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Redwing Blackbirds

Apr26

This piñon jay braved the snow last weekend and was surely grateful for the new ‘premium’ feed with a higher proportion of sunflower seeds. In more freeze news from The Colorado Sun about that devastating night, many orchards of the famous Palisade peaches squeaked through with some damage, but it appears that “Most of Delta County had 100% crop loss on all fruits….” That’s our county, our precious organic fruit capital of Colorado.

Redwing blackbirds take flight as Wren interrupts their feeding on one of her routine patrols.

I promised a story about a black bird, but first I want to share this philosophical essay by an anthropologist friend about her own black bird story. I’ve been reading it in small bites, as it’s dense and loaded with meaningful inquiry. I’m personally fascinated with Karen’s exploration of “the self,” which touches on so much of my own mindfulness and Buddhism studies. Then came the darling and ultimately heartbreaking story of Hercules, a starling she and her family raised one summer. I cried. This is followed by a deep dive into linguistics in several more sections covering umwelt, metaphor, naming, deiectics, and a few other concepts exploring the nature of reality for humans and other living beings. Like Hercules, for example. What I love about this essay is how thoroughly it represents my fascinating friend. She and her husband have ranched in this valley their entire lives, and he’s a retired veterinarian: non-human animals have been their constant companions since they were born. If anyone can figure out how non-humans experience life, my money’s on them.

Between last weekend’s freezing weather and this weekend’s rainy chill, I met a few goals in the garden. Wren is exhausted after supervising the planting of the last six perennials in amongst irises in the Tortoise Border. These great cages move around as necessary, and here they’ll keep deer from ripping the tender new plants out of the ground, and give the transplants a chance to root well and grow strong this year before being left to their own devices next year.

Some notable lunches this week have been salads with homegrown perennial lettuce and feral arugula, dressed with chopped pecans, cheese, poison fish, and homemade honey mustard dressing.

On Thursday I’d had enough of this lingering earache so I called our local audiologist. She insisted I come in right away so she could do an impedance, measuring pressure in my middle ear to determine if there was an inner ear infection. There wasn’t, which was a relief, so investigation continues. Meanwhile, I was profoundly grateful that she rushed me in, and I thought on the beautiful drive over how grateful I am for this community treasure. She lives in a pastoral vineyard on the edge of the next town, with her office downstairs. There was a lot of traffic on the twenty-mile drive, about twenty cars altogether both directions. It’s a pleasure to drive there, and to park in the shade of an old tree, and be treated like a friend. She always takes time to explain things, and in this case recommended that I do the Valsalva maneuver each morning to make sure there was no pressure buildup in the middle ear. That, it turns out, is pinching your nose shut and blowing as you would to equalize pressure driving over a mountain or in an airplane. Turns out it can also quickly restore an abnormal heart rhythm, but not always. You probably have to blow harder for that than she showed me, and it can backfire, so don’t play around with it.

Yesterday Wren helped me plant potatoes. I’ve been moving these feral violas as I need the space in the garden beds, planting them randomly in borders or patio pots. I’m grateful they’ve self-sown so profusely, just like the lettuce. Then I sliced the end off a fresh loaf of sourdough and enjoyed a deconstructed cheese sandwich for lunch. Later we all took a nice long ramble through the woods with our imaginary infrared lens. It was Wren’s Arrival Anniversary, and we celebrated her being here at Mirador for four years!

And now, at last the black bird story. It’s short, but it cracks me up to even think about it. I told it to Ellie the other day and we both enjoyed a good long belly laugh about it, just as I did when Neighbor Fred told me, in his consummate, wry style. We have a lot of redwing blackbirds in our yards these days, a cacophony of them as Mary says. When Fred came to prune the apricot we stood and watched them at the feeder for a few minutes. “We had a friend from Australia visiting once,” he said, “who was real interested in the birds here. We were sitting outside and he said ‘What’s that black bird over there with the red wings?’” We both started laughing. The punchline says itself.

And then today, it rained off and on all day. It was glorious. There might even be mud tomorrow. I was glad I chanced to look out the window in a momentary break in the western clouds to catch a rainbow cast over the canyon.

Yesterday’s quote from the Waking Up app

While there’s plenty to worry about, I was grateful to spend a weekend immersed in home and yard maintenance, restorative relaxation and meaningful connection. Instead of pointless anxiety. Tomorrow, I’ll step up again and start taking action, while still cultivating equanimity and perspective. Wishing the same for you. We’re in this together.

The Wild Cost

Apr5

I continue to follow developments in the disastrous illegal war that the Liar in Chief chose as a multi-purpose ruse to distract from the Epstein files and other corruptions while also enriching himself and his sycophant cronies through weapons investments and market manipulation. The costs are glossed over by the government and complicit legacy media so I’m grateful there are some people keeping track. Twenty hours and twenty minutes into it, as I write this, the US government has spent 42 billion of our tax dollars, and adding $5000 every second on this real-time clock. What a bitter, bitter pill it was to deliver paperwork to my accountant last week.

“168 Pairs of Shoes” video from No Kings Day 3, Paonia, Colorado. 15 minutes

The human cost rises daily as well. It started dramatically with the slaughter of innocents represented above in Virginia Unseld’s moving tribute 168 Pairs of Shoes. Her next installation last Friday at a Methodist church presented the shoes lining the sidewalks to the steps, where they formed the shape of a heart.

photo courtesy of Virginia Unseld

The human cost is grave, the financial cost is staggering, but what about the wild world? Who is talking about the environmental cost? I’ve only noticed one person on my social and news networks making noise about it, environmentalist drag queen Pattie Gonia.

So, I’ll talk about it. It’s taken hours of searching online to learn that there’s a paucity of research on the subject; however, what research there is concurs: War is bad not just for children but for the whole wild world. I also looked into the wildlife of Iran. One of the first hits was an article called “Conservation Policies in Iran: Protecting Biodiversity and Endangered Species” from November 2024.

We savored a long ramble through the woods this Easter Sunday, playing with the infrared Bucktown Pack on my imaginary camera.

It states that Iran’s unique geographical position at the intersection of three major zoogeographical regions—Palaearctic, Oriental, and Ethiopian—contributes to its rich biodiversity. There are many endemic plants and animals, which means they occur nowhere else. “The Caspian Hyrcanian mixed forests are UNESCO World Heritage sites, recognized for their exceptional biological diversity and ancient lineage…. Additionally, Iran is home to many threatened and endangered species, such as the Persian leopard, the Asiatic cheetah, and the Caspian seal. These species are crucial for maintaining ecological balance and health within their respective habitats. However, the rich biodiversity of Iran faces numerous challenges, primarily from habitat loss due to urbanization, agricultural expansion, and industrial development. Climate change exacerbates these issues, affecting water availability and altering habitats, which further threatens the survival of many species.” This article doesn’t mention war, because that wasn’t a factor when it was written.

For pictures of Iran’s endangered species, see this list in Animalia. Many of them are aquatic, including several species each of whales, sea turtles, sharks, rays, shorebirds, and the Indian Ocean humpback dolphin. The list also includes the mammals named above, as well as the Siberian crane, Steppe eagle, Kurdistan newt, Latifi’s viper, and the Persian onegar, a subspecies of Asiatic wild ass endemic to Iran with a population of around 700. A full list of Iran’s 156 endangered species including corals, fishes, insects, and at least one plant, is here.

I did find a few articles that touch on the environmental impacts of war, like this from the US Army War College, and this from The Revelator, but most of them come back to focus on the harm that war does to the environment from a human perspective. All agree, though, that war, particularly bombing, wreak havoc on the wild world as well. From a table in a waste management site, bombs release toxic chemicals into the soil, reducing fertility, harming plant growth, and contaminating groundwater; explosions contaminate water bodies, affecting aquatic ecosystems and drinking water sources; they clear large areas of vegetation, displace soil, destroy habitats, and disrupt ecosystems, leading to biodiversity loss; they generate intense noise, causing stress and injury to wildlife, disrupting animal communication, navigation, migration patterns and food chains. They force animals to flee their habitats, removing or destroying key species. The list goes on.

A Brown University article states that The U.S. Department of Defense is the world’s single largest institutional consumer of oil – and as a result, one of the world’s top greenhouse gas emitters. War is destroying the planet faster than any other single factor in climate collapse. That’s my own claim, but it has an air of truthiness to it.

This article from Action on Armed Violence is one of many that highlight our interdependence with animals. “Though animals may be directly killed or injured by the use of explosive weapons, the impact to their environment appears to typically be the more concerning factor, particularly through habitat loss and human displacement. In Syria, for example, it was recently reported that water buffalo in Hama countryside have been highly impacted by the continued use of explosive violence in the region in recent years. Not only have water buffalo become direct casualties of the bombardment, but much of the land has become unusable, and farmers and their buffalo have been displaced by the shelling…. The total number of water buffalo in the area has decreased by two-thirds compared to the pre-conflict level by 2017.”

It continues, “Landmines and other explosive remnants also have a long history of environmental impact. They have directly killed many animals, including for example elephants in Sri Lanka, snow leopards in Afghanistan, tigers in Cambodia, gazelles in Libya, camels in China, and water buffalo Vietnam. While these have been documented in the past, there is little current research on this issue and the scale of the impact.”

The most comprehensive article I’ve encountered is this Canadian review on the effects of modern war and military activities on biodiversity and the environment, which posits, “Dramatic habitat alteration, environmental pollution, and disturbance contributed to population declines and biodiversity losses arising from both acute and chronic effects in both terrestrial and aquatic systems.” It details devastating effects of aerial assault, naval operations, terrestrial war, nuclear tests, military bases and training, chemical warfare, and more.

Toes-up time under the Ancient One, Wren reclining against my legs.

Among other findings, “The numerous explosive techniques and tools at the disposal of army forces during ground warfare have left a legacy on landscapes across the globe by leaving large craters, shrapnel, and contamination, thus devastating many ecosystems across the biosphere. Landmines applied during active ground warfare have left a lasting legacy on the environment and still remain a major threat to biodiversity, even decades after being deployed.”

After offering a paean to the benefits that military technology has contributed to environmental and conservation science, the article concludes, “…it is evident that warfare’s impacts on ecosystem functioning are indeed overwhelmingly deleterious. The impacts of conflict, nuclear weapons, training operations, and chemical contaminations all contribute to both reductions in the populations of local flora and fauna as well as reducing species diversity in the affected ecosystems. Impacts were demonstrated in a number of environments with a diversity of taxonomic groups represented with war resulting in both acute and chronic impacts on the ecosystem.” It illustrates the impact categories in this figure.

“Creations are numberless, I vow to free them.” This is the first line of the Zen vows that I repeat any time I participate in a Upaya teaching. Just imagine the numberless creations, from spiders to rodents, domestic cats and dogs, chickens, lizards, snakes, common or rare and unique life forms who are getting obliterated with every bomb of every war.

Yesterday I finished reading Against the Machine by Paul Kingsnorth. It was a difficult and challenging read. Though I disagree with some of his assertions, notably those regarding introspection, and those on human sexuality and gender, his thesis that “techno-industrial culture has choked Western civilisation and is destroying the Earth itself” resonates brutally with my observations. “From the First Industrial Revolution to the rise of artificial intelligence, this book shows how the hollowing out of humanity has been a long game—and how our very soul is now at stake.” I will be pondering this book for a long time. Trump’s frivolous war on Iran is a consummate example of Machine culture from every angle at which you examine it.

If you’re still with me, you might want an antidote to this post. If so, check out Jessica Craven’s Extra! Extra! good news post today.

Making the Best …

Mar31
Despite a trunk full of holes from a small beetle, the crabapple is loaded with buds just starting to open…
Caged tulips and jonquils, to protect them from marauding deer…
Townsendia blooming a week earlier than last year…
Pussytoes surviving …
Maybe it’s because it’s got southern exposure instead of shade, but this Indian paintbrush is blooming almost a month early. Usually a reliable indicator of when the hummingbirds will arrive, paintbrush has historically bloomed here around April 25th.

… of a bad situation. Thich Nhat Hahn said, “The seed of suffering in you may be strong, but don’t wait until you have no more suffering before allowing yourself to be happy.”

After a loving, grieving walk through the dry warm woods, it was time to rest under the apricot tree again. A few buds are left, about a dozen flowers open, and the rest are all moving toward fruiting as tender new leaves emerge. I’m grateful every day that I wake up alive. Grateful for the wild world, for the little pets, for the garden that’s been growing here for thirty years; grateful that water still flows through the hoses to water trees and tulips. Grateful, and grieving, contemplating as I walked through the woods how I’ll one day die, and what will become of this land I love? Peace with Impermanence is the fundamental paradox at the heart of human aspiration. “Sometimes you’re the windshield, sometimes you’re the bug.”

Under the Apricot Tree

Mar26

Savoring the sights, sounds, scents of the fruit trees in flagrant bloom this week, I laid a camping pad under the apricot tree on the day the petals all flew off. I was grateful to see a dozen painted ladies, a few bumblebees, some moths, and several other kinds of native bees as well as a few honeybees also enjoying the flowers.

The next day, the wild plum burst into blossom, and the day after that the peach tree buds started to open.

And Biko showed Wren how to enjoy a strawberry.

Saturday is the third No Kings Day national protest against the corrupt, murderous regime in power in the US. If you’re not outraged, you’re not paying attention. You can find an event near you here. I’ll be joining friends at the Paonia Town Park, and donating my craftivism to the local Immigrant Protection organization. These little red hat badges will be available for a $10 minimum donation to support local families affected by ICE terrors.

Treetops

Mar18

I’ve been reading the amazing new book from Paul Kingsnorth, Against the Machine: On the Unmaking of Humanity, and I’m grateful for his historical and philosophical synthesis of the times we find ourselves in. It’s grueling, but he articulates so thoroughly what I have believed in my bones to be true since I was a child. But enough about humanity’s ineluctable drive toward mechanization at the cost of Nature, we see it in every facet of our lives, including this blog that I’m writing and you are reading on machines that embody so much more than the simple convenience of a keyboard, a digital camera, and the internet. We needn’t dwell on it in this moment.

I’m grateful for the gift of calamondin jam that surprised me in the mail the other day, out of the blue, from an old school friend and reader of Morning Rounds. It represents the good in this world: homegrown fruit cooked and canned, and one person thinking of another with generosity. She read about my quest to bake birthday cakes, and thought I might like to include something a little different in one. Of course I had to taste it, and it was Florida sunshine on toast. Next cake, here it comes! And the next cake is coming soon.

In contrast to The Machine that grinds up nature and humanity in its conquest of the world through concentration of power and worship of wealth, treetops have captured my attention this week. Pinyon jays have been spinning the Bird Buddy feeder around on its pole with their enthusiastic feeding, and I caught a group of them in a treetop the other day on our walk. One seems to have fluff in its bill, hopefully an indication of nest building.

Between working, walking, and baking cakes, I tried out this recipe for big fat chewy chocolate chip cookies, and they are fantastic.

Joanna Macy said “Hope is a verb,” and so I continue to hope to do all that I can to contribute to the remaking of the world as Western Civilization collapses. Some of those things include vigilant introspection to see myself clearly and live in alignment with my values, which by the way are not the values of The Machine; sharing in various ways the mindfulness skills that I rely on to ground me in a meaningful life and bolster resilience; and supporting the wild world through the ways I protect and tend the land in my care. I’m so grateful to have brought the birds back to my yarden after a decade, now that I’ve minimized the domestic cat threat. Evening grosbeaks are back at the feeder, and filling the aspen tree.

In cheese sandwich news, there continue to be many delicious options. Last week I pickled red onions and am putting them on everything including this simple cheddar, lettuce, and mayo sandwich.
Despite a few freezing cold days and nights, the weather was warm enough last week to enjoy time at the pond, including polishing off the last of the ice cream.

But the weather is too nice. This morning I discovered that the apricot blossoms are already opening. I spent a few hours in the yarden, installing a couple of bluebird nest boxes to give them options, and watering. I gave the apricot her first water of the season, and took some time to sit beneath her boughs and appreciate her. Those buds are really swelling, I thought and then I looked more closely. First I saw a few white tips on some buds, and then saw a few just breaking open. Earliest ever, I think.

Today’s cheese sandwich included tuna salad with parsley and celery, pickled red onions, and havarti. So simple, so delicious.

After lunch and a few hours desk work, I took the little animals on a leisurely ramble through the woods, remembering to look up. We rambled northwest from the house, a spontaneous and unusual direction, and then back toward the forest center. We saw treetops reaching for the clouds, and a surprising number of treetops toppled over.

Coming up a slope from an unfamiliar direction I spied an oddly glowing trunk, and when we got close I was mystified to see this young pinyon pine stripped bare, all its bark in chips at the base, its top recently deceased. Curious. And then we found ourselves near the Triangle Tree, where I paused to lean back into its curved embrace and look out toward the mountains for awhile, resting, calmly abiding, breathing.

From there we rambled back to a familiar bench, where we rested again, and noticed these tiny wildflowers in bloom, I’m thinking weeks or even months early… But then, I found flowers even in midwinter in some parts of the woods.

Back home it was happy hour time, so I took a mocktail and a bowl of poison fish down to sit in the golden light and read some more about the cyclical history of the Machine. What a juxtaposition. This week in telesangha we’re exploring paradoxes; in particular, a paradox that has come up synchronistically a couple of times in recent days: navigating the wisdom of accepting conditions exactly as they are, allowing oneself to be just as one is, and at the same time aspiring to refine or grow oneself and improve conditions in the world. Chewing on this book at the same time will add an interesting influence in this exploration.

As the sun goldly lowered I glanced up to see a pair of bluebirds atop the aspen tree. More synchronicity. I hope they find a nest site they like for this summer, in one of the boxes I put up this morning, or back in the hole in the side of my house.

I’m grateful that Topaz has learned in recent years not to hunt birds.
Wren jumped right into her job of finding Biko as soon as I started putting him out in his round pen. Tonight just before sunset she raced right to his gate and loudly announced his location. Life’s simple pleasures.

Sacred Rest

Mar13

I did another ancestral puzzle last week, Bookstalls on the Seine, from 1931. Almost a hundred years have faded the subtle shades of green and the ecru background, and dozens of fingers have rubbed the wood soft and left their stain.

There’s no picture on the cover of the tattered box. I tried to start with the edges but found the bridge railing easiest to decipher, and then the buildings with their perspective, the windows’ sizes and shading. Mixed in there a few of the people came together.

There was a poignant contrast between the gentlefolk on the street, and the huddled figure on the step. Though assembling the puzzle was a rest of sorts, my mind certainly buzzed the whole time with comparisons of the world and humanity between a century ago and now.

Despite only having 325 pieces (not a one lost in a century!) it took about five days to complete, partly because it was so hard and partly because it wasn’t as compelling as a colorful Liberty puzzle. But it offered its own unique muted pleasure which suited my mood.

I’d forgotten the 5 Calls app for awhile, relying on other sources to decide what to say to my reps when I call, and I’d dropped calls down to about once a week to each of them after finding myself unable to leave a civil message. But I started using 5 Calls again, and really it makes it so easy, and by setting a mindful intention to stay calm and stick generally to the given script, I’ve kept my temper in check and added to the congressional tally of discontented voters on numerous issues through the days.

On Tuesday I met with my Grateful Gathering group to discuss the importance of sacred rest. From time to time throughout the day, or once a day or once a week, a secular Sabbath or a spiritual one; or a longer rest, a residential retreat, a backpacking trip. How restorative it is to make time to unplug, step outside the usual routine of a busy life, step back in time to pre-super computer in your pocket days, not even a hundred years ago, for me just twenty. It was inspiring. I realized it had been too long since I’d walked to the canyon, between the mud, snow, wind, work, the distraction of pain and absorption in obligations and external events.

So I did that on Wednesday. I walked slowly, picked my way along the trail pausing many times, looking around, breathing, inhaling the still peace of the forest. I recalled my relationship with the trees, the ease with which I walked here thirty years ago, a big dog at my side or far ahead. Some years two dogs or three, two or three cats as well, and no phone in my pocket. A complete rest, of sorts, absorption in the forest.

During this time burdened by worldly ills and evils, on a day that I felt I’m not doing enough, I came to the edge of this canyon and I recalled, I’ve saved this land from subdivision, this forest from being recklessly cut, cleared for fields or harvested for firewood or artful tabletops or lamp stands… I saved this land because of its inherent right to exist as it is, a living system just like me, only bigger, and infinitely more complex. An organism in itself and a host to multitudes. A small wild patch in an ever-diminishing patchwork of wild land. Neighbors perpetually cutting trees, shooting wild animals for trophy or food or sport or nuisance. I did something good, and I reminded myself that I try to do good every day. And that’s enough.

After the morning’s sacred rest walking the woods I felt reconnected enough with my true nature to make the drive to town a pleasure, and to delight in a visit with my doctor. Leaving, I saw a dear friend in the waiting room, she and I the only people masked in the whole building. I don’t know if I was more surprised to see her, or to see a little dog follow another woman in and automatically take his place under her seat. The drive home through the gorgeous spring afternoon felt light, and back in the yarden I sat with my little dog who exhausted herself with her frenzied greeting and then lay down to rest in the warm grass.

A Small Cremation

Feb2

I woke to a startling warning text from Amy. I didn’t doubt her but wanted to know more. Eew. It didn’t take more than a minute reading to decide what to do next. I don’t want to see its invariable change. So I gently lifted it off the stem…

Eew. Sticky! Where did she come from? Will winter kill any others that might have laid their cottony egg sacs outside? It says they can hatch 600-800 eggs in a few days in summer but take a couple months in winter. Thank goodness I didn’t wait to see what happened!

Eew. Very sticky!

I tried to lay it on a paper towel but it was so sticky I had to spread it to get it off the tool. I couldn’t see any eggs so I used the handy zoom feature on my pocket supercomputer.

I considered my options for disposal of these pests. Definitely not the compost! Maybe garbage? I don’t like to kill any being, but nor did I want to risk them surviving and spreading. I decided on a ceremonial cremation, so I folded up the paper towel and set it on top of the woodstove to wait for tonight’s fire.

Wren supervised. I set the shroud on the floor to start the fire, and once it was blazing I tossed in the deceased mother and her hundreds of eggs. Goodbye, cottony cushion scale! Thanks Amy!

This Weekend in Birds

Dec9
Slate-colored junco

I’m grateful to Ruthie and Jeff for inspiring me to get a Bird Buddy feeder. I hadn’t fed birds for a decade, and I missed them. They’ve brought such joy to our days, and once the snow covered the land feeding them feels especially meaningful: Giving back.

Two house finches and a mountain chickadee

My heart melts for the northern flickers who are new to the feeder, though they’ve been regulars in the yarden all summer. Another newcomer is the black-billed magpie, caught on camera for the first time on Friday.

There were other gifts interspersed with birds, including young Bucky nibbling fallen desert willow leaves; and a large four-point buck, several does, and their adolescent fawns, all making the rounds each day to sweep up under the feeder, nap under a juniper, graze under the snow.

Saturday I needed an extra morning hot drink after coffee, and finally broke out the Swiss ovomaltine a friend gave me a couple of months ago. She’d been given it by a young friend who brought it from Switzerland, but passed it on to me because malt disagrees with her. With the help of a translation app and a conversion app I got it mixed with the right amount of hot milk, and gave myself a morning break with the last shortbread, a gift from another friend. (How lucky am I!)

An uncommon black-capped chickadee sharing the feeder with a female house finch
Two of the three Woodhouse scrub jays who dominate the feeder. I believe these are the babies I watched fledge last spring.

Another gift enhancing life is this salad dressing bottle, with recipes for five dressings and measurements right on the glass. I had misplaced it for a long time, and was embarrassed to tell my sister who gave it to me. But now she’ll know that I’ve found it and am grateful all over again for it. I’m also grateful for the gift of enough Tupelo honey to splurge on the honey mustard dressing.

Another mountain chickadee, or maybe the same one, with another house finch, or maybe the same one…

I’m grateful for the Great British Baking Show for so many reasons, but in this case for the challenge where they were judged on the scoring of their loaves. It inspired me to try an oak leaf, and I would not have gotten good a good score on my scoring. But I think Paul and Prue would have approved of the bake, and the tuna melt.

Just look at those eyelashes!

Another baking experiment turned out well, these chocolate snowflakes from Penzeys. More about them later. I couldn’t resist dropping one on the mint chocolate chip ice cream. But just one.

A male house finch thinks he’s got the feeder to himself…
… then has to share with a burly evening grosbeak, who takes over the moment.
(from Rob Brezsny’s Astrology Newsletter)

This message spoke to me this week, as I continually navigate the threshold between who I think I should be and who I actually am. I’m grateful for a wonderful discussion tonight with our monthly grateful gathering around the concept of thresholds. One person entering the job market, one considering retirement, several concerned for grown children at their own thresholds, and all of us feeling the gravity of the threshold our country is poised on. All of us, also, facing awareness of the final threshold that awaits every living being. I want to relax along the path and enjoy the journey to that cliff, before the inevitable jump off.

Gemini Full Moon

Dec4

I was grateful today for abundant sunshine to charge the solar panels and melt a little ice once I’d shoveled the paths again. And to lift the spirits of many of us.

I was astonished to look out the west window and see a doe chewing on an old shed antler that was ornamenting the garden. She munched on it for a long time while her fawn nibbled some leaves under the snow. It reminded me it was lunchtime.

Today I was grateful for the last two slices of bread which I dressed with peanut butter and jam. But yesterday, as cold and grey as it was, I was really happy to make a grilled cheese sandwich. I used mayo on both slices but then remembered I had a smidge of that tomato butter Amy and I made back in September. I’d pulled it from the freezer to make room for turkey stock and been using it up all week. So I spread that on one side, layered cheddar and Havarti on the other, and closed the sandwich. Then I tried a trick we’d seen on Instagram, to spread mashed potatoes on the outsides of the bread before grilling.

It must have not been the right kind of potato. It looked great, but the bread was actually less crispy than a usual butter or mayo grilled cheese. I topped it with the single harvest from the hydroponic tomato experiment, which also looked great but felt like a little marble so I gave it to Wren for last bite.

My little philosopher…

It was a lovely day. After lunch I edited some meditations, including this one from my dear departed friend Cynthia Wilcox. The timing was perfect for “Sensing into Boundaries.” As I was editing it someone came to the door that I just couldn’t attend to in that moment and Cindy’s guidance supported me.

And before I knew it, the short day was over. I made sure not to miss the rising of the Gemini Full Moon, whatever that means. A friend had mentioned it this morning as meaningful to her, and later texted after she watched it rise six hours earlier in London. I’d been upstairs waiting for it but remembered I had to run out and dump the birdbath before it froze, and just as I got there the moon peeked over the mountains.

The birdbath was already frozen. We came inside after this shot. I love how the farthest peaks of Mount Gunnison are still in alpenglow and the moon highlights a ridge I’d never realized was part of the distant mountain.

These last two are through the window so there’s a bit of distortion. I considered what my friend had said, and looked up the significance of this moon. Yoga Journal offered a full and mindful analysis from which I’ve excerpted this:

“What makes this full Moon particularly potent is how Gemini teaches us that reality is malleable. The stories we tell ourselves about who we are, what is possible for us, and what we deserve directly shape our experiences. When we change our internal narrative, we change our external world. This is the secret power of Gemini—it shows us that a simple shift in perspective can unlock doors we didn’t even know existed.”

Sparkles

Dec3

It’s hard to take anything personally from this perspective! This image is from The Atlantic’s 2025 Space Telescope Advent Calendar. This is Day 3’s offering, showing more than a hundred galaxies in Galaxy Cluster Abell 209, about 2.8 billion light-years away from my tiny speck of a life. Refreshing! I’ve always loved sparkles.

“Peace isn’t found in perfect conditions. Peace is found in how we care for one another, in the bonds we share, in the kindness we extend to all beings. Even in winter, love keeps us warm.”

Today was the first day I remembered to check in first thing with the Venerable Monks on their Walk for Peace. It’s been cold and rainy as they wend their way through Louisiana, some of them barefoot, some in socks and sandals, some with canes, walking to spread peace on earth. Between these macro and micro perspectives, I feel humbly grateful for this precious day that will never come again.