Tag: nature

More on Burning Wood

This winter, I’ve been heating my house primarily by my new wood stove. My oil furnace is so ancient, it was a finalist (alas – not the winner!) in an ‘oldest furnace’ contest run by a local oil company. First prize was free installation of a new furnace. Mine is as old as I am but still was beat out by an even more impressive monster in someone’s basement.

While inefficient, my oil furnace is reliable and a new one would cost more than I want to go into debt for. Instead I spent half as much on a wood stove and feel good relying a little less on the fuel-oil roller coaster.

I have a friend who lets me have wood for free so every few weeks, I load up my Subaru. I like the exercise of carrying and stacking. Nights, I savor the gulp of frigid air when stepping out onto the porch to retrieve another log then back into the warmth to stoke the flames. The gentle lapping sounds and flickering glow make for sweet company. The rising warmth slowly sweeps upstairs so even my bedroom is toasty by time I climb between the sheets to sleep. The sheets I dry on my clothesline also featured in the photo above. Just call me pioneer woman.

Dark Season

Just a week ago we set the clocks back an hour. I’m not crazy about this time switching. Sometimes I pass  all my hours in a windowless office with barely a glimpse of nature’s light. Those are sad days. The beat of my heart is connected to the sight of clouds, birds, the changing light. I need to see the sun, to feel even the wannest of warmth from winter rays on my face. I don’t do well in the dark.

But I will learn to function in the new reality of this season, to embrace this chance to shift inward, to reflect. I’ll make it work. When necessary, I will rage against the night, plan for the future. Spring will come. I will gather what I need to enrich the soil in my garden. I’ll gather friends and fill my house with laughter, ply them with good food and drink to sustain us through these dark days and take comfort and strength in our solidarity. And tonight – there’s a promise of an extraordinary moon to light the way through the dark. I’ll take that as an offering of hope.

Bird Quarrels and Peace

Summer photo - but still windy!
Summer photo – but still windy!

Last weekend, ferocious winds blew in a taste of winter. Bright and sunny with cold gusts that turned the leaves inside out and off their branches. I took my cue to get my winter nest ready and washed and aired flannel sheets and heavy blankets, letting them flap dry in the crazy wind.

A week later it’s summer again and I sit on my porch in shirtsleeves watching two red- headed woodpeckers follow each other back and forth between the trees. I am reminded there is a bright side to bare branches: the birds! Winter is prime bird watching time.

See the little profile there in the left?
See the little pecker-profile?

A drama unfolds between these two birds – one is noisily berating the other who ignoring the complaints without a peep, focuses on worrying the bark. And now a jay has announced himself with a shriek. He lands in the bird bath, eyes the empty feeders and leaves wanting no part of the fracas.

They’re still at it. If they were weaving a web as they flew between the trees, it would be impassable by now – they have passed back and forth between the trees so often.

The aggressive one just attacked the other, falling with a thud onto the lawn beside me. “Whoa! Easy guys!” I called out as if breaking up a schoolyard fight. Another bird – a catbird briefly lands and after noisy commentary, flees the scene. What’s wrong with them? It’s not mating season – maybe it’s time to claim their winter home. I have prime bird real estate in a good size stump snug up against another tree.

Battle for the stump?
Battle for the stump?

My bird show just took a dramatic turn with the sound of heavy flapping wings – I look up just in time to catch a large hawk or falcon chased by a smaller bird. I did not see if the bird of prey had scored a meal but I’d wager the scrappy bird chasing him will not be lunch.

This is what I miss when I leave here every day to go to work. If I won the lottery, I’d be content to report to you on nature’s news from out my window or from my porch and at the end of the day, I’d feel satisfied. Well, I’d punctuate this with walks and beach romps with the dog I would get.

I love observing the buzz of nature. The busy efforts of creatures and plants to survive and thrive on this magnificent earth. I am content to watch the birds and fattening squirrels on my tiny patch of land within earshot of the highway to New York City less than an hour away. An hour or two with this world on my doorstep is enough to bring me back to some essence of life well beyond the hamster-wheel that can be my life: my job, paying bills and worrying about this depressing election. I find peace in paying attention to the feel of the air, the smell of the seasons and the quarrels of birds.

Hedge

before hedge 1There are a million things to do around my house and corner lot. This summer Molly and I focused on cathartically clearing out decades of  debris from our basement and garage and ignored the ragged hedge. It went wild.

Last weekend the weather cooled and I propped the hedge trimmer beside me while I put on my gloves. A man walking by nodded at me in greeting and asked, “You’re going to do all that?” Five hours, lots of scratches and many sore muscles later, I’d finished the whole damn thing. Okay, it’s not perfect – but it’s better.

after hedge

After 20 years living on this corner, memories are woven through every inch of privet. As I wield the vibrating, noisy weight of the clipper along the length of it, I remember.

There – Tetley dashing under the woody branches to check out a passing dog, me running around to the street to catch him, scooping him up in my arms with apologies.

Here – heaving the scraggly growth aside, clutching my barefoot, half-asleep 8 year old’s hand, pulling her through behind me – taking this weird detour rather than go near the garage where I’d just discovered her father.

That’s awful, isn’t it? I pause, doubting whether I should include this here out of concern for you. I am sorry for the possible shock of it or for the moments you’ll maybe now spend feeling sorrow. But this memory crosses my psyche like a passing cloud, moments of recognition in a tangle of shrubbery. Time does magnificent healing.

I continue trimming.

A bit further down, I find the nest that caused me to abort my attempt at maintenance earlier this summer. A frantic robin flew squawking out at me and I dropped the clippers and retreated in horror, sure I’d just beheaded one of her babies. Stupid thing! Why didn’t it  chirp or flap at me before I nicked it? I did find a feather in the trimmer but I don’t think any birds died — although I didn’t peek into the nest to check for skeletons.

Almost to the end is the gap Molly regularly slipped through when she was little – a short-cut to her friends’ house or down to the track across the street. While now overgrown from lack of use, I managed to crawl through dragging the electric cord behind me rather than walk all the way around to get to the outside.

Even with the little step stool and throwing myself across the springy-bulk, I couldn’t quite reach the final stretch of it. But I did what I could. And I thought about the different meanings of  ‘hedge’. What I did was enough.

Sunrise, Sunset, the Moon, the Stars and My Dog

 

2013-01-20 15.05.19My breath is visible and a cloud of steam rises from Tetley’s pee as he lifts his leg over a pile of leaves. I look up at the brilliant blue sky promising a beautiful day. I follow the flight of a little bird as it bounces through a shrub with golden leaves – the last foliage left in the wood. Yesterday’s wind cleared most of the leaves and now I shuffle through them as I follow my sweet old Cairn Terrier down the street. He pulls me forward then stops, lingering a long time to smell a suspect rock. So I stand and look around, listen, fill my lungs with fresh air – my initial grumpiness about getting forced out into the world earlier than I wanted fading. Like most of us, although I’d love to, I rarely get to loll about in bed past 6 AM and it’s now just after 8 on a Sunday – a little later than our usual circling of the neighborhood.

2013-01-20 15.06.19

Multiple times a day, Tetley leads me to moments of meditation. He gets me OUT. Even when I’m cranky or the weather sucks. And so I see the sunrise, the sunset, the moon and stars, the passing flock of geese honking through the sky, rabbits, and once even a coyote. He gets me closer to the subtle change in the season, I speak with my neighbors rather than just waving at them from my car. I watch the light, hear the bird songs. We sometimes go to the beach in a neighboring town where he can climb on the jetty in search of rodents and I watch the tides, hear the waves, smell the salt air. He greets strange dogs and I talk to their owners.

Tet color profile

Tetley makes me move when I’m inclined to hide at home, not leave the couch. And once outside, there is no purpose but to be there with him and see the world around us.

Wondering About Belief

 

gardenia

As people flock to catch even a glimpse of Pope Francis during his visit to the United States, I wonder about faith. The lackadaisical religious training of my upbringing (4 years of Catholic School) is long gone but I love this remarkable spiritual leader as he rejuvenates the conscience of the church, of all of us, demanding we pay attention and act against injustice, poverty. How can we not be moved? He gives me belief in humanity – a good place to start.

Because of too many recent deaths, I have been in different churches celebrating and grieving lives of those gone. It’s good there are places to do this. I flailed after my husband’s death – not knowing where or even how to hold a service but thought it important to have one for my daughter, for me. I remain ever grateful to the Unitarian Minister who guided me with poetry in his beautiful church. But it was mostly him that drew me – the congregation was too white and wealthy to become my community.

To some extent, I envy the assurance of my wise friends of faith. They know where to turn to make sense of the world, they find comfort believing their loved ones are welcomed by a benevolent God after death. It’s a beautiful story but I don’t feel that belief. During prayers, I bow my head in quiet reverence and appreciate the hum, the music, the silences of the faithful I stand with and envy the ready community to be found in a church of shared faith. But I don’t share it.

And I wonder – how others feel so sure in their belief and why I don’t. I joke about being a recovering Catholic and that recovery takes a lifetime. But even that gives more weight to the impact my early childhood religion had on me. I was done early. I went to Catholic school until 3rd grade and in 4th or 5th, had the misfortune of encountering a mean priest in confession. Other than funerals and weddings, my family no longer went to church nor did we ever pray or discuss faith. It didn’t stick.

Even as I join with others in church, knowing I am welcome, sure my questions would be embraced, I feel a foreigner who doesn’t quite understand the language. I’m glad for the visit, sometimes, even exhilarated by the energy, the force of many voices raised together, the easy support they give each other, the love offered. I listen carefully and sometimes join the prayers waiting to be moved, for them to feel like anything more than a recitation and –  am not. So there you have it.

Yet, walking home from a love filled memorial service in a beautiful old church yesterday evening, the moon appeared huge and bright on the horizon. My heart filled and I felt the wonder of the earth beneath my feet spinning through the universe.

Into Every Life Some Rain Must Fall

blue skies

Night is the only time the sun stops shining here in Connecticut. Summer has been perfect – unless you’re a plant or a reservoir.

We need rain. Leaves rustle too crisply in the smoke scented breeze. I fill the bird bath twice in a day.

I’ve had a longtime crush on California – imagining myself living where days are mostly bright and Winter means wearing a sweater. But these relentlessly dry days make me think about the long drought out West and I’m re-evaluating my fantasy. How terrible to live under threat of fire the likes of now in California, Washington and beyond.

No one has told us to curb our usage around here and I’ve watered the Peach trees and Hydrangea bushes to keep them alive – although this one may not make it.

hydrangea

For no particular reason, I’ve sacrificed this pot of Pansies and this Petunia.

petunia and pansy

I’ve ignored the plants out front – too far to drag the hose and anyway, the earth is so parched, water just flows down the slope into the street.

slope

 

I definitely am neglecting the lawn. I don’t fertilize it so our grass is never our neighbors’ envy. Whatever. We’re not a golf course.

lawn

Without nurturing, beloved plants quickly wither in these summer days so glorious we exclaim to each other in agreement how great the weather is. I miss summer storms.

Without clouds, without root soaking rains, life fails.

I see this as a metaphor for my own life. I’ve prided myself on my abilty to move-on past shitty times as quickly as possible, for being adept at pulling my socks up and scurrying quick to brighter days. I don’t get depressed easily. I don’t cry much. I’m good at detaching from unpleasantness – something someone recently suggested to me might be masking denial. What is sacrificed  when we fail to acknowledge, to sit in the darkness with sadness, to really feel pain and loss? Embracing emotional darkness and clouds can provide as much nourishment as the rains — allowing us to experience everything more deeply. We need these roots to feel the richness of love and joy. Without it, everything turns to dust and blows away.

Some days must be dark and dreary. Let it rain.

Clearing the Way

cleared

We’ve been busy in our garden. Molly helped me yank the fence out, pulling and tearing at the wire gauge buried in the earth for more than a decade. For a few years, it actually worked – keeping critters away from lettuce, broccoli, tomatoes. Eventually a greedy groundhog boldly moved in, digging his doorway smack into the middle of my sunny patch. He spared my leeks, asparagus and an unruly horseradish plant neither of us were much interested in eating – but that’s it. For the past few years, I’ve abandoned the space to him, letting the patch grow wild with mint, weeds and the odd volunteer Maple tree.

fence pulled

Taking down the fence entailed cutting away insidious vines woven through the links dense as a basket. Molly attacked the job ferociously, snipping away at metal and yanking the hairy roots out of the ground until triumphantly pulling the wire completely away from the earth. Our plan is to clear this sunny place so perfect for growing things and planting fruit trees. Peaches. We want to have our own peaches to pluck from the trees. And maybe an apple tree or two.

SAM_0737

For years, my stubborn determination to reclaim my vegetable garden, trying (organic) remedies to keep the old creature at bay, failed again and again. Despondent, I ignored this slice of precious acreage allowing ground cover and ivy to grow thick as branches. I can rarely resist a life metaphor when working in my garden and surely there are plenty here. No longer just surrendering to the bastard groundhog but letting go of the notion of what this plot of land should be and thinking more about what it can become. Clearing it away felt a Herculean job but was necessary to do – and how sweet to have my girl beside me in the task. I would not have managed as well alone — sometimes dreams become more accessible when shared.

other side cleared

How much easier it will be to take care of this reclaimed space, how lovely it feels without the ugly and long-useless fence. And how delicious our own peaches will be — as long as that groundhog can’t climb trees.

Another Season

Perhaps it’s these first whispers of autumn: the dying garden, changing leaves, cooler nights, but this last weekend of summer has me pondering the passage of time. Another summer is gone in a finite number of seasons any of us get.

SAM_0430

I’m contemplating aging here, not bemoaning it. Even as I note the passing years, I confess that I feel pretty much like the same person I’ve always been. A wee bit wiser and certainly more content but otherwise, the same gal I was at say – 18?

When I look down at myself from inside of me, I don’t think I even look all that different because I see the same casual hippie wardrobe: jeans, sweatshirts and practical mostly ugly shoes. I’m a little larger, but not by much. Ha! I’m not seeing my mirror-self, I’m looking down at me sitting in this chair. It helps not to spend more than 5 minutes a day in front of a mirror — you can ignore the decades. In the morning, I spend seconds scrawling eyeliner on so I look less like a naked baby mole. While brushing my teeth, hair or washing hands, I may search my face for flaws that might be another squamous or basal spot I’ll need to get sliced off. While dressing, I give myself a quick glance to check my clothes are not too wrinkled and that my buttons are in the right buttonholes. But that’s about it.

So I easily forget that I’m sagging a bit around the jowls and my hair is silvery. I’ve never been particularly vain and am certainly much less now. Perhaps I’d enjoy being more of a looker than I am – but I don’t miss the catcalls from my youth. I don’t mind that I’ve become ‘invisible’ to jerks. To everything, a season after all and that one, perhaps the least interesting, has passed. Most importantly, my bones don’t ache much and I’m healthy. So far so good.

Here’s one of things I cherish most about where I am in my life: how interesting it is to be inside of me. My internal life. How fascinating the inside us humans are with our minds, our hearts, our spirit – what mystery! I love being able to reflect on the whole crazy history of me so far. The 15 year old girl who couldn’t wait to escape home, the traveler, the artist, the searcher, the worker, the reader, the gardener, the friend, lover, the mother. All of my incredible years are here in the present with me, right now and still more story to live.

tet glasses

On this other side of 50 where I am today, I don’t grieve my lost looks or mistakes (ah), I think mostly about the possibility of not having enough time. I start to feel greedy. There are no guarantees on the time front. Beloved Tetley is getting old in dog years and every day with him feels like a gift. I look at R and feel grateful we got to flash forward from our youthful passion and lost years and found each other again. There are moments when it seems no time has passed at all –  the same only better.  I imagine the life ahead of my sweet daughter and want to be there too.

None of us know how many days we get, do we? Not really. As another season passes, I look a little longer in the mirror and remind myself to savor today, to hope for tomorrow and to love.

My Weeds Feed You

sunflower bud

I admit that sometimes I get yard-envy. Yesterday, when I took Tetley on the long route around the neighborhood – the 30 minute vs the 10 minute walk – I did admire the beautifully mulched flower beds, plantings spaced apart, manicured, lush lawns of my neighbors. Some gardens had tasteful garden ornaments, charming benches and looked magazine cover ready. Yikes, I thought, what must they think when passing our little corner plot full of wood piled for the winter, patchy grass and weeds? Luckily, we have a (currently pruned) hedge hiding most of our mess from nosey dog walkers like me.

Sunflowers 1

We can’t blame the weather for our lack of yard maintenance – days have been cool and rain-free – perfect conditions to pull weeds. Nope. Nor can I blame our resident groundhog.  Since I surrendered to him, the big vegetable garden is one less demand. Mint and pokeweed now run wild where I once planted tomatoes, peppers and other delectable treats enjoyed mostly by groundhog. We plan to clear and reclaim that sunny spot from bastard and plant some peach and apple trees but for now, it’s a wild mess. The bees love it.

mint

Bees are buzzing all over the place. Poor Tetley discovered a hive when exploring a corner of our front porch, dashing off with his tail between his legs. Our noses pressed against the screen door, we watched them swarm around defensively for the next 5 minutes or so. We had no idea they were there until now and we will leave them be, not wanting to add to the world’s bee crisis in any way. I’m sure you’ve heard how bees are disappearing at an alarming rate? And without bees to pollinate the plants we eat, well, we’re screwed.

honey tastes

A few months ago I was lucky enough to join a Red Bee Honey tasting with bee expert and author of the Honey Connoisseur, Marina Marchese in her own charmingly overgrown garden with apiary. We spent a perfect afternoon sampling distinctive, exquisite honey, paired with savory and sweet bites. Not surprisingly, the tasting lingo mirrors that used to describe wines — another nectar we would not have without bees. Marina’s hives are surrounded by invasive weeds the rest of us hack away. My delicious afternoon certainly inspired this year’s laissez-fare attitude to the garden. I have tasted the riches my weeds can produce.

marina

Marina got me hooked on her honey and only buying it from local producers. Last week, Molly and I sought out a jar with honey-comb, harvested close to her college in the hopes of easing her allergies. Though she is not a fan (!?) of the taste, after swallowing a spoonful every morning and chewing the waxy comb, she reports she is suffering much less. Better than Zyrtec!

reading outside

This summer, while many of my neighbors were weeding, and (gasp!) putting chemicals on their lawns, I blissfully read surrounded by weeds, birds and bees. Today, I may mow our patchy lawn and pick a few Sunflowers but that’s about it. If you walk by my messy yard, please don’t judge – the bees love us and you should too.

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