Tag Archive | Topaz

Good Neighbors

Aug18
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.

RX: Metamorphosis

Aug3

What a marvelous sight greeted me at the bottom of the stairs this morning! Topaz was watching a baby bull snake lying still on the floor. I only saw it when I took a step and it wiggled away. I fended off Wren and picked it up gently. It was so gentle and calm, and curled and crawled around my hand as I considered the best place to release it, but it never panicked or thrashed.

After I released it into the wood pile, where I hope it finds enough mice to remain there forever and live long and grow big, I came back inside and tried to put her collar on Topaz as she knelt at her food bowl, the way I often do. I reached around her neck with the bell and she jerked and flipped around wide-eyed. I tried again now that she knew it was just me, but she wrenched away; after I washed my hands she accepted the collar willingly as usual. I’m grateful for the little dose of wonder that started my day.

One reason I practice gratitude is because of my innate pessimism. Well, I can’t say innate in the sense that I was born with it, I’m not sure I was. But it came to me early through a series of prophetic dreams that started while I was still in single digits. So this article about likely societal collapse didn’t shock me as it might some of you, should you choose to read it. History shows that increasing wealth inequality consistently precedes collapse, contends economist and international relations expert Dr. Luke Kemp in his new book Goliath’s Curse, which analyzes 5000 years of human civilizations’ collapses.

“…as elites extract more wealth from the people and the land, they make societies more fragile, leading to infighting, corruption, immiseration of the masses, less healthy people, overexpansion, environmental degradation and poor decision making by a small oligarchy. The hollowed-out shell of a society is eventually cracked asunder by shocks such as disease, war or climate change.”

Last night was Zoom Cooking with Amy. We chose a simple pasta sauce made from sautéed zucchini, which we blended with some garlic, parmesan, salt&pepper of course, and a little pasta water. We spooned that into our bowls, topped with pasta and more parm, and I sautéed a handful of frozen snow peas from the spring garden in the hot zucchini pan.

Sound familiar? Kemp lays the imminent demise of our so-called civilization at the feet of “leaders who are ‘walking versions of the dark triad’ – narcissism, psychopathy and Machiavellianism”; and while he says that a fundamental transformation of society on a global scale could save our species, “the large, psychopathic corporations and [world leaders] which produce global catastrophic risk” make self-destruction more likely.

This reflects, to one degree or another, my fundamental world view since I was a child. It’s less popular and less acceptable than believing in aliens, so I don’t articulate it often. It’s something of a relief to read it so clearly outlined by a scholar of human cultural history.

Kemp suggests that “even if you don’t have hope, it doesn’t really matter. This is about defiance. It’s about doing the right thing, fighting for democracy and for people to not be exploited. And even if we fail, at the very least, we didn’t contribute to the problem.”

Hope is a conundrum for me. It can mean a passive wish for good things, but I prefer the interpretation of Joanna Macy, who died last month at 94, that hope is a verb, that how we live matters, and that this time in history is one of great unraveling and also of the potential for a Great Turning.

My life’s trajectory continues to lean into celebrating this fragile, spinning globe and all the Life that supports our tiny existence. It’s really a question of perspective, of world view: Domination or collaboration? Each of us chooses how to live, every living moment of every day.

Though it’s taking a lot longer than from tadpole to frog, I’m grateful for my own metamorphosis through the years. And grateful to photograph a fully formed froglet flying through the water—next challenge: film it.

A Quiet Day at Home

Jul30

I’ve found another way to use the last few drops of maple syrup that always linger in the bottle after you think it’s empty: it floats on the latté foam! A sweet treat, a small triumph.

I’m grateful for a quiet day at home with pretty clean air inside and out, for accomplishing some household projects inside and out, for tender connections with nature throughout the day.

We took a nice long ramble through the woods this evening, and found somewhere new. It’s a small thrill to find myself somewhere new in my old familiar forest.

This morning at the pond another something new, another small thrill: The first frog’s forelegs!

And this evening, something else new, a little meeting of the minds on the side of the pond. Look at these vastly different organisms all getting along despite belonging to three different phyla: the snail, Mollusca; the tadpole, Chordata; and the dragonfly nymph, Arthropoda. How is it we humans can’t get along better? We’re all the same, five levels down the animal classification tier from Phylum to the smallest division. As members of the same species, we have a lot more in common with each other than we have different.

I’m grateful for all that is good in my life, and all the gifts of this precious day that will never come again.

Legs!

Jul21

Let’s get the food shot out of the way first, because simple and delicious though this lunch was, it wasn’t the highlight of the day. Pretty much the same thing as the past two days, except with havarti instead of cheddar, no egg, and some chopped tomato and apricot included with the onion greens pesto, mayo, and bean mashup. I’m grateful I’ve learned that good food doesn’t have to be complicated, fancy, or difficult.

And in fire news, it was mostly cloudy with some drizzles today which must have helped the firefighters across the western slope a lot, and certainly made for a more comfortable day for those of us with challenging lungs.

But for today’s big JOY: I was beside myself this afternoon to discover that some of the tadpoles have actual legs! At last!

I needed a second opinion, so I asked Topaz to investigate since she could get closer to the water than I could. She confirmed my assessment, and suggested I bring down the husband camera.

There are two legged-ones who show up in this video, one near the beginning and one at the end. I might have missed another one or two…

Husband camera confirmed, and I was especially delighted to catch this one with just the bare beginnings of legs. Most of those I observed tonight, maybe three percent of all the tadpoles, had slightly better developed legs than this one.

As though mama is keeping tabs… As far as I know, each of these images is of a different tadpole. I’m grateful for the gift of being able to observe the miracle of metamorphosis in real time in my own backyard.

Dry Lightning

Jul10
Topaz chittered at me when I dared to invade her private sleeping tower early this morning.

Apparently I slept through several hours of a lightning storm before it jolted me awake around six. Wren was panting under the bed. I tried to avoid getting out of bed, rolling over, dozing, dreaming that the fire trucks came down my driveway and I invited them through the gate to get to the woods, and worried how I would ask them to take off their boots to go up in my tower. It was dry lightning, and had been crashing since two or three in the morning, with only a couple of spatters of rain. A perfect fire storm: heavy lightning, no rain. I opened my eyes a couple times to see blazing strikes out the French doors, and finally decided I’d better turn off Do Not Disturb in case there was a fire. Certain there would be a fire.

Not two minutes later, the phone rang. “Yes, what?” I answered, knowing it could be only one thing. Dawn saw and smelled smoke which turned out to be on the canyon rim between her place and mine. I climbed the kiva ladder to the tower and scanned with bleary eyes, but did not see it. My view of the place it burned, I learned when I climbed up again this evening, had been blocked by some other trees. Fortunately, it was just one juniper, and a team of neighbors and at least one volunteer firefighter found it and put it out. We knew there was a forecast for serious winds this afternoon. Several other neighbors reported strikes that they also put out. It was a busy early morning on Fruitland Mesa.

Mr. Wilson took this shot of the folks who put it out. I’m fascinated that they dug all around and piled the dirt up around the trunk. So grateful so many people have their eyes and noses trained on the woods around here, and the threads of connections among disparate neighbors knit into a coherent communication network.

photo borrowed without permission from Rosie’s facebook post: the smoke as seen from her deck.

Only then mid-morning, the Watch Duty app alerted me and others to a fire on the North Rim of the Black Canyon, just twelve miles away, and shortly afterward to a fire on the South Rim of the national park. The North Rim fire didn’t appear to exceed a tenth of an acre, and was contained and put out pretty quickly. The South Rim fire grew exponentially, from 50 acres to 100 in less than an hour, then to 300 in another hour, then to 425 in another hour. Then there was an update vacuum until about 8:45 pm, when it had grown to 1640 acres. In between, around 4 pm, Marla heard from a neighbor who spoke with a sheriff’s deputy on the road that it was 600 acres and the Visitor Center was lost. This hasn’t been officially confirmed, and we pray it isn’t true, but…

This photo was posted on Facebook by Black Canyon of the Gunnison National Park midafternoon. I’m grateful there’s still federal wildfire fighters and helicopters available. If the Visitor Center truly is lost, I wonder if the federal budget will allow a rebuild, or if the park will close. What a loss that would be to both Montrose and Crawford, in so many ways. And personally: I was planning to take an old friend out there this weekend if she was able to stop by while she’s in the valley for a concert.

Midafternoon, another fire was reported on the Uncompaghre Plateau northwest of Delta. Altogether, Watch Duty recorded twelve new wildfires this morning in Delta and neighboring counties. Most of them stayed small and were put out. The latest update from the Sowbelly Fire came in as I was writing this: it’s now 2,193 acres. Needless to say, we stayed inside all day. I could barely breathe out there. Honey Badger was so kind, she drove down to pick up my garbage, and made an extra trip to bring my mail from the mailbox because I was expecting a parcel. A couple hours later, when the smoke cleared a little bit, I masked and went out to feed the birds, then stepped out on the deck for a better view. On one side of my big tree, the horizon was just a little hazy.

On the other side of the tree the smoke was thick, blowing from the west and likely fed by both the Sowbelly and the South Rim fires. At the house, it wasn’t too bad, so I took the window of opportunity to take Wren and Topaz for a short walk to our west fence, where I could see the South Rim smoke still billowing. I cracked an east window when we returned to the house just to get a little cool air inside, but within fifteen minutes I could smell smoke again. So the house is closed up tight, except for the two tower windows I leave ajar all summer to funnel heat up and out of the house.

It’s the perfect time to cut the budgets for weather science and forecasting, wildfire prevention and protection resources, and FEMA. FDT. Among other things today, I’m grateful for my practice which has gotten me through a day of challenging external and internal weather, for my community of alert, responsive and competent neighbors no matter their political persuasions, and for an oxygen compressor to fill my lungs overnight.

Cherry Pie

Jun24

That old ditty Can she bake a cherry pie, Billy boy, Billy boy, can she bake a cherry pie charming Billy? has been running through my head since yesterday morning when I set out to do just that. Turns out yes she can.

I used a new crust recipe that included butter and cream cheese, and chose to par-bake it though the pie recipe didn’t call for that. It was a partly successful choice.

It made the lattice top harder to attach, but with the clever little tool the lattice was a lot easier to make. However, I think I’ll give away the tool. Though the top crust looked pretty, there wasn’t enough of it. Next time I’ll try a handmade lattice or just leave it solid.

The bulk of the cherries came from Deb’s freezer, from a local organic orchard. Those few little brighter red cherries? They’re from my baby tree. It was fun to throw all nine of them in, and the gesture was well-received at the ‘family dinner’ up the hill.

Little Wren had fun with her friends Josie and Oso, though Oso spent most of the evening challenging a ground squirrel under his mama’s car. I’m grateful for having good-hearted, like-minded friends in the neighborhood, and for spending a comfortable evening savoring seeming normalcy despite the rogue president’s unconstitutional bombing the night before.

Wren inspects my work finally planting one of the little willows Garden Buddy gave me last fall.

This week’s value in the Mindful Life Community is Action, and today’s guidance centered on this quote.

“Don’t spend your precious time asking ‘Why isn’t the world a better place?’ It will only be time wasted. The question to ask is ‘How can I make it better?’ To that there is an answer.” Leo Buscaglia

My challenge these days is finding the balance between these two questions. I wish this government’s policies weren’t rooted in the three poisons of Greed, Hatred, and Delusion; but they are. I wish I could do more to make the world a better place, and I suffer from feeling that I don’t do enough. Are my expectations, of myself and of human nature, unrealistic?

If you’re experiencing similar distress or confusion you might want to check out the free Mindful Living Skills webinar on Thursday online: Working with Expectations in a Time of Uncertainty. Click here to register or learn more.

Topaz lounges at the pond while Wren and I work.

Some days I just hate the lessons I learn! This evening I learned not to wear hearing aids to work in the garden. There aren’t a lot of mosquitoes, partly because I make sure there’s no water left standing long enough to breed them, even in the catch dishes under potted plants. But there are a few. One got caught between my ear and the hearing aid, and I couldn’t get it out. The buzz was strikingly loud, of course, but beyond that once I pulled out the hearing aid every effort I made just drove the killer insect deeper. There were no Q-tips downstairs so I had to hurry up the stairs as fast as I could, which still isn’t fast or graceful; the swab didn’t get it, so I hurried back down and grabbed garlic-mullein ear oil from the medicine cabinet and filled the ear to try to float it out; shook out the oil, swabbed inside, and could still feel it. After a hot shower and another Q-tip, my ear still doesn’t feel right. I pray that the damn mosquito didn’t bite my eardrum and send West Nile virus directly into my brain. Sigh. First world problems.

And a first world solution: sour cherries over chocolate chocolate chip ice cream, for a brief moment of forgetfulness. Savor the simple pleasures, while we have them.

Jun8

It only took a month to finally capture a western tiger swallowtail. I’ve seen one occasionally flitting about the yard but the conditions have not yet been quite right to get a picture—until today.

The wild butterfly bush (Buddleia alternifolia) burst into bloom this past week. It took a few days before its perfume began to fill the yard and draw in the swallowtail who spent most of the day feeding from its many laden branches.

I had a couple of work zooms today and couldn’t bear to do them inside, so I brought the technology outside and sat in the shade under the deck; grateful for zoom, grateful for the deck shade. And most grateful for the trust of the bluebirds. He flew in from gathering insects in the yard and perched over my shoulder on the deer skull just outside the hole in the adobe wall where they’re nesting. In a moment, she fluttered out of the hole and joined him. They both observed me carefully; then she flew away and he remained awhile. I was entranced, and I think we were all three reassured. I’m hopeful I’ll be watching when the chicks fledge.

Where’s Wren? She’s off ahead as we enjoy an evening ramble through the elegant old junipers, exemplars of resilience.

The light was a little strange as evening settled. When we reached the top of the ridge on the way home and could see the horizon through the trees there was strong haze dimming the mountains. Maybe diffuse smoke from Canadian wildfires, maybe why some of us are suffering extra allergies—we can’t bear to stay inside but the air quality isn’t as pure as it looks at high noon. But first, we watched moonrise from our new favorite sitting log in the southern woods.

Nighthawks screeked and dove overhead as we wended our way home just as the sun went down.

Even after sunset the day’s work wasn’t done. Grasshopper mitigation continues: 24 hours after neem spray the front line seems to be holding. There were just a few grasshoppers in the raised beds throughout the day. But I’m not taking chances. There were a lot of little feral lettuces in amongst the onions. To protect them, and to remove the competition from the onions, I popped them out and planted them in the new bed where I could cover them. The cover will cool them with a little shade, and keep out marauders. I hope.

I look forward to another brand new day tomorrow.

“Waking up this morning, I smile. Twenty-four brand new hours are before me. I vow to live fully in each moment and to look at all beings with eyes of compassion.”

Thich Nhat Hanh

More Claret Cups

May27

We just missed the last light again on this one though we went straight to it after my Monday evening meeting. But there was still plenty of light filtering through trees on other claret cups as we picked our way south through the woods.

This sighting led to a patch of them, and the light kept shifting on this largest one as we angled around for different views.

I’m so grateful for spring, and sunshine, and having the mobility to be able to wander aimlessly for an hour in the evening. Pain is so terribly constricting; the absence of pain is utterly liberating.

Outer Chaos, Inner Peace

May21
The lilacs, the tattered Mourning Cloak, the day, all winding down…

What would it feel like if there were no problem to solve? I’ve been meditating with this question for a couple of days. I know there are plenty of problems to solve, big and little problems, from what’s for lunch to how we save the planet. There’s a huge problem with the regime dismantling democracy, decimating government services, and demolishing the middle class. which would be great to solve and we’re working at it. Millions of Americans! But way too many millions more simply have their fingers in their ears, heads in the sand, eyes closed to reality. We need to amplify the truth at every opportunity.

There’s a big one coming up on June 14. But before that, there’s a massive threat to every American who is not a billionaire, and that’s most of us, in this “big beautiful budget bill” being voted on imminently. Make some noise! Medicaid is on the line, along with countless other programs that benefit most Americans. Our local healthcare system, Delta Health, could be gutted, along with most rural hospitals in the country. Learn more anywhere anyone is telling the truth, and Jessica Craven’s daily newsletter, Chop Wood Carry Water, is a great place to start. This bill is savage and wrong. So yeah, there are problems to be solved.

But what if, just for fifteen or thirty minutes each day, you could restore your nervous system with a deep, conscious rest during which, just for that short time, you could let your mind quit trying to solve problems? It’s been helping me.

I woke this morning to discover a hard frost overnight had burnt these lovely potato sprouts photographed just last night. Most of the scarlet salvias also died back.

Today is a perfect of example of how practicing this effortless mindfulness helped me sustain inner peace. After discovering freeze damage in the garden, I rushed off this morning for a ten a.m. appointment the provider had scheduled for noon; I let it go, did some other errands first, and came back later. Great news from Phil’s: the collaborative car fix last week is sufficient! But it was one glitch after another besides that, a couple of long delays, a couple of places closed on Tuesday; and, while taking the scenic route because I had time, a traffic jam. I kept my sense of ease, humor, and patience through it all. Just a day unfolding instead of a series of problems to solve.

I appreciated the care the movers took extricating the van from the tight spot, and instead of fretting about the delay I thought how grateful the homeowners on each side of the road must be.

Along the way we stopped at the town park so Wren could stretch her legs, and I looked for the stumps. A couple of huge trees had recently been cut for safety reasons. I know the guys who did the job, and admired the clean flat surface they left behind. I recalled one of them telling me how they got harassed while they were making the park safer. Later I counted the rings as best I could from the photo and was not surprised to pass one hundred.

Even so, I was sure grateful to get home to my little sanctuary. I had food in the fridge for lunch, repaired hearing aids, a new library book, a morning’s adventures with my values intact to reflect upon, a good zoom meeting, and a pond full of frogs to relax with.

Wren examines the day’s catch from the smart feeder on her iPad.

When the day’s work was done, I decanted the lilac cordial. It fizzed a lot when I opened the jar and poured, but then it settled down.

I’m sorry to report that it tasted primarily of weak honey. Lilacs, lacking any essential oil, are notoriously challenging to preserve. I suppose there’s a faint floral note, and it was light and refreshing on ice. And it sure looked lovely in the late evening sun.

Lilac Therapy

May12

There’ve been years when I didn’t spend a moment with the lilac patch; when I was too busy moving too fast from one thing to another to do more than snip a flower cluster to bring inside once or twice during the fleeting bloom season. One year the weather was cold, wet, muddy and the season was so short I missed it completely. What was I thinking? All that time I wasted…

This year, I’ve been grateful to be able to spend hours a day for days in a row doing Lilac Therapy. This is a scientifically proven approach to calming the fuck down. I move the folding chair into whatever patch of shade is available for the time of day, and sit. I read a little, write a little, text someone now and then, do a Wordle… get up now and then and move a sprinkler, refill my water bottle, return to the chair. Mostly, though, I just spend a lot of time breathing. I wish I could smell on the exhale as well as the inhale.

When I hear a big enough buzz I’ll pick up the Husband Camera and capture a few high speed shots. The Holy Grail for the Husband Camera is a hummingbird sipping lilac nectar, but I’m happy for a butterfly, or even a bumblebee. I reflect on my sadness that I’ve seen only one or two honeybees, that there’s a paucity of bumblebees as well, but comfort myself that there are lots of smaller native bees. I try not to be attached to outcome. That’s not the point of Lilac Therapy.

Resting in open awareness of senses is the point. Mindful of breath, scent, sound, colors, textures, shapes, warm sun, cool shade, the caress of the breeze, cool fine powdery clay under my soles, frogs calling down at the pond, jays cawing, finches singing, and swallows silently zipping overhead; clouds streaming, gathering, spreading in bluebird sky and bluebirds dropping to the ground for bugs. Breathing. Aware of thoughts, feelings, sensations arising, flowing, ceasing. Resting.

Wren digs herself a spot in the sunshine and rests there. Then she gets up and digs a little spot in the shade and rests there. Then she moves back to the sun. We are constantly thermoregulating. Sometimes she hears or smells something and leaves the fenced enclosure to chase it down, then returns when she’s ready.

Topaz slips through the spaces between wires, coming and going as the mood moves her, also moving from shade to sun to shade; mostly shade. There’s an occasional frisson when she wants on my lap, but Wren’s envy response is calming after three years so Topaz sneaks in some lap time.

As a culture, we do not value true relaxation. (Not the way cats do.) We value vacations, adventures, competing, fun, collecting experiences of the world, but we don’t really value doing nothing, simply being. The more I sit in the ephemeral scent of these flowers, the deeper the layers of tension slowly melt. I repeatedly give myself permission to stay here.

A clearwing hummingbird moth vies for the blooms with various bees, beeflies, and flies.

Just when I think Okay, I guess I’ll go inside and wash some dishes, another waft of sweet scent washes over me, or a tiger swallowtail flits by so close to landing, that I decide to stay just a little while longer. Surely she will land on her next pass.

An orchard bee buzzes a digger bee. There’s more excitement than one might expect, sitting with lilacs; more attacks, near misses, and midair collisions. Every now and then the Husband Camera catches one.

The tiger swallowtail never lands, but a checkerspot shows up and leads me on a merry pursuit around the patch, wanting to land high in the center where it’s hard to catch her. But we do. Even with the help of Audubon, Kaufman, iNaturalist, and the World Wide Web, I can’t determine whether she is a Variable Checkerspot or Edith’s Checkerspot. It doesn’t matter. Either way it’s a great way to wrap up an exciting, restful day.