Thursday, March 31, 2011

I've been wanting

I’ve been wanting to tell you about mud season and the deep chasmy ruts swamping our road, more numerous and slip-slidey treacherous than any year yet. Then the cold snap hit defying the vernal equinox, not an out of the ordinary occurrence in Vermont, and I’d then wanted to tell you about the chill, the snow replacing what had melted, halting the tease of Spring, more white upon white upon white, relentless, erasing any memory of green . And I want to tell you of the geese, of Shmuel the protector, the fierce, the proud, and of the almost daily pile up of eggs that we’ve been snatching unbeknownst to he and the girls (we think) and then mailing them to people desirous of their own flock of Pilgrims. And I want to tell you how proud and colorful and erect our Tom Turkey is, our 2 Toms actually, for one of the ones we were sure was a hen popped out its tail feathers one afternoon and its head turned deep purple and red and prehistoric. And can we talk about their waddle (is that it?) that organ just north of its beak that goes from looking like a small unicorn’s horn, slightly pale and purple, to, when excited, long and red yet flaccid, hanging over and down below its beak, engorged with blood as it feathers itself out fully in proud male regalia. It’s a bit of an erection in reverse, longer, yes, but flaccid when excited, erect yet smaller when at rest. Also, the waddle’s length grows and diminishes when the turkey’s eating because it gets in the way. One of them swallowed it one day and had to cough it up. Fascinating. I know this is a grab bag of things, but I’ve been wanting and I thought it was high time to share.

I’m in Banff, Canada at the moment, but still connected to VPR and I’m hearing winter storm warnings. Going out like a lion, is March. I’m forgetting, did it really come in like a lamb? And did the groundhog really see its shadow? Vermont is much chillier than Banff, and we’re at a much higher altitude. Don’t know if that’s a sign of pride, but there it is. Wowee-zowee.

Happy April, everyone. Go ahead and be foolish. It’s good for all of us.

Thursday, March 17, 2011

Anything Green'll do!

Anything Green'll do

I've got green on the mind, in my dreams, in my wishes and yearnings - I'm even drinking out of a green Dirt Cowboy "to go" mug as I write. So it's grand that it's St. Patrick's Day and I can wallow in green all day. I'll wrap myself in swaths of green cotton and wool and stride around so nature gets the message. I'll give a good Irish keen for the end of winter, I'll mourn it's passing and set some reverse psychology in motion to hurry the change of season along. We've had the time change (a bit rushed for me), we've sprung ahead, the equinox is just around the corner. 50 degrees today! Yes! Let's melt that thick comforter of remaining snow. Let that sap flow, bring on mud season, bring it, bring it, in all it's slip slidey sloppy glory. I'm ready. I can't even remember green, can't quite imagine it on our hills out back, it's been a white, clean slate for so long. It's Time for some nature painting class. Time for bold color. C'mon Demeter, do your thing. Hey Persephone! Time to pop up out of the underworld for another Spring fling. Shamrock a little magic our way, show off, be shameless. We'll all dance a jig of gratitude and quaff a brew to you. It'll be grand, grand, grand.

Tuesday, March 15, 2011

I say JOY! (and other things)

I say Joy

I walked to the top of our rise this morning, the first time for months. The crust of the snow was solid and it shimmered like diamonds, like tiny constellations in a white sky. The geese were all in a flutter watching me trek by (translation: "Hey, what's going on?! What's this?! Hold it, hold it! Wait up! Well, let us join in some of this ... what do you call it ... fun?" And so on.) and I left them gabbling as I continued on up, up, up. Oh, it was glorious. Good to see that the snowmobilers have all stayed on the trail this year. Good to be up there alone with only bird song and the lonely baying of some hound dogs waaaay off in the distance. I reached the top and found myself smack dab in the middle of an expansive meditation, in communion with the Green Mountains off to the west. A quiet joy. And I send joy to my friends struggling with their various challenges. To Japan and the immeasureable hardship and heartache. To all of us being buffeted about in these unsettled, unsure, doubt and fear filled times. I say Joy. Joy when it's least appropriate or expected. Joy loud and soft, brazen and humble. Joy for the hell of it. Joy, joy, joy. Joy to the World.

It is now 1 in the afternoon and 40 degrees out, sunny, melting. I'm sure the snow's crust could not hold me now. The geese and chickens are out, enjoying the weather. We've had our first 2 goose eggs. Shmuel has been doing his siring duties overtime and it shows on our girls heads and necks. Poor babies, rode hard and put away wet. Daphne's pink head is bare of feathers on top and in back and at profile she looks as if she's recovering from some sort of brain surgery. She should be walking around in a white terry cloth robe, carting an IV pole beside her. When Shmuel has one of the girls other than Mary Ann down on the ground, wrenching their necks and heads down to keep them in place, Mary Ann bites them from the sidelines. Talk about piling on! If I had a referee's flag I'd be tossing it into the air constantly.

Soon all of the coops and pens will need cleaning out. Dry straw to replace all the thawing, soiled straw now there. A fit chore for the change of seasons.

I'm just back from a quick trip to Indiana, my home state, where I spent some quality time with family and friends and the last 10 miles driving home over dirt roads let me know that mud season is here, not the season of deep chasms of ruts yet, but the rivulets take your tires where they want the tires to go. A challenge of shimmying and swerving as if gremlins are taking over your car's navigational system.

Still, still it's invigorating and bracing and I'm thinking GREEN is on its way. Yours in mud season and joy! Be well.

Monday, March 7, 2011

Green blues

Snowing this morning, woke to it, after hearing staticy taps on our bedroom window most of the morning which I thought bespoke sleet, ice, not snow. But snow it was, snow it is, drifty AND heavy, beautiful and disheartening at the same time. I'm a little sick of white, it's enough already, especially after a two-day tease of rain and temperatures in the 40's. Snow. Snow. Snow. And it's still coming down. Astrid, black as the snow is white, seems mezmerized by the steady fall outside our windows. She stares, still. She's been hanging around me a lot the past fews days, crying if a door is shut to her, up on my lap, communicating in a brief, heartbreaking whine. I can't tell whether she needs the attention and warmth or she intuitively knows that I need it, an extra bit of grounding on my lap when writing or meditating. I'm glad she's around, she's a treasure beyond worth.

My heart is in a yearning ache, an ache for something indescribable. Spring, green, growing things, something other than dormancy. And yet, this is what is, this snow, this white, this blank slate, this staying indoors, this reflection, this time to myself, this combatting of impatience, this attempting to be present. This this.

And breathe.

There's a hush hum from the refridgerator, a muffled tick of a clock in another room somewhere, reminding me of the wind up alarm clock we used to wrap in a towel and lay beside orphaned kittens to fool them into thinking it was their mother's heartbeat; an infrequent and soft metal clank from the jotul wood stove as it stretches its kinks out. And what sound does the snow make? It's anti-sound, the opposite of sound, falling, falling, a muffler to all other sound. Sometimes you can hear it land, like fairy feet, on the already established drifts, but often that sound is upstaged - like this morning - by the howl of the wind in the treetops, its cold shiver and shake, a wild rumpus, showing off "I'm the wind! Do you hear me?!! I'M THE WIND!! I CAN UPROOT TREES! I RIP OUT BRANCHES! I WHIP LEAVES INTO A SWIRL TO BRIEFLY GIVE MY POWER SHAPE ! I AM INVISIBLE AND INVINCIBLE!!"

And the snow keeps falling. Steady, a slight slant, re-covering what had started appearing again through the melt the past few days - stumps, small trees, the three large granite slabs in back of our house that Richard can't stand. The pond's edges had melted yesterday, a promising sign. And the newly thinned grove of prodigious conifers beside the pond looks sharp and fresh, the sawdust of their recent spruce up scattered on the snow. Gone are several tall ghosts, left standing for years, an uprooted leaner gone too, as well as several gnarly old maples, some ash, 2 dead cherries. The downed wood will give us at least 2 1/2 cords of firewood for next year once Spring arrives and we get a chance to process, stack, and dry the downed trunks. We'll also go in and down more saplings, open up the grove even more, and, most importantly, put a standing pipe in to lower the level of our pond and cut off constant use of our pond's over flow which, channel-less, deltas out among the tall trees and jeopardizes their future. The standing pipe out flow will form a stream around which we can landscape, bridge, plant, who knows. And that stream bed and overflow area, when fully dried, can be dug out more fully with our neighbor Dale's nifty and compact excavator later this summer. Also in the works will be planting some more trees, probably spruce, along the fence row past the pasture on the other side of the tall grove of trees. Richard also wants to figure a use for that pasture - grazing for goats, sheep, or a goose raising area. All green endeavors.

That's it. Green seems so far away. Unimaginable. Leaves? Grass? Plants? What are you talking about? Seasons. All to be embraced, accepted, sometimes white knuckled. It's what is. Still. And the green in the green mountain state is a long time coming. End of April usually. "Now are the times that try men's souls." Mine anyway. Not a revolutionary thought as originally intended by Mr. Paine, but it certainly has a Valley Forge look to things outside.

Think Green. Be well. Delight in something today.

Tuesday, March 1, 2011

The First Day of March

The first day of March, Town Meeting Day in most New England towns and though the temperature is still in the 20's the sun is melting the snow on the roads, pooling up great inland seas, giving birth to ruts, and reminding us that not only is Spring just around the corner, but so is mud season. The ole Subaru Outback shimmied and slid and sloshed it's way around the roads and survived unscathed. The sugar shacks are stoking up, saps being gathered into galvanized pails or through those ugly, life support plastic tubes, and soon trucks will be transporting the white nectar up and down the road to be boiled down to lovely, multi-colored syrups. Yum. The sun is bright and hopeful, giving the land and the snow and Shmuel (most specifically Shmuel as I peer out the back windows) a promising, self satisfied glow.

Speaking of Shmuel, he's been going through a transformation of late which I think is part of the whole siring cycle. The other day a friend came by to bid on some tree removal over by our pond and he let his 3 year old dog out for a good run. The dog has a lot of tearing about puppy energy in him and it was only a matter of time until his curiosity got the best of him and he ventured up to give the geese a look see. Now the geese are pretty well penned up, no one can get in and they can't get out. The dog trotted up to their pen and Shmuel, after getting the girls to the back of the pen, came out like a Chinese Warlord, wings spread high and wide and in the midst of this display a fierce, hissing head. Very impressive. Great theatre. And it did the trick. The dog high tailed it away in short order. I was very proud. But Shmuel gave me a bit of that Karate Kid display just about an hour ago when I went up to fill their grower pellet feed can and clean their pen. Egg laying is going to be taking place very soon now and this has to be the grand protector coming out in him. I've been catching him hopping on the girls. There will be a squawk and stir from the pen and I rush to make sure a predator's not about and there's Shmuel on top of someone - can't make out who - wrenching their neck into position with his beak and then mounting them like some Wagnerian Goose Prince. It's very weird and clumsy and wonderful, all at the same time. I'm not sure whether or not the 2 times I've seen him/them "do it" that it's been successful, but the girl gets up from being flattened and flaps her wings. Does that mean "it was good for me" in goose? I guess.

I'm gonna grab a coffee and take a little walk in the slowly dying light before shepherding the turkeys back to their pen. Be of good cheer!!