Tag Archive | spring is coming

Impermanence

*Walking up the driveway with Topaz in the warm light of late day in earliest spring…*

Even late, fatigued, I’m grateful for the little gifts of today. I’m grateful that I’ve noticed the first tips of mini irises popping through the dirt over the past few days, and the crocuses which opened yesterday. Suddenly, just since Monday, all these little beings have sprouted from the ground.

I’m grateful that after an intense work week, and a full day of meaningful interactions, I was able to rest and reset with a long afternoon nap. I know that I did some good things today. I feel nonetheless the malaise of self-doubt and resistance to the way things are. I made the mistake of reading some articles this evening that I found disheartening, even frightening. Corruption, profiteering, heartlessness, and just plain meanness surround us, in our broken medical and political systems, in our neighbors, in corporations, big Tech and big Pharma, big Banks and big Oil… There are days it is just hard and wearying to know these things.

On days like these, when I’m exhausted by my own efforts to resist the weight of evil in the world, it’s more important than ever to turn some of my attention budget to the little precious things I’m fortunate to have in my life. To savor the tiny beautiful things and moments, to find renewal and nourishment in them when there feels like little else. There’s a peace in remembering Impermanence: these small pleasures are fleeting but they are endless; they coexist with the paucity of spirit in the species that allows and perpetuates inequality and evil. I’m grateful to recall that the human spirit, the human species, also holds generosity, goodness, and love, and that I’ve also seen a lot of that today.

I marvel sometimes at the transient meaningfulness of my simple cheese sandwich lunch habit. There’s nothing at all remarkable or special about it, except that I always have enough to eat. So far.

Greening

Mar17

It feels so good to spend a little time in the garden. Not much, it barely broke freezing today, and I had to shovel a path to get inside the raised beds. But when I pulled the heavy plastic off the wire cage I’d set up to pre-warm soil for spring, I was thrilled to see lots of little green weeds sprouting inside. It’s time to plant carrots and peas, maybe garlic, frost hardy crops that can get a head start in the heat cage. I’m grateful for all that I’ve learned about gardening, all the teachers locally and in books and online, and for the greening of the land that’s beginning again.

Friends with Impermanence

Feb14

I woke to this mystery: Where are the mountains? Obscured by clouds. Just as my core values, my solid foundation, can sometimes be obscured by clouds of emotions, ruminations, or fears. But it’s good to know they are still there, to be revealed again when the clouds lift.

I also woke to this lovely little puzzle which I assembled on my desk yesterday while listening to a number of talks online. Monet’s Sailboat at Le Petit-Gennevilliers, a simple 9×12 Liberty with only 272 pieces. It was an easy, meditative thing to do with my eyes and hands as I deepened my understanding of trauma, and how mindfulness, sleep, family systems, and evolution among other things, relate to it. This puzzle seemed to be about 40% whimsy pieces, a high ratio, and they were so delightful.

Lots of fish and other sea creatures, and lots of seagulls, feathers, clouds, and sailboats. This one practically fell together despite the tricky colors, whose grays and blues were reflected not only in the water here, but also in the sky today as I disassembled the puzzle.

The mountains did reappear briefly between snow squalls this afternoon. By bedtime almost a foot of soft, light snow has fallen. I’m grateful for this abundant replenishment for our mountain aquifer, and for the moisture that will melt into my own little garden. Just yesterday I noticed the first tiny threads of crocus leaves peeking up from the soil. I’m grateful for making friends with impermanence, knowing that in another day the sun will shine again on our valley, that this much-needed snow will nurture wildflowers, wildlife, crops, and our own bodies as winter thaws into spring, spring into summer.

Sourdough

Mar15

Sourdough. I’ve mentioned it before, but, in that way that we spiral back to the same place, we deepen our understanding with each revolution, I understand sourdough, and dough in general, much better now, having practiced with it; as a potter with clay, to comprehend its texture, properties, behavior. It’s a living thing, which I knew, but now I know better.

My sourdough starter, which I’ve been using for … how many, Ruthie? at least six years, went… well, sour. I left it for so long in the fridge, slid it to the back in recent months after keeping it thriving for years. When I remembered and pulled it forward, liquid on top was more than usual, grey, and stinky! It smelled awful. I poured it off down the drain, and rinsed a couple of times with fresh, clear water. I left half an inch of fresh cold water on top of the fairly firm sponge, let it sit for a day, rinsed again, and fed it by mixing in equal parts flour and water. For the past week, I’ve been pouring off discard, a new concept to me (the enemy of learning is the presumption of knowledge), and baking with it.

Twice I’ve made sourdough biscuits, with great success. Sourdough pizza crust was a winner, and half of that dough is in the freezer to see if it works as well later.

*The recipe suggests ‘pizza dough seasoning,’ but I used Penzey’s Frozen Pizza Seasoning, just a couple teaspoons in the dough.*

Tonight is sourdough focaccia.

*Bedtime, and the focaccia dough rests covered in the cold mudroom overnight. Can hardly wait til tomorrow to bake it!*

Tomorrow is Boyz Lunch, the first of the season. It is finally warm enough to lunch outside, relaxed, without too many layers, sun-warmed flagstone patio, shade cast from the umbrella sufficient only to dim the glare of that low spring sun, not enough to put us in shadow; we will be warm with lunch in our sweatshirts and ballcaps. Spring is on its way, and how we’ll welcome it, a longlost friend, respite, color, joy.

Spring Equinox

Mar21

Topaz after launching herself into a juniper during our walk this morning.

I’m grateful for cosmic equanimity on this day of equal light and dark. The harshest of winter is behind us and the harshest of summer unimaginable yet. Today begins the official sweet spot between extremes, a great place to dwell.

Most of the snow has melted with temperatures in the sixties the past couple of days. A good chance for a little precipitation almost daily over the next two weeks should keep the ground damp; grateful I won’t have to start laying out hoses til April.

Just when the trail has started to dry! I’m grateful we got in some walks to the canyon during these few days between too-deep-snow-or-too-wet-mud, and more rain. Grateful for more rain ~ look how fast that mud is cracking.

I’m grateful for a surprise in the mail today. I finally admitted that I was never going to get around to making anything with the ancestral linens and laces I’d been saving for many years, and during my winter purge I shipped them off to a friend who creates clothing with such vintage pieces. She returned a couple of them transformed! Thanks, Gaythapie! I can hardly wait til it’s warm enough to wear it out. Except of course I can. No point in rushing ~ soon enough it will be hot and dry ~ Summer Solstice is almost upon us!

Flying Insects

Feb3

I truly am grateful today because I saw the first flying insects of the year. I don’t know what they were, they didn’t buzz, but I saw one on the front walkway late morning, and another near the vegetable garden in the afternoon, just fleeting little dark things flying by. Another sign of spring!

Stellar after night walk in snowfall. I’m grateful, as always for snow. Precipitation is always a gift.

Crusty Snow

Feb1

We discovered a new tree today, one I’ve never noticed before, or don’t remember if I ever did.

Today I’m grateful for crusty snow, allowing a different type of walk through the woods than usual. I skirt the trees, off trail, walking an uneven path along drip lines, where shallow crusty snow meets frozen juniper duff, picking my way carefully to avoid punching through unsupportive crust over deeper snow, aimlessly following the dog’s nose; the cat Topaz both follows and leads, intermittently running up trees. I’m always eyeing these trees: which can go altogether, and which can simply be trimmed, an ongoing fire mitigation and path pruning exercise.

Stepping along atop snow crust has its own peculiar charms, or there would rarely be reason to do it. The simplest way to explain it is to say it’s fun! How well can I gauge the crust’s strength step by step? How far can I walk without punching through with an uncomfortable jolt that sends snow down into the sides of my shoes? It’s a game of chance, and carries a similar allure to any other gamble; though the satisfaction is purely mental, and the risk of injury is real.

I’m grateful for Topaz who loves our off-trail rambles.

I love how she rockets up a tree, hangs out demurely for awhile, then flows down the trunk.

We explored until I was too hungry to continue then turned home, a well-earned hour of reality after a morning at the desk, a quotidian adventure with cat and dog, discovering new trees to climb and photograph, lifting our legs high to step over sticks and sagebrush, giving our hips and thighs good exercise.

I’m grateful when I remember to do the things that bring home to me why I chose this place to be home.

Morning Rounds

let me remember to be grateful every living moment of every day

Tag Archive | spring is coming

Impermanence

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Greening

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Friends with Impermanence

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Sourdough

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Spring Equinox

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Flying Insects

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Crusty Snow

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