reverse threading

the path back is the path forward

Category Archives: nature


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the flower in the middle. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

we usually leave our house – and arrive at our house – through the back door. it all started when, years ago, i was having trouble with the front door – the key wouldn’t work in the lock and – at the time, and for some time – it was too pricey to have a locksmith either fix it or install a whole new handle assembly on an old door with a really unique and beautiful vintage brass handle. so i used the back door instead. exclusively.

now, clearly i went to the front door to answer it, to check the mail, to exit directly into the front yard. it was just more secure to leave through the back and it was impossible to enter through the front.

phew. enough about that.

anyway, the other day – mid-afternoon – i went to the front door to check the mailbox. dogga always comes with me to “check the mail with momma”. glancing out, i could see this bright yellow flower – just one – happily growing next to one of the big ornamental grasses between our front sidewalk and the old brick wall.

all perky-like, it totally captured my attention – this little stranger in the midst of all the green fronds around it.

it didn’t look unhappy in its lostness. on the contrary, it looked completely at ease.

when i was little i had this inordinate, oversized fear of getting lost. i was completely not at ease with it. and my big brother fed this fear (just like my big sister fed fears of mine – for they were both a decade older than me and i was an easy target.)

i would be traveling with my dad and my big bro – in our pink camper van they converted from a long island lighting company (lilco) fleet-van. this van had a propensity for breaking down and it always seemed to be while we were upstate somewhere, forcing us to get off the highway onto these side roads to nowhere – woods and fields everywhere and no gas station to be found. my heightened angst about being lost would kick in – egged on by my beloved brother. i was little enough to be convinced we were never going to get home from the place-in-the-forest we had ended up, always stuck on the side of the road in a pink camper van, forever and ever more.

because my dad and my brother were both male – they were not inclined to ask for help or directions or a tow. instead, they did things like cut bits of barbed wire from random fences to resecure whatever it was in the engine that was falling apart. they’d drive and drive for miles – using the sun for guidance – to try and find their way back to an entrance to the highway. you know, various brilliant avoidances of utilizing the rest of humanity to help them.

to their credit, we always did get home safe and sound. and – to their credit – they truly were brilliant themselves – resourceful rube goldbergs – creativity and mechanical savvy combining to make every journey a success, no matter what.

i do think, though, that there are many people who – like this beautiful yellow flower – find themselves out of place, lost. out of place and lost can make one feel increasingly frantic and afraid:

“i think a lot of people are like this – lost, confused, and looking for directions but too scared or embarrassed or ashamed to ask for help.” (valerie bertinelli)

in all the adult travel i have done – particularly the solo travel – i have, like you, not really wanted to get lost on the way. but something about always arriving – when i was a child who was fearful – taught me to just take a breath. i have found that i talk aloud to myself as i drive through confusing territory – reminding myself i can always turn around and retrace my steps, i can always go back over the bridge the way i came, i can always pull over and regroup. and these days – with GPS at our side guiding our every veer and turn – this is even less imperative.

that doesn’t cover existential lostness, though. it doesn’t help with the out-of-place we feel in situations or circumstances – crossroads – of life that have nothing to do with traveling or maps.

” so many travelers say that sometimes you have to get lost to find what you’re looking for…”

maybe it’s those early days in our pink van that helped. the laughter and the tears, the ribbing and the comforting, the getting lost and the finding. it all somehow balances out.

in just a few days our little yellow flower was no longer there. it was almost like it had moved on.

but i do believe it was supposed to be right there – right out the now-keylock-accessible front door – waiting for us to see its happy face.

a little drop-in flower that reminded us of the raw of lostness and foundness and the time in the middle.

*****

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the glow. [kerri’s blog on not-so-flawed wednesday]

it began ever-so-slowly. but on a day we needed a glow, the glow showed up.

all of a sudden – from our adirondack chairs on the patio – we could see a glow peeking out, growing behind the metal sunflower over in the fern garden in the back corner of our yard.

we are sunseekers – but not in a tanning sort of way. on this day, after many days of humid and overcast, humid and hot, humid and ridiculously hot, here was a day that was significantly less humid. the early evening was starting and we were not sweltering. instead, we were tiki-torch-sitting in the backyard, watching the world turn.

i aimed the camera around the yard – to capture that time – barney and our daylilies, the taller switchgrasses, the birdbath, the pond, the ferns and breck, dogga laying on the deck. a half hour later is when the sun started to sneak between the back of the garage and the fence – the amber of my favorite spotlight fresnel gel – this time backlighting the metal sunflower we brought home from dogga’s birthtown across the state.

the sun is streaming across the quilt right now. it is a glorious early morning and our windows are open. the streaming sun assuages worries we carried into the dawn.

i think about all the times i have spent deliberately watching the sun rise. the fence-climbing into crab meadow beach, the eastern sky over the ocean, the sky over lake michigan, over the mountains, in the utah desert, climbing over redrock. i think about all the times i have spent deliberately watching the sun set. northport harbor, the gulf beaches, over summit county mountain peaks, over the grandest of canyons and the quietest of canyonlands, the answer to the sunset of the eastern sky over the lake, off the dock up-north, looking west from our southport beachhouse, in endless farmlands, on favorite hiking trails, off the coast on-island.

to deliberately watch the sun is to see in-real-life the parameters of a day. to know that – in what feels like an instant – another day will start, another day will end. and on and on it goes.

we recently heard news of the death of someone we knew. it took us both by surprise and saddened us. and it made me fall back into that weird space i always feel when learning someone has died – the wondering space – where i wonder how it is that the world can go on if this person cannot feel it.

i know it does – go on.

and i’ve never really answered the question. it just feels too big – too humbling, too consuming, too heavy, too existential – for me to truly wrap my head around it.

i don’t know…

maybe that’s why i watch the sun rise and the sun set.

maybe the glow knows.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this NOT-SO-FLAWED WEDNESDAY

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coleus-rich. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

it was $2.49. it sat in the midst of lots of other tiny coleus plants, on sale. the colors spoke to us and, though we weren’t planning on potting a coleus, we couldn’t resist the sale. this little plant has literally done better than any other plant we have purchased this year, including the two sweet potato vines we have placed on ladders – which usually rock, but have been just too inundated with rain and heat this year.

just goes to show you that something doesn’t have to be really expensive in order for it to be exquisite.

the color patterns on this coleus remind me of things you did as a kid: when you put celery in a tall glass and added water and food coloring. then you watched the food dye climb up the xylem of the stalk. or maybe when you went to summer rec and made cool tie-dye t-shirts (when you weren’t making braided plastic-lacing lanyards).

we spent time on the deck studying our plants and potting stand. the weather has really taken a toll on our herbs and tomatoes. they will likely not last until the bitter end of summer this year, which is too bad in a season when you can’t feel comfortable with store-bought parsley or basil or cilantro or, well, many produce items. or eggs. or bacon. or beef. or granola. or – the big one – lettuce. it all makes one’s head spin…so we are sad to have a garden that is diminishing too soon.

our coleus, however, is apparently going to gleefully hang out for a while. one piece that broke off from strong winds in a thunderstorm is inside in a jar of water. it has rooted and we’ll plant it, hoping to carry the happy coleus into the fall and beyond.

we budgeted and planned for our potting stand and went a bit over, having to replace a few herbs along the way. the extra was fine with us – we can cut back somewhere else – for we find this little garden a joy. and in the middle of the salmonella-e.coli-cyclospora scares, we have been grateful for access to its harvest. though the produce return-on-investment may not be the same as buying bulk produce or herbs at the store, harvesting our own has – once again – inspired us. and this year – in particular – it kept us from buying anything worrisome. maybe next year we will add a few more veggies to our garden. maybe a galvanized raised garden or two.

in the meanwhile – between the time that the potting stand no longer produces and the time we plant again – in fall and winter as we plot a new crop of plants and think about the possibility of a farmstand subscription (CSA), we will glance over at our indoor coleus and remember the riches of this summer – even the ones that were just $2.49.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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it’s happening. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

the sweet potato is growing by leaps and bounds – it’s almost mind-boggling how quickly it has become so large. more accustomed to plants that grow slower, we wonder how it is possible. it’s only been two weeks since we planted the entire potato in this planter, its tiny pink tendril sprouts sticking out of the dirt.

now – merely two weeks later – this sweet potato is vining everywhere. this photo, taken a few days ago, is already outdated; the vine now reaches up onto the deck and is twirling around the pot that holds one of the basil plants. it reaches out to the lavender, over to the tomato, and forward onto the patio. it – seemingly – has no bounds, and these amazing heart-shaped leaves are multiplying, multiplying, multiplying.

the good takeover is happening.

what if love could take over that fast?

*****

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what we put into it. [kerri’s blog on not-so-flawed wednesday]

there is not a walk we take this summer in our hood – down around the marina and the harbor and the channel – when we are not filled up with beautiful flowers. everywhere we look – along the pathways that intersect by our lake – there are giant standing planters, hanging baskets or gardens brimming over with meticulously-tended blooms and greenery.

the other night we walked slowly past the really big containers along the road that flanks the saturday farmers’ market. every one of the vessels was different – each had a different grouping of flowers and vines – brilliant contrasts of texture and vibrant colors – we did not miss the obvious thought that went into these big concrete urns. it would be easy to produce a gorgeous coffee table photo book of these textures and colors just from these giant planters alone. and in the middle of winter – on one of those cold, grey, sunless days – this book would be an explosion of pantone color charts.

i would be remiss to not offer gratitude to the hard working park staff who carefully plan, plant and care for these stunning displays. we are fortunate to be reminded on every walk that such beauty exists – not only naturally in meadows and forests – but also with a great deal of tending by real people taking exquisite care of flowers growing in our town. a community becomes what people put into it. and though the textures and issues of our community go beyond the flowers, i am grateful for the acknowledgement that this beauty counts.

now – in too-easy juxtaposition – i could easily launch into a tirade about the utter level of ugly – and of unhappiness – that is permeating this country. the cruelty and – truly – twisted torturous devices – both emotional and physical – that are being subscribed to in an effort to make this country what it is not – homogenous.

each and every day i am shocked to my core – nauseated – to see the newest iteration of unlawful ruling or order or statement, the lies, the misinformation, the hideous display of conscience-less immorality, the destruction of national parks and of beautiful resources that make this country unique. every day i cannot believe the depths to which this nation is sinking. every day i am floored by a legislative branch doing nothing to stop this horrific madness. it is utterly devastating – this reprehensible movement. a country becomes what people put into it. and i am left wondering what exactly is being acknowledged as the things that count here.

what is happening all feels catastrophic to me. i know that we cannot do nothing – we cannot hide our heads in the sand while this hideousness just takes over a nation filled with possibility offered by its diverse textures and colors.

we are so much more than the ugly we are witnessing, so much more than the ugly that is in charge, so much more than the ugly that is permeating our every day – in every mind-boggling, on-all-fronts way they can find.

it is up to all of us to put a stop to all this.

every single attempt at beauty counts. every single attempt to stop ugly counts.

we need to fill up and get about it.

we will become what we put into it.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this NOT-SO-FLAWED WEDNESDAY

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why the heck not? [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

in the hope of emotional diversion, we have taken to watching videos and video research about bigfoot. yep. sasquatch. yedi. call it what you may.

when we stayed in a mountain town in north carolina – in the pisgah national forest and close to the edges of the nantahala forest – there was a house near us that had large metal sculptures and paintings (or decals) of bigfoot proliferating their house and yard. i now wish we had spoken to these people, to inquire about their experiences and why they were so enthusiastic about this mysterious being. people are either immediately discarding of this “creature” or they are rabidly zealous about it. there’s not a lot of in-between, though i’d say we are somewhere in the in-between space, trying to sort the scientific possibility of reality.

my thought? why not? why wouldn’t there be a creature about which we are not very knowledgeable, of which many have not seen? why wouldn’t there be a creature that has evaded most people, has been able to live in the wild, has telepathic abilities and even some dimensional-change tricks up its sleeve?

and, i would expect that the universe is congratulating these creatures on their ability to live – and thrive – outdoors – as a part of the environment – without destroying it for their own gain.

in expedition bigfoot, scientists and explorers join together to seek out this elusive animal. with intricate technology and boots-on-the-ground investigator skills, they follow the tracks of these beings, evidence mounting in each episode.

i glance down as we walk along the lakefront talking about our latest video indulgence. the bricks under our feet here are ordered, grass growing in most every crack. we wonder aloud how we might feel if we were hiking somewhere and came across a very-very-large naked footprint – not unlike what we are seeing with this deep-diving research team.

i imagine that seeing something like this in-real-life might be somewhat disconcerting. but i don’t imagine that it’s not possible.

i don’t think that we – as humans – should be so arrogant as to think that we know all about every living thing. instead, i believe we should be open to that which is enigmatic or even inexplicable, to that which we need to learn more about. on every continent there is an equivalent to bigfoot in the narrative of the indigenous, there are stories told by real people; there is evidence for these stories.

though – to this point – i have never seen anything resembling bigfoot – in my own life i have gratefully experienced firsthand the absolute mysteries of others reaching across dimension, the grace of life in parallel planes of existence. i remind myself that there is much that is baffling about life, much that is hard to comprehend in a galaxy full of wonder.

and so, i would not be so quick to discard the possibility of bigfoot. after all, i have been surprised over and over again by the souls and the actions of REAL people – so why the heck not?

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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blushed with beginning. [kerri’s blog on merely-a-thought monday]

“if you remain generous, time will come good; and you will find your feet again on fresh pastures of promise, where the air will be kind and blushed with beginning.” (john o’donohue – to bless the space between us)

the licorice plant, in a pot on top of the little chest on the deck, was clearly stressed. actually, beyond stressed. something had invaded it; webs were forming inbetween its branches and most of the leaves were turning yellow.

after having no luck combating this invader and worrying that whatever it was would spread to the herbs and vegetables we had planted right nearby, we made the decision to empty the pot and put the licorice plant into the sort-of compost pile next to the garage. we felt bad but thought it was best for the rest – eliminate that which is harmful, minimize the potential of further harm. we decided to go back to milaegers at some point and purchase another licorice plant. we just love the muted, soft shade of green of this plant with its somewhat wild, trailing branches.

when we brought home the new licorice plant, we ended up bringing it inside – placing it on an old stool in front of the living room window, enjoying it inside this time. in its place on top of the chest outside is now a new mint plant, which seems to love the spot in the limelight.

the other day, d was bringing a handful of weeds over to the “compost pile” and spotted our licorice plant. there it was, glory restored, its branches clear of webs, all silvery green leafing, its root ball firm and seemingly undamaged. without a word, he replanted it into a bigger pot and placed it on our babycat chair next to the driveway. the next time we went out to go for a walk, he drew it to my attention.

i was shocked to see this stunning licorice plant – revitalized. it seemed perfect in our now-outdoor wicker, next to the old fence that sports a beautiful green vine wall every summer. a new beginning for this plant – nourished, i guess, by the tumble of compost, the rain and fresh air, the shedding of a pot that might have been too small for its roots.

to say we are thrilled at the rejuvenation of our licorice is an understatement. every single time we are out back or we pass by it is a reminder of the chance of a second chance.

and in these times – so fraught – when we get lost: in the travails of discord in daily life and relationships, in the failure of making headway in our work, in any ability to let go of wounds – when we wonder if we dare hope for a new start – when we fight to give voice: to move from stagnation or a past that needs air, that needs releasing – when we recognize and eliminate that which harms us – when we work to actually create that new start – in these times, we need that reminder.

time will come good and you will find your feet again…where the air will be kind and blushed with beginning.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this MERELY-A-THOUGHT MONDAY

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our little pando. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

and suddenly, we are witnessing a generational family branch of our aspen tree.

breck has sent out roots and has established a tiny clone just next to our pond. this baby seedling has tentatively sprouted – with its pink stems and littlest aspen leaves – merely feet away from breck, growing in the shade that breck provides when afternoon sun is filtering through its branches.

seeing pando is on my bucket list…the ancient, interconnected organism that is more than forty-thousand aspen trees – all sharing the same root, the same dna. it is in utah and i can only imagine the profound hush that is – standing in thousands of quaking leaves, one of the largest single living organisms on earth.

what would it take for people to have this kind of awe about the interconnectedness of real live humans? what would it take for a hush to descend upon us as we stand in the midst of others, gathered together? what would it take to recognize the utter importance of preserving such a connection, of honoring it, of absolutely cherishing it? what would it take for humankind to acknowledge its ancient roots, its depth of wisdom, its trembling resilience, its soul?

what would it take for the family tree of humans – people all across the globe – to understand what family – all-inclusive-family – means, what family can accomplish together, how being truly connected – despite any differences – could perpetuate goodness…in a world that desperately needs goodness?

we will watch baby breck closely, tend to its safety, listen to the softest vibrations of its tiny leaves quaking, always aware of its quiet wisdom.

*****

CONNECTED © 1995 kerri sherwood

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read DAVID’s thoughts this K.S. FRIDAY

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in full bloom. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

“after all those years as a woman hearing ‘not thin enough, not pretty enough, not smart enough, not this enough, not that enough,’ almost overnight i woke up one morning and thought, ‘i’m enough.'” (anna quindlen)

i’m pretty certain that the hibiscus does not stop to ponder if it is ‘enough’. it just buds and blooms and shows up in the world in a big, big way.

i’m also pretty certain that – were the hibiscus to offer advice to women everywhere – it would advise us all to – likewise – just bud and bloom and show up in the world in a big, big way. it would encourage us to not ponder anything – particularly whether or not we were ‘enough’, likely whether-or-not anything at all.

i had a dream last night – the part that i remember is that i had something to say…and in my dream i contacted a younger woman to ask her to say it – because somehow, in my dream, i had passed the point of being heard – my age had made my words irrelevant, no longer of value, my voice weightless.

even in my dream i knew this was wrong and when i woke I wondered why i was dreaming this – though there are so many dots connecting this i am foolish to even wonder.

i watched a video where the interviewer asked the interviewee about when this country was great. the man – exquisitely dressed in gq magazine garb – replied with a year in the early 1900s, before world war one, in 1913. the year of the women’s suffrage parade – among many other things – the interviewer pressed, “oh, so before women could vote?” to which the fabulously-dressed-interviewee replied, “right!”

what the ever-lovin’ hell is that?

watching the dismantling of women’s rights in this country is exhausting. listening to pompous suit-wearing gluttonous testosterone-focused men tout the value of men and the devaluing of women is utterly disgusting. witnessing men strip women of the right to make decisions about their own health and well-being sickens me. sexually exploiting girls and women, stonewalling all manner of culpability, and perpetuating undeniably dishonest and disrespectful silence is grotesque. and the whole twisted trad-wife kitchen-lizard-birth-control-less-pregnant-my-husband-can-vote-for-me-i’m-good-with-that-and-goodness-let’s-make-sure-we-address-his-erectile-dysfunction-and-bow-to-his-needing-a-sandwich movement makes purple stuff wanna burst out of my head.

i mean – truly – what in the hell is going on?

if this is where this country is full-steam-ahead heading, we are most definitely regressing, backsliding into a retrograde sans stopgaps. this is primitive thinking of the highest nature.

and even the hibiscus knows it.

i woke up a little bit crabby after dreaming that i turned over what i had to say to a younger, thinner, less wrinkly, more ‘relevant’ woman.

and, like anna quindlen, i thought to myself, “the hell with that. i’m enough.”

i have a few things to say here and i’m in full bloom.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

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how one comes to the table. [kerri’s blog on flawed wednesday]

the plants are stressed. you can see it. there are yellowing leaves, limp branches, tiny fruits. even the sweet potato vine is doing a dance for survival with the intense heat and humidity, storms and wind.

we are trying to be vigilant as we take care of all of them – the ones on the potting stand and on the deck. i carefully try to determine if they need more water or less water, more sun or more shade, a little fertilizer. this is not an exact science, i find, and i am not necessarily an intuitive gardener. i do, however, come to the table with good intentions, wanting all our plants to flourish and have all the nutrients and circumstances they need to thrive.

i imagine that the growing season on our potting stand will end sooner this year than we wish it to. even so, we will have totally enjoyed its cherry tomatoes, basil, jalapeños, cilantro, parsley, chives and mint. i wonder if next year we will try a few new veggies or herbs. (had we not already tried lettuce, i would think that might be a good choice – since lettuce is on the do-not-fly list these days.)

in the “weird things category for 100”, we are now washing our produce again. after we get home from the grocery store, we have gone back to taking out the large stainless steel salad bowl, filling it with water and scrubbing everything with the vegetable brush. it harkens us back to the pandemic – and not in a good way. those memories are filled with stress and the grief of separation from others, too many devastating stories for all of us to have to go back in any way.

frustrated by lettuce-and-so-many-other-things, i feel like the leaders of our government should come to the table with intelligent solutions and goodness, instead of self-centered rapacious destruction and chaos, so much of which is cruel. we need clean water, clean air and clean food as the most basic of things – the most basic of our good health – yet there is some serious intentional undermining of all of that by this administration. and so, more trauma.

we are witness to the shedding of authentic responsibility these days when people in power are asked to come to the table. though there are those of us who come to the table in good faith – with the intent to do the right thing, to navigate together – there are others who absolutely absolve themselves of any culpability and come to the table empty-handed and empty-hearted. nothing can grow in that space.

the squirrel somehow discovered that we had a few tomato plants. we watched him upside down in the tomato cage, plucking choice cherry tomatoes off the plant. he then scampered – tomato sticking out of his mouth – to the fence, where he perched and munched on his snack. and then, he repeated the whole thing all over again. his intent was clear. he was a hungry-bunny squirrel and gave no illusions of minding boundaries – the ones between what was his and what was ours.

the thing is, we really don’t expect squirrels to be mindful that way. we don’t expect them to be respectful or to honor others or observe any kind of discipline. squirrels are not goody-two-shoes.

people – on the other hand – have every capability to be straight arrows. we expect them – particularly those who have been given authority, those who are supposed to hold the high regard of others, those who have decision-making power – to come to the table with good intention, wanting all to flourish and having all the nutrients and circumstances that all – ALL – need to thrive.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this WEDNESDAY

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