dogga had had lunch and snicky-snack was about three hours away. he seemed to be in good spirits and looked to be about to take his early afternoon nap. it was a beautiful day – absolutely gorgeous – blue sky, sunny, warm. so, for the first time in a long time, we decided to go hike the loop river trail. got our stuff together and drove down to the trailhead.
the white asters were blooming in the underbrush, the milkweed’s seedpods were splitting, with silky white filaments exploding from them. tiny purple blossoms were open to the sun and three snakes lined our way. a gorgeous day in the woods.
and then, the dandelion! this dandy hanger-on-er happily positioned itself around the bend and, as i approached, it smiled.
we are rapidly approaching the very end of october and, yet, here was this brilliant brightest yellow, reminding me that truly beneficial things do survive – the dandelion’s whole flower and stem nutritious for all the critters. this little flower. hanging on.
i suppose that is a good lesson for us all – particularly as we approach this midterm election: goodness does survive.
many people are out there voting early now. the ads and extreme pundits are getting uglier. the administration is losing whatever is left of their depraved minds.
but good people are also getting loud, louder.
please join with the dandelions out there. be the brilliant brightest everywhere, be what is beneficial for our country.
it feels like a bit of a homecoming. this trail is so familiar. yet it has been some time since we have been there, spending time on it. our absence – and its absence in our daily life – has not changed how it feels, though. that feeling we get – with our feet on its dirt – is still the same.
there is a constancy to some things. even in this ever-changing world, some things last.
this is the place we go to sort…a footpath that takes us through meadow and woods, bog and swamp and riverside.
each time we hike through – whether we have just been there or if it has been a long while – the trail reaches out to us – tendrils of soft air swirling around us – empty space for words or sighs or silence. it is a blank palette. we can choose to fill it or leave it blank – taking from it only what we need, knowing it will be there again the next time.
in these times of so.much.chaos, it feels like an imperative to find that which stays steadfast. instead of feeling like we are being whirled around, impacted by twisted intentions or mean-spirited cruelty, it is a matter of grounding to connect to the people or places or things that hold steady.
maybe it’s because of all the chaos, but we are finding that there are fewer and fewer of those people, places and things. does it just seem as though community is shrinking?
we wish we could be on the ditch trail or the trail up alongside the brook to the high mountain meadow. but for right now, this simple river trail brings us peace – with all its familiar twists and turns, the places we know to look for turtles, the sun patches where snakes sometimes sunbathe, the hawk’s screech overhead, the elusive deer in the briarpatch on the north end and in the woods down by the big curve in the river. just knowing it keeps us comforted, reassured.
the trail is relatively impervious to what is happening in this nation. fortunately, nature is doing its thing there and, for now, the trail and forest preserve are protected against invasive species and other things that would negatively impact it. it holds steady as the trail, not budging in its tender caregiving to the people who walk upon it, people who seek its quiet and its tenacity to maybe avoid this society’s current unrelenting assault on all their senses.
we are two of those people. grateful for this beautiful dirt path, grateful for its constant thick-and-thin constancy.
littlebabyscion has almost 287,000 miles on it. this little xb has traveled far and wide with me – always keeping me (and then, us) safe. the rocker panel skirt on the passenger side is now held on by a black zip tie (black so as not to draw attention to itself), but LBS has continued to proudly zip us around town, even with its unglamorous wheel rims.
we hadn’t driven it in a bit – there is no longer a/c in it and the humid summer days made it hot-as-heck without a/c – but we were weary of spending $100 to fill up big red in the current days of this country’s dysfunction. so, as it cooled down, we decided to switch the two in our one-car driveway and zip around in LBS again. (plus, big red was making a few strange noises and needed an appointment with steve.)
it felt like freedom driving LBS again – to move around in a much smaller vehicle that is not drinking up a gallon of gas just to go to and return from the grocery store.
and there it was – that sound. undeniable. LBS needed yet another new “lifetime” muffler and exhaust system. this little vehicle left no room for debate as this attention-getting sound got louder and louder and as the fumes in the vehicle necessitated wide open windows. asphyxiation was not a part of the equation, so wide open windows it was.
the signs were there. so was the list of other issues that the mechanic presented us with…oy! we made an appointment and the “lifetime” exhaust system was replaced. even though it was a “lifetime” warranty, i’ll just point out that doesn’t include labor, of course. but LBS wasn’t going to function properly without it. and it was warning us that we could be inundated by the fumes. it would be on us – and our own willful stupidity – if we asphyxiated after LBS clearly warned us.
breck – our aspen out back – is in stress mode. whether the high heat of the summer, or a water (too much/too little) issue or some sort of disease, some of its leaves have some dark spots and curled edges. we will likely go to the local tree nursery and ask a few questions; we want to be sure to help breck prevail. and – much like LBS – it is telling us it is stressed.
how anything in this world could be anything but stressed right now is beyond me.
we are trying – with an exercise regimen, with long daily walks, with some deliberate meditation – to mediate this stress. i can’t say it is entirely helping, but i also must say that it is not hurting. staying grounded and steady, moving forward with goodness and truth, caring about our democracy and the virtue of its ideals and laws as they impact the whole populace – these require a constancy that rides stress like a bucking bronco and holds on.
in less than twenty days, it will be time to vote. there are dark spots and curling edges freaking everywhere now – in every dark and morally vacuous corner of the current administration’s intentions.
while the whole entire tree is not yet entirely and grossly affected, we need to take action and do whatever needs to be done to eradicate that which is stressing breck, that which could snuff its very life.
soon and very soon we will have to trim the stunning plumes off the grasses in the backyard. dogga loves to walk right alongside these grasses and the spikelets attach to his fur. posing as perfectly harmless golden seedheads, these little spikelet awns end up on our bed, in our socks, on the area rug in the living room – and ultimately stab us repeatedly, until one finds the source of the pain and removes it.
last year…as fall progressed and the number of spikey jabs increased, it occurred (slowly) to us to remove the source – and so we reluctantly trimmed the plumes out back, even though the way they catch the sunlight is remarkable.
nevertheless, they somehow sneak in, these tiny posers. and we heroically hold up one or two showing each other that we have literally saved the other’s life.
it’s those sneaker-inners that plague us…like needles from a long-gone christmas tree…they show up…and the longer they are around, the dryer and pointier they get. so it is important to try and eradicate them from inside the house as soon as possible.
ahhh…speaking of eradicating them from inside the house – we are ever closer to midterms and the big house – that-white-one-that-no-longer-has-an-east-wing – the one that every single one of us owns – that house needs big time eradication of the posers lodged there.
any reason to continue to tolerate that which brings pain is not acceptable.
they are seeding nothing but cruelty, bigotry, gluttony, self-serving agenda. and it is all at our peril.
we are wise enough to remove the spikelet awns from our comforter, our rugs, our socks.
we must remove the same from the leadership of our country.
the tidbit server is an etched clear glass tray – vintage fostoria from the 30s or maybe a tad closer to mid-century – with a fleur-de-lis finial in the center. though difficult to store, it is a lovely piece passed down to me and i keep it at hand so that i might use it from time to time. i thought about this tray the instant we passed by the canna lily on the sidewalk by the art center. the brilliant orange-red petals – aglow with noon sun – curled back from the center, revealing nature’s fleur-de-lis, right there, just waiting for us.
we walked home and i looked in the corner cabinet built into our dining room – just to say hello to this piece, remembering my sweet momma using it on special occasions and recommitting to using it any old time.
we were at old navy browsing. they were having big sales and plain black sweatshirts were a part of the sale: $20! – less than half price! it’s been a long time since we each got a new sweatshirt – years, really – so we looked for a couple in big, cozy oversizes, and splurged. just the idea of a new sweatshirt for the fall days and nights rapidly approaching made us excited. we know there is a low bar for eliciting our excitement, but, heck, new yummy sweatshirts would make anyone pretty gleeful.
we imagined walking in all our favorite places with these new sweatshirts. and, though we are not traveling these days – instead, staying at home with our aging dogga – we could well imagine wearing these in the mountains, on the coast, up north, in canyonlands, out in the desert after sunset.
it also means, maybe, that some of our ancient sweatshirts may move on. well, except for the north face clearance ones that are falling apart from close to a dozen years of wear and tear. or the old zip-up that d uses when he paints in his studio. or the cropped zip-up i wore on every single solo roadtrip i took for years – like a reassuring, protective guardian – my support hoodie – now at least 25 years old – with no cuffs left to be found and a paper clip as a zipper pull. yeah, these will not go – no one else would want them, nor would we even give away such shoddy shirts with so much meaning.
but there are others – sweatshirts i collected over the years touting places or universities or organizations. some of those are in very good condition and still have lots of wearing to be done.
it’s a funny thing about old stuff. a few years back i thought that this fleur-de-lis glass tray might be a good thing to move on – to sell to someone who might really relish its vintage beauty, who might use it in regular rotation.
and then i realized that person is me.
the etched glass tray and the tattered papercliphoodie are in different classes entirely. but they are both expressions of who i am, where i have come from, where i might be going.
as soon as the beakyrule has run its course – and i can wear the brand new thing – i’ll be wearing that new black sweatshirt, being all cozy-like. hopefully it will feel just right, right away.
in the meanwhile, it’ll just have to wait for its wings, sitting patiently on the cedar chest in our room, on top of the old quilt and under my sunhat.
the next time we passed the canna lily, it was no longer in fleur-de-lis position, a ballerina in positions of grace. it had withered a bit, its petals less reaching-for-the-sun, more cuff-less and zipperpull-less, but, i noted, no less of a blossom.
a very long time ago – decades – my friend joe-z took me on the curvy, hilly route 25A on long island – east of northport – to teach me how to drive his datsun 240Z.
at the time my own car was my 1971 volkswagen superbeetle bug, so i was driving something that was quite a bit more tame than the 240Z – ok, a lot more tame than the 240Z.
his red z-car was powerful, low to the ground, with a very responsive suspension and tight steering. it was a lot to handle if you wanted to take it to its limits. i remember it as being stick shift – four on the floor – like my bug.
i was timid as we started, the curves of the road intimidating, the hills and slanted roadway a bit nerve-wracking with this much power in my hands.
but joe-z was patient and had time to spend. and, among other things, he taught me that driving into the curves – accelerating – would give me the ability to control the curves and not have the curves control me.
i can still remember driving that Z, still remember the power under me, still remember the lessons from those times driving that car in various conditions.
so i nodded during the movie the art of racing in the rainwhen the race car driver character denny said, “no one knows what curves life will throw at you, but if the driver has the courage to create his own conditions, then the rain is simply rain.”
25A’s curves are simply curves. its hills are simply hills. and the road right in front of you is what exists.
in this time of my life, i am finding that courage is the thing that counts. the unpredictability of life can be mind-boggling and sometimes shattering – in so many ways – and accelerating around the curves may well be the only difference between succumbing or having some sort of control.
on these particularly rainy days, we can see that rain is most definitely rain. it can overwhelm the land, communities, spirits.
standing up to the fear of any of that while adapting best as one can may not diminish the rain’s potential impact – we cannot underplay the rain’s havoc-wreaking. but presence, resilience and placing your eyes where you want to go – like the race car driver in the movie – can help survive the conditions.
we can learn from each other – lessons that generalize over spectrums of life: shift our weight in the saddle, press into the turning waterski, sustain-pedal with some reserve, taste food before salting.
every day now the mourning dove shows up. all by itself, it sits on the wire. not cooing or preening at all, it appears to be waiting, waiting.
something about this lone dove tugs at me every time i witness its silent vigil. it feels as if it has lost its life partner and its perch – high above the backyards it can see – gives it a place from which to search or from which to be quiet and pine. though i know that it could be acting as a sentinel for a nest or simply resting with an eye to predators, there is something else i can feel.
i’ve whispered up to this mourning dove – that i see it, that i am privy to its vigil and that i honor its steadfastness, its constancy. i tell it that i am witness to what seems like its sadness. i hardly know if it helps – or if the dove can hear me or understand me. but being here and watching and aware, it feels like i am honoring its story.
it is not unlike that which we could do for each other. all each others, regardless. if only we were to sit on metaphoric high wires quietly and listen to each other, honor each others’ stories, be witness to joy or pain, hold one another tenderly. if only.
as sunflowers age, their woody stems lose the ability to turn back and forth – east and west – in their track of the sun. instead, their older, more mature stalks keep them more planted, most often facing east – to capture the rising sun and warmth from early morning’s rays, to stoke up.
now, i’m guessing that it would be easier for the sunflower if it were able to continually use their magical heliotropism superpower their whole life, but – much like humans – some of their flexibility fades as they get older and they deal with life differently as an aged sunflower.
in the storylines of our own lives, it would be much easier if we were able to constantly pivot to goodness – the sun, easy answers, fixes, healing solutions, the fair solving of problems, any evil affecting us succumbing to accountability.
to think that all might go our way – the first time – or, heck, any time at all – sounds mighty fine.
but life as a sunflower isn’t like that. and neither is life as a human.
instead, lots of times we must set down our expectations and take a breath. a deep breath.
we allow a bit of time to readjust: to maybe grieve, to pine for a different result, to rail over outcomes dashed.
we reassess. we sort. we brainstorm.
we strategize. we plan.
we gear up.
and then – we rise up – with strong and straight spine – and face the next day, ready for what comes next. whatever it is.
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.
