May 23, 2012
This wasp nest survived the winter rains beneath my garden gate. I don't know how many times I slammed the door last summer, but its occupants never complained. I only discovered it last week. There's something satisfying about contemplating angles and discovering a sphere.
When I add something to my yard, it doesn't really belong until it's adopted by nature. The top of the gate has become a sporadic perch for robins, finches, chickadees, and at least one barred owl. On hot days, hornets and other wasps cling to the support beams to scrape cedar for their nests.
Nobody lives in this nest now. I'm leaving it up as decoration as well as a deterrent to wasps who might identify the gate as prime real estate and object to my door-slamming ways.
May 21, 2012
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May 11, 2012
One of the rarest phenomena of a perpetually overcast spring, the apple tree mandala, was just sighted. Let the blossoms begin!
May 8, 2012Fiddleheads live the joy of a slow stretch. They're born clutching all the elements of their finished selves. Their purpose? Unfurl. |
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April 30, 2012
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Commitment to exploration: "I will follow this stick to the end."
April 18, 2012
Quote From Adventures of Huckleberry Finn:
"Sometimes we'd have that whole river all to ourselves for the longest time. Yonder was the banks and the islands, across the water; and maybe a spark--which was a candle in a cabin window; and sometimes on the water you could see a spark or two--on a raft or a scow, you know; and maybe you could hear a fiddle or a song coming over from one of them crafts. It's lovely to live on a raft. We had the sky up there, all speckled with stars, and we used to lay on our backs and look up at them, and discuss about whether they was made or only just happened. Jim he allowed they was made, but I allowed they happened; I judged it would have took too long to make so many. Jim said the moon could a laid them; well, that looked kind of reasonable, so I didn't say nothing against it, because I've seen a frog lay most as many, so of course it could be done. We used to watch the stars that fell, too, and see them streak down. Jim allowed they'd got spoiled and was hove out of the nest. . ."
-Mark Twain-
"Sometimes we'd have that whole river all to ourselves for the longest time. Yonder was the banks and the islands, across the water; and maybe a spark--which was a candle in a cabin window; and sometimes on the water you could see a spark or two--on a raft or a scow, you know; and maybe you could hear a fiddle or a song coming over from one of them crafts. It's lovely to live on a raft. We had the sky up there, all speckled with stars, and we used to lay on our backs and look up at them, and discuss about whether they was made or only just happened. Jim he allowed they was made, but I allowed they happened; I judged it would have took too long to make so many. Jim said the moon could a laid them; well, that looked kind of reasonable, so I didn't say nothing against it, because I've seen a frog lay most as many, so of course it could be done. We used to watch the stars that fell, too, and see them streak down. Jim allowed they'd got spoiled and was hove out of the nest. . ."
-Mark Twain-
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April 8, 2012
I love the way birds look at things with total focus, even if they are only looking at them for a moment.
Often I'll be looking at something and my mind has already skipped off into the story of what I'm looking at, rather than staying quiet and allowing me to truly experience what is happening. I lost a moment of grace with seals the other day. I was beachcombing and glanced out at the water. A seal's head was visible about fifteen feet away. Its liquid eyes were aimed at me and its nose flared and closed. Another seal popped its head out of the water just behind it. I called to the kids and pointed them out. The farthest seal disappeared. The kids looked over and then went back to sunbathing on a rock shelf under a blossoming cherry tree. Either I was unable to hack the intensity of the seal's gaze or so desperate to connect that I said "Hello!" as if it were the neighbour's puppy. It sank with barely a ripple to indicate it was ever there. I watched for seals for a while, but didn't see them resurface. I felt oafish, as if I'd stumbled while dancing. Next time I'll just cock my head to the side and gaze back. Then when the moment moves on, I'll have something to sing about. |
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April 5, 2012
Selectively-Logged Bluebells
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Forager-Approved Stamp of Approval
I was wondering when the deer would find our yard. As far as I can tell, it works alone. Sneaking in around dawn each day, it samples the delectably organic menu. I have a tall fence around the veggie garden and an awkward fence around the new blueberries. The first deer tracks appeared just after we planted those.
The roses are standing defiant -- so far. The columbine? Not so lucky. |
Crop-top Tulip
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Cabbage Salad
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"I've been robbed!"
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"Keep your pants on!"
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April 2, 2012 The flowers are doing their best to coax the sun. The tulip on the right is a contortionist, using body language to say, "C'mon, look! THIS is how you shine!" The few insects I've seen have been shivering so hard it takes ages to get a clear picture of them. At least their teeth don't chatter. When the flash goes off, they burrow into their Pieris Japonica duvet and whine, "Just five more minutes..."
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March 9, 2012
"Spring is sing-ing in the gar-den to the laughing daff-o-dils..."
(That's a line from a song I sang during vocal lessons years ago.) And it's TRUE!
Spring is a time for flights of fancy and nonsensical laughter. I've been really busy
learning songs and performing with my choir and I've gotten far too serious about it all.
So serious, in fact, that I don't realize how much fun I'm having each moment.
I had an impromptu rehearsal with my friend this morning for a concert we're singing
in tonight. We worked on a tricky Ave Maria in order to polish our timing. Then we
sang a traditional Balkan song we knew well last year just to make sure we didn't trip
over the words. The harmonies wove around us and started to play. Music blossomed
and energy danced. Now I'm looking forward to the concert.
All songs have magic in them, we just have to free them from the labels "Difficult"
and "Impossible" and give them a chance to soar. Perceptions can easily change. For
example, the moss that grows on our cliff has faces in it. Each time I walked past the other
day, I saw a small smiling person with a prominent brow, cheek and nose. Then my husband
pointed out his perspective. My little friendly moss face is also the cape of a cross-legged,
turbaned genie seen in profile with folded arms and great posture. Now the two images
always pop out of the background together.
Maybe instead of burning energy on dropping the labels we give to songs and other
things, we can let them just hang there and focus on the magic around them:
"This song might be impossible but I'm going to sing the hell out of it!"
Whatever makes it fun, right?
Feb. 22, 2012
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Signs of Spring
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Feb. 20, 2012
Looby's map of the outside world says, "Here there be monsterrrrs..."
She loves chewing grass, basking in the sun and rolling on dusty concrete
as long as there is a clear escape route back to the inside. I don't leave the
door open for hours during cold weather, so much of the year she is a true
house cat.
When summer hits, she is very timid about leaving her comfort zone. With
each trip beyond the walls she becomes more confident. The "Unknown"
section of her world map gets pushed outward and she thrives on newfound
freedom.
So often I've thought of reasons not to do wonderful things that I consider
beyond my abilities. When I catch myself doing that, I choose one of those
things and give it a whirl. The learning curve is usually pretty humbling, but
before long I realize that I've stepped out of my self-imposed cage. There's
no need to go back inside. There are more walls out there somewhere. For
now, the breeze chases the sunlight across the grass and invites exploration.
Feb. 16, 2012
When I was a little kid, I watched Sesame Street. I could recite all the opposites like a pro: tall/short, up/down, hard/soft. Things on television had definite answers. Even Big Bird spoke with confidence, albeit in an annoying voice.
I grew up and grasped the difference between the scripted world and the live one. I still look to my surroundings for answers, but in nature the borders between opposites are often blurred. It's confusing. The oak tree in our back yard rises from the ground with four trunks. Some mornings I step into the space between them and lean against one trunk in order to bask in the sunrise. My hands rest on |
the trunks to either side of me, moving between rough bark and thick moss. I feel the strength in both textures.
The sturdy tree holds its shape through weather and season changes, but also has a softness in its energy, particularly when a flock of birds swoops into its branches to forage. The gentle moss on each trunk endures drought, frost and even the weight of my body against it. Seen up close, though, it's as prickly as an old hermit. There are so many perspectives. Things blend and overlap. It's easy to get lost. I guess that's why people turn to religion. There are answers. They are definite. There are even opposites. |
What upsets me about religion is when people cling to their safety blanket so tightly that they push others away or, worse, strangle them with it.
We all want to feel safe and we're all individuals. Different things bring us feelings of connection to God. We may have different names for God, but that connection to being loved and cared for by something greater than our own minds is universal. The wonderful thing about kids is that even though they like definite answers, they can see past differences. They keep it simple. "Hi Mommy. This is Khaleed. He likes his trucks better than my horses. We're going to play in the sandbox now." |
Jan. 30, 2012
This autumn there was a big apple crop, so I baked pies, gave away a few full bags to my neighbours and left the rest on the tree for the birds. They didn't take me up on the offer until just before our first snowstorm. When I looked outside there appeared to be extra apples on the tree. It was a flock of Varied Thrushes, all fluffed up among the branches. After the snow, they kept warm by eating apples and chasing one another through the branch maze. |
It's hard to sneak up on thrushes, so I had to lean out a window in the carport.
The dim light transformed these photos into Impressionist paintings.
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Rocket fuel for birds.
Jan. 15, 2012
The concept of everything being in motion has been written in many ways. Here is a nice simple one by Wayne Dyer that my brain can leap off from: "Everything is in motion. Everything flows. Everything is vibrating."
So even if I am sitting in a chair, ruminating over my peas, I am in motion. That's easy enough, considering everything that moves inside my body just to keep me alive. The peas I am staring at are in motion. Not only potential motion, because I might decide to push them around the plate with a fork, but actual motion just by being there. In order to reflect the colour green, they must be vibrating at a specific rate. Even the plate they are on has a certain vibration that differentiates it from the air, the table, or my hand.
So resting can still be considered productive. During those times, I integrate ideas that prepare me for action. These new ideas have vibrations of their own. When I take them in, my shape subtly changes... or the world's does. I wonder which it is. ←(Caution! Becoming stuck at rest is as unproductive as never resting.) Ideally, external motion becomes internal motion and flows back out again. This pattern is constant and transformative.
It's easier to see in nature. A winter leaf lies flat, blending in with the ground around it. I might see it as I walk by, but most likely I'll move on and forget about it. Overnight, the air chills, and the frost highlights the stem and all the veins of that leaf. The next morning I walk by and notice not only the leaf, but the path that life took through that leaf. I see the asymmetry of the pattern; the places where the leaf broke free from the need for perfection and found its own way to express life. I meander across the lawn, go inside and eat my peas.
So even if I am sitting in a chair, ruminating over my peas, I am in motion. That's easy enough, considering everything that moves inside my body just to keep me alive. The peas I am staring at are in motion. Not only potential motion, because I might decide to push them around the plate with a fork, but actual motion just by being there. In order to reflect the colour green, they must be vibrating at a specific rate. Even the plate they are on has a certain vibration that differentiates it from the air, the table, or my hand.
So resting can still be considered productive. During those times, I integrate ideas that prepare me for action. These new ideas have vibrations of their own. When I take them in, my shape subtly changes... or the world's does. I wonder which it is. ←(Caution! Becoming stuck at rest is as unproductive as never resting.) Ideally, external motion becomes internal motion and flows back out again. This pattern is constant and transformative.
It's easier to see in nature. A winter leaf lies flat, blending in with the ground around it. I might see it as I walk by, but most likely I'll move on and forget about it. Overnight, the air chills, and the frost highlights the stem and all the veins of that leaf. The next morning I walk by and notice not only the leaf, but the path that life took through that leaf. I see the asymmetry of the pattern; the places where the leaf broke free from the need for perfection and found its own way to express life. I meander across the lawn, go inside and eat my peas.
Jan. 12, 2012
I wonder how a moon snail experiences its shell. Does it know the beauty of its own unfurling?
New Year 2012I love the hope and excitement that comes with each new year. There's an overview of how much I achieved over the past twelve months and a sweet forgetting of how much I didn't. It's like pushing a "reset" button without having to start over completely. The post-Christmas holiday gives time to take a deep breath, take hold of my glider and leap for sky. Who knows what wind currents I'll meet this year, but I'll learn them and ride them and by next year I'll perch a little higher on the tree of life. |
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