Christmas 2011
Gifts
Love within yourself;
courage to share it.
People who understand and
celebrate your uniqueness.
Peace walking with you;
touching those you pass.
Moments that refresh and
celebrate your being.
Merry Christmas! May the light of this season
lift your spirit and flow freely throughout 2012.
Thank you for reading.
Dec. 12, 2011
Moments of bliss are always happening around us. This time of year we busy
ourselves with trying to create the perfect holiday season. So much energy gets poured into completing shopping lists and decorating as well as meeting our normal daily goals. We wear blinders in order to accomplish things. Thankfully this moment caught me before my blinders were fully on.
Foggy days have their charm, but they usually lack colour. On this particular one, I drove home from my son's bus stop, concocting plans to achieve Christmas. As I turned into the driveway I noticed the diffuse sunrise projecting tree shadows onto the fog. The air breathed. Light streamed through fir boughs then faded to a distant glow before overflowing again. In this dark time of year any play of light is a gift.
Noticing it is a miracle.
Oct. 31, 2011
Oct. 20, 2011
Thank you to all the volunteers who are working so hard to clean up the New Zealand beaches, to prevent more oil from spilling from the container ship, to rehabilitate the sick wildlife and to clear the bodies of those who didn't survive the disaster. There's a Maori proverb that translates: "Turn your face to the sun and the shadows fall behind you." In that vein, here's a glimmer of joy in the midst of the mess: http://animaltracks.today.msnbc.msn.com/_news/2011/10/20/8411051-a-good-yarn-knitters-make-sweaters-for-penguins-after-oil-spill#.TqDTVNXa3vU.twitter The people of the world want to help; they just need a focus.
Oct. 16, 2011
Octopuses squirt ink in order to camouflage themselves and secure a quick getaway. Ships caught on reefs spew oil and bring unwanted attention to world shipping practices. Octopus ink is a mixture of melanin and a compound designed to irritate the eyes and temporarily paralyze a predator's smell. Oil from derelict vessels is a mixture of oil and any other contaminant that can be gotten rid of quietly by spreading it around the world in a thin layer of exhaust. When oil is leaked into the ocean, thousands of birds, fish and mammals die. People who volunteer to clean oil spills and save some animals do so at a cost to their own health, but they do it anyway. When people frequent a beach, their joy is unleashed by wave song, bird flight and fresh breeze. Having that polluted is unacceptable. Either we stop hauling so much junk around the world or we train octopuses to do it for us. At least their ink is water soluble.
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Sept. 30, 2011
Rain and beauty are sisters. My young friend recently returned from Afghanistan.
I showed him around the yard and we chatted about his upcoming wedding. A
tree frog started singing from its hiding place somewhere around the hibiscus tree.
He told me he loves frogs. "When it rained in Afghanistan it pelted down. Afterward,
the ground in camp was covered with tiny frogs. Guys were carrying them around
showing each other and we were all trying not to step on them." His voice was warm,
as if he was remembering a holiday rather than a war zone. I don't know many of
the memories he carries, but I know that some are pretty awful. For the short time
the soldiers were playing with frogs, they were children; free from their burdens.
Nature's oasis is open to everyone, everywhere.
Sept. 20, 2011
His little moustache and beret were too cool to photograph.
September 18, 2011
This is a strawberry leaf. All the other leaves on the main plant are evenly green
and seem comfortable being close to the earth. However this leaf has dreams of
swaying from the tip of a long maple limb.
Through carrying this aspiration, the leaf transforms itself as much as it can. It
moves toward the impossible. The only danger to it comes through expecting to
achieve its desired outcome of actually becoming a maple leaf. If it gets caught in
that expectation, it will spend its life staring at the dirt, frustrated that it has failed.
It may never notice how its dream has expressed. It may never hear the whispers
from the maple trees across the yard...all the big leaves sharing their autumn dreams
of flying a short distance just so they can land close to that beautiful strawberry leaf.
Sept. 3, 2011
R.I.P. Carport Wasp Colony
This is the time of year that wasps get stupid. Unfortunately it coincides with our business moving into the new building at home. On moving day, a wasp stung my hand. Yesterday I watched one attack our parked car repeatedly, bashing itself silly in the process. We also found out that one of our customers is seriously allergic to wasp stings.
Because the hornets didn't eat the entire carport wasp colony and people need to move safely through the area, we resorted to extreme measures. Our carport is no longer a hub for insect industry and most definitely has lost its organic status. Next year I will set the boundaries early so that we won't need to snuff out so many lives.
Both the wasp colony in my sunflower garden and the one beneath the hibiscus tree are still thriving, though, and everyone can easily avoid them for the few weeks before frost hits. Wasp lives aren't destined to end well, but I wish them as much peace as they can experience in each moment.
August 23, 2011
This is the year of the weeds. My gardens are watered and appreciated but not worked, other than some humble harvests of peas, beans and strawberries. If I want to find bugs for portraits I have only to look to the dandelions and thistles that have sprung up among the veggies. I have never seen such happy insects. If I were learning what to eat by following their patterns, I'd be a weedarian.
The bees pollinate my crops in a dutiful way, but when they hit the fireweed they look as though they're made of light. Their wings work to maintain gravity rather than defy it. A bumblebee on a thistle is complete joy. She runs in circles, drinking in frenzied halts, her legs sifting petals in her constant search for sweetness. There are prickles all around but she never pays them a moment's heed.
August 22, 2011I've never considered myself overly political but I honour the strength and persistence of the women who secured our voting equality. As a result I have voted in every election since I turned eighteen, even the ones I considered farcical. During the last election campaign, my son watched the debate at school. He came home and announced that Jack Layton was the only good candidate. When asked his reasons, he said, "Because he has an awesome moustache." Observing Mr. Layton over the next few months, we all became quite fond of the man and his moustache. Today I found out that he passed away. In preparation for this event, he had written a letter to Canadians. I read it with my kids and wept. Part of me was baffled at my response. Isn't it part of our national identity to dislike politicians? There is definitely a political overtone in Jack Layton's letter. He must have believed strongly in his work. Yet, there are also moments where he is simply a human being facing the unknown and reaching out to it with an open heart. It's worth a read if you haven't seen it yet. http://ca.news.yahoo.com/text-jack-laytons-letter-canadians-165603498.html |
August 11, 2011
I think this little butterfly is known as a "Hairstreak." It was stretched out on a
sunflower leaf yesterday when my mom pointed it out to me. I only got one quick
picture before it zipped over to the flowering leek and got on with the business of its
day. After taking several shots of it moving among the flowers I started thinking about
context. From some angles, the butterfly nearly disappeared among the flower stalks.
From others, it became an extension of the flower, shimmering against the darker
background.
The background of these photos is like the attitudes I carry around each day. I don't
notice them much, but they alter the significance of every experience I have. I wonder if
that's why it's easier for me to remember difficult times than happy ones. Perhaps a change
of scenery could happen with just a slight change of story.
August 8, 2011
I met a guy when I was eighteen years old. He caught my attention with his gorgeous smile, athletic build, and a witty comeback when I refused to go to a party with him. The following week, I broke up with the fellow I was seeing, tracked down a phone number for this guy, got directions and went to the party. I was dressed up. It was a pool party. He swears he told me. I swear he didn't.
That sums up our day-to-day communication skills these many years later. Beneath that, though, we have an abiding respect for one another. He isn't passionate about gardening and spirituality, but he appreciates the stories I gather and share with him. I am not keen on gyms or games requiring trolls, but I listen with an open heart to his insights on health and I enjoy being in the room with him as he's painting miniature beasties. He sets a glow about the place. Our two children get that gift from him.
Is there any new way to say "I love you" after decades together? When a bee lands on a flower, she senses the essence of the living being beneath her. Her antennae touch it. Its communications travel along her nerves and align within her mind. Immersed in the flower's energy, she follows the sweetness of their connection and drinks deeply. She flies and arrives at her hive, luminous with nourishment to share with all. With the touch of that one flower, she is more than she was before.
Thank you for sharing your life with me.
July 31, 2011
July 30, 2011
Like this munchkin, I've climbed my blocks and am picking a new pathway along them. It's wasted effort to move them out of the way. Each time one shifts, another is blocking the way behind it. Better to leave them as they lie and create a practical use for them. Bridge?!
July 16, 2011
My brain picks out patterns depending on its focus. When I'm
in bug mode (all summer), I scan a garden and easily zoom in on all the insect and arachnid shapes. It's as if someone is holding a magnifying glass in front of me. When cloud-watching, the first few images are slow to form, but once my mind engages, stories unfold like movies across the sky. I often dream of finding coins on the ground. When I pick them up there are always more ahead. I gather them excitedly and say, "I always have this dream and now it's really happening!" Then I wake up. The neat thing is that for a while after that dream, I find coins on the ground wherever I go. Not just pennies, either. I've been trying to dream of paper money, but this type of thing can't be forced. My brain can also work against me. While driving, I often expect other drivers to do crazy things. Those days, I see plenty of near misses and arrive home adrenalized or angry. When my focus is on enjoying the journey, my car flows better through traffic. I'm easier on myself when I make mistakes and can remain calm even when the occasional red-light runner zooms across an intersection I'm about to enter. This brain phenomenon might be why hobbies are so important for people. A person can get a lot done by focusing on one thing, but that single-pointed focus fries a few circuits after a while. Hobbies are things people choose to do for no other reason than that they are attracted to them. They refill human energy reserves the way nectar nourishes insects. Shifting perspective from work to a hobby helps people discover new patterns and clear the seriousness out of their old ones. It's important to create enough space in life to touch magic. |
July 10, 2011
My sunflowers have buds. This is one of
them. I always see this plucky little fly on
sunflower leaves. It does a fancy backward
hop-shuffle across the broad expanse of one
leaf before flitting to the next. It is very aware
of any audience and always plays to it.
My first guess at its identity was hoverfly, but I
have yet to see it taste anything but leaf. I
will probably stumble across its picture in
A Field Guide to Insects one day but for now its
name can just be a feeling I enjoy whenever I
catch its show.
July 1, 2011 Each generation waxes and wanes, according to the impulse of life. Imagine a stadium full of people doing the wave. There are a few people who jump up early and others who straggle, but everyone has a moment to stand and cheer. The energy swoops past and is picked up by the next group of people who then pass it to the next. It is constantly accepted and surrendered. Each person who carries the energy changes it slightly.
This is easily demonstrated by insects, whose life span is so brief compared with our own. In order to thrive, bees need access to sunlight and a variety of clean nectars. In my yard, they drink from "weeds" as often as vegetable and fruit flowers. If someone sprayed weed killer on my property, the bees wouldn't suddenly stop going to those flowers. There would be an uptake of poison, which would then pass to their brood. Even a tiny amount leaves the next generation weaker. Then when life presents another challenge, such as cell phone radiation or a hardy mite, that generation lacks the energy to adapt to or overcome it. |
Bees Through the AgesIn the human world, older generations often look at the younger and shake their heads. They throw words at them such as lazy and unmotivated. I suggest that many of the kids are overwhelmed. They have inherited a society spinning out of synch with the natural rhythm of life. Life gets chucked into their laps like a hot potato and few of their forebears have demonstrated how to embrace their lives and mindfully prepare for the next generation. |
June 29, 2011
http://www.dump.com/2011/06/05/the-hidden-beauty-of-pollination-video/
The man in this video link said something that inspired me even before the images he captured
left me dumb with wonder. He said that everything is a continuum of life expressing itself.
The idea took root in me. Whether we're people, plants, insects, birds, clouds, stones, we are life in flow. Our circumstances at any given time are just variations of expression. I always thought the experience of compassion somehow involved pity. Now I feel that it is more of a kinship infused with respect. When I see the life in everything,
it is easier to celebrate it than separate from it.
June 19, 2011I normally don't put my shots of people on here, but I can't honour my father without pictures of guys doing things. He isn't in either photo, but this is how I imagine him having fun. Dad enjoys projects, especially ones that help other people and he often forgets to take time for himself. As the building continues at our place, we are the focus of his impressive efforts. He just hand-dug a trench for our new sewer line so that we wouldn't do too much damage to the roots of our ancient yew tree. Last year, he built gates and a tall fence for my sunflower veggie garden. He works wonders with wood, whether building or carving. He is also enough of an artist to surrender to the shaping rendered upon him by life experience. Many of his jagged edges have tumbled smooth in the currents of the years. If I had the power to give my father anything, it would be one day of peace. On that day he could feel his own love reflected back to him through all the lives he has touched and know that who he is lifts people's spirits. His actions are only a small part of that, though they are interwoven. It is difficult to describe who he is without falling back on what he does: telling bad jokes, advising, giving foot massages, cooking pancake breakfasts, sitting vigils with the dying. Beyond all his achievements there is a prevailing warmth that I love to call "Dad". |
June 14, 2011
Today this garter snake was clinging to a juniper bush, which was already clinging to the edge of a cliff. The morning was windy and clouds loomed, but the snake hung in there and soaked up every sunbeam that touched its scales. Pretty soon it had warmed up enough to embrace the day. Part of me wants to caption the photo, "Myyy preciousssss!" and liken its grip on those juniper berries to that of a hard-core gin drinker on a half-empty bottle. That entertains my brain, but it doesn't feel right. This is a snake. It doesn't call itself that; I impose that title on it. When I pile on other associations and prejudices, I completely lose the feeling of discovering a creature so different from myself spending a few moments of its lifetime doing what I've always loved to do: just curl up in a sunbeam and rest. If I find a kinship with even the strangest plants and creatures that share this property with me, then I am more aware of how my actions affect them. I sometimes get carried away with cleaning up garden space. I pull out plants that could shelter or nourish something I have yet to discover here. On the other hand, if I let every sprout have its way, pretty soon most of the plants will be too stunted and struggling to feed or house anything. It's such a balancing act. I begin to believe I'm the goddess of a toy Eden. The sibilant whisper of my ego says, "It's all up to you." Then I stumble across something so perfect in design that delusion flees. I could not have created those jewel eyes, swift tongue, and intricate scales that measure the world's vibrations even as they blend with them. To outgrow layers of self and discard them, emerging as shiny as a new hatchling is just a small part of being a snake. Or rather, being. |
June 7, 2011
I first noticed these butterflies as they flew across the yard toward my garden. They managed flight even though they were linked together. The paler butterfly's wings were on the outside, beating hard enough to lift the both of them. The other butterfly, facing backward, kept its wings tight together and stayed as aerodynamic as it could. It completely surrendered to its situation and so didn't undermine the work of its partner. The pilot butterfly soon landed them on a viburnum in full flower.
They sat there joined for more than two hours, blending with the leaves and regaining strength. I would have missed them had I not seen them land. How beautifully this couple worked together to ensure their continuation.
May 31, 2011How often does anyone watch the way sunlight changes everything throughout the day? When I go fishing, I get to the river while the light is still fresh and stretching itself thin in order to wake as much life as it can touch at once. As the intensity of daylight builds, things take on a hard edge. By the time I'm packing up my fly rod, the sun has melted into late afternoon and everything is wrapped in a blanket of gold. So much can change in a day.
These pictures are all of the same flower taken within 24 hours of one another. |
May 26, 2011
Yes, I'm illustrating this with snail porn. Even though these two were in my garden, making more beasties to devour our arugula, I don't mind. They offer ancient wisdom as well as hours of queasy fascination.
The spiral is sacred to many cultures. I see it often in my own life: the way old pain is brought to light by new difficulties and all are cleared when the experiences are faced, honoured, and integrated. There is learning in everything.
Only years beyond the epicenter of personal tragedies do I catch a glimmer of that learning. In the immediate aftermath, I spiral through parallel situations with barely a déjà-vu. Something eventually wakes me up to my habits and I manage to step outside of myself and the latest so-called problem. As I pass through the same pattern again, my eyes are open. I learn to recognize it in any guise. It unfolds and I watch my snap reactions to its triggers. The next time I find myself in following the pattern, the fun begins. I change something. The smallest deviation can shift everything.
If it does, I panic. Before the shift, everything fit my established pattern and the outcome was predictable. Faced with the unknown, the lizard area of my brain kicks into gear with, "The sky is falling! The sky is falling!"
Over the last few years I've learned to relax, breathe into my belly and peer into the darkness. There are an infinite number of patterns out there and I don't want to live only one repeatedly. Lately, I'm feeling a connection with something much brighter than my brain. When I get out of the way, it guides me gently to and through the unknown.
Trusting the feelings and encouragement that I receive each day, I surrender to the new pattern that forms just beneath my awareness. I have no idea where it will take me and I'm curious.
The spiral is sacred to many cultures. I see it often in my own life: the way old pain is brought to light by new difficulties and all are cleared when the experiences are faced, honoured, and integrated. There is learning in everything.
Only years beyond the epicenter of personal tragedies do I catch a glimmer of that learning. In the immediate aftermath, I spiral through parallel situations with barely a déjà-vu. Something eventually wakes me up to my habits and I manage to step outside of myself and the latest so-called problem. As I pass through the same pattern again, my eyes are open. I learn to recognize it in any guise. It unfolds and I watch my snap reactions to its triggers. The next time I find myself in following the pattern, the fun begins. I change something. The smallest deviation can shift everything.
If it does, I panic. Before the shift, everything fit my established pattern and the outcome was predictable. Faced with the unknown, the lizard area of my brain kicks into gear with, "The sky is falling! The sky is falling!"
Over the last few years I've learned to relax, breathe into my belly and peer into the darkness. There are an infinite number of patterns out there and I don't want to live only one repeatedly. Lately, I'm feeling a connection with something much brighter than my brain. When I get out of the way, it guides me gently to and through the unknown.
Trusting the feelings and encouragement that I receive each day, I surrender to the new pattern that forms just beneath my awareness. I have no idea where it will take me and I'm curious.
May 22, 2011 I was singing at a concert on Mother's Day, so let me make this day special in honour of my mother. She taught me how to build gardens. With her ability to find joy in nature, she supported my love of plants and animals. She came alive in spring once the snow melted and didn't let any weeds sneak into our yard until autumn. Any particularly lovely volunteers she'd transfer to new garden space. She was never afraid to dig up lawn and fill yet another circle of stones with compost and love.
The autumn when I was nine saw the end of logging in the mountains around our village. The slash piles stopped spewing smoke and the trailers which had occupied one end of town gradually disappeared. The following June, Mom and I dragged my brother's red wagon, loaded with buckets and pots, to the vacant lots, dug up the abandoned flowers and brought them back to our own yard. Most of the adoptees were pansies, tulips and forget-me-nots, but my big find that day was a small native tiger lily, which we carefully planted in my section of garden near our house. I used to sing to it and tell it stories. Over the years it rewarded me by growing as tall and strong as I and flowering ferociously. In a garden, my mother is a creature of rare beauty and grace. She loses all limitation and easily follows her knowing. She smiles brightest when smudged with soil and the results of her efforts are never marginal. |
May 21, 2011
I'm dedicating this space to my favourite submission of floral double meaning:
The French word for "dandelion" is "pissenlit," which translates as "pee the bed."
I love when early medicinal folklore is preserved in the names of plants. The
dandelion tea at our local health food store is billed as a diuretic.
When I headed outside to photograph a dandelion in my yard, the challenge was
narrowing down which of the multitudes to capture. I settled on one that was
nursing a tiny ant. I snapped that dandelion's mug then glanced up at the whole
cluster just as a hover fly landed one bloom over. It posed for me, or at least stayed
still, until I pushed in too close. Damned paparazzi, it thought loudly as it zipped away.
May 12, 2011
bleeding heart
noun
1. informal derogatory a person considered to be dangerously soft-hearted, typically someone considered to be too liberal in political beliefs [as adj.] a tirade against bleeding-heart environmentalists.
2. any of a number of plants that have heart-shaped flowers, typically pink or red - a popular herbaceous garden plant (genus Dicentra, family Fumariaceae, in particular D. spectabilus).
I wonder that any flower names could double as an insult, but now that I think about it, that happens fairly often. Pansy and lily-livered come to mind without difficulty. For anyone who loves making lists, that would be a good mental exercise. Unless I've covered them all already. Time and sanity-saving! No, I think I'd like a better slogan for my blog.
(Something less like a Mop 'n' Glo commercial.) I just found the option for this contact form (below) and I want to see how it works, so if you think of other floral insults, why not send them in? Maybe I can compile a photo collage and dispel the nastiness in our language.
What's better, bleeding heart or cold-hearted? Are cold-hearted environmentalists better than bleeding-heart loggers?
Each year my bleeding heart grows, flowers, and decays and those questions never distract it from its purpose. It doesn't care what it's called, but it responds to whatever attention it is given. This year, the foliage is more lush and the blossoms are fuller.
noun
1. informal derogatory a person considered to be dangerously soft-hearted, typically someone considered to be too liberal in political beliefs [as adj.] a tirade against bleeding-heart environmentalists.
2. any of a number of plants that have heart-shaped flowers, typically pink or red - a popular herbaceous garden plant (genus Dicentra, family Fumariaceae, in particular D. spectabilus).
I wonder that any flower names could double as an insult, but now that I think about it, that happens fairly often. Pansy and lily-livered come to mind without difficulty. For anyone who loves making lists, that would be a good mental exercise. Unless I've covered them all already. Time and sanity-saving! No, I think I'd like a better slogan for my blog.
(Something less like a Mop 'n' Glo commercial.) I just found the option for this contact form (below) and I want to see how it works, so if you think of other floral insults, why not send them in? Maybe I can compile a photo collage and dispel the nastiness in our language.
What's better, bleeding heart or cold-hearted? Are cold-hearted environmentalists better than bleeding-heart loggers?
Each year my bleeding heart grows, flowers, and decays and those questions never distract it from its purpose. It doesn't care what it's called, but it responds to whatever attention it is given. This year, the foliage is more lush and the blossoms are fuller.
May 10, 2011 Piles of clay-rich soil sit around my yard like an oversized diorama of the Himalayas. Though the tiles in my entrance hall may never be called white again, I realized today that Nature sees this chaos as opportunity.
Meet one of my favourite little pollinators, the Blue Orchard Mason Bee. She has been drinking from the kale flowers in my garden lately, but she never stays still for long. While watering the hedge today, my dad and I noticed several of these little ladies buzzing around the damp clump of soil nearby. I grabbed my camera and took many blurry photos as the bees frenetically gathered clay to cap their nests. Mason bees are classified as solitary, but they have social graces beyond |
Industry Begets Industryour own, taking turns at the richest deposits or working in close quarters with rarely a bumped knee and without bruising egos.
Two of the plumpest bees even landed on me for a siesta. I've heard that they don't sting, but that actually does happen if they're provoked. A few years ago I attempted to rescue one from a shop where I worked. I picked it up off the floor and carried it outside to some potted plants. It fell off the leaf I coaxed it onto, so I scooped it back up off the road. As I pushed it into another pot, it stung me on the finger. From its perspective, I guess I was kind of mauling it. Today the builders hammered the roof onto the joists of our future business. Just across the driveway, I watched these bees carve out their own future. |
April 17, 2011
The Many Moods of a CatThank you to the animal rescue organizations of the world. Life is precious in all forms. Cats achieved enlightenment back in Egyptian times, so they can be great teachers of how to live authentically. Some have more patience than others. I'd never have gotten a scary picture of this guru without the help of our rescued mutt. The extent of her higher learning so far is: "Cat?! PLAY!!! NOWWWW! Oops, ummm...I'll go over there and look wistfully in your direction until you stop leaking air. Ahem. Play?"
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April 13, 2011
"I saw a bright light at the end of a dark trail." --Smokey the Bear--
Today the walls came down. My life experiences spilled from their
various compartments and mingled. They formed an intricate pattern
and I was struck by the rightness of everything.
This is the second time this year I've felt such a strong sense of
well-being. I sit here like a beacon of bliss. If anyone cares to feel
this, just follow the heartbeat of the Earth and stop to play at every
opportunity. Before you know it, you'll be your own lighthouse.
Imagine if everyone could be truly content for even part of each day.
I hope this lighting up of mine becomes a habit.
Random Musing
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April 11, 2011 |
Due to the deconstruction phase of our major building project, most of the yard looks like a moonscape. However, spring will not be stopped. Thankfully I have a few untouched gardens to focus on as chaos reigns. Leaves and petals play beautifully with afternoon light; chunks of concrete, not so well.
Fun Fact: Not only are bumblebees great pollinators, they also beautify rubble. |
March 25, 2011I want to head out on my annual skunk cabbage safari, but I've had to settle for celebrating spring by cutting a few daffodils from my garden and bringing them inside. I've got some sort of nasty sinus infection right now, and skunk cabbage are notoriously difficult to track without olfactory powers. As soon as I get my legs back under me, I'll be heading out fly fishing, which is the cover story for many of my less easily explained pastimes: standing in a river, bug watching, and of course, cabbage hunting. As much as I like their earthy smell, skunk cabbages will never tempt me to use them as a food source. Apparently no matter how you try to prepare them, you can't escape the vicious burning sensation caused by the calcium oxalate crystals contained within. If I ever enter one of those crazy Texas chili competitions, I might throw in a few fresh leaves, but I'll leave it to the judges to let me know how it turns out.
Maybe I'd better enter under a pseudonym. |
March 17, 2011Though not a shamrock and barely three-leafed, this clover could be a leprechaun's lace curtains, shutting out tax collectors, radiation and Girl Guides. Wait a minute, did the Catholic church actually canonize a leprechaun or was St. Patrick paganized after he drove the "snakes" out of Ireland? Who won? It doesn't matter, as long as we all wear green. It's versatile and edible...like shoes. (Ask any dog.) |
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March 9, 2011
This is a picture the Junco Family sent me from their annual holiday on the West Coast. They are so proud of their National Monument. This is the sixth almost identical picture they sent; they must have each demanded a turn posing with it. Little Sam's expression of excitement with just the right mix of formality trumps all the others.
March 1, 2011Jack Frost pulled himself up to his full height (which was hard to pinpoint, because he was floating above the trees. Best guess: somewhere between Gandalf and leprechaun). He pointed at the earth and his voice creaked like a freezing lake. "Spring?" he said. "Don't make me laugh!" A chill wind blew and the snowdrops quivered. I zipped my wool jacket. The sound of a hundred distant drums rolled across the estuary from the direction of the longhouse. The ice at the edge of the river broke into bits that clacked together as they flowed, adding counterpoint to the rhythm. Trumpeter swans took flight, their wings beating the surface of the bay. "All in its own time, Jack," I said. He took a deep breath and I pulled my toque low over my ears. "Can't you see the leaf buds, the robins, the daffodils?" I asked. He slumped lower in the air and sighed, "Ah, what's the point?" |
Feb. 17, 2011Take time to notice footprints. Build a picture in your mind of those who created them and imagine what they were doing as they walked in this place. Become aware of how you move through the world. Do you step lightly or are you weighed down by worries from the past or future? Are you confident of your direction or still searching for a way? Notice how often you follow trails created by others. Consider whether their knowledge of direction is appropriate for anyone other than themselves.
Pause. Where are you? Check your feet. Point them toward a destination that feels right and create your tracks on purpose. |
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Feb. 6, 2011Before......................
Winter blahs got you down? Feel like you're just wading through the same muck day by day and barely getting by? Then you need the Acme Epic Makeover kit! Why blend when you can shine? Comes with everything you need for Do-It-Yourself Plastic Surgery. (Manual sold separately.)
Get creative with your look and soon you'll be completely satisfied with who you used to be. Your friends will never believe it's you on their doorstep! (Add Acme's DNA Proof Kit to your cart to prevent disinheritance.) |
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Feb. 3, 2011 Chinese New Year (Rabbit)
Kung Hei Fat Choi! Wishes of love, health, and prosperity to all. This is my closest photo, cuteness-wise, to rabbits. Highland calves from a local farm enjoy a cool breeze. If it were a picture of two bunnies gobbling stubby carrots and cucumbers, I would have a much sparser vegetable picture in my earlier post.
So far the temporary garden fence has held. Hopefully the little coneys don't steal fireworks from their own new year celebration and try to blow the gate. This year I have more of an idea of what I can grow successfully, so it will be rather tantalizing for them.
For now, though, we are occupied with moving a three year-old cedar hedge further from the road to please city officials and whichever neighbours complained based on a secret agenda to swerve their vehicles freely across the boulevard, aiming for a crafty pack of rabbits with a duffel bag of dynamite.
So far the temporary garden fence has held. Hopefully the little coneys don't steal fireworks from their own new year celebration and try to blow the gate. This year I have more of an idea of what I can grow successfully, so it will be rather tantalizing for them.
For now, though, we are occupied with moving a three year-old cedar hedge further from the road to please city officials and whichever neighbours complained based on a secret agenda to swerve their vehicles freely across the boulevard, aiming for a crafty pack of rabbits with a duffel bag of dynamite.
Jan. 30, 2011Nature is bigger than I am, and yet it is contained within my being. I have been conditioned to follow society’s rules, ideals and goals and yet if I would just follow my nature, I could be so much more. Leaves fall without an agenda. The wind may carry them far away, or push them into a pile at the base of their tree, but whatever force of nature moves them, their purpose is fulfilled. They enrich the earth. I could sort them into sizes and shapes, and scatter them "just so" but no pattern that I fabricate could be as pleasing as the one that results from windstorms, rain, or the tiny shifts that happen with each freeze and thaw. I am beginning to trust that perfection exists beyond mind and is enriched by every flaw. |
Jan. 28, 2011
This is the time of year depression tries to engulf me. Some years I've attacked back, laughing or even raging at the darkness inside, which usually results in times where I cry my heart out and won't leave the house for days. Other years, I've kept myself busy, flitting from one hobby to another, desperately drinking in the joy of new situations just to keep afloat.
Three years ago, while reeling from my parents' sudden separation, I woke one day in a well of fear and misery. Once everyone else had left for school and work, I felt brutally alone. I tried to tidy the house, but couldn't focus on any task. My mind scrabbled to climb out of its own darkness until, exhausted, it gave up. The murk closed over my head.
A combination of weariness and apathy set in and all I knew was that I wanted to die. It was a numb space in which I couldn't acknowledge that my death would affect me or anyone else: friends, family, or even children. It was weirdly seductive in that all my mixed up feelings melted into the one idea, which left me with a twisted sense of peace. The relief scared me more than anything and after a few minutes pacing the kitchen, acutely aware of every knife in my vicinity, some clarity flared into my thoughts: No matter how awful I felt, I still had a choice. Nothing could force me to act on those feelings. I sat down on the floor and bawled, "I will not hurt myself!" I felt stubborn and angry, which was a hell of a lot better than suicidal.
On a bright morning a couple of weeks later, our family was driving the backroads and I noticed three birds flying low across a field bordered by tall evergreens. The birds looked white but their flight style didn't match that of gulls. I watched them intently as they shone against the dark foliage, slowly gaining altitude. As soon as they cleared the treetops, they became three black crows knifing through sky. Darkness and light coexist. In the winters since, I've been less afraid.
Three years ago, while reeling from my parents' sudden separation, I woke one day in a well of fear and misery. Once everyone else had left for school and work, I felt brutally alone. I tried to tidy the house, but couldn't focus on any task. My mind scrabbled to climb out of its own darkness until, exhausted, it gave up. The murk closed over my head.
A combination of weariness and apathy set in and all I knew was that I wanted to die. It was a numb space in which I couldn't acknowledge that my death would affect me or anyone else: friends, family, or even children. It was weirdly seductive in that all my mixed up feelings melted into the one idea, which left me with a twisted sense of peace. The relief scared me more than anything and after a few minutes pacing the kitchen, acutely aware of every knife in my vicinity, some clarity flared into my thoughts: No matter how awful I felt, I still had a choice. Nothing could force me to act on those feelings. I sat down on the floor and bawled, "I will not hurt myself!" I felt stubborn and angry, which was a hell of a lot better than suicidal.
On a bright morning a couple of weeks later, our family was driving the backroads and I noticed three birds flying low across a field bordered by tall evergreens. The birds looked white but their flight style didn't match that of gulls. I watched them intently as they shone against the dark foliage, slowly gaining altitude. As soon as they cleared the treetops, they became three black crows knifing through sky. Darkness and light coexist. In the winters since, I've been less afraid.
Jan. 21, 2011Belated resolutions: I will get outside and watch the sunrise more often, learn to recognize birds by their songs and begin to dress in ways that express my inner hippie without committing the twin sins of tie-dye and paisley.
I will learn to track vegetables and stalk wild mushrooms and in summer I will leave water out for the minks to bathe in. I will also cartwheel across the lawn and then cloud watch for a few days afterward while my muscles recover from the shock of unfamiliar activity. |
Jan. 12, 2011Snow sculpts the yard, blunts the trees, and quiets traffic for the night. In the morning my husband and I enjoy some quality time shovelling the driveway as the dog runs around the yard, pouncing like a coyote on the snowballs we throw. The kids wake and race to gear up before the melt begins. They build an igloo together along with several miniature snow folk.
By mid-morning, the melt is on. Our run through the forest with the dog is more like skiing through cascades. The trees take turns sighing, shaking and straightening their limbs as if they're happy to be done with all this load-carrying nonsense. We arrive home soaked and ready to hibernate for the remaining hours of winter. |
Jan. 6, 2011 When life is busy, I see it in a habitual way. Being overwhelmed by external experience, I break things into categories perhaps created by early days of watching Sesame street: good, bad; happy, sad; near, far. It's a coping mechanism that keeps everything at a safe distance, without discriminating between awful or joyful. Natural numbing.
So many times I've seen a swan and automatically thought, "Beautiful." I even pause to feel my reaction, whether a deep breath or smile, but it is all just my interpretation that tidily boxes up the living experience. I'm slowly learning that if I live from a place beyond my own roles, labels, and insecurity, I have the space to shed those categories and open further to life. I might choose to notice the ripples created by a swan's movement through water or the gentle arc of its neck as it feeds. Then, from my deeper perspective, I am able to let go of each moment so that there is room for it to mean something more than just beautiful. |
2011 New Year's Sunset
Ahhhhh, the signature sunset shot. It's going to be a good year.