I stood under the wild plum for an hour as petals rained down in the breeze, amid the flutter of butterflies and the buzz of bees.
And then I stood awhile under the peach tree whose tender pink blossoms are just now opening.
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Balance
I was looking for an image of a seesaw the other day to use in a slideshow about meditation. I ended up finding one on a free stock photo site that worked well for the idea I wanted to convey, but not before I recalled this picture that was taken more than forty years ago. In a very small world of perhaps three to five people, it’s iconic. I couldn’t imagine where my copy might be, so I texted my friend Doodles to see if she had “the seesaw picture” handy; she texted her daughter, the baby in the swing in the foreground. It took a few days, but the image was excavated and texted to me. Ah, technology!
None of us had recalled the baby in the swing. At the time it was taken, we had all marveled at the perfect balance Jerry and I had achieved on the seesaw. That had taken some time, and we sat there for quite awhile; long enough, maybe, for Doodles to run back upstairs to the apartment to get her camera. I’m fascinated looking at it now for so many reasons. And so grateful. Grateful for the friendships that it represents that have lasted lifetimes, grateful for the halcyon days it recalls of youth and optimism; grateful for the technology of the time that captured it on film, and the tech of today that enabled it to reach me in minutes after it was found. I’m grateful for joy it brought to the young adults in that moment, the spirit of play and perseverance, and for the symbol it became through the years of that perfect moment on the playground. How young we were! How red my hair was! I’m grateful that we are all four still alive!
And I’m fascinated by the trick of memory that none of us recalled the baby in the swing, but only the marvel of the balancing act. I’m fascinated to see Jerry’s perfect yogic posture and my even then asymmetry. Ever since the aches and pains of aging have made me aware of the imbalance of my skeletal structure, I guess I’ve imagined that at some point I might have had better alignment. But even then the stiff right hip couldn’t release the leg, even then the spine had no lumbar curve. I’m grateful for the compassionate perspective this realization gives on my past, present, and future.
Meanwhile, in the garden, there is another sort of balance: that sweet spot of spring when it’s still cold at night and flowers are blooming. Yesterday it snowed off and on; this morning I enjoyed a rare chorus of redwing blackbirds.
Apricot and forsythia are in bloom even as the wood rack is still stacked full. I planted three columbines in these cages this morning and deep-watered the tree.
More tulips are opening in my own private Netherlands bed, and the bright morning face of this yellow tulip hides behind blushing petals at sundown.
I continue to navigate balance between joy and grief, my small sanctuary and planetary chaos, and find myself grateful every day for the calming influence of mindfulness practice. The gift of equanimity is indeed immeasurable.
Idle Rambling
In which Topaz leads the way. It’s Mud Season, and the pathways through the woods are half icy, half muddy, and half dry. So it’s a good time to follow Topaz on a walk because she hates mud and ice, so she finds the driest way through the forest. I’m grateful for idle rambling this afternoon, seeing parts of the woods and old juniper friends we haven’t visited all winter.
Perspective
This wide-angle perspective of Wren shows her complete ownership of me. I love how she seems to experience me as a convenient piece of furniture to give her a higher perspective one moment, and another moment as though I am an extension of her very self, or she of mine.
Wren and I did something today that I haven’t done in a few years: we went to a Super Bowl party. We took a bacon-cheddar-cream cheese dip, topped with avocado and the first two tomatoes of the season! That little vine in a bag that I brought in last fall? Its tomatoes ripened through December, and then it didn’t quit: I gave it one dose of full-spectrum plant food, and a couple weeks later it made a few flowers, and then a few more. I picked the first ripe tomatoes today, and there are half a dozen more green tomatoes on the vine. They’re small, just barely bigger than a cherry tomato, but still! I’m grateful for this pertinacious little plant.
The party was just across the living room in my recliner, and we were the only guests. Topaz stopped by for a few crunchy treats. Our team didn’t win, but we had a good time, and the event gave me plenty to reflect on. I was grateful to swap perspectives with a friend over zoom after a halftime show that NPR called “chaotic.” I’ll say. I couldn’t make a lick of sense out of it after the first few minutes. I kept waiting for Usher to sing a song. But I watched, and I wondered, How is there still racism in this country when so many Americans of all colors and political persuasions celebrate the Super Bowl? It’s not a white sport. At least half its megastars are Black. The halftime show was a celebration of Black artists and cultures. How do some people revere Black football stars or performers, and simultaneously hate their Black neighbors?
The ads, which for some years were actually clever or artistic or surprising, this year struck me as even more materialistic, banal, depressing, and alienating than ever. I don’t even remember seeing a single Clydesdale, but maybe I blinked during that one. I’ve been studying human beings from the moment in college when I learned I could get a diploma in people-watching, and I barely understand them any better than I did when I embarked on my Anthropology degree. What I do understand, though, is that our predominant American culture is tragically alienated from one thing that is essentially real and true, the natural world: soil, water, trees, non-human animals, and the interconnected cycles and systems that regulate this fragile spinning globe we live on. For all we know, “Life is only on Earth… and not for long.” (Justine, in Melancholia.)
On the political front, here’s another hopeful, clarifying, and inspiring perspective, recommended by Jessica Craven, from Mike Lux Media with the headline “The 2024 election will be determined by two things. Neither one is Joe Biden’s age.”
Microadventures
I was flabbergasted to see this photograph of a new class of cruise ships, advertised as ‘better for the planet’ though this claim is roundly debunked in the article describing this behemoth, which carries 7000 people. I couldn’t make sense of what I was seeing at first. Now that I’ve understood the photograph, this surrealistic ship entering the port of Miami whence it sets sail (ha! LNG-methane emissions motoring) tomorrow, I still don’t understand, I really cannot comprehend, the very idea of this as vacation.
But some people will love it, and who am I to judge. It just concerns me that as fragile as we know our planet is, and our atmosphere, so many humans still pursue such resource-indulgent recreation. Also crossing my screen this morning was this lovely article about paying attention to and discovering wonders in our own back yards, much more my speed. Alastair Humphreys has traveled the world exploring nature, but he’s beginning to reconsider his impact on the planet: “If I love wild places so much, I’ve begun to wonder, am I willing to not visit them in order to help protect them?”
He goes on, “Only a tiny minority of the people on the planet step onto a plane each year; just 1% of us take more than half of all flights. How can more of us enjoy wild landscapes and the mental and physical benefits of getting out into nature without it costing the Earth?” He suggests we do this with microadventures, taking bike rides and camping trips and other opportunities to experience wild nature close to home.
I’m grateful for the many microadventures I’ve had just this week, and I’ve barely left the house. I’m grateful that I live where I can step out my door into nature, but even if I couldn’t I know that I’d find beauty and wonder in whatever little patch of nature I could experience–even if it were just the spider making her web in the window.
Wonder: walking up the driveway I spy in the mud and ice this gorgeous butterfly; dead, of course, this time of year. I surmise it fell from the grill of the FedEx truck, or my personal shopper’s car, where it had been stuck since warmer weather. To be surprised by such a sight in deep winter was a microadventure. For little Wren, too.
I have microadventures with this aging body all the time. Monday it was a strained tendon, which with the right tool for the job and a sweet resting place is healing well. I’ve graduated to a lighter brace, and no longer have to sleep with it.
I’m grateful for microadventures in the kitchen. Opening this carton of eggs and being surprised by all the colors, shapes, and sizes! I’m grateful for my friend’s adventures raising the chickens, and grateful for her sharing the bounty. With a sudden abundance of eggs I was encouraged to plan some more eggy bakes, and celebrated by poaching two that very night for dinner. Another microadventure: I’ve seen so many ways to poach eggs without using cups, and the few I’ve tried before have been unsuccessful. But I tried again and this time they came out beautifully. With a pat of butter, a sprinkle of salt and pepper, they were perfect.
Using up leftovers is always a microadventure also. The last tortilla, the last of the chicken salad, half an avocado, some cheese on the bottom, and the last (again) of the sunroom tomatoes — but there are blossoms now, and more little green tomatoes growing! The microadventure of growing food in winter.
Driving to town, any of the three towns around, is always a microadventure if you choose to see it that way, which I do. Turning off the radio and turning my attention to the subtle colors and patterns of the sere rolling landscape, alert for wildlife along the roadside, and appreciative of the clouds.
Back home, walking again, appreciating the bright green moss thriving under the junipers, and the cat who walks like a dog, and also climbs trees. Knowing the names of some of the grasses and weeds, knowing the life cycle of the trees, knowing just the tip of the iceberg of the lives in this forest, knowing there’s so much more to know…
The best. loaf. of. sourdough. ever. Learning the alchemy of flour, salt, water, and microbes, each bake a unique microadventure.
Even simply waking up alive each morning is a microadventure. I never know what will be the first thing I see!
Animals, morning noon and night
I’m grateful for days full of animals, morning noon and night. I wake with them in my bed. I’m grateful for my bed, with soft cotton sheets and blankets, fluffy pillows, and a sturdy mattress. I’m grateful for the clean sheets I switched out today for the rumpled bedding Wren and Topaz enjoyed last night.
I’m grateful for wild animals in the yard and the woods around the house, like this bachelor herd of young bucks west of the house the past few days.
I’m grateful for domestic animals like my neighbor’s little Shorty, and all the other horses in surrounding fields who add a dimension of life to the neighborhood, sometimes tranquil, sometimes exciting. I’m grateful that Wren and Shorty respected each other in their first meeting as Shorty strolled down and Wren strolled up the driveway. Once they satisfied their curiosity about one another, they each grazed peacefully on their own side of the gravel.
I’m grateful for these amazing cookies from NYT cookie editor Vaughn Vreeland, and for Cookie Week before Christmas featuring tempting cookie recipes every day. These gingerbread latte cookies give a real kick, with lots of espresso powder in them and rolled in an espresso-sugar-ginger dusting. Just one yesterday afternoon kept me up well past midnight, so now they’re for breakfast only.
And I’m grateful for silly little Wren again at the end of a busy day, relaxed and happy in her – I mean my -recliner. I’m grateful for dogs, cats, horses, deer, polar bears, manatees, chickadees, ravens, mountain lions, snow leopards, frogs, snakes, rays, sharks, octopi, osprey, bison, wolves, and Perdido key beach mice, as well as the millions of other mammals, birds, reptiles, amphibians, and fish, not to mention invertebrates. I’m grateful for animals, morning noon and night; though it makes me sad to think too hard about them, or to see pictures of some species, as human animals continue to devour and pollute the habitat of the other creatures we share the planet with, and of course wreak havoc with the climate. I’m grateful for people like the Bioneers and other researchers and activists who take seriously our relationship with other animals and the living organism that is Earth, striving to reconnect children of the Anthropocene with their roots in the animal kingdom.
A Cloudy Day
Sometimes grey is just the right color for a day. I’m grateful for a cloudy day with scattered snow showers and mist. Wren, Topaz and I enjoyed a break from work with a mid-afternoon walk up the driveway.
Minutes after we got back inside, the dark clouds opened and snow pelted down for a few minutes, but overall only an inch or so fell here. In the mountains, though, a wealth of snow to replenish the reservoirs. I’m grateful for a cloudy day.
Crawford State Park
I’ve camped in a lot of state parks across the country over the years, and found them to be reliably clean, safe, and interesting; sometimes surprising and gorgeous. I’m grateful that I’ve had the opportunity to see so many natural gems in so many states. And I’m grateful that one of Colorado’s state parks is just a ten minute drive from my house.
I’m grateful to have known the man whose vision led to the first trail in this park, John Barcus. He worked hard as a volunteer to get the first leg of the trail built. The most recent leg is still under construction, but in the past few years the trail has been extended from the main parking lot on the peninsula, through both campgrounds, and all the way around the south end to join the west shore day use area.
Wren and I got our Colorado State Parks pass yesterday and took our first walk on the trail, from the Peninsula to Clear Fork Campground and back, close to a mile altogether. We’d been meaning to do it all year! But finally the time was right. I’m grateful to the state for offering an amazing deal on a parks pass: When you renew your car registration online, you get the option to purchase a Keep Colorado Wild pass for $29 instead of the regular parks pass for $80.
We were greeted at the entrance window by a cheerful neighbor who first gave Wren some cookies, then put the registration in a little red envelope to set in the window for access to any state park, no decal necessary. What a deal! Then we set off down the trail. It was a perfect, mild fall day. I had to stop every ten feet the whole way so Wren could sniff and pee.
I was grateful for the level, easy trail; for the views of the lake, the dam, the mountains, and a gaggle of Canada geese; and I was grateful for the little bench under the tiny juniper. I was grateful to see so much water left in the reservoir at the end of the irrigation season. In recent years it’s been nearly dry by this time of year.
It felt so good to walk an easy trail out in the sun that we went back today, and walked another bit from Iron Creek campground around the south end until we hit thick, untamped gravel that I didn’t want to wobble through. I was ready to turn back anyway.
At the very south end of the trail we crossed a bridge strong enough to contain a herd of bison, which seemed like a bit of overkill, but I’m sure they had their reasons.. The railing was as tall as my forehead and I had to rest my phone on top to get a picture.
The views from the west side are even more beautiful than those on the east side, with the West Elk Mountains beyond burnished grasses, rushes, thickets, and spent milkweed pods. I’m grateful for easy, affordable access to the new trail around Crawford State Park.
A Happy Outcome
Garden season is winding down, the roller coaster crawling toward a full stop. Before the first freeze next week, I got in another couple of types of garlic, with gratitude to Ellie for sharing some local organic bulbs of two hardneck red varieties, Russian and Vietnamese. I now have two full beds planted with garlic, and I can tell the softnecks I planted a few weeks ago have rooted because they are sending up little green shoots. Between Friday and Monday nights upcoming, low temps are forecast to drop from 40 to 21℉. That will put an end to the remaining scarlet salvias, zinnias, and calendulas still blooming. I’m grateful they’ve held on for so long. And grateful to get the last garlic and some more tulips in the ground today.
Go figure: I transplanted these cauliflowers back in the spring and they stayed tiny for months before finally starting to grow good leaves, which were devoured by grasshoppers even as they grew. I held little hope for them ever making fruit, but left them in the ground all summer as grasshopper bait hoping they’d leave some of my other plants alone. They eventually devoured the leek and onion green tops leaving me next-to-nothing there, but still I left the cauliflowers in the ground. Lo and behold, at last they are making heads, albeit tiny. I wonder if they’ll survive sub-freezing nights, or if I’ll harvest these tiny heads this weekend.
I’m grateful for a next-to-last lunch outside with one of the last little tomatoes, leftover coleslaw, smoked gouda, and toast, along with falling golden birch leaves and the first volume of The Rain Wild Chronicles. I’m also grateful for some meaningful meditations, meetings, and conversations today.
I think I’m most grateful today for a happy outcome for this little dark-eyed junco who crashed into a window this afternoon. I heard the thump, dropped what I was doing, and went to the back door, where I was dismayed to see Topaz with the bird in her mouth. As I opened the door she set it down and walked inside! What a good kitty!
I picked up the bird who had no apparent damage but was limp with an open beak. I dripped a couple of drops of water into its mouth, and carried it to a secure fork in the chokecherry tree, where it was able to grip and rest. Not long after, I looked out the window and saw it was gone, so I walked out to look around and make sure it hadn’t simply fallen. It had recovered and flown away! A large flock of these little birds has been hanging around for a couple of weeks; or maybe there are multiple flocks migrating through. Three have hit a window in the past week, with one fatality; that’s more birds hitting windows here than over the past entire year or more, so I tend to think they are migrating through and are unfamiliar with the lay of the yarden. I added another visual barrier to the large window, and hope that’s the last accident for a long time.
A Morning Stroll
I’m grateful to be getting back into a good habit after too long away from it: a morning stroll in the woods. Today I strolled with my two little companions, aimless on various trails. We took a couple of breaks to sit on some logs, and I got reacquainted with some tree friends. It’s so different without big dogs, but I’m getting used to it.
