our deck | reverse threading

it is a distinct sound – footfall on boardwalk. and somewhere in there, echoic memory rises. and crab meadow, sunken meadow, fire island, hilton head, atlantic city all fly to the front of my mind. even a boardwalk on a vegetation-dense mountain trail in pisgah national forest. anywhere my feet had hit the boards, with that hollow suspended-above sound.

and as we start to cross the marsh on this trail on the lake michigan coast, i want to slow down, to revisit each of those other places.

i’ve spent an inordinate amount of time on crab meadow beach’s small boardwalk. it’s the place i’d stop and empty the sand from my shoes after long walks on the beach. it’s the place – other than the tree in my growing-up side yard – where i did the most life-processing.

every other boardwalk elicits particular viewmaster frames etched in my memory. the planter’s peanuts store on atlantic city’s boardwalk when i was kid, my planter’s peanut pencil clutched in my hand. fire island lighthouse exploration as a late teen, blankets and coppertone in the dunes. hilton head island and treasured family time. a christmas hike in the north carolina mountains.

the limbic system kicked in the moment my feet hit the boards. and i pause in conversation, remembering. it’s like a kaleidoscope of images, a mix-up of boarded walkways.

our deck makes noise too. as you walk across, it creaks, giving up its age, telling tales of tiny children, family dinners, dance parties, ukulele rehearsals, quiet happy hours, silent time on the steps spent staring, watching the grass grow, treasured dogs-through-time napping. it has seen sparklers and bubbles, sunset skies and meteor showers, deep drifts of snow and umbrella-ed hot sun. it has earned its creaks and groans. it joins the photo album of boardwalks.

so, i go slow across the expanse over the marsh. i take my time, drinking in the tall cattails on either side. the warm humid air partners with the distinct sound of this wooden walkway and gets stored in my brain.

and one day, the next boardwalk day, whenever that is, the dopamine will rush forward as i – in the present and in magical memory – walk, step by step, board by board.

*****

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

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“easy living” it advertises on the cover of the wayfair summer catalog. inside, you can purchase everything you need for easy living. for a price, you can create easy living spaces on your deck, your front porch, in your kitchen, in your bath, by your pool, in your backyard. most items are really beautiful, beckoning you to believe in the power they have to help you live easy. this summer, we actually added a few small things to our own deck, though our deck is a mostly-target-added-to-repurposed-stuff deck. i have to say, a few cushions and outdoor pillows make an inviting difference.

we have changed our schedule a bit these days. we used to stay up really late and watch late night news and comedy talk shows, but through the pandemic and the political-rah-rah times it has tended to get us riled up. so instead, after the sun has fallen from the sky and mosquitoes having joined us on the deck, we watch minimal tv and go to bed early to read aloud or watch trails on a laptop. we wake up early, with rising sun and birdcalls streaming in through the wide-open windows in our bedroom.

this morning, just as the sun rose, i plugged in the coffee, fed dogdog, opened the windows in the sunroom and went outside. i greeted the tiniest farm on our potting stand, tested the soil for dampness, looked for ripe cherry tomatoes, pinched back the sweet basil. i checked on the lavender. i added bird seed to the feeder. i looked for magic in the pond and pulled a couple weeds. i watched dogga sniff around his yard and drank in the salmon sky lightening in the east. i came back inside and wandered from plant to plant, saying good morning to succulents and KC and snakeinthegrass. the coffee pot beeping drew me out of where i was standing by the window, looking out, and i pulled out cabin coffee company mugs. every day is different and every mug brings with it a different set of visceral memories. it was a breckenridge mug kind of day.

it was quiet; all was still. i thought: this. this is easy living. a little bit of ritual, a little peace at the beginning of the day, a little peace at the end of the day – these are ingredients you cannot purchase from a catalog. these simple gestures we make to being present-here-now are contagious. they spread the intention of simplicity to the rest of our day. and though we don’t always stay there, in peace, we know we can find our way back there.

because at the beginning of the next day we can try again. we can find the wonderful in this wonderful world.