well, THIS seems obvious. obviously an epidemic of monumental proportion.
so unbelievably twisted, so devastatingly sad, and so incredibly dangerous.
*****
read DAVID’s thoughts this SATURDAY MORNING
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we are sweet potato fans. and it was in recent research we realized we had been storing our sweet potatoes incorrectly – in the fridge. no wonder they were going bad sooner than we expected. so we moved them (and the russets and the gold yukons and the vidalia onions and the garlic) to a hanging basket in the stairwell which seemed to exponentially lengthen the life of this store-bought produce.
and then there was this day.
david – laughing – said, “ya gotta go look at the sweet potato in the stairwell!”
to say that i was surprised was understating. hot pink shoots were growing out of our sweet potato…sweet raspberry-colored, tiny-leafed shoots of a plant…right there in the basket hanging over the stairs, over the bin with dogga treats, next to the angle-broom and the swiffer, adjacent to the bag-o-bags hook.
and a science experiment was born as, suddenly, we were farming sweet potato.
we put some good potting soil in a planter and – just guessing, with no research – we planted the entire sprouted sweet potato tuber in the dirt. we watered it and stood back.
now, we had no idea what to expect. we truly did feel like we were in junior high – with a science fair project report due in a few weeks.
instantly, i was back in ninth grade, typing my lab reports on thin erasable typing paper. i loved typing and used any excuse to type. my earth science teacher – everyone’s favorite – charlie – graded our lab reports on a check system. check, check-plus, check-plus-plus, check-minus. i pretty much always got a check-plus-plus because, well, that was the kind of diligent student i was. he never wrote any comments on my lab reports, which was disappointing, so i began to wonder if he was really reading them. i decided to experiment a bit. i started to include the words of nursery rhymes – randomly – in my lab reports. i kept getting check-plus or check-plus-plus and he never said a word, convincing me that any genius lab report i might have written had gone undetected. years later we crossed paths on some social media and i reached out, asking him if, perchance, he remembered me. his response was classic: “of course! you typed nursery rhymes in the middle of your lab reports. how could i forget you?” but i digress.
in just days our little sweet potato’s tiny leaves leafed out and it has begun a growth cycle that will force us to reckon with what to do next. we are considering a metal trough planter, but also recognize that there isn’t long enough for the sweet potatoes to develop into sweet potatoes. it is a conundrum. but a truly sweet (no pun intended) reminder of the amazing turns of life and growth and actualization.
in a time during which so much is grabbing at our attention, a country and people disappointing us beyond belief, more corruption than we can wrap our heads around, we are grateful for this hot pink attention-grabbing sweet potato slip.
“live life, my sweet potato,” my momma always told me. i think i feel some sprouts comin’ on.
*****
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the teasels in the meadow kept getting my attention: “look at me!! i’m a layer-cake!!” they called out.
these seussical thistles are everywhere right now, lining the roads we take to our trails, lining the trails, populating the meadows, running alongside the river…simply everywhere. and they have personality!
this summer has been extraordinarily hot and humid. the tropical conditions have made everything-that-loves-sun explode. we feel as if we can literally stand and watch the growth of several of our plants outside – a time-lapse would prove amazing and almost other-worldly.
on one of our trails the other day – before we both melted away – i kept pulling out my camera to take one after another photograph of yet another teasel. i also kept thinking that my dear friend susan – gifted with ridiculously artistic culinary skills – could easily create a teasel cake – and it would look exactly like these.
friday night we stood at the end of our street to watch a parade. the town was hosting an amc (american motors company) celebration. not knowing what to expect out of the parade, but confident that the number of people lining the curb indicated some level of ‘cool’, we waited on the corner for it to start.
and ‘cool’ it was. an utterly charming old-timey parade of cars made its way past us: ramblers, pacers, amx, matadors, ambassadors, gremlins, jeeps, javelins, and my personal favorite, the metropolitan.
we cheered for every vehicle that drove past us, the occupants of the cars with windows down waving and laughing and thumbs-upping. it was a joy to see so many people in their bliss as they drove their vintage cars down our neighborhood roads. those metropolitans, though, they really got my attention. to see all those people – ranging a wide spectrum of ages – coming together in community – all for the love of these old cars – was something we were really glad we witnessed.
it made me think about the 1971 vw beetle in our garage. justin and i plan on reinvigorating that bug. we know it needs some restoration work now but between the two of us and youtube (with helpful hints from our brilliant mechanic) we just might be able to do it. thinking it would be a hoot for us to maybe end up at one of those vintage car shows one day or a beetle-meet. we likely won’t get a ribbon for fanciest but we will probably be eligible for “zealous” or “good effort”.
the whole thing brought me back to a time long ago when i used to be in parades with my dad and my big brother. my dad had a 1930 model A ford that he and my brother restored and we, with old-timey straw hats, would drive in parades just like this one. onlookers would line the sidewalks and cheer and we’d wave and call out to people to get their attention as we passed by. not unlike the drivers and passengers in the parade in our ‘hood. and, come to think about it, not unlike the teasels in the meadow.
*****
read DAVID’s thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY
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almost every time we mosey around an antique shoppe – likely every time – i find myself musing about how no one should buy anything new. at all. ever. we should all just go peruse antique shoppes, flea markets, thrift stores, for – in those places just brimming over with possibility – it is probable that we would find all we need. and more.
we really do love a good antique boutique filled with vintage treasures just waiting to be re-homed.
because i agree with annie leonard (greenpeace), “there is no such thing as ‘away’. when we throw anything away it must go somewhere,” we have not yet disposed of our (decades and decades) old range. we have, instead, cherished it and putzed with it when it was struggling. but it is not in a landfill somewhere and, for that and for its long, long lifeline, i am grateful.
we were on the quest for a single ladder – to add to our deck with a purple sweet potato vine. we wanted a bit of interest over in the corner and found a stack of single ladders outside our favorite antique shoppe. but in the steps between where we parked big red and the ladder stack, there was this little garden table. d instantly stopped and drew it to my attention.
because our backyard is – indeed – our sanctuary, a small peeling paint white garden table could be the perfect addition – over there, on the deck, next to the railing that defines the potting stand garden.
$20.
but there is a sale. 20-40% off.
we buy our chosen ladder (who knew there were so many different widths?) and bring it out to the truck, ready to leave.
but that garden table.
it called us as we walked by. the second time.
so we went back to look at it, to wonder at its story, at where it had been, at its character as evidenced by its patina.
we snapped a photo and went inside – just to ask.
because we have been there many, many times, the gal at the checkout knows us. she asked me what I wanted to pay (though we weren’t yet sure we wanted to purchase it.) i replied $10 and her quick answer was, “sold!” i couldn’t help but wonder what a small garden table with as much joie de vivre would cost in a retail shop, a garden store, a catalog.
we happily loaded up this small sweet table and readily re-homed it on that spot on the deck, placing a soft green petite licorice plant on top.
every day – several times a day – we step outside and are deeply sated by this place of sanctuary. we wander to each plant, each herb, each grass, our aspen tree, and marvel at the growth in this hot-humid-greenhouse-type summer. we express, once again, gratitude for this space and its stuff.
and we plan our next trip – just to stroll about, to tell stories as we see items with which we had grown up, to goof about purchasing items completely out of our taste or – sometimes – completely out of taste at all. it is always an adventure.
to borrow from home goods advertising, we go finding. only our finds are the things people no longer want and wish to sell, the items that may have ended up disposed of, tossed out. our finds are filled with the magic of repurpose. they have stories we don’t know and can only imagine. they have new stories we have created for them. in turn, they create a place of tranquility and easy serenity.
and in some small way, we have saved the earth – even just a little – by saving one more thing from ‘away’.
*****
read DAVID’s thoughts this MERELY-A-THOUGHT MONDAY
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i read one too many articles yesterday. and then i cried.
we can either pay attention to every single bit of madness – live inside the depraved minds and soulless hearts of what is happening right here and right now – or we can zero in – as well – on what else is real.
when my big brother died he was merely 41. i was 33 and expecting my second child. in my grief i could not – as much as i tried – grok how the world could go on if he could not feel it. i thought that was a new existential question for me – at that time – until this week when i read in an old notebook of reflections these words i had written at 18: “it’s strange – you die and the world goes on living and you’re not there.“
were i to write about mortality now – to dive into that unending mystery – i would likely echo these same thoughts, this same wrangling of the visceral, of evanescence.
so – what becomes the relevant? it is notwithstanding everything else that is happening. it is not ignoring the chaos, the insanity, the cruelty. we absolutely need pay mind to what is happening around us. we absolutely need be proponents of peace and democracy, humanitarianism, equality, accountability, critical thinking, the environment, integrity, morality – all of it.
we also absolutely need pay mind to the angst that is showing up as vibrations in our chest, exhaustion, depression, hopelessness. we absolutely need not sacrifice the all of us, the all of our precious and limited time. also relevant? a recognition that the world will go on, whether you are there or not.
and sometimes – because you have the same existential questions at 18 and 33 and 66 – sometimes you just need to say it’s all enough and refocus on what else is real.
*****
read DAVID’s thoughts this SATURDAY MORNING
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back in the day we could drive out east a bit and purchase long island sweet corn at any number of farmstands along the side of the road. it was a staple in summertime, showing up at every picnic or barbecue.
when i about 16, i flew out to see my brother and his family in central illinois. nothing compared to the view below from the air – cornfields as far as the eye could see. rich, green, thriving fields of field corn.
i return to the moment in that airplane so long ago, looking down on middle america, eyes wide-open, gobsmacked at how pristine those fields looked from the sky. because it is just as stunning each time in the air – even now, many decades later – this atlantic-pacific-gulf-of-mexico-canada crayon-outlined country of america.
and now, we drive across our state on the backroads, innumerable cornfields along the way. highway 81/W/11 coursing its way across wisconsin, on illinois highway 39, along route 151 across iowa, to the letter-named backroads of missouri. any time in the heartland will place you in generous fields of corn-green. it is the corn belt, after all. it is quintessential midwest.
it also seems quintessential that our country – this bright, innovative storehouse of science and data and brilliant minds – would be aggressively concerning itself with climate change – with scientific research and empirical evidence to avoid any further harm to this planet, to protect the fragility and balance of all-things-ecological, to further generative ideas in order to avoid continued or amped-up destruction of this-place-we-call-home, to embrace sustainable and responsible methods of lessening the very real threats of the fallout of rapidly changing climate and intentional negligence by humans.
it would seem pragmatic that the solar farms deep into the fields on the side of the county roads, the wind farms lining the highways also be considered quintessentially american, for these to be so prevalent that their energy production might be a fundamental expression of this country’s fierce protection of the environment.
we all learned early on the responsibility we had on our environment. keep it clean – the bottom line. and though i have in the past stopped people who have thrown trash out of their vehicle window or while walking on a sidewalk or a path, it is not likely that i would do that in every case anymore as i weigh individual circumstances in today’s much more violent world. but i cringe each time i see any such dereliction. “we each have impact,” i think every single time.
from the air or maybe even rushing by on the highway, one can’t see – doesn’t notice – the kwik-trip cups or mcdonalds bags, the plastic grocery bags and water bottles, the emptied ashtrays, the tires in the swale or the couch dumped in the pocket of brush on the side of the road. even walking the streets of small towns speckling this nation reveals a disheartening lack of concern about the nature of nature.
the feeling of responsibility needs to start at the top, for we “little people” can only do so much to protect this environment. our hands are not in the deep pockets of big money. they are – instead – clutching the water bottle or the fast food bag, waiting to dispose of them appropriately, carefully repurposing, recycling, composting, minimizing our waste, trying to make a difference.
never would i have thought that it would be necessary to have statements issued by the international court of justice – the principal judicial arm of the united nations – that would acutely ‘remind’ this country of its accountability in this crisis. never would i have thought that this country – this country – would be ignoring such passionate pleas for holding this planet in protected space. never would i have thought that these words “climate crisis is an existential problem of planetary proportions that imperils all forms of life and the very health of our planet” would be in such acute danger of being sloughed off.
the international court of justice stated that a “clean, healthy and sustainable environment” is a human right.
taking any route across this beautiful sea-to-shining-sea – flying above it or on its myriad of roads or track – eyes open – provides a profound reminder of what we should not be willing to sacrifice.
*****
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in my mind’s eye i am sitting cross-legged on my growing-up front lawn. i am laying in a big field in the park. i am perched on the curb.
i am making clover chains.
back then – in simpler times – times with less awareness – times of innocence – i don’t think i noticed the complexity. i didn’t notice just how many tiny white flowers made up this one clover flower. i didn’t pay attention to the spectacular joining together of all these, the softest pale pink dusting, the clustering of beautiful rolled petals with green sheaths and raspberry-colored stems. I didn’t notice the clover flowers that were not spherical, for those were not conducive to chaining a necklace.
but now – now, i am smitten with the one sweet white clover flower. i am taken by the complicated and amazing make-up of this tiny blossom. i am overwhelmed by the exquisiteness of this singular beauty – in the midst of so, so, so many others – everywhere – in fields and fields of green clover.
i feel reminded…to be like the sweet grandson of our dear friends – who, with a large magnifying glass, studies the world to which he has access, aiming down at the ground to see leaves and bugs and flowers.
in the times i remember, i am holding a magnifying glass and i am looking at all the world to which i have access.
in the times i remember, i am seeing the tiniest things – the black swallowtail butterfly that dips over our yard – the caterpillar that consumed our dill swinging by to express a gratitude. or the bee on the wilting coneflower. or the hues of all the flowers in the meadow.
in the times i remember, i am immersing in the simplest things – the moments in the kitchen next to each other sous-chef-ing the ingredients for our tabouli: basil, parsley, mint, cucumbers, tomatoes, scallions, garlic – each rich in fragrance and texture. or washing and drying the dishes – by hand – together, ritual we sometimes practice at the end of the day.
in the times i remember, i am amazed by the sweet potato that grew pink shoots while in the stairwell basket. or the two tall cactus growing in the tiniest clay pot; neither suffering from so little dirt.
in the times i remember, the swell of the strings, the yearning of the low brass, the plaintive cello, the space between the notes, the sound of dogga clicking-clacking down the hall to us – all bring me to the right now, all-consume me.
in the times i remember, the white clover evokes visceral memories of flower necklaces, grassy conversations, few expectations.
in the times i remember, i feel just the moment at hand.
*****
we are trying to regroup, rethink and refocus our melange blogpost writing a bit. we – like you – know what is really happening in our world and do not need one more person – including ourselves – telling us the details of this saddest of descents destroying democracy and humanity. though we know our effort will not be 100% successful – for there is sooo much to bemoan in these everydays – we have decided to try and lean into another way – to instead write about WHAT ELSE IS REAL. this will not negate negativity, but we hope that it will help prescribe presence as antidote and balm for our collective weariness. xoxo, kerri & david.
*****
read DAVID’s thoughts this NOT-SO-FLAWED WEDNESDAY
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dear you.
we are trying to regroup, rethink and refocus our melange blogpost writing a bit. we – like you – know what is really happening in our world and do not need one more person – including ourselves – telling us the details of this saddest of descents destroying democracy and humanity. though we know our effort will not be 100% – for there is sooo much to bemoan in these everydays – we have decided to try and lean into another way – to instead write about WHAT ELSE IS REAL. this will not negate negativity, but we hope that it will help prescribe presence as antidote and balm for our collective weariness.
xoxo, kerri & david
***
in the tiniest liminal space while the river rivers, a frozen second of film captures a painting of swirling green. with no frame of reference – no smidge of bridge over the waterway, no shoreline of rock or underbrush, no logs or boulders or turtles or fish or heron, no sky, no horizon – this tiniest second – the moment it takes to snap the photograph – becomes etched in time and space and the mystery of the image is born.
what else is real…there is beauty in the pollen-filled river, beauty as it flows slowly – slogging its way downstream, a palette filled with the pollen of nearby trees, algae exploding from the heatwave. and as we stand above it – we gaze down at it – and i am astonished at the color, the swirls, the ever-changing etch-a-sketch, like a jackson pollack painting has come alive right before us.
and the liminal space – this very tiny liminal space that the river has identified and snap-immortalized in our camera – evokes for me – once again – how momentous this very moment – that we can see this. and it, gratefully, untriggers – if there is such a thing – even for the briefest of time – the amorphous and not-so-amorphous anxiety-about-these-very-days i have been feeling.
and so i pick up the chartreuse-and-black river and carry it with me.
*****
read DAVID’s thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY
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one of the coveted front spots beckoned. it is pretty unusual to arrive at this grocery store and for there to be a front spot open. we don’t mind walking from afar but when it’s 150 degrees out with humidity tilting the charts – and you don’t personally have central air conditioning – and you just came from a hike where you nearly melted into the gravel in the parking lot – you take the coveted front spot because from there to the door of the pretty bitterly cold air-conditioned store is merely steps. steps, i say! i pull littlebabyscion into covetland and start to jump out of the car – ok, slither is more like it – when i see the sticker on the stanchion in front of the covetedspot.
“you are beautiful”
in this moment – when my hair is plastered to my head, my lake-geneva-tjmaxx eddie bauer first ascent sun protection UPF50 lightweight moisture-wicking trail guide capris are two-way-stretch-stuck to me, my injinji coolmax no-show toe-socked-toes are screaming for freedom, my eyes are watering from coppertone spf 50 dripping down my forehead – unchecked by my meager blonde eyebrows – into my eyes – which makes my nose kinda run – and i look wrung out, not at all fresh or pressed or glowing from being outside and from having exercised – i do not feel beautiful.
“you are beautiful”
i laugh aloud, get my phone and schlither myself somewhat-debris-flow-ish out of the car and to the front of littlebabyscion so as to take a photograph of this sticker, prolonging by at least 45 seconds my entry into the much-anticipated cool-dom of the store. two young girls are walking by – looking fresher and definitely tan and glowing – while i position my camera. i’m pretty sure they were wondering why this melted woman was taking a picture of the metal post in front of her car.
i take a closer look as i get ready to click.
below the sticker that reads “you are beautiful” is another sticker. this one says “visitor” with a smiley face as the “o”. sheesh. i nod. i soooo feel like a visitor to this place. particularly right now. and i’m not talking about this grocery store. everything that is happening is hard to understand, to grok, to even slightly wrap my head around.
visitor. yep.
because what i really believe – in my rainbow-bubbles-sunrise girl kind of way – is that if we could all embrace each other – respect each other – treat each other kindly and with equality – rights, privileges, care and concern – if we could really truly look at the words “you are beautiful” and believe these words about all people – all people – regardless of any – any – differences – we could stand a chance of survival.
anything less makes us visitors to a land of ill intent, a land of corrupted souls, a land of immorality and sociopathic narcissism. and nothing about that is beautiful. we are privy to that.
nevertheless, i show my photograph to david as we walk into the store.
“you are beautiful”
he gets a cart and stops for a second. he looks at me and says, “you are.”
i hook my arm through his – as he begins pushing the cart toward the baguette aisle – and – for these moments of freon/puron/HFC/HFO/other-refrigerant-bliss – all is right in the world.
*****
read DAVID’s thoughts this MERELY-A-THOUGHT MONDAY
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in the middle of the middle of the chaos that is this world right now, the thing that seemed the most real was last night’s pizza.
with a new pair of garden snippers, we went out to the potting stand and snipped off some fresh basil for our homemade pizza. the oven was preheating while we sous-chef-ed. we poured a glass of red wine and reveled in the cool breezes coming in from the back door and windows. we dined al fresco on the deck with plates of pizza, arugula spilling out of salad bowls and dogga at our feet. ohhh, what a day.
*****
read DAVID’s thoughts this SATURDAY MORNING
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reverse threading 