reverse threading

the path back is the path forward

Tag Archives: lessons from nature


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backer rod, oh backer rod. [kerri’s blog on merely-a-thought monday]

we have become backer rod junkies. having never heard of it before this fall, it has been a quick conversion to fanhood, but we are there, nonetheless.

it’s been a week now since i woke up at midnight to the steady drip, drip, drip in the next room. yes. IN the next room. i threw off the covers, which woke d up immediately. and then i ran into the sitting room.

pulling up the miniblind disclosed what i expected: internal window sills of ice and a steady drip from above. it’s called ice damming.

the ridiculously frigid temperatures have caused the water in the gutter above these twin windows to freeze. we have a heating cable in that gutter, but – and here’s the big but – despite checking it before the snowfall, we didn’t know that the outdoor outlet the cable is plugged into had since failed.

so the water in the gutter froze and then the heat from the house started to thaw the snow on the steeply pitched cape cod roof which then melted toward the gutter – which had somehow misaligned itself – and, with the ice filling the gutter the water had nowhere to go but into the window structure behind the wall and voila! an interior (of the double hung windows) filled with ice. this – as you may guess – is not our favorite thing.

so, there we were, at midnight getting our equipment together. david with his 32 degrees base layers and boots and the infamous nike jacket, the ladder and plastic pitchers from which to pour hot water – and me, with my blow dryer, lots of old towels, a heater, a rubber spatula, mallet, and anything i could get my hands on that might waylay water from actually spilling INTO the room.

it was 2:30am before we went back to bed after d had climbed the ladder about 57 times in the frigid night air, melting the gutter and the downspout and replugging the heating element wire into an extension cord.

and then it all started again the next day. and the next. and the next. we are hoping for a 50 degree day, but it doesn’t look promising.

i’m writing this ahead so i am hoping that we have gotten it all under control by this time – hoping the backer rod and the towels and the cold-weather flex paste and the overburdened gutter guy have – in combo – solved this. but, for right now, as i write this, we are still in midstream, dealing with it. yep. midstream.

it is my hope (against hope) that the inordinate amount of backer rod we now proudly own will do the trick – being impermeable to water and such. we are counting on that impermeable thing. we shall see.

but in the meanwhile, we are nevertheless hope-filled-backer-rod-fans and will not hesitate to do the backer rod dance should backer rod help to solve this issue.

ice damming is a royal pain. we do our best to avoid it. every time it snows i hopehopehope it won’t be followed by a period of melting and then frigid sub-zero temperatures. not to mention a failing outlet or a gutter that has shifted out of alignment. eh.

we try to keep it in perspective, though, as we punt through our improvised fix. we feel fortunate, even as we damn the ice damming.

and mostly, i’m trying to decide if we should publicize my new backer rod theme song (to the tune of “edelweiss”) “backer rod, backer rod, every gap you are sealing. backer rod, backer rod, our love for you is revealing…joints and gaps will be waterproofed, that’s no spoof, we’re cheering…back rod, backer rod, you can’t know how much we’re feeling.”

*****

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

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if we were featherdusters. [kerri’s blog on not-so-flawed wednesday]

and what if we, like the sweet autumn clematis, were each merely one featherduster, one long, wispy tendril birthed from a maroon-brown pod joined with other maroon-brown pods on a single branch of a single vine.

what is it we would do with our wispiness, our soft fluffy plumes, tiny jet engines to propel us near and far? what seeds would we disperse, what knowledge would we dispense, what silvery sheen would we spread?

what would we choose to do with our one, wild featherduster life, our one journey through air, aided by wind, abetted by the twirling of our feathertail? where would we go, what jet stream would we join? what earth song would we sing? what would we touch – ever so lightly – brushing past, barely felt, a tickle of plume?

what if that were all we had? would we join with all the other featherdusters, an intertwined community seeding community? or would we spend our time engaged in disjointed competitive infighting with the others? would we choose a path on which we might twirl through together or would we choose to shoot off, like that one plane in a memorial fly-by, forging a new trail in air, bushwhacking through underbrush? what would our desire path be?

what if that had been our passage in this place? what if our featherduster existence had been it? would we have been all in? would we have given our best? would we have embraced seeding more clematis – like seeding more shimmery goodness? or would we have held back, continually waiting for something glorious to happen, for better weather, or for whatever later might be?

*****

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

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lessons from plumes. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

it’s a two-sided coin.

these stunning plumes rise above the grasses, catching the breezes, the last vestiges of light as the sun sinks, a place for lagging butterflies to linger a moment, catch their breath.

but – the tiny seeds that form these stunning plumes are actually tiny swords that find their way onto clothing and dogga and into every manner of places and stab us time and again. they are inescapable. they are incessant. they seemingly multiply like the needles from a fresh-cut scotch pine in december – and january and february and even march.

it’s a problem.

reluctant to deal with it, we put up with the pointy seedheads for a while, poking fun at their stubborn ability to show up – simply everywhere – even while suffering.

until it just seems silly that we are enduring this pointed attack on our peaceful existence – capitulating to these ornamental grasses – these beautiful, elegantly flowing sculptures around our yard.

but it’s solvable.

and so, we decide to snip off the plumes that bend over, arcing to attach themselves to dogga or our passing-by. we decide to snip off the plumes that block the sidewalk to our front door. we decide that we can have it both ways – gorgeous grasses with upright plumes catching the light, the wind, the creatures but no low-hanging attack plumes. we figure out what to do with our – beloved – grasses.

because that’s what adults do when faced with – even the smallest – problem. we negotiate a solution that will not cause more pain.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

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grasshopper, grasshopper. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

jeffie used to use the term “grasshopper” a lot. not really understanding any reference, i always took it to be a term of affection.

in the middle of the middle of stuff we are in the middle of, we took a hike. we always see tiny grasshoppers on the dusty trail – hopping in just the last second and flying away – like small moths zipping past us.

but this day – in the middle of the middle of stuff we are in the middle of – there were Grasshoppers – capital G. never had we seen hoppers this big on any part of this lengthy trail. they didn’t just hop away upon feeling the vibrations of our feet on dirt. they stood their ground.

i bent down to share a few moments with this one. after communing with it, i urged it to jump off the beaten path, trying to save its life from zealous bikers also on trail.

for the first time, i looked up what jeffie’s “grasshopper” reference might be. and it all made sense, reading that kung fu (from the 70s tv series i never watched) used it – yes, affectionately – to convey to his students etc “a message of growth and learning”.

this differential grasshopper grinned at me as i bent down, posing for the camera. he turned and looked down the dusty gravel trail. and then he turned back to me for a few moments before i urged him on, away from potential danger.

“you got this,” he whispered. “keep going. you may feel small and it may feel bigger, but we both have abundant power. i can only go forward. you can jump with me.”

i heard him as he took off with a giant hop for the underbrush, “remember! leap!.”

today is a good day for grasshoppers.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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even the tiniest flower. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

this tiniest flower of spanish needles reminds me of tenacity…as every plant produces about 1200 seeds to ensure its continued propagation – its desire to be in this world.

to be in this world…to be a part of this universe…to be valued.

we walk – when we walk in the ‘hood – past this plant every day. and every day i am enchanted by these tiny blossoms, in each phase of their living, each season they exist.

and i wonder how so many people – so cavalier – so uncaring – right-here-right-now – in this country – find it so hard to care about the very existence of other people when it is really so very easy to be grateful for the even the tiniest flower.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

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fire. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

when they were little, i was accustomed to watching their growth spurts – these moments when their tiny bodies were overcome by fiery energy of growth……a sudden few inches here or there…a burst in language or fine motor skills. childraising is a continual surprise. just when you thought you knew what you needed to know – at least temporarily – you were stymied by your own tiny child – and you became a little heap of not-knowing uncertainty. oof. it’s all a glorious mystery.

the one – and only one – daylily wasn’t giving up. all around it, blooms had tired and turned into wrinkled brown tissue, stems were drying out, its green frond-y leaves were yellowing.

and then, the growth spurt of this one last blossom – not yet willing to give up the game. it raised its head to the sun, singing.

we are watching the transition to autumn – all around us. fallow is in the offing, just off-stage, waiting for the summer to clear and sweep the wood floor of time it had inhabited. lighting is clearing the way for dark, a slow decrescendo of available daylight. sound is preparing to – soon – shut down the microphones of cicadas and crickets. the props of summer – all the heavenly hot-sun blooms and flowers and produce and herbs and the fantastic tapestry of color – the stagehands of fall are collecting them, quietly putting them to bed.

but the daylily in the front garden is having none of it.

in the middle of the transition to the quietude of fall, it is speaking loudly. it is not remaining silent. it is – in fact – screaming out to us to “remember!” it is reminding us we don’t know it all.

daylily’s transition is not without noise. it is not without color – its flame orange a loud pushback on what seems inevitable – fading fall, falling.

it is having a growth spurt of independent spirit. one lone bloom. glorious.

“instead of silence, she chose fire.” (celeste ng)

*****

IN TRANSITION ©1995 kerri sherwood

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TRANSIENCE © 2010 kerri sherwood

read DAVID’s thoughts this K.S. FRIDAY

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28 square feet. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

this brings me joy – stepping into this tiny little corner garden. each year it has been a place to wonder, to learn, to dream, to envision bounty. tiny as it is, it is a place of abundance and, even as autumn falls, i cherish its every bit of 28 square feet.

the parsley and the basil are still producing – they graced our homemade tomato soup last night. there are a few jalapeños left, still growing. the dill has dulled; the mint has faded. the cilantro has bolted time and again, despite my best efforts to convince it otherwise. the cherry tomatoes are ripening on the vine and the rosemary is a small tree. i suspect the rosemary will make its way inside for the winter. it all makes me think of next year’s planting – adding sweet potatoes in planters, more tomatoes, maybe a few other vegetables. it’s all been a lesson in embracing something new. it is a tiny space of zen.

we are considering some changes as we look around our house. in the cleaning-out mode, less and less is necessary. clearing away a child’s desk, a lateral file, unused appliances or electronics…it’s all fodder for the space we need – particularly in these times – for cherished quiet, for serenity. i am finding there is a direct connection between the more clear space and the more breath. it will take some time, as it has taken decades to acquire so many things. but we have time and, i believe, we have the wherewithal to go through our house, room by room, and invite in a sagefilled peace.

it’s really all about intention. though we do not live in a vast home and are not surrounded by vast acreage, we bring an intention to our home that is purposeful. as we move from room to room, slowly parsing out the unnecessary from the necessary or the wanteds, slowly replacing items with other items or replacing items with air-and-space, we tend to how it feels. we want to create a space in which we feel comforted, supported, valued. we want to create a space in which others feel comforted, supported, valued. we want a place filled with soul and acceptance of the inbetween moments in all of life.

today we’ll make a batch of pesto. as i look at the basil plants, i figure it will likely be the last batch this season. oh, there will be a bit for our homemade margherita pizzas, but not in real quantity. so we’ll go slow. snipping and rinsing, chopping and grating. we’ll talk about our garden – truly, for the umpteenth time. we’ll relish the pungent aroma of freshly-picked basil in the house.

and we’ll stand in the kitchen – looking at each other – with tears in our eyes – astonished at our good fortune.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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little. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

we had all but given up.

pretty much each year – for years – we have had a frog in our pond out back.

but this year there was simply nothing.

to say we were disappointed would understate how much these frogs have meant to us. we were pretty sad and wondered if we had done something that had inhibited a frog from choosing our tiny pond as a summer home.

until a few days ago.

d had seen a glimpse of green hopping in the water a few days prior, but we could not tiptoe up to the pond quietly enough to see it sunning on a rock or watching the world go by, tucked into a nook or cranny. we thought it was simply a momentary visit.

on thursday, though, we had a lucky day. and, as we stood quietly at the side of our pond, scouring the edges for a sighting of a frog, there he was.

little.

we named him “little” not at all having to do with his import to us, but because he seemed one of the smallest frogs to have lived in our pond.

you would have thought we had found gold coins hidden in the rocks of our water feature – our excitement was off the charts.

and – because every frog needs a theme song – i could instantly hear his in my head (sung to the tune of sugar, sugar by the archies): little – ba-ba-ba-ba-ba-ba/ oh, little little ba-ba-ba-ba-ba-ba/ you are our tiny frog/ and you got us hop-hoppin. (etc etc etc)

each year has brought a different reason to look for the meaning of a frog’s visit in our personal world. each year the resilience and transformation, renewal and abundance messages have been positive bits of symbolism for us and have made us feel that grace has dropped in for a visit.

this year is no different. little’s appearance has been like a single candle lit in a dark night – a warm glow, a talisman for reflection and hope.

we never know how long the frog will stay. but we do know that just making an appearance is a gift. for our small pond – in the middle of other suburban yards of grass and gardens – is maybe 18 square feet – and it seems fortuitous that a tiny frog would even find it.

but maybe somewhere in frogland there is a list…and frogs can check it – like airbnb – to see where they might find a little pond they can call their own. or maybe where it is they may be named and doted upon. or maybe where it is they might get their own theme song.

we hope little hangs around for a while.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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the acorn. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

there are plenty of trees where we hike. oaks, sycamores, birch, maples, pine, hickory, black walnut…there is quite a list. so it is no surprise that, as we are hiking, there are browned acorns, drying acorn shells and big black walnuts dropped on the trail, scattered everywhere, even dropping on us as we walk.

when i came across this branch, it was the brilliant green of the acorn that got my attention, the too-soon-ness of its place on our trail. i wondered – for a few moments – about what broke this branch that fell. it occurred to me that its natural aging, its natural place in the ecosystem of wildlife and forest had changed; this tree had somehow stress-shed this branch, this acorn.

there’s a lot of too-soon-ness…especially now, i think to myself.

and – a few moments later – i was back pondering the lists in my head…the to-dos, the worries, the problems to sort, the existential questions.

“lists engulf us – creating the illusion that our lives are full.” (plain and simple journal – sue bender)

the lists swirled and i organized them in the spaces of my brain as we walked in the early part of our hike.

but – in the way that being out in the forest, along the river, skirting meadows on a trail does – it all slowed down. and the joy of the trail took over. and, instead of the noise – internally or externally – the quiet serenity held my attention.

and this morning i find myself – once again – grateful for the sheer moment. even in this moment of the throes of a miserable cold, i am grateful for the simplicity of our givens.

“in that tiny space between all the givens is freedom.” (s.b.)

and it nudges me to simplify even more. the space of needing less, of making do, of knowing not a lot really matters.

the acorn is an ancient nordic symbol of life. my sweet momma kept a silver one in her purse and, now, so do i. maybe the acorn on our path was there to remind us.

“it’s time to celebrate the lives we do have.” (s.b.)

*****

peace © 2004 kerri sherwood

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the smallest among us. [kerri’s blog on flawed wednesday]

“bless the beasts and the children/for in this world they have no voice/they have no choice./bless the beasts and the children/for the world can never be/the world they see/light their way when the darkness surrounds them/give them love/let it shine all around them/bless the beasts and the children/give them shelter from the storm/keep them safe/keep them warm….” (bless the beasts and the children – the carpenters – barry devorzon/perry botkin, jr.)

we placed a dowel in the dirt of the old firepit tub to hold up the cardinal plant so that the flowers were upright and accessible to the tiny hummingbirds. we keep the hummingbird feeder freshened to give them sustenance in the days they cannot find the nectar they seek. we sit and watch them, marveling at their ability to survive, in wonder about the long pre-winter journey ahead of them.

they are tiny, tiny inhabitants of this earth and yet – as we share air and this space with them – we are worried these minuscule hummingbirds will be ok.

it makes me think about others who are likewise zealous about our winged friends and have bird and hummingbird feeders and bird baths…leading with their concern for these little creatures of the earth.

i would think we must all be on the same page…you know, compassionately caring for all the inhabitants of the earth…even the smallest among us…for surely, if their eyes are on the sparrow, then….

but no.

because at the same time, it makes me ponder their care-of-these-tiny-beasts while they concurrently wholeheartedly support the administration’s absolute demolition of care of its populace.

and it makes me linger on the hypocrisy of it all…for that support demonstrates their lack of concern for the rights of actual PEOPLE who are racially or ethnically different from them, their lack of concern for the safety and privileges of those PEOPLE whose gender identity is different from theirs, their lack of concern for the health and well-being, the homelessness and starvation of PEOPLE who are downtrodden, their lack of empathy for those PEOPLE – children, young women and men, adult women and men – who are surviving victims of sexual and violent crimes, domestic or otherwise, their support of an administration whose only care is not of THE PEOPLE but of itself and the shoring up of money and power and control.

and as this current administration and its sycophants are – right now – doubling down on protecting the sexual predators of children and young women, the silencing of vital facts to hold those people responsible, the hoaxifying of actual, horrific sex trafficking and dismissal of accountability – and right now – doubling down on racial profiling and the terrorizing of the PEOPLE of this country – and right now – doubling down on stripping people of healthcare and food assistance – these same people – the ones with the hummingbird feeders and all manner of wild bird paraphernalia – the ones who voted for this horrendous treatment of children, of women, of immigrants, of the diverse PEOPLE of our populace – these people pick up their pompoms and gleefully wave them. are they even aware of their righteous hypocrisy?

for – clearly – their actual care and concern for the beasts and the children is limited to the welfare of a xenophobic-racist-homophobic-chosen few. and their hummingbird feeders and wild bird paraphernalia? surely just props intended to make you think they care about this world.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this FLAWED WEDNESDAY

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