6:45 sit tonight
Lost a duck two nights ago, and last night my husband scared away the black fox who'd probably come back for more. Tis the season of hungry pups.
On the way to my tree tonight, I pondered the groundhog hole near its trunk. Down on the ground, peering as far in as I could, into the darkness, into the body of the earth. Roots, lumpy earth, rocks line the sides of the hole. I was suddenly struck by how holy, how immeasurably sacred and perfect it must be to be carried by an animal into the earth after death. To be carried down, into the darkness, into the belly of the earth from which we all come.
Tuesday, June 5, 2012
Wednesday, May 30, 2012
Day 19: Jungle
A Gray Treefrog has been trilling from our deck for a few days, and he showed himself today long enough for the children and me to get a good look at him. He's been taking shelter in the folded cover of our barbeque grill that lies in a heap on our deck, holding the rain in numerous little pockets. The frog was dark gray to match the grill cover. He let my boy pat his back gently ("It's sticky!"), and stayed long enough afterwards for my girl to inspect him closely (she wasn't ready to touch him yet). Then he scooted himself backwards into a tiny cave behind him.
Tonight, though, the deck is silent; the calls all issue from the pond near the base of the deck. Have all the treefrogs made their migration to water by now? When will we start seeing eggs? Will our four ducks get to all the eggs before we can fish some out for safekeeping?
9:15pm sit
65 degrees
Humid tonight, and still. Seven Gray Treefrogs are calling loudly throughout the neighborhood (three in our pond), which, along with the humidity, make it seem like a rainforest tonight. One or two peepers still singing hopefully to the south, and crickets in the yard to the north.
The night felt full of life, like there was a creature every inch, be it worm, moth, aphid, raccoon, dove, frog. I felt timid about climbing the tree when I got to its trunk, and stood for a bit, taking in the feel of the darkness and the noise of the frogs. I had let my hair fall down over my ears and around my neck to keep the mosquitoes off, but felt vulnerable with my ears partially covered, and tucked it back after all. On reflection now, I wonder if my nervousness about climbing the tree was due to my inability to hear the usual night noises over the noise of the treefrogs. Heightened alertness from a compromised sense.
Saw a flash of light in a memorial garden in our family's yard, and remembered a family friend who died young last year; Karolina, bright and ballsy and vibrant. With her inspiration, I climbed up into the dark tree. The leaves of the little maple that grows amongst the pine trunks have grown so much as to completely obscure my path, and I ascended through the leaves as a plane climbs through clouds, unable to see what was just above me.
Sat on my branch listening to the treefrogs, peepers, crickets, cars. Realized, in the moist air, what a treasure our home is, our yard. As much as I yearn to live where I have the privacy from neighbors and greater distance from the road, this land we live on is such an immense blessing to my family. The dear plum trees we planted a few years ago that carry the stories of my son's and daughter's first tastes of the fruit, of the day almost every male in our family - and a dear friend - came to help us relocate the trees so they would have more room to grow. The stories of our garden, laid out by my husband and mother-in-law several years back, with so many cherished memories of us and our children, and our little old dog Fritz who used to pick peas with me in the early summer. So much richness in this land, such a wealth of habitats just on our 3/4 acre plot: the soggy marshy area down low, the "pond" (formed by the crater of an above-ground pool), the pine tree forest, the open yard amidst it all. We are so blessed.
Sitting in the tree, I felt called to climb down even before I knew my time was up. I hesitated, wanting very much to fit in to the stillness of the night, of all the other creatures around me. I didn't want to fill my usual daytime role of HUMAN crunching over the land. I wanted to fit in to nature.
Tonight, though, the deck is silent; the calls all issue from the pond near the base of the deck. Have all the treefrogs made their migration to water by now? When will we start seeing eggs? Will our four ducks get to all the eggs before we can fish some out for safekeeping?
9:15pm sit
65 degrees
Humid tonight, and still. Seven Gray Treefrogs are calling loudly throughout the neighborhood (three in our pond), which, along with the humidity, make it seem like a rainforest tonight. One or two peepers still singing hopefully to the south, and crickets in the yard to the north.
The night felt full of life, like there was a creature every inch, be it worm, moth, aphid, raccoon, dove, frog. I felt timid about climbing the tree when I got to its trunk, and stood for a bit, taking in the feel of the darkness and the noise of the frogs. I had let my hair fall down over my ears and around my neck to keep the mosquitoes off, but felt vulnerable with my ears partially covered, and tucked it back after all. On reflection now, I wonder if my nervousness about climbing the tree was due to my inability to hear the usual night noises over the noise of the treefrogs. Heightened alertness from a compromised sense.
Saw a flash of light in a memorial garden in our family's yard, and remembered a family friend who died young last year; Karolina, bright and ballsy and vibrant. With her inspiration, I climbed up into the dark tree. The leaves of the little maple that grows amongst the pine trunks have grown so much as to completely obscure my path, and I ascended through the leaves as a plane climbs through clouds, unable to see what was just above me.
Sat on my branch listening to the treefrogs, peepers, crickets, cars. Realized, in the moist air, what a treasure our home is, our yard. As much as I yearn to live where I have the privacy from neighbors and greater distance from the road, this land we live on is such an immense blessing to my family. The dear plum trees we planted a few years ago that carry the stories of my son's and daughter's first tastes of the fruit, of the day almost every male in our family - and a dear friend - came to help us relocate the trees so they would have more room to grow. The stories of our garden, laid out by my husband and mother-in-law several years back, with so many cherished memories of us and our children, and our little old dog Fritz who used to pick peas with me in the early summer. So much richness in this land, such a wealth of habitats just on our 3/4 acre plot: the soggy marshy area down low, the "pond" (formed by the crater of an above-ground pool), the pine tree forest, the open yard amidst it all. We are so blessed.
Sitting in the tree, I felt called to climb down even before I knew my time was up. I hesitated, wanting very much to fit in to the stillness of the night, of all the other creatures around me. I didn't want to fill my usual daytime role of HUMAN crunching over the land. I wanted to fit in to nature.
Sunday, May 27, 2012
Day 18: Flicker in a dust-bath, and attendance
Here's a video of a male Northern Yellow-Shafted Flicker in our front yard today, using one of our chickens' many dust-baths.
His dusting technique is so different from the chickens, who lounge on their sides for minutes at a time, throwing clouds of dust up over themselves with their feet and wings. The flicker is clearly more concerned about self-preservation, and the approach of the motorcycle sends him flying away.
I've been hearing his call for a few days and trying to get a good enough look at him to identify him. He has been "PEEE-OOOoooo"'ing loudly in our yard and the neighbors', but I could only ever catch a glimpse of him flying: bigger than a robin, white rump, yellow under the wings. He called today while digging for bugs in the grass, and I located him and got to see his long beak. Heard him again this afternoon when I was in the house, and I ran to the window. He was close enough for me to see his markings, so I was able to positively identify him as a flicker, and also got to take this fun video of him!
8:30 pm sit
Sat beside our little forest this evening, feeling like I should be there rather than up in the tree. Crickets and loud bass from neighbors' music were the prominent sounds. Chattering of thoughts in my head. Green green everywhere outside of myself. Blackberry bushes waist-deep in the pine forest, mosquitoes searching for a landing spot on my long-sleeved body.
Felt tonight like I just needed to show up in the woods, like I just had to be there so my head could be counted for attendance. It was a very passive experience, standing there like that. Not like I was doing it just so I could say I'd done my sit for the day, but like I was doing it because the universe needed me there, then. Like I was being part of a backdrop to someone else's life for a spell.
Tuesday, May 22, 2012
My Day 17: Details
3:30 pm sit
Misting, 61 degrees
Sank deeply into details today for some reason. Had to keep wrenching my attention out of what was in front of me in order to check in with bird calls, weather, etc.
I have been noticing that I'm far more receptive to my intuition lately, following "feelings" more fluidly than I usually do. When I have a sense of when to do something, for instance, I've begun just following it rather than thinking through it to figure out if this seems rationally like the best timing. And invariably, when I follow this inner guidance, things work out more smoothly than when I try to bend them to my own preferences or reasoning.
Felt called to sit at the base of my tree today rather than in the branches. From my new vantage point, I noticed a gash in the trunk near the ground that was actively dripping sap. The crystal-clear droplets, dangling from the bark and just about to fall to the earth, glistened in the sun. I leaned in to blow my breath against them, but they didn't move a hair. They were completely solid, like an unbearably fragile, frozen moment. A dandelion seed joined them in their stillness, hovering in the air a couple inches away, captive to an unseen spider's web. Snapshots of a moment held in this tiny enclave against the tree trunk. They recall to me Eckhart Tolle's line that goes something like, "Die before you die, and discover that there is no death."
The new growth of the tiny beech is about ten inches long now, the tender stems still holding their white down. The leaves are ironing themselves out, the sharp ridges from their emergence beginning to relax and smooth. A crane fly clumsily barreled into one, skidded across, got its bearings and continued on through the branches.
A sapling growing beside the beech is showing some bright orange spots on its leaves, one of them with a ring of tiny orange pods all around it, resembling insect eggs.
I ascended the tree when it felt right, being careful not to wedge my bare foot too far into the gap between the trunks. As I sat, a horsefly bumped into my head, then flew a short way off to perch on a twig, its head and torso upright, like the dancing spider from a couple of weeks ago.
Robins, chickadees, three birds I didn't identify. Crickets, our ducks. The tree frogs seem to be spreading out all over the land these days. One moved onto our deck yesterday, it's high trill resonating through our porch. Another climbed up the front of our house to the gutter, singing shyly as I worked in the front garden this afternoon.
Misting, 61 degrees
Sank deeply into details today for some reason. Had to keep wrenching my attention out of what was in front of me in order to check in with bird calls, weather, etc.
I have been noticing that I'm far more receptive to my intuition lately, following "feelings" more fluidly than I usually do. When I have a sense of when to do something, for instance, I've begun just following it rather than thinking through it to figure out if this seems rationally like the best timing. And invariably, when I follow this inner guidance, things work out more smoothly than when I try to bend them to my own preferences or reasoning.
Felt called to sit at the base of my tree today rather than in the branches. From my new vantage point, I noticed a gash in the trunk near the ground that was actively dripping sap. The crystal-clear droplets, dangling from the bark and just about to fall to the earth, glistened in the sun. I leaned in to blow my breath against them, but they didn't move a hair. They were completely solid, like an unbearably fragile, frozen moment. A dandelion seed joined them in their stillness, hovering in the air a couple inches away, captive to an unseen spider's web. Snapshots of a moment held in this tiny enclave against the tree trunk. They recall to me Eckhart Tolle's line that goes something like, "Die before you die, and discover that there is no death."
The new growth of the tiny beech is about ten inches long now, the tender stems still holding their white down. The leaves are ironing themselves out, the sharp ridges from their emergence beginning to relax and smooth. A crane fly clumsily barreled into one, skidded across, got its bearings and continued on through the branches.
A sapling growing beside the beech is showing some bright orange spots on its leaves, one of them with a ring of tiny orange pods all around it, resembling insect eggs.
I ascended the tree when it felt right, being careful not to wedge my bare foot too far into the gap between the trunks. As I sat, a horsefly bumped into my head, then flew a short way off to perch on a twig, its head and torso upright, like the dancing spider from a couple of weeks ago.
Robins, chickadees, three birds I didn't identify. Crickets, our ducks. The tree frogs seem to be spreading out all over the land these days. One moved onto our deck yesterday, it's high trill resonating through our porch. Another climbed up the front of our house to the gutter, singing shyly as I worked in the front garden this afternoon.
Monday, May 21, 2012
Day 16 (for me): Rain
9pm sit in tree, barefeet
Heavy mist. Rain arrived as I sat, like a blanket spread over us all in the cozy dark. Cool air slithered through the trees and to my bare feet as the rain fell on the treetops. Crickets stopped their chirping, but peepers and tree frogs carried on.
Visited memorial garden in our yard on way to house, crickets singing away there.
Heavy mist. Rain arrived as I sat, like a blanket spread over us all in the cozy dark. Cool air slithered through the trees and to my bare feet as the rain fell on the treetops. Crickets stopped their chirping, but peepers and tree frogs carried on.
Visited memorial garden in our yard on way to house, crickets singing away there.
Tuesday, May 15, 2012
Day 15: Change in schedule
As a means of improving the sustainability of both my sitting and my writing, I've decided to let go of my commitment to sitting and blogging every night this month. Instead, I'm going to sit as often as I reasonably can (probably about 4 or 5 times a week), and write about twice a week. This change is intended to make it feasible for me to keep on with it all even after this month is up. Sitting and writing every night has been hard on the rest of my life, as I typically like to devote about an hour and a half to it a night, which doesn't leave time for much else.
6:30 pm
Overcast skies, bright, drizzling. About 60 degrees, no mosquitoes or crickets yet tonight.
Robins, a couple of birds I didn't recognize.
Took my sit in the yard tonight to try and locate one of several gray treefrogs who have either moved into our area or simply become vocal in our area. I finally was able to identify them today, thanks to Charlie sharing the great frog call website! These tree frogs are the "ree...ree..." frogs I've been hearing across the fields for a couple of weeks now.
I located one under our old deck in the yard (waiting to be cut up into firewood), one about a 30-second walk away in the woods, and three more spread out in neighbors' yards, all about equidistant from one another. I love listening to their calls, now that I know who they are and what they look like!
6:30 pm
Overcast skies, bright, drizzling. About 60 degrees, no mosquitoes or crickets yet tonight.
Robins, a couple of birds I didn't recognize.
Took my sit in the yard tonight to try and locate one of several gray treefrogs who have either moved into our area or simply become vocal in our area. I finally was able to identify them today, thanks to Charlie sharing the great frog call website! These tree frogs are the "ree...ree..." frogs I've been hearing across the fields for a couple of weeks now.
I located one under our old deck in the yard (waiting to be cut up into firewood), one about a 30-second walk away in the woods, and three more spread out in neighbors' yards, all about equidistant from one another. I love listening to their calls, now that I know who they are and what they look like!
Monday, May 14, 2012
Fourteenth day: Photos!
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| View of our little forest from our yard. My tree is the one on the left. |
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| The view while climbing. |
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| Lichen near my sitting branch. Can you see the laughing pig? |
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| Eggs gathered on the way back to the house. |
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| Heating pine needle tea for the little ones and me. Such delicate beauty to be found in the most unexpected places. |
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