It came Sunday around noon with a gentle snow drifting down like cherry blossoms. Two inches were predicted which meant no worries about the driveway, clearing the car, even shoveling wouldn’t be too bad. Snow was still falling at bedtime, branches were bowing, cares were mounting.
I am as grateful as the parched earth for the moisture. As I woke thinking of the efforts that a big snow demands, my momentary resistance was eclipsed by the realization that I traded traffic and all it implies for this, and I was instantly happy to shovel snow.
Monday morning Wren burst out the door in her pink ‘outside’ sweater scattering deer and songbirds, but she stayed only as long as she needed to. I committed the day to incremental shoveling of essential pathways with rests between ventures out. It stayed cold all day despite abundant sunshine. Topaz refuses to go outside. I’m so glad for our long ramble on Saturday, enough to hold us for a couple of months.
Wren wore her parka for our longer forays out to shovel, and changed into her blue ‘inside’ sweater until the house warmed up enough. Like puppy like human, changing up layers all day long to stay just right.
Today the forecast was again for two inches of snow. I didn’t trust that, and when it started soft again this morning as it had on Sunday, I called the clinic and postponed my appointment. It was cloudy and cold all day and snowed off and on, for a grand total of new snow measuring half an inch. Ridiculous! But I heard that the clinic parking lot was so icy that people were falling down, and I was glad I stayed home. After a productive day I baked cinnamon rolls for the neighbor who was kind enough to clear our driveways. I think I’m closing in on the perfect recipe. We’ll know more tomorrow!
I’m grateful the little bonsai rose is recovering from its grasshopper defoliation.
One day the froglets will grow big enough to eat this grasshopper, but for now there’s a curious equanimity in their encounter. May I bring the same attitude to neighbors who are so different from me.
The froglets are very good neighbors even though their neighborhood is getting crowded. I have to walk ever so carefully, even ten feet from the pond on the flagstone, to be sure I don’t step on one. They’re literally underfoot! They are tiny, and fragile, and not 100% coordinated yet, so their jumps can be feeble and a little wonky; and also, they don’t really understand about giant feet yet, that they need to get out of the way of shadows.
I keep intending to set some coins out around the edge of the pond for scale to show exactly how tiny they are. But for now I’ll just use a cat: the frog above is the same frog as the one below, on the pond edge, just to the left of the furry hip of Topaz.
You can see several stages of metamorphosis in this image, if you look closely at each tadpole and froglet.
(the next morning)
The best cheese sandwich of the weekend was warmed Brie, sliced homegrown cabbage and red onion, mayonnaise, and organic grape jelly on of course homemade sourdough.
It was a lovely weekend, with ample outside time and the barest hint of pre-fall in the air, a slight cessation of the brutal heat and a minute rise in humidity. Wildfires in this part of the state (the nation, the continent) are rapidly getting contained with a little help from the weather and a lot of effort by brave men and women who are good neighbors to all of us. Whether they left homes nearby me to fight these fires or left homes in another state, right now they are my neighbors. The littles and I enjoyed another stunning sunset with our good neighbors to the west, who came to say hello over the fence and lingered for awhile in companionable silence before going home for dinner.
Speaking of neighbors, many people aren’t aware of the shooting at the CDC a week ago last Friday; it wasn’t a mass casualty event so it didn’t generate sensational television coverage. “Only” one person was killed, a police officer. But it was a mass trauma event, for hundreds of CDC staff and their families, and thousands of people who work in public health. Our neighbors. A foremost epidemiologist, Katelynn Jetelina, discussed the attack and its ramifications for public health workers, the regime’s non-response, and how average Americans can demonstrate support for healthcare workers in this essential, and increasingly stressful and traumatizing, field of public service. It’s forty minutes of lucid and moving discussion. Many of my neighbors work in healthcare, a lot of them in our rural hospital system which is on the chopping block with upcoming cuts to Medicaid. Are any of your neighbors healthcare professionals? How can you show them some appreciation?
Speaking of good neighbors, I was grateful this morning to be invited onto a press call about the destruction of the Social Security Administration. My contribution followed former SSA chair Martin O’Malley’s chilling assessment of the regime’s efforts to demolish social security. You can watch the press conference here if you’d like to hear just how badly the regime has already damaged “the only agency in America that runs a 2.6 trillion dollar surplus,” and also hear a couple of regular folks talk about what social security means for them and their neighbors.
Can’t we all be good neighbors to each other? Planet Earth is our only neighborhood, for all of us, human and non-human alike.
This evening, I only counted a dozen tadpoles left in the water. I know there are more I didn’t see, but I saw just as many froglets in one square foot at the edge of the pond. I’m not fond of the algae, but the froglets are, so I’m not about to scoop it out. It’s an essential part of their neighborhood, which is all they have and all they know.
I’m grateful for ripe tomatoes (not grown here) and Olathe Sweet sweet corn, salt, pepper, mayonnaise, and homemade bread.
I’m grateful for a couple of days of reprieve from the smoke, and that the teams have most of the fires somewhat contained, and that they have stayed safe. Despite the heat, I’ve been able to get some work done in the garden mornings and evenings, including covering the remaining cabbages with screen cubes, and thinning carrots which grew even though their tops got munched.
I’m grateful it was cool and clear enough on Friday to leave the house open overnight, which made it cool enough inside on Saturday to cook. I threw together a potato-pepper-onion-garlic-cabbage-corn-black bean fry with Penzeys Arizona seasoning to use in burritos for the next few days, and dug out a specialty tool I bought last summer to slice the corn off the cob. My first time using it lacked precision but was effective.
It was cool enough to make a batch of apricot jam, but still too hot to process it, so I gave away a few jars and froze a few. I’m grateful to have learned that apricot jam freezes well.
Wren’s been a bit put out that she hasn’t shown up here for awhile, so she took a break from frog hunting to pose nicely this morning. So did a big frog, right by my feet, but then she sensed Wren coming!
It was hot early again today, so when the sweetest neighbor stopped by on her walk to pick up her jam, I invited her to cool off under the sprinkler. Then I went inside for breakfast, two little waffles with the last of the sweet cherries I picked up on Thursday, some yogurt, and of course, real maple syrup.
I’m grateful there have only been a couple of bird strikes against the windows this summer. But today the total doubled with two in a matter of hours. They both hit the south windows, despite the fluttering prayer flags. The first was a young female Bullock’s oriole, whom I set in the shady apricot tree; the second, a young house finch who might have been drunk on apricot mash. I put her in the juniper near the feeder where they all hang out. I’m grateful that both birds recovered.
I don’t live an exciting life. It’s not like I’m wallowing in active joy all day every day: far from it. I spent most of today inside, too hot to do much of anything besides read, meditate, and clean the kitchen. But I do cultivate contentment by practicing gratitude every day. I’m aware of horrors happening the world over: there are at least 35 wars going on which are devastating people, cultures, and the environment. The US government has lost its moral compass and spun off in an inconceivable direction. The planet is burning, flooding, quaking, drying, crying, aching from our species’ misuse of it.
And still life goes on. Everywhere, all the time, life is hatching and dying, growing, playing, eating, aging, changing. I’m aware of this, also, and of my good fortune to live this simple life, this rare and precious human life, immersed in nature. Sometimes it’s pretty hard. It’s been a rough ten days with the heat and the smoke, and the mental poisons that still trouble me despite mindfulness practice. In the midst of all that is naturally tedious or trying in this human life, almost every day I experience moments of joy. Maybe not many, and most of them small, but by remaining receptive and aware, I find them everywhere.
Though the reason for it is harsh, the smoky sunset light is lovely. On our stroll the rescue horses next door thundered up to the fence to greet us. After a mutually curious visit, they moved on and left us in pensive, contented silence, grateful for a weekend enriched by many bright and colorful moments of joy anyway.
Beautiful evening light this week leading up to Summer Solstice has been enhanced, sadly, by smoke from some distant fires.
These hot days I caught a craving for popsicles, and was grateful to have a six-mold in the pantry; grateful also to have plenty of rhubarb from next door. I cooked a bunch down with sugar to make a simple compote I could freeze and use as needed, and needed some right away. I blended it with fresh strawberries and the juice of half a lemon, froze the pops overnight, and enjoyed one down by the pond the next morning. So refreshing! So simple, so delicious!
The first rhubarb treat I made a couple weeks ago was an upside down cake, which was also pretty simple and delicious. I saved a few stalks from the compote pot to bake one more of these this week.
Meanwhile, down at the pond, the Palmer’s penstemon are blooming, and Tadpole Pedicure training’s been going great!
Wren found a second garter snake, bigger than the first one, in the curly rush yesterday morning. And the first cherries have ripened on the new little tree.
I’m curious how the gazillion cherry blossoms matured into just a handful of cherries, and will be interested to see what happens next year. Maybe it was insufficient water at a crucial stage, or some other horticultural error, maybe birds were picking them off all along, or maybe it’s just the growth habit of a young sapling to thin its fruit. I shouldn’t be surprised: the apricot and peach trees both drop a lot of early fruit.
Today was so hot, and so windy, I had to stay inside from mid-morning until evening. Red flag warning all day and for the next couple, and a faint persistent haze on the horizon. ‘Fire’ shouldn’t be a season, but it is. I took the opportunity make waffles I’ve been dreaming about for weeks, a whole batch to freeze for quick toaster reheating, and three for brunch.
This Dash mini waffle iron is a delight to use, heats fast as soon as it’s plugged in, cooks a waffle in just a couple of minutes, and the light pops off when the waffle is done.
I fried some thin-sliced pancetta for a little protein to go with the extravagance of waffles topped with Greek yogurt, rhubarb compote, fresh strawberries, and maple syrup.
It seemed brunch was no sooner finished than it was time for Zoom Cooking with Amy. We made potato-onion crisps that didn’t turn out quite as crispy as I’d hoped, but were still tasty.
Thinly sliced potatoes and onions layered with grated provolone and parmesan cooked at 375F for twenty-five minutes. I tossed some pancetta on top of a few just for fun. They were very tasty, but a lot of effort for the end result.
The leftovers will be fun to play around with, though. I hope they’ll crisp a bit more with reheating. I imagine topping one with a fried egg for tomorrow’s breakfast, and they could make a base for huevos rancheros, or top a hamburger, or serve as a crouton atop a soup or salad. I think if I ever make these again I’ll use a lot less cheese. That might deliver better crunch.
I was grateful to get home today knowing that I had vanilla bean ice cream in the freezer. But before that, I was grateful for so much more.
I was grateful to Pork Central for Wrensitting while I spent the afternoon in the dentist’s chair. They took such good care of her and I didn’t worry a bit, even knowing that the Mother of Topaz was in the same house and might take exception to a tiny dingo in her space.
I was grateful to the great team at Heritage Family Dental in Paonia for their kindness and skill. Even though I got home feeling like they’d punched me in the face. I appreciated the ‘tooth pillow’ for the left side so my mouth could rest open on a piece of foam instead of having to hold it open myself; and the dark glasses to protect my eyes from the harsh light and the tooth-dust mist from my open mouth. I was especially grateful for nitrous oxide, so that even though I could hear (and smell the burnt tooth smell from) the grinding, I didn’t care too much. I was grateful that part didn’t last much longer than an hour… and the next part was fascinating.
Once all the hard work was done, they packed something around my gum around the tooth they had ground down and refilled, then brought in a little beeping singing wand that scanned the lower jaw, upper jaw, and the bite, and from these scans the amazing technology created a model crown, and more amazing technology ground it right there in the next room, and then fired it at 3000 degrees and it came out smooth and shining. Much brighter white, I might add, than any of my natural teeth. Oh well! A small price to pay… though in actual dollars it was pretty hefty.
The computer model created from the scanner to inform the machine that carves the crown.
The grinder, carving a crown out of zirconium. I waited about 45 minutes from the time they scanned til the time she came back in and cemented the new tooth protection in place.
I missed hanging out in the yard this afternoon, but I was sure grateful to get home in time for sunset. And to be able to swing by the Arbol Farmers’ Market in town park and pick up a few tomato starts, and to pick up Wren from next door, and to come home and zoom with a Grateful Gathering, and to plant tomatoes after that, and then watch the moon rise. Oh! and the ice cream? That was dinner. Much of the day spent largely outside of my comfort zone, stretching in the Growth Zone, and a whole ‘nother twenty-four hours ahead of me tomorrow, if I am fortunate enough to wake up alive.
The lilacs keep on giving. I’m trying this simple recipe for lilac cordial. One cup of lilac blossoms, juice of one lemon, half a cup of honey, and a liter of distilled water, shaken daily for a week. I put it together last night. We’ll know more later.
I’m exploring with some friends if there’s a distinction between gratitude, and living gratefully. We met tonight to discuss that, among other things. It may be as simple as the difference between a noun and a verb, but it deserves some unpacking. One thing I was grateful for this morning was being able to call my good neighbors and ask 1) for an asparagus refill, and 2) to borrow their garage and tools so I could fix my car. Though probably any of my neighbors would help any other in a pinch, I’ve had unpleasant encounters with a couple of them recently. So I was doubly grateful that I could call and leave a message with those requests, and it was my lucky day. Mary called me back in three minutes, having just come in from collecting wild asparagus along the fenceline, and Fred was already moving his truck out of the shop.
Why I needed to fix my car is another story, but the under-bumper-guard was ripped off and dragging. Fred examined it first, but I wanted to fix it myself. The Trans Handy-Ma’am always says, “You’re worth the time it takes to learn a new skill.” And now that I can get down on the ground I want to do so at every opportunity. And, as I heard a drag queen say the other night, “Of all the opportunities I’ve had in my life, this one is by far the most recent.” So with Mary handing me bolts and Fred’s new socket set and Wren supervising, we got ‘er done: the car is now safe to drive to Phil’s for a professional opinion and long-term solution.
I returned home with a pound of fresh wild asparagus, blistered it some in olive oil, laid it gently over sliced cheddar in a warmed spinach tortilla, and drizzled it with my new secret sauce: mayo, Grey Poupon, and balsamic vinegar. Then I piled on some chopped romaine, and some heirloom arugula that’s colonized the flagstone patio, rolled it up, and toasted it.
Despite the wind, I enjoyed lunch on the patio with a new Kindle book, and then played ‘Wren catch’ with the crunchy asparagus and romaine ends. It really was my lucky day. Things didn’t go quite as planned, but under the circumstances they couldn’t have gone better. I’ve felt waves of warm fuzzies wash through me all day, for having good neighbors, good communities, and good conversations. As well as a good dog, and a promising science experiment in the windowsill.
That’s what Neighbor Fred called little Wren yesterday while he was pruning our apricot tree. It was a gorgeous day, almost hit 70℉ with abundant sunshine. He wasn’t wrong: as pruned twigs clustered with fat buds hit the ground, Wren trailed along behind him eating the buds from the twigs. Have you ever?
Fred had said he’d be happy to help me prune the tree, but in truth I was even less help than Wren. I sat on a bench and kept him entertained with mindful conversation when I wasn’t wrapt in the phoebes calling around the house. I heard at least two, maybe three, and one of them perched atop the roof and called and called for a mate. Fingers crossed!
Once Fred had provided her with all those snackies, Wren decided he could be her friend, and finally let him pet her. Ooo, he did it just right!
After our arduous work supervising pruning, we sat on the patio for lunch, and enjoyed a second exciting bird. Pinyon Jays are moving through, and some of the flock stopped to drink at the birdbath. All I need is a third bird, and I’ll be calm.
I gave thanks this week for the wonderful dinner my neighbors shared with me, and for the leftovers I enjoyed creatively all week long. I baked a pie to share with them, Vaughn Vreeland’s coffee-maple chess pie, which looked a lot better than it tasted. Oh well. The laminated crust was great but it shrank so much in the parbake I had to use a smaller pie tin. I’ll try the crust again with a regular chess pie the old fashioned way.
The first leftover day I made a sandwich with avocado, mayo, blueberry jam, cheddar cheese, lettuce and turkey, which tasted a lot better than it looked. Then, knowing I could never finish all of everything and would have to freeze some of it, I threw some of everything (turkey, garlic mashed potatoes, chestnut stuffing, green beans, turkey, and a splash of cranberry sauce) into a pot with a pint of chicken stock, and simmered and stirred until I had a creamy, delicious, chowder-like soup. Which both looked and tasted delicious!
Then I made turkey salad, also including some stuffing and green beans, along with mayo, mustard, and Penzeys spicy salt, enjoying that one day on toast, and another day with the last of the warmed up potatoes and stuffing. I’m grateful for the generosity of my neighbor and for having fun with food.
I had been wanting to bake homemade English muffins for awhile and had the little metal rings in the pantry waiting, when the need to bake them finally arose. I tried them two ways: one instruction had me place the greased rings on a griddle and fill them with dough; the other had me put the rings on a cookie sheet and bake in the oven. In both cases, I filled the rings too full, but the breads turned out light and puffy anyway, and perfectly adequate. I’ll try the griddle method again with a different recipe.
Today’s lunch was ‘eggamuffin,’ a treat from my days in the swamp when my neighbors and I breakfasted together frequently at their trailer. Oh those days in the swamp! I lived in a retired military quonset hut split into a duplex, along with a ragtag assortment of other mostly single residents in other huts, trailers, and a cabin or two, surrounded by live oaks, at the edge of a sinkhole that had filled in with water and was a magnet for herons, frogs, and the occasional alligator. Such a different habitat from the sere mesa I wound up on, both so dear to me in their own ways.
Maybe the best turkey of all this week was the flock of wild turkeys who wandered through the yard this morning! In the thirty years I’ve lived here I’ve only heard them in the woods a few times, and seen a couple outside the fence one time. It was a startling thrill that pulled me away from washing dishes when I caught my first glimpse of one strutting past the south windows. By the time I got to the east window they just kept coming, ultimately more than a dozen of them, strutting and pecking as they went, moving steadily.
I watched, delighted, until they had all moved through the yard and jumped the fence. It crossed my mind to send Wren out there to catch one for us to eat, but she hurt her paw in the snow the other day and wanted to lie on the heating pad and lick it instead. Just as well.
You saw this picture Wednesday night. This driveway is drifted a foot deep in places, after a two-inch snow accompanied by strong winds for hours. Because of its south-north orientation, and prevailing west winds, with no windbreak to the west, only a forty-acre field, it’s a perfect equation for drifts. I’m grateful for the opportunity to observe and learn first-hand about the powerful phenomenon of drifting snow. It’s amazing how wind packs and sculpts this delicate substance. I understand better than some when I hear weather reports about blizzards closing highways, or other snow drama. I’m even more grateful for the kindness of neighbors, and the first-hand experience of interdependence.
Thursday morning
I couldn’t have lived here thirty years without the support, friendship, and cooperation of neighbors. Thirty years! I can’t believe it. This summer it will be thirty years at the end of this driveway. I’m grateful I’ve learned to open my heart and my mind, to communicate with and accept differences, and to focus on the shared values of the people I live among. One of those values is perseverance, demonstrated above by the truck tracks (subsequently drifted again in the west track along the fenceline) left by my courageous friends on Wednesday morning determined to get food to me. Food that I didn’t really need and I’m so glad they didn’t get stuck delivering a luxury.
Another value is cooperation, demonstrated below by the plow and tractor tracks made today by a neighbor whom I asked for help. We’re not close, but I’m grateful that he’s often willing to help when needed; as I know he’s grateful for access across my north forty, and its occasional use for his horses. I’ll bake some bread to show my appreciation. I’m grateful for the ideal of good neighbors, and for being surrounded by so many of them. I’m even more grateful that some of them are my dearest friends.
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.
