FIELD NOTES: Food in the air...

First Sunday of Fall


...I tend not to do my power walking in the rain, but today it was just a mist…and I really needed a walk…the diminutive swan family that I had seen streaming by me in Harrybrooke awhile back was waiting for me, but in a much larger form…clustered on the island looking like great scoops of mashed potatoes rather than the delicate floating line they once were…the water is getting colder now…the newly colored leaves of autumn are making a pretty collage on the wet black pavement and altering the aroma of the air…the Fish & Game Club is hosting a picnic in the pavilion and on my first walk around there is the charred salty scent of hot dogs…I don’t crave hot dogs, or even eat much meat, but this smell makes me believe that I once lived in a cave in the woods and hunted, tearing apart roasted meat with my canines, wild-haired, wiping my mouth with the back of my earthy hand…on the second go ‘round, the smell is toasty sweet…marshmallows on slender sticks…and I arrive at gentle thoughts of civilized campfires…I smooth my hair from the frizzling rain and think about standing in my kitchen making Cortland applesauce…

FIELD NOTES: It was as if I saw my backyard for the first time…

Through the window
Monday, September 14, 2009

…newborn… primal…existing in its own place and time…rather than mine. A mist of fog at dawn softened all its blemishes…its rough spots at areas of neglect or natural consequences were out of focus. It was the opening day of my preschool class and it was a gentle…and very lovely…reminder to fine tune what I see, to put on a shelf my frustration with actions of true innocence that may come by the way of the wild things or the young charges in my life at present. Years ago, I had to drive late at night to pick up teenagers in a very thick fog and recall the nerve-wracking lack of visibility, but this day, there were no nerves, there was just a blanket tucked in around me, the birds chirping like a wind-up crib mobile and remembered feelings of safety and comfort and the hedge of childhood that guarded me against the hard edges that would come…

FIELD NOTES: A little something for friends & family...

Seattle Synopsis

Unless you know me personally, have been to Seattle, or are planning a trip out west... you may find the above link...well, boring. Let's face it, nothing brings out squirming and forced smiles more than the words "Let me show you my vacation photos!" I take photos of odd things and am still working on presenting the images I find artistically interesting - they'll probably turn up in my blog somewhere along the way. The PDF document above does have lots of interesting links to all things Seattle, so you can always skip my notes and go directly to those...my favorites are Gas Works Park, the Fremont ones, and the bicycles.

FIELD NOTES: The shape of things took form as I drove through our New England hills…

Labor Day

...to my childhood home to keep my mother company on her first Labor Day without Dad. I took ‘the shady way’ via Woodbury instead of Litchfield because I had been driving 202 all week for staff development. It’s my favorite kind of driving: old fashioned highways with trees, places to pull over and room to think. Yesterday’s worm and last Friday’s behavior workshop came to mind, as well as tomorrow’s puzzlingly controversial Presidential school speech. I’ve also been thinking about the landscapes we grow up in since last March when I saw my first mountain west of the Mississippi. Landscapes shape us. The worm, with no eyes, legs or arms, saw me in a way I never will. In the behavior class, we discovered that we are all difficult to somebody. On the coasts, I look out to the ends of the earth and to the depths of the ocean; in the east, I see Boston Common, in the west, Pioneer Square. In the mid-sections, I kept looking up with awe to heights I could never imagine reaching or, looking ahead to focus on driving through the flatland that seemed to spread out forever before me. In the south, I see only paradise in palm trees and perpetual sun. In Maine, I look for trees and lobsters and the Way Life Should Be slogan. The landscapes we grow up in shape us…how we eat, work, worship, recreate and opinionate. The next time I vote or offer an opinion, I will have something new to consider: what if I had been born into a different landscape?

FIELD NOTES: I have never seen my garden in such a sorry state...

Sunday afternoon, Labor Day Weekend

...between recreation, vacation, extreme weather, and work, I had left them to nature’s reactions of self-preservation and opportunity. The zebra grass is of jungle proportions, leaning out over the stone walkway like switchblades. I give it a good haircut and rein it in with green garden twine like an unruly mop of hair. The weeds are as large as my perennials…and look healthier. As I dig them out and rejuvenate the beds with the red cedar mulch that has been lying in bags on my driveway all summer, I feel something cool on my foot. Thinking it is a spear of zebra grass I look down and squeak, not because I am repelled, but because it is surprising to see a large earthworm weaving itself through the thong of my blue rubber flip-flop. I slip the sandal off and the worm transfers itself to the moist insole. Trying to be sensitive to the worm’s needs, I slide it back onto the soil, but this creature with no legs, arms or eyes, seems to be seeking out my foot with its head, sensing and breathing through its skin. What am I to this worm? I have no clitellum for mating. What does it want, what does it need? Charles Darwin, who studied the earthworm for thirty-nine years, had this to say: "The plow is one of the most ancient and most valuable of man's inventions; but long before he existed, the land was in fact regularly plowed and still continues to be thus plowed by earthworms. It may be doubted whether there are many other animals which have played so important a part in the history of the world, as have these lowly organized creatures."