffee.
We were out at 7:30 this morning; walking half the loop. The sun was rising over the stand of pines on the other side of the river. Tracks galore, they tell a story as beautifully as braille or the dots and dashes of a telegraph wire, only I do not know the language. I know that I followed the snow shoe hare--two dots two dashes, and the mouse-- long line paralleled on either side by repeating dots. I think I saw a coyote--claws on the toes. I continue to look for signs of the neighboring bobcat, and occasionally I think I see its tracks, maybe even this morning.
I followed the river west so the sun was behind me. Sporadically the breeze puffed snow off the branches, but it wasn’t until I turned east again that I witnessed the gossamer flight of snowy eldils reflecting their spirit voices in a silver hue.
Last night, it snowed a gentle quiet snow. It was, just a little, but enough to make the world fresh and white.
Right now, I have the luxury, or maybe the impetus, of dog sitting again. Having another creature to tend, take out to the bathroom, to exercise gives me an added push to get out, where I might instead have chosen to stay in and drink another cup of coffee.
We were out at 7:30 this morning; walking half the loop. The sun was rising over the stand of pines on the other side of the river. Tracks galore, they tell a story as beautifully as braille or the dots and dashes of a telegraph wire, only I do not know the language. I know that I followed the snow shoe hare--two dots two dashes, and the mouse-- long line paralleled on either side by repeating dots. I think I saw a coyote--claws on the toes. I continue to look for signs of the neighboring bobcat, and occasionally I think I see its tracks, maybe even this morning.
I followed the river west so the sun was behind me. Sporadically the breeze puffed snow off the branches, but it wasn’t until I turned east again that I witnessed the gossamer flight of snowy eldils reflecting their spirit voices in a silver hue.
Saturday, February 26, 2011
February 26, 2011
I may be feeling beleaguered by the never-ending chores of winter: the shoveling, the raking of the roof, the bringing in wood, the shoveling, the raking of the roof, the bringing in wood. It seems to be a cycle that just repeats itself over and over. I wonder am I just going in a circle through time…yes in a way I am. Time circles through the seasons, back in upon itself and then reaches out through the years. The changes are highlighted by marks on a calendar, by a child growing up, leaving home, by the first gray hairs, the stiff joints, the soreness doing a chore that never bothered you before.
But I am already getting away from where I intended to head with this entry. Back to the drudgery of winter… and the highlights of the winter passing. The beauty and excitement has worn thin, until just the other day. Last year at this time, my humble home was visited by a barred owl that hung around for days waiting to catch some prey. On Thursday, I happened to be home, doing the mundane chore of folding laundry when I looked up and out my window. There about 8 feet from the edge on my house sat an overly large cat. It took me a second to realize this was no ordinary domestic cat, but the Bobcat my neighbor thought she saw a few days earlier. I got my camera and took many pictures through the window. It was obviously interested in the bird and squirrel activity at my bird feeder. It was hunkered ready to spring at the right moment. It paid no attention to me behind the glass, even when I tapped it gently to see if it would move. I wanted to get a photo of it showing its bobbed tail. I moved to another window to get a different angle. The bobcat accommodated me for a few more moments, then turned away an sauntered off into the woods.
At that point I called Tom, who lives next door. We donned our snowshoes and met on the trail between the two houses. We tracked the bobcat westward, and then it turned north, crossed the road and headed over a beaver flowage up toward the hill beyond. We didn’t follow it over the beaver pond, the snow and ice looked slightly questionable. But, I think I know where it dens. There is a mossy outcropping of rocks near the top of the hill overlooking a thick stand of pines. I may head up there one of these days. But then again, maybe the mystery is enough to hold me ever enchanted, and maybe too I need to respect its claim on a slope that isn’t mine.
But I am already getting away from where I intended to head with this entry. Back to the drudgery of winter… and the highlights of the winter passing. The beauty and excitement has worn thin, until just the other day. Last year at this time, my humble home was visited by a barred owl that hung around for days waiting to catch some prey. On Thursday, I happened to be home, doing the mundane chore of folding laundry when I looked up and out my window. There about 8 feet from the edge on my house sat an overly large cat. It took me a second to realize this was no ordinary domestic cat, but the Bobcat my neighbor thought she saw a few days earlier. I got my camera and took many pictures through the window. It was obviously interested in the bird and squirrel activity at my bird feeder. It was hunkered ready to spring at the right moment. It paid no attention to me behind the glass, even when I tapped it gently to see if it would move. I wanted to get a photo of it showing its bobbed tail. I moved to another window to get a different angle. The bobcat accommodated me for a few more moments, then turned away an sauntered off into the woods.
At that point I called Tom, who lives next door. We donned our snowshoes and met on the trail between the two houses. We tracked the bobcat westward, and then it turned north, crossed the road and headed over a beaver flowage up toward the hill beyond. We didn’t follow it over the beaver pond, the snow and ice looked slightly questionable. But, I think I know where it dens. There is a mossy outcropping of rocks near the top of the hill overlooking a thick stand of pines. I may head up there one of these days. But then again, maybe the mystery is enough to hold me ever enchanted, and maybe too I need to respect its claim on a slope that isn’t mine.
Friday, February 4, 2011
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
February 2, 2011
Snow days galore since the beginning of the year. I think last week was the first full week that I went into work. Can’t say I haven’t minded the days to go out and play, or struggle in the snow. Each storm has brought about a foot of snow on average, and wind each time.
Today the birds are greedily working at the bird feeder. I have a new one that the squirrels can’t take over. I don’t mind that they get the seed on the ground, and I have actually begun to put some extra winter rye seed on the steps for them. As I make my rounds in the woods, I come across their caches. Tracks lead to a hole in the snow and remnants of acorn hulls and scales of pinecones litter the area.
On the new loop, I go by the den of the beaver (I think, as the only tracks I saw from it led to and from one of the mighty oaks they have been chewing). The warmth of their bodies keeps it open, and the snow crystalizes in lovely patterns. It is now a long way down to the actually entrance in the earth. It looks like they are taking an extra-long slumber; it has been three weeks since I have seen tracks.
This morning I went out while the snow was beginning to fall. It is very quiet during storms like this. I hear the quality of the snowflakes as they land upon my nylon parka, the pines, firs or still hanging oak and beech leaves. Each object the flakes fall upon affords a different tone and volume.
The river and even the waterfall is almost completely enshrouded in snow. There are no dark pools showing against the stark white of winter. Only just under the base of the fall and some of the surrounding rocks shows any hint that something is moving under the snow. I dare not try walking across even still, although the lure of the hemlock grove on the other side of my swimming hole is enticing. In the summer, I would think about swimming across to then walk in those woods, but it would have required I transport shoes across too and I was then always just a little bit too lazy. There is always next summer.
Snow days galore since the beginning of the year. I think last week was the first full week that I went into work. Can’t say I haven’t minded the days to go out and play, or struggle in the snow. Each storm has brought about a foot of snow on average, and wind each time.
Today the birds are greedily working at the bird feeder. I have a new one that the squirrels can’t take over. I don’t mind that they get the seed on the ground, and I have actually begun to put some extra winter rye seed on the steps for them. As I make my rounds in the woods, I come across their caches. Tracks lead to a hole in the snow and remnants of acorn hulls and scales of pinecones litter the area.
On the new loop, I go by the den of the beaver (I think, as the only tracks I saw from it led to and from one of the mighty oaks they have been chewing). The warmth of their bodies keeps it open, and the snow crystalizes in lovely patterns. It is now a long way down to the actually entrance in the earth. It looks like they are taking an extra-long slumber; it has been three weeks since I have seen tracks.
This morning I went out while the snow was beginning to fall. It is very quiet during storms like this. I hear the quality of the snowflakes as they land upon my nylon parka, the pines, firs or still hanging oak and beech leaves. Each object the flakes fall upon affords a different tone and volume.
The river and even the waterfall is almost completely enshrouded in snow. There are no dark pools showing against the stark white of winter. Only just under the base of the fall and some of the surrounding rocks shows any hint that something is moving under the snow. I dare not try walking across even still, although the lure of the hemlock grove on the other side of my swimming hole is enticing. In the summer, I would think about swimming across to then walk in those woods, but it would have required I transport shoes across too and I was then always just a little bit too lazy. There is always next summer.
Sunday, January 9, 2011
January 9, 2011
I did something today that I haven’t done in years; I went to church. It isn’t quite the typical church when you think about church. I went to a UU church to hear a naturalist and friend speak. It was his turn to lead the “worship” (more like thoughts for the day.) Mike, whom spoke, is a scientist, naturalist, educator. He has years of experience behind him, a most profound love of nature and a deep-rooted spiritual connection to the environment around him. He sees perfection in the oddest of places. Today he read a description of winter that he got from an advertisement from Lee Auto Mall, it was beautiful. He read many quotes, said many wonderful things about the beauty-both inner and outer- that abounds in the winter. It is a time of cold, dark, hardship and fragile beauty in the snowflake.
It all resonated so clearly within me. I like all the seasons, but there is something about the winter that I find most captivating. It is stark, it is a contrast between white and black, it is bleak and sparkling, it is deadly and restful. I find it is the time that I sit in retrospection; it is when I feel the smallness of my place in the circle of the universe the most clearly.
Two days ago the temperature was in the single digits, the back drop of Russian novel weather. Here at my home, the trees were grey with the finest covering of frost, not too noticeable, but there. As I drove into work and closer to the ocean with its steamy warmth the trees were covered with a thicker layer of crystalline whiteness. Every branch, dried weed and blade of grass glimmered with magic and I could imagine a million tiny rainbows refracting in the sunlight. Who cannot accept the beauty of winter during moments like that.
I did something today that I haven’t done in years; I went to church. It isn’t quite the typical church when you think about church. I went to a UU church to hear a naturalist and friend speak. It was his turn to lead the “worship” (more like thoughts for the day.) Mike, whom spoke, is a scientist, naturalist, educator. He has years of experience behind him, a most profound love of nature and a deep-rooted spiritual connection to the environment around him. He sees perfection in the oddest of places. Today he read a description of winter that he got from an advertisement from Lee Auto Mall, it was beautiful. He read many quotes, said many wonderful things about the beauty-both inner and outer- that abounds in the winter. It is a time of cold, dark, hardship and fragile beauty in the snowflake.
It all resonated so clearly within me. I like all the seasons, but there is something about the winter that I find most captivating. It is stark, it is a contrast between white and black, it is bleak and sparkling, it is deadly and restful. I find it is the time that I sit in retrospection; it is when I feel the smallness of my place in the circle of the universe the most clearly.
Two days ago the temperature was in the single digits, the back drop of Russian novel weather. Here at my home, the trees were grey with the finest covering of frost, not too noticeable, but there. As I drove into work and closer to the ocean with its steamy warmth the trees were covered with a thicker layer of crystalline whiteness. Every branch, dried weed and blade of grass glimmered with magic and I could imagine a million tiny rainbows refracting in the sunlight. Who cannot accept the beauty of winter during moments like that.
Sunday, December 19, 2010
December 19, 2010
Baking cookies and finishing some Christmas presents has kept me more house bound than I would have wanted today. Yesterday, my daughter, her partner and I brought in this year’s tree. I had spied one near my driveway that I thought would be in the way in about five years. The top was comparable to a tree-farm tree. Unlike most that I cut and my daughter complains I always pick “Charlie Brown” trees. This year I thought I had out-done myself. I couldn’t remember how big it was at the base, so had her partner bring the chain saw, we didn’t need it. My daughter took one look at the beautiful tree I intended to cut down and said, “That’s too nice to cut.” She looked around; there were many small firs in the vicinity. “How about this one, it’s too close to that pine anyway?” I replied, “So now you are getting Charlie Brown trees.” She cut it down, pulled it to the house, and we decorated one more Charlie Brown. In spite of its gaps and spindly branches it looks nice.
I did a quick walk of the loop, through the woods to the waterfall and up around. It is cold; there is ice on the rocks where the spray from the falls splashes out. The little eddy has chunks of ice floating in circles. Soon they will be worn down to round pads. We had quite a lot of rain last weekend, then the cold set back in. The vernal pools are clear, etched with air bubbles and a filigree of white crystals, while the leaves underneath are cast with extra clarity.
Baking cookies and finishing some Christmas presents has kept me more house bound than I would have wanted today. Yesterday, my daughter, her partner and I brought in this year’s tree. I had spied one near my driveway that I thought would be in the way in about five years. The top was comparable to a tree-farm tree. Unlike most that I cut and my daughter complains I always pick “Charlie Brown” trees. This year I thought I had out-done myself. I couldn’t remember how big it was at the base, so had her partner bring the chain saw, we didn’t need it. My daughter took one look at the beautiful tree I intended to cut down and said, “That’s too nice to cut.” She looked around; there were many small firs in the vicinity. “How about this one, it’s too close to that pine anyway?” I replied, “So now you are getting Charlie Brown trees.” She cut it down, pulled it to the house, and we decorated one more Charlie Brown. In spite of its gaps and spindly branches it looks nice.
I did a quick walk of the loop, through the woods to the waterfall and up around. It is cold; there is ice on the rocks where the spray from the falls splashes out. The little eddy has chunks of ice floating in circles. Soon they will be worn down to round pads. We had quite a lot of rain last weekend, then the cold set back in. The vernal pools are clear, etched with air bubbles and a filigree of white crystals, while the leaves underneath are cast with extra clarity.
Monday, December 6, 2010
December 6, 2010
A gift of a snow day today. So with unfettered time, I went for another walk in the woods. Today, no dog accompanied me, so all was relatively quiet. I heard the skreak as the soles of my boots compressed the snow beneath my feet, my heart beating and the puff of my breath. Upon stopping in a stand of firs, I heard the quiet call of a chickaddee or a golden crewned kinglet. I suspected a kinglet because the call was so quiet, and I did not see the bird, another indication that it was the kinglet. The vernal pools that I routinely pass were a steely gray as the snow settled and sank into the warmer water. I wondered about the frogs, tadpoles and salamanders that have dug deep underneath the ground to survive this winter.
I am reading The Watchers at the Pond, by Franklin Russell. It is an older book, from the 60's, that I found at the Goodwill. I liked the picture on the cover. Russell follows the life in and around a northeastern pond for a year. He writes of the struggles with the cold, heat, predators and unseuccessful breeding. It is bleak, yet extraordinary. I tend to look at the beauty I see in nature, not the hardship. One winter, I found the frozen body of a Golden Crowned Kinglet. I picked it up and admired the shading and the delicacy of its feathers. I did not think of how it happened to be dead under this particular tree. Of how it settled against the trunk of the tree during a particularly cold night and its metabolism slowed and slowed until it stopped all together. Now, I may think differently as I walk my woods. I will wonder about the birds, turtle,and the beavers that I share this space with. Maybe i am lucky that i have come from a species that has developed a brain that can manipulate external forces to survive. At any rate, I sit here cozy in my home as the snow continues to fall.
I am reading The Watchers at the Pond, by Franklin Russell. It is an older book, from the 60's, that I found at the Goodwill. I liked the picture on the cover. Russell follows the life in and around a northeastern pond for a year. He writes of the struggles with the cold, heat, predators and unseuccessful breeding. It is bleak, yet extraordinary. I tend to look at the beauty I see in nature, not the hardship. One winter, I found the frozen body of a Golden Crowned Kinglet. I picked it up and admired the shading and the delicacy of its feathers. I did not think of how it happened to be dead under this particular tree. Of how it settled against the trunk of the tree during a particularly cold night and its metabolism slowed and slowed until it stopped all together. Now, I may think differently as I walk my woods. I will wonder about the birds, turtle,and the beavers that I share this space with. Maybe i am lucky that i have come from a species that has developed a brain that can manipulate external forces to survive. At any rate, I sit here cozy in my home as the snow continues to fall.
Sunday, December 5, 2010
December 5, 2010
The first post in a long time, it is accompanied by the first snow that I was able to witness. I had returned home from a Thanksgiving trip to see snow, but today I watched it fall and went out in it.
I have been neglecting this writing through the hectic time of summer and fall; gardening, harvesting, splitting and stacking wood. All those activities that the ant bustles to get done while the grasshopper plays his fiddle. Now I can return to the inner sphere and resume this passion that I have missed.
I went walking with my daughter's dog today. She has returned to her house next door, having been away for two years. Walking with a dog in the woods creates a different experience. The still contemplative musings of a solitary walker are abrubtly altered by an excited, quick footed puppy. He'd prefer that I threw a stick for him to retrieve every ten seconds. Sometimes I oblige, sometimes I don't. When I stop to take a photo of a lingering red partridge berry, he steps on it. But he carries an excitement that is contagious. I find myself smiling, laughing and walking more light-heartedly with him bounding around. As I walked today I realized that the next few trips out will require me to bring the pruners along. The trails are getting narrower as small saplings thicken and grow. I will certainly need to get out before I head out with the skis, I'm already a pretty clumsy skier, I don't need little trees tripping me up!
So here goes to my faithful reader of one! ie: jg. do you still check this now and then?
I have been neglecting this writing through the hectic time of summer and fall; gardening, harvesting, splitting and stacking wood. All those activities that the ant bustles to get done while the grasshopper plays his fiddle. Now I can return to the inner sphere and resume this passion that I have missed.
I went walking with my daughter's dog today. She has returned to her house next door, having been away for two years. Walking with a dog in the woods creates a different experience. The still contemplative musings of a solitary walker are abrubtly altered by an excited, quick footed puppy. He'd prefer that I threw a stick for him to retrieve every ten seconds. Sometimes I oblige, sometimes I don't. When I stop to take a photo of a lingering red partridge berry, he steps on it. But he carries an excitement that is contagious. I find myself smiling, laughing and walking more light-heartedly with him bounding around. As I walked today I realized that the next few trips out will require me to bring the pruners along. The trails are getting narrower as small saplings thicken and grow. I will certainly need to get out before I head out with the skis, I'm already a pretty clumsy skier, I don't need little trees tripping me up!
So here goes to my faithful reader of one! ie: jg. do you still check this now and then?
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
June 30, 2010
My literary moments are growing further and further apart. I thought this might happen. I use the computer less, and when I do use it, it is to check e-mail at a time when I usually don’t have extended time to begin writing.
Plus, I find that my moments in nature are less frequent, I am not taking long walks, and the moments seem more mundane or fleeting. I am in the garden or walking out to the mailbox at the end of a long day. Does anyone want to read about the mist rising up over the farmer’s field as I drove home from a meeting? Or my seconds long encounter with a doe last night. I met her on the road. She was beginning to walk into the road as I was driving down. I slowed; she turned and went to the edge of the trees. There she stopped, turned and looked at the big beast that slowed for her. Our eyes met: hers a beautiful deep-toned brown of earth, mine green and shielded by spectacles. Could she see into my soul? I did not tarry, I have not tarried watching wildlife on the road ever since I pointed to a partridge to my hunting ex-husband. He stopped the car and shot it. I will never be a point dog again! I find that now it is better to keep those moments brief and secret in my heart, as a treasure for me to carry within.
Parts of the garden are doing great, parts are not. I planted edemame (fresh soybean, as opposed to dry) this year and had four plants come up from a packet of about 30. I was just talking to a friend that planted some too; she had the same ratio of 4:30. Maybe it was a poor seed crop. The winter squashes never seemed to sprout either. The seed was a few years old, but…. There is a farm stand where I can supplement my failures. The rest of the garden is fairing quite well, and I have no complaints. I am battling slugs, as is everyone I know. At our last book discussion group, we talked about our various means of dealing with slugs. Some of the more gentle folks I know get pretty heartless when it comes to protecting their vegetables.
The birds continue to sing, the beavers are enjoying the swimming hole, and the plants are blooming all out of sequence this year.
My literary moments are growing further and further apart. I thought this might happen. I use the computer less, and when I do use it, it is to check e-mail at a time when I usually don’t have extended time to begin writing.
Plus, I find that my moments in nature are less frequent, I am not taking long walks, and the moments seem more mundane or fleeting. I am in the garden or walking out to the mailbox at the end of a long day. Does anyone want to read about the mist rising up over the farmer’s field as I drove home from a meeting? Or my seconds long encounter with a doe last night. I met her on the road. She was beginning to walk into the road as I was driving down. I slowed; she turned and went to the edge of the trees. There she stopped, turned and looked at the big beast that slowed for her. Our eyes met: hers a beautiful deep-toned brown of earth, mine green and shielded by spectacles. Could she see into my soul? I did not tarry, I have not tarried watching wildlife on the road ever since I pointed to a partridge to my hunting ex-husband. He stopped the car and shot it. I will never be a point dog again! I find that now it is better to keep those moments brief and secret in my heart, as a treasure for me to carry within.
Parts of the garden are doing great, parts are not. I planted edemame (fresh soybean, as opposed to dry) this year and had four plants come up from a packet of about 30. I was just talking to a friend that planted some too; she had the same ratio of 4:30. Maybe it was a poor seed crop. The winter squashes never seemed to sprout either. The seed was a few years old, but…. There is a farm stand where I can supplement my failures. The rest of the garden is fairing quite well, and I have no complaints. I am battling slugs, as is everyone I know. At our last book discussion group, we talked about our various means of dealing with slugs. Some of the more gentle folks I know get pretty heartless when it comes to protecting their vegetables.
The birds continue to sing, the beavers are enjoying the swimming hole, and the plants are blooming all out of sequence this year.
Sunday, June 20, 2010
Today a group of the land trust people met for a hike on some property in the town of Newburg. I must admit, I have not felt at all attached to the property, in fact the other times I went there I decided I didn’t like it. The town owns the land and it appears to have been heavily logged so much of it is covered in young growth. Because of that, there are not many views and the trail is ATV and snowmobile-wide, which I don’t like. I went today with the idea to look for the little things that are beautiful, and I found them.
First, upon stepping out of the truck, I spotted a few ripe wild strawberries. The field abounded in strawberry and raspberry plants. It will be good raspberry picking in a few more weeks. There were many ferns and wildflowers. I spotted Indian Cucumber and we tasted a piece of the root, for those that had never tried it before. I also found some Chaga (sp?)--a fungus that grows on birch which you can boil to make a tea. My sister gave me some for Christmas, and I have been trying to find it in the wild since then. No one wanted to try some, even though I could attest to its goodness; it must be that word “fungus”. As I said earlier, I was looking for the little things; much of the moss had their sporophytes up, little capsules with which they will spread their spores to reproduce. The tops were still tightly on, but it was worth a few photos. We came upon the dry remains of what looked to be a great vernal pool, and a larger view of farm fields and the hills of Dixmont.
After the trek though the woods we drove back to the president’s (of the land trust) house and had splendid and hearty potluck. It was a nice end to the excursion, with business and laughter on a breezy deck.
I came home after that luncheon feeling a bit lazy. I puttered in the garden pulling weeds with not much vigor or purpose. I began to hear the rumblings of thunder coming closer until it was close overhead. At that I looked up to see ominously black clouds to the north-west. I meandered to the porch to await the storm and watch from the comfort of the chair. The wind did begin to howl and the rain poured down in a deluge, while the thunder continued to rumble. I’ve yet to get that new TV I thought about getting when the world went digital. Who needs it!
First, upon stepping out of the truck, I spotted a few ripe wild strawberries. The field abounded in strawberry and raspberry plants. It will be good raspberry picking in a few more weeks. There were many ferns and wildflowers. I spotted Indian Cucumber and we tasted a piece of the root, for those that had never tried it before. I also found some Chaga (sp?)--a fungus that grows on birch which you can boil to make a tea. My sister gave me some for Christmas, and I have been trying to find it in the wild since then. No one wanted to try some, even though I could attest to its goodness; it must be that word “fungus”. As I said earlier, I was looking for the little things; much of the moss had their sporophytes up, little capsules with which they will spread their spores to reproduce. The tops were still tightly on, but it was worth a few photos. We came upon the dry remains of what looked to be a great vernal pool, and a larger view of farm fields and the hills of Dixmont.
After the trek though the woods we drove back to the president’s (of the land trust) house and had splendid and hearty potluck. It was a nice end to the excursion, with business and laughter on a breezy deck.
I came home after that luncheon feeling a bit lazy. I puttered in the garden pulling weeds with not much vigor or purpose. I began to hear the rumblings of thunder coming closer until it was close overhead. At that I looked up to see ominously black clouds to the north-west. I meandered to the porch to await the storm and watch from the comfort of the chair. The wind did begin to howl and the rain poured down in a deluge, while the thunder continued to rumble. I’ve yet to get that new TV I thought about getting when the world went digital. Who needs it!
Monday, June 14, 2010
June 14, 2010
I have the afternoon off. I was puttering in the garden, planting some seeds and transplanting the too crowded beets in anticipation of some rain. I moved some black-eyed susans from the flower garden into the field to speed up the naturalization process. They are one of those favorite flowers of mine. They were my mother’s too. In her garden/yard in suburban Connecticut she let the back yard go wild and create a lively field of yellow. Some neighbors didn’t like that she didn’t mow her lawn, but passersby often stopped to ask what the yellow flower was in the yard; some people even came back for seeds.
The rain did begin and drove me in. I guess I wasn’t too driven to work in the yard.
So here I write. Last night, I went to take kitchen scraps to the compost and saw what I at first mistook for my cat. Then I realized it was my friend the skunk. I skirted the composter and put the scraps on the edge of the garden. He ambled away, but it looked like he came back as the new scraps were gone this afternoon. Seeing the skunk got me to thinking about skunk tails or is it tales. I am sure everyone has a skunk story or two in their lives. I have at least three very memorable ones. The wildest was probably about a year ago. I had gotten home from work, went to shut the chickens in and stuck my head in through their little door. I can see their heads hanging over their roosting box. They were there and I shut the door. The next morning I went to feed them and give them water. As I opened the two people doors I saw that my girls had had a nightly visitor, wearing black and white, and a very strong perfume. Inadvertently, I left the door between the front of the shed and the chicken’s space open as I quickly fled. I opened their door and ran inside. I figured the skunk would amble out and that would be that. Well….The next morning I noticed that the grain bag had been torn into and corn was everywhere. I did a quiet search and found the skunk sleeping soundly with what was probably a very full belly behind some scrap boards that I was always going to use for shelves. I could not imagine how I was going to evict my unwanted resident. I contemplated setting up a stereo on the further side of the shed and plugging it in at the house so that the noise would scare him out. I opted first for a gentler approach. Since it was sleeping, I very cautiously took the corn out of the shed and into the house. Without the food that night, he decided to go off and look for grubs or whatever. Luckily, when I could have come face to face with the skunk, it was not at the chicken door. Luckily too that I was later observant enough to realize it was still around and I did not bumble in too noisily and quickly. There are other skunk stories to tell, but I will let them wait.
I have the afternoon off. I was puttering in the garden, planting some seeds and transplanting the too crowded beets in anticipation of some rain. I moved some black-eyed susans from the flower garden into the field to speed up the naturalization process. They are one of those favorite flowers of mine. They were my mother’s too. In her garden/yard in suburban Connecticut she let the back yard go wild and create a lively field of yellow. Some neighbors didn’t like that she didn’t mow her lawn, but passersby often stopped to ask what the yellow flower was in the yard; some people even came back for seeds.
The rain did begin and drove me in. I guess I wasn’t too driven to work in the yard.
So here I write. Last night, I went to take kitchen scraps to the compost and saw what I at first mistook for my cat. Then I realized it was my friend the skunk. I skirted the composter and put the scraps on the edge of the garden. He ambled away, but it looked like he came back as the new scraps were gone this afternoon. Seeing the skunk got me to thinking about skunk tails or is it tales. I am sure everyone has a skunk story or two in their lives. I have at least three very memorable ones. The wildest was probably about a year ago. I had gotten home from work, went to shut the chickens in and stuck my head in through their little door. I can see their heads hanging over their roosting box. They were there and I shut the door. The next morning I went to feed them and give them water. As I opened the two people doors I saw that my girls had had a nightly visitor, wearing black and white, and a very strong perfume. Inadvertently, I left the door between the front of the shed and the chicken’s space open as I quickly fled. I opened their door and ran inside. I figured the skunk would amble out and that would be that. Well….The next morning I noticed that the grain bag had been torn into and corn was everywhere. I did a quiet search and found the skunk sleeping soundly with what was probably a very full belly behind some scrap boards that I was always going to use for shelves. I could not imagine how I was going to evict my unwanted resident. I contemplated setting up a stereo on the further side of the shed and plugging it in at the house so that the noise would scare him out. I opted first for a gentler approach. Since it was sleeping, I very cautiously took the corn out of the shed and into the house. Without the food that night, he decided to go off and look for grubs or whatever. Luckily, when I could have come face to face with the skunk, it was not at the chicken door. Luckily too that I was later observant enough to realize it was still around and I did not bumble in too noisily and quickly. There are other skunk stories to tell, but I will let them wait.
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
June 9, 2010
I was driving in to work today and came upon a road-kill. A turkey vulture was sitting atop it and tearing off pieces as I approached in my car. The vulture was not immediately intimidated by the size of my matrix and lifted its wings up and out to “scare" me off. It thought better of it a few seconds later and flew into a nearby tree, to watch me pass. Then as I turned onto route 141 where I can see the workings of a growing gravel pit, I noticed a flock of vultures circling over the torn and scarred earth. How symbolic to have vultures, harbingers of death and destruction hovering over the dying earth.
I remember my first experience with vultures. I was about 12 years old and we were visiting relatives in Pennsylvania. Our older cousin, Jonathan, took us for a hike, through farmers fields, past cow pastures and up onto a nearby mountain. In one of the fields there were a dead animal and a flock of vultures raucously feasting. At that point, they seemed as tall as me. Jonathan led us very close to the birds, which were not the least intimidated by us. They hissed and lifted their wings to increase their visual size. I was thoroughly frightened, but I was not about to show it to my cousin and my sister and brother. I skirted the scene as far from them as I dared without looking like a chicken; but I couldn’t help imagining the vultures plucking my eyes out.
On a more pleasant note: I checked out the swimming hole in the evening yesterday. The beaver was sitting on the sandbar near the opposite bank. I watched it for a few minutes as it ate, then moved to the bank and returned to the sandbar with a twig of alder. As I watched it was oblivious, then I heard a giant smack in the pool below me, the lookout beaver spotted me and let out a warning smack on the water before diving under. The other beaver quickly swam up stream and around the bend. My beaver now has a friend. I hung around for a while, but neither one returned.
I was driving in to work today and came upon a road-kill. A turkey vulture was sitting atop it and tearing off pieces as I approached in my car. The vulture was not immediately intimidated by the size of my matrix and lifted its wings up and out to “scare" me off. It thought better of it a few seconds later and flew into a nearby tree, to watch me pass. Then as I turned onto route 141 where I can see the workings of a growing gravel pit, I noticed a flock of vultures circling over the torn and scarred earth. How symbolic to have vultures, harbingers of death and destruction hovering over the dying earth.
I remember my first experience with vultures. I was about 12 years old and we were visiting relatives in Pennsylvania. Our older cousin, Jonathan, took us for a hike, through farmers fields, past cow pastures and up onto a nearby mountain. In one of the fields there were a dead animal and a flock of vultures raucously feasting. At that point, they seemed as tall as me. Jonathan led us very close to the birds, which were not the least intimidated by us. They hissed and lifted their wings to increase their visual size. I was thoroughly frightened, but I was not about to show it to my cousin and my sister and brother. I skirted the scene as far from them as I dared without looking like a chicken; but I couldn’t help imagining the vultures plucking my eyes out.
On a more pleasant note: I checked out the swimming hole in the evening yesterday. The beaver was sitting on the sandbar near the opposite bank. I watched it for a few minutes as it ate, then moved to the bank and returned to the sandbar with a twig of alder. As I watched it was oblivious, then I heard a giant smack in the pool below me, the lookout beaver spotted me and let out a warning smack on the water before diving under. The other beaver quickly swam up stream and around the bend. My beaver now has a friend. I hung around for a while, but neither one returned.
Monday, June 7, 2010
June 7, 2010
I just got back from a walk in the woods. It is nice to have the sun back, but I admit we were in dire need of rain. The river is back up to the level it should be at, and my sump pump is happily humming away. I’m not sure it liked the hiatus, even though I did, at least for it. The lady slippers are going by, there were far fewer blooming this year. In the field the milkweed is beginning to bud. I pick a few for tonight’s supper. They do have oxalic acid, but if you rinse them a few times and change the water while cooking, you should be ok. I like them, but I don’t know too many people that are willing to try them, and those that did, didn’t really like them (like my children).
I spent Saturday afternoon in the garden. I finally have the lettuce and other greens, the beans, corn and s1uash seeds planted. I took advantage of the rainy forecast and got in all the seedlings that I had bought. I then mulched and put up a fence for the stunted peas. I hope they aspire to some height now that they have something to cling to.
I have to say that I will probably be caught lying many times if I keep this blog up for long. Right now my favorite shrub is in bloom. It is sheep’s laurel; the northern stunted (Maine) version of the mountain laurel I grew up with in Connecticut. The lie will be the fact that I will often say my favorite flower is in bloom. Just wait until full summer! I guess I forget the beauty and the thrill of the flower until I see it again. I am like that with food too. I can never use my favorite food for password protection for pin numbers, because depending on what is in season my tastes change. I am a fickle person, I guess.
Ah well there are worse things to be in life.
I just got back from a walk in the woods. It is nice to have the sun back, but I admit we were in dire need of rain. The river is back up to the level it should be at, and my sump pump is happily humming away. I’m not sure it liked the hiatus, even though I did, at least for it. The lady slippers are going by, there were far fewer blooming this year. In the field the milkweed is beginning to bud. I pick a few for tonight’s supper. They do have oxalic acid, but if you rinse them a few times and change the water while cooking, you should be ok. I like them, but I don’t know too many people that are willing to try them, and those that did, didn’t really like them (like my children).
I spent Saturday afternoon in the garden. I finally have the lettuce and other greens, the beans, corn and s1uash seeds planted. I took advantage of the rainy forecast and got in all the seedlings that I had bought. I then mulched and put up a fence for the stunted peas. I hope they aspire to some height now that they have something to cling to.
I have to say that I will probably be caught lying many times if I keep this blog up for long. Right now my favorite shrub is in bloom. It is sheep’s laurel; the northern stunted (Maine) version of the mountain laurel I grew up with in Connecticut. The lie will be the fact that I will often say my favorite flower is in bloom. Just wait until full summer! I guess I forget the beauty and the thrill of the flower until I see it again. I am like that with food too. I can never use my favorite food for password protection for pin numbers, because depending on what is in season my tastes change. I am a fickle person, I guess.
Ah well there are worse things to be in life.
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
Thank goodness for the rain. What I had in the garden was looking quite parched when I returned home from a stint in Massachusetts and New Hampshire. I watered when I got home, but the rain was a blessing.
I took a trip to my sister’s for the long weekend. Last year at this time she took me to a Heron Rookery, where we saw probably twenty nests; there were at least twice that in actuality. This was the first time I saw a rookery. I did not realize that herons nest in the tops of the trees. They seem too big and ungainly to be able to land and rest on thin branches, but they do and with grace at that. This year we visited a sheep fair, and helped around the gardens. I got to see the robin’s nest that a robin built on their porch railing, unfortunately she came home from work one day last week to find the robin gone, one broken egg and two missing eggs. The robin has not returned.
I made a brief check on the swimming hole in the early evening. The beaver was taking a probably well deserved break. It was floating in the water with its forelegs outspread, and its tail and hind legs stretched out behind it. For the first time ever, I saw it just floating. When it heard me, it moved off upstream. I think I had found its den in the bank on one of my jaunts in the late spring.
Supper is beckoning…
I took a trip to my sister’s for the long weekend. Last year at this time she took me to a Heron Rookery, where we saw probably twenty nests; there were at least twice that in actuality. This was the first time I saw a rookery. I did not realize that herons nest in the tops of the trees. They seem too big and ungainly to be able to land and rest on thin branches, but they do and with grace at that. This year we visited a sheep fair, and helped around the gardens. I got to see the robin’s nest that a robin built on their porch railing, unfortunately she came home from work one day last week to find the robin gone, one broken egg and two missing eggs. The robin has not returned.
I made a brief check on the swimming hole in the early evening. The beaver was taking a probably well deserved break. It was floating in the water with its forelegs outspread, and its tail and hind legs stretched out behind it. For the first time ever, I saw it just floating. When it heard me, it moved off upstream. I think I had found its den in the bank on one of my jaunts in the late spring.
Supper is beckoning…
Thursday, May 27, 2010
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.
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.
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.
Sunday, April 25, 2010
Week 12: Taking risks
I loved my father once.
My father was an alcoholic, through and through. He’d call himself a “social drinker” and he’d head off to an executive luncheon and never make it home. Well, He did when the police brought him in their private blue and white cab. They never did fine him, prosecute him or jail him. I guess the business suit distinguished him from the real alchies puking their guts out in the gutter. My father got to puke in the privacy on his home, in the porcelain throne, or maybe the closet when he forgot where he was.
My father was a womanizer through and through. He called it harmless. I guess it was harmless, if you think no-one is looking. Ask my mother, she thought it hurt. Especially when he spent the month with his “sexretary” (yep, he gave her a desk plaque that said that), while my mother was in Philadelphia with me having open heart surgery. You could even ask us kids when he’d use us as toy props to lure in an overworked waitress.
My father was a cheat through and through. He called it harmless, if he got away with it. Ask his business partner who left the company just before it floundered from my fathers extravagant personal expenses. Ask the IRS who attached his debts to my mother’s paycheck. Ask us kids who never got the child support he should have provided.
I loved my father once, children do that.
My father was an alcoholic, through and through. He’d call himself a “social drinker” and he’d head off to an executive luncheon and never make it home. Well, He did when the police brought him in their private blue and white cab. They never did fine him, prosecute him or jail him. I guess the business suit distinguished him from the real alchies puking their guts out in the gutter. My father got to puke in the privacy on his home, in the porcelain throne, or maybe the closet when he forgot where he was.
My father was a womanizer through and through. He called it harmless. I guess it was harmless, if you think no-one is looking. Ask my mother, she thought it hurt. Especially when he spent the month with his “sexretary” (yep, he gave her a desk plaque that said that), while my mother was in Philadelphia with me having open heart surgery. You could even ask us kids when he’d use us as toy props to lure in an overworked waitress.
My father was a cheat through and through. He called it harmless, if he got away with it. Ask his business partner who left the company just before it floundered from my fathers extravagant personal expenses. Ask the IRS who attached his debts to my mother’s paycheck. Ask us kids who never got the child support he should have provided.
I loved my father once, children do that.
Sunday, April 18, 2010
Week #11: When words mean something beyond themselves
He arrived while she was tearing down walls. The fake brick in that house just had to come down. She chiseled away at it, breaking off pieces; small chinks fell, scattering onto the floor. She forced herself to keep at it no matter how hard it was or how fearful she was becoming.
He noticed the opening left as the bricks fell. He reached trough and found a lead to her heart. She moved over to a new section and tore down more. Fear kept her from opening that spot anymore than she already had. He tried to help, but she wouldn’t let him, not yet, anyway. Everything was too new; she needed to do this by herself. She needed to feel herself building up her own strength, and doing it her own way. He stayed with her, not able to let go, and she did not insist by then.
One day she looked up, there he was in front of her. She looked more closely and saw the same patterns, brick upon brick with mortar so firmly attached. There she was facing the same wall she thought she tore down.
He noticed the opening left as the bricks fell. He reached trough and found a lead to her heart. She moved over to a new section and tore down more. Fear kept her from opening that spot anymore than she already had. He tried to help, but she wouldn’t let him, not yet, anyway. Everything was too new; she needed to do this by herself. She needed to feel herself building up her own strength, and doing it her own way. He stayed with her, not able to let go, and she did not insist by then.
One day she looked up, there he was in front of her. She looked more closely and saw the same patterns, brick upon brick with mortar so firmly attached. There she was facing the same wall she thought she tore down.
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Week10: Alienation
The girls brought me a gift the next day; a pudgy penguin candle that looked up at me with a beseeching smile. They forgave me, but I couldn’t forgive myself. I know it was one of those moments where nothing but a twist of fate could have changed it, but still…
Speeding home the evening before, I was beguiled by the first beautiful day of spring. I wanted to get home and enjoy the evening. I swerved to miss a cat and took my foot off the gas. “THWACK” “What was that?” I pulled over into their drive, and as I got out of the car I heard their mother, screaming, “Oh My God, Bill!” She was running toward the road, then she saw me and stopped. We looked behind the car. There lay the family dog, who had taken that same spring moment to chase their cat in the wrong direction. Its death was imminent. The girls often fought over who would sleep with it each night, and now I intervened in an all too drastic way.
My whole body sunk in a quagmire of guilt. I lit the candle just one time that night. It shed a flicker of forgiveness.
Speeding home the evening before, I was beguiled by the first beautiful day of spring. I wanted to get home and enjoy the evening. I swerved to miss a cat and took my foot off the gas. “THWACK” “What was that?” I pulled over into their drive, and as I got out of the car I heard their mother, screaming, “Oh My God, Bill!” She was running toward the road, then she saw me and stopped. We looked behind the car. There lay the family dog, who had taken that same spring moment to chase their cat in the wrong direction. Its death was imminent. The girls often fought over who would sleep with it each night, and now I intervened in an all too drastic way.
My whole body sunk in a quagmire of guilt. I lit the candle just one time that night. It shed a flicker of forgiveness.
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