Tag Archive | ancient junipers

Equanimity

Aug17

I can’t fix Afghanistan. I can’t fix Haiti. I can’t fix climate chaos. It can be discouraging. But I can be kind and cheerful with the new UPS man. I can grow flowers for the bees and vegetables. I can meditate with loving-kindness on man’s inhumanity to man, and abuse of women. I can hold the horror in one hand and the beauty in the other, the ten thousand joys and the ten thousand sorrows, and bring them to some symmetry. I can express gratitude for the random distribution of conditions in my life, that let me live in relative peace and ease compared to the rest of the world.

Comparisons are odious. I heard this from a poet in the context of writing; but lately I’ve begun to wonder. It seems to me that comparisons, through the appropriate lens, are often excellent reminders of just how great our lives are, if we don’t live in a war zone, and we do have running water and electricity in our homes, get to choose what we eat, grow our own food, read what we like, choose our thoughts, and so much more. Americans take liberty for granted.

While Rome burns, I turn my attention to a gift bun from the local popup bakery. Gratitude. After coffee from across the equator, and the sticky bun flavored with the Asian native cardamom, I turn my attention to the rattlesnake pole beans, growing so tall that I a) finally get the Bean Stalk story, and b) needed a step-stool to pick them. I can barely keep up, and was grateful to learn that they also make good dried beans. I might stop harvesting the ‘immature pods,’ any day now, and let the rest mature and dry, for soups or chili and some to plant next year.

Grateful also for two new cucumbers to add to the weekend’s harvest, enough now to make some pickles. Real pickles. I’m grateful to accept the benefits of fermentation, and for the means and knowledge to make real pickled pickles, not only the quick kind with vinegar.

Cucumbers, garlic cloves, ripe dill florets, and a horseradish leaf (all from the garden) in each jar; bay leaves, cloves, peppercorns, mustard seeds and allspice sprinkled into the quart jar, and a single tiny hot pepper added to the pint jar. How beautifully they packed! Then glass weights on top of brine, a pickling lid, and into the pantry til the weekend. I’m grateful for the morning light on junipers and that big old dog, for sweet treats, pole beans, and pickles. I’m grateful every day for the roof over my head, water in the pipes, the power of the sun, the love and support I get and give, and the courage to know that nothing lasts. I am grateful for equanimity.

Darkness

Aug8

I’m grateful every single night when I go upstairs to bed and see that the new neighbors across the canyon haven’t installed a giant ‘security’ light on their house. I leave the drapes open to the darkness of night: a spotlight shining in on my bed would infringe on my freedom! Not to mention the wasted energy and disruption to wildlife. I’m grateful for the nearly primal darkness of night where I live.

Silence

Aug4

I’m grateful for silence: for the privilege to live in a place where there are occasional moments of true silence, with barely a murmur from nature and nothing manmade. I once knew a deeper silence, before the ringing in my ears. Now, almost always when there is no external sound, and the songs and thoughts in my head are taking a brief rest, there remains a tone between my ears. Its exact nature varies but it’s always there. Except for very rare moments when it disappears, and suddenly a clear, open silence spreads through and over me, and everything else. I’m grateful for these fleeting moments of true silence, and for all the other times in my days where all I hear is the hum of life around me, soothing the buzz within.

Hummingbirds: Rufous

Aug3

“Both male and female S. rufus are territorial; however, they defend different types of territories.[9] The more aggressive males fight to defend areas with dense flowers, pushing females into areas with more sparsely populated flowers.[9] Males generally have shorter wings than females, therefore their metabolic cost for hovering is higher. This allows males to beat their wings at high frequencies, giving them the ability to chase and attack other birds to defend their territory.[9] The metabolic cost of short wings is compensated for by the fact that these males do not need to waste energy foraging for food, because their defended territory provides plenty of sustenance.[10] Females on the other hand are not given access to the high concentration food sources, because the males fight them off.[9] Therefore, females generally defend larger territories, where flowers are more sparsely populated, forcing them to fly farther between food sources.[9] The metabolic cost of flying farther is compensated for with longer wings providing more efficient flight for females.[9] The differences in wing length for S. rufus demonstrate a distinct sexual dimorphism, allowing each sex to best exploit resources in an area.”

I copied this straight from Wikipedia. Fascinating. Fair? For some reason, I trust their information for basic science, though I might be skeptical for more subjective knowledge. Around here, we call these birds “little bulldogs,” or more subjective epithets. I love them despite their aggression; they are beautiful, remarkable creatures. I am grateful to have the Rufous and the other two species zipping around the yarden all day, intensifying in the evening.

I’m grateful to have stumbled, after 29 years, into a spot in the woods where I have never stood before, a view I have never viewed.
I am happy to share my flowers, and grateful for the trust of the mangy doe. I wonder if she’s still pregnant, or if she’s already got a fawn. Her belly looks bigger than it did a couple of days ago. Her teats are enlarged; but not like the mother of twins, who hasn’t come into the yard for more than a week, though I did see her and the fawns just south of the fence the other day, which was reassuring.
I am grateful for green! So much lush growth. I love these rattlesnake pole beans.
I picked this load this morning, and this evening there are more ripe and ready beans. I picked even more a couple of days ago…
…so this afternoon I blanched the two batches…
…and bagged them for the deep freeze. I’m grateful for the knowledge and technology to do this.
I’m grateful that the Chimayo peppers are fruiting between monster tomato plants in the new beds.
I’m grateful for all the flavors of green growing in the garden right now, and for living through to another gorgeous sunset; and for a house to live in, and water to make rain on the garden and grow food in abundance.

Allowing

Jul26

I woke feeling sad, after yesterday’s descent into the stark reality of climate chaos. I thought I might feel sad forever. I’m grateful I’ve learned to accept sadness, and impermanence: I’m grateful for allowing things to be as they are in each moment, and for the reassuring knowledge that everything changes, nothing remains the same for long.

Nothing external has changed, of course: insects are still in decline worldwide. But I trudged out on this crisp, damp morning with Stellar and Topaz by my side, and strolled to visit this split tree. I felt better already, just letting myself be sad, and finding beauty at the same time, balancing grief and gratitude within equanimity.

Despite the poignance of seeing this western tiger swallowtail, I felt profound gratitude and tenderness that it chose to feed on zinnias I grew from seed. Every little offering we can give back to the planet seems essential.

And then there’s the cheese sandwich, cookout edition. I’ve been thinking about this for days. I had frozen a hot dog leftover from Michael’s memorial, which I thawed and sliced. All the hot dog condiments slathered on wheat bread, sliced cheddar, and potato chips completed the assemblage: a whole cookout in a single sandwich. Yes, it’s a temporary pleasure, lasting only as long as the sandwich itself; but, the making of it, the thinking it up, and definitely the eating of it, all while remembering Michael and last week’s party, lifted my spirits. Life’s simple pleasures. I’m grateful that my life includes the conditions to have on hand all the ingredients of a cheese sandwich, the technology to keep them fresh, the leisure to dream about then make one, the awareness to savor the process and every bite, and the reasonable expectation that I will eat again tomorrow.

Saved by a cheese sandwich.
I am always grateful for the infinite possibilities of the cheese sandwich. The extra slice of hot dog of course went to Stellar for last bite. I’m grateful for another sweet day with my dear old catahoula leopard dog.

Resilience

Jul24
The rain shower overnight resulted in .17 inches of measurable precipitation, leaving all the thirsty growing things refreshed.
In particular, mosses that were grey and crusty miraculously greened up by morning.
Mosses and lichens glowed in early morning light.
Dog and cat enjoyed a companionable ramble with me.
Tiny piñon trees climb from the duff while their parents die in shocking numbers from drought and beetles.
Even faded sagebrush is reinvigorated with just a bit of rain.
The notch-eared doe that has been mowing down my patio garden finally brought her twins to the edge of the yard. They’re too small to jump the fence, but she parked them outside and came on in to continue her feast, which will ultimately nourish them, so how can I possibly mind? I was so grateful to see the twins with their mother, after we spooked them in different directions the other evening.
And then, this afternoon, a veritable downpour from the east washed mud off the adobe walls…
…and made actual puddles. The ferocity of the storm, which dumped almost half an inch in half an hour, made me anxious for the phoebe nest under the deck, so after it was all over, I went outside to check the chicks.
I was delighted to find that their new nest location was the only dry space under the deck. The torrential rain must have stirred up terrestrial insects: for at least an hour, as I ‘napped’ on the couch inside just under the nest, an adult brought food every four to twenty seconds. This frequency, well beyond the normal four to five minute span, must have made up for that horrible day when twenty minutes elapsed between feedings and the chicks screamed the whole day. That was an anomaly for sure, and since that awful day (awful for me and for the chicks), feeding frequency has increased daily, reaching its peak in the hours after today’s rain. The babies have doubled in size.

Despite this climate-chaos induced exceptional drought, the indomitable will to live that permeates all plants and animals keeps us living to our utmost. I am grateful for the resilience of Life.

Grateful, too, for the love and laughter, the joie de vivre and resilience of dear friends, who gathered to celebrate some happy milestones; grateful for the elegant setting, and delicious local food so thoughtfully prepared and offered. Grateful, no matter what happens next, for these good times. Grateful above all for the gift of another exceptional day alive.

Sunset

Jul9

I’m grateful today and every day for the gorgeous sunset. I’m grateful to have live through another precious day, a day that will never come again, in a life that continues to be blessed with so many opportunities. I’m grateful to live in a beautiful old-growth forest with ancient tree beings, and fleeting foxes, and an abundance of phoebes, among the many lives that make up this rich ecosystem. I’m grateful for the awareness to appreciate all this precious, ephemeral life, including my own. More about that tomorrow.

Stories

Jul5

I love a good story. I’m grateful for all the stories I have access to in this life, and the ability to choose which stories I watch or read or listen to, or participate in. I’m grateful for happy and sad stories, and stories which explore and elucidate all the states between in all their complex interconnectedness. I’ve loved stories all my life, as long as I can remember. The story that held my attention today was The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert. I’m grateful that a friend reminded me yesterday about this iconic 1994 Australian film, which I watched when it first came out, as a Paradise Theater Cabin Fever Flim. I love it even more decades later, with all the mindfulness training and drag education that came in between. I’m grateful for the ability to watch it or almost any movie I could wish to with the click of a few keys and maybe a few dollars.

I’m grateful that pop culture, despite strongholds of bigotry, has caught on to the desperate joie de vivre of drag culture, which this moving story expresses so vividly. I’m grateful for the layers of story within this story, including the story of the Australian landscape with insects and reptiles, rocks and canyons, as well as various peoples. I’m grateful to see this excellent early work from fine actors Hugo Weaving and Guy Pearse, knowing them now from later more macho roles as Elrond in Lord of the Rings and Jack Irish respectively. I’m grateful for the mind-opening Priscilla gave me decades ago, and for every mind that continues to open through experiencing art.

Hugo Weaving as Mitzi, singing opera in a giant silver shoe atop Priscilla.
Guy Pearse as Felicia, in another iconic lip-sync scene.
I’m grateful for my own unfolding story in this sere landscape full of wonders both more tame and more wild than any movie can offer.
Grateful for another lovely day hanging out with this great old dog and these ancient trees.

All Ten Feet

Jun30

I’m grateful for all ten feet that enable Stellar and Topaz and me to walk through the woods most every morning. After visiting the Survivor, whom we haven’t been to see in a couple of months, we came home and rested by the pond, where they both drank and I meditated.

I’m grateful that I got all but a few cantaloupe starts planted, and all the soaker hoses set up, yesterday morning before my hand was curtailed. This will make the next month in the garden much easier. I’m grateful for the splint on my left hand because it hurts a lot less.

Open Heart

May27
The Solitary One. This juniper grows unusually separate from others in a clearing in the woods. Right now it’s surrounded by a carpet of laughing yellow flowers, which don’t show up well in a color photo so I might as well share the more emotional black&white.

I’m grateful for so much today: for sunshine, green growing things, a breakfast burrito for dinner; a meaningful zoom with a talented, compassionate writer friend whose book I can’t wait to see published; new glasses, Stellar doing a little better today, the fragrance of white irises, letting go of my need to control everything; half a dozen hummingbirds zipping around the feeder outside the living room window while the phoebes tag team feeding their chicklets right above the hummingbird fray, and a Bullock’s oriole pops in brightly for a moment… and the list goes on. I started the day participating in a meditation on an open heart, welcoming the richness in each moment of this life, and managed to carry that feeling through a busy morning and a productive afternoon, with moments of grounded relaxation throughout the day. I’m so grateful for the practice of mindfulness, and the joy and contentment it’s brought to my life.