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.
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
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.
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!!
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!!
Monday, February 28, 2011
Oscar Night in Montpelier
I'm sitting at our kitchen table listening to VPR, sipping coffee while our hefty, yet loving Maine Coon, Delilah, spreads wide on my lap. My legs are slowly going to sleep. She's cutting off circulation to some vital part of my body, but I haven't the heart to scoot her on. She's purring up a storm and when I look down at her she looks back at me with a slightly drugged haze in her eyes. She's in ecstacy. Or she's taken Ecstacy. If I bring my chin close to her face she gives me a warm, emory board lick, so that makes it all fine. She can stay.
The other animals are all watered and fed and cleaned up after. It's sleet/snowing outside, snare drumming the back windows whenever the wind picks up. There's a fine beech wood fire to my right cozying up the indoors.
I went to the Oscars last night at the Savoy Theatre in Montpelier. No kleig lights, no paparazzi, but there was a red carpet downstairs where a bobbed blue haired fellow in a light blue tux commented on what everyone was wearing. I had been told to show up an hour before the doors opened at 7 by Donald Rae, the head of the upcoming Green Mountain Film Festival (The Festival is one of my 100 reasons for loving living in Vermont!), because inside sources had told them there would be a line and seating was limited (50 seats - 1 couch, 8 tall bar stools, 12 theatre seats, and the rest black bean bag chairs). Well, let's just say "a line" is a relative term. The ceremony was downstairs in what had been until recently the video store (with an impressively large library) and now has been transformed to a smaller theatre with a bar, very den-like and comfortable. It was a good time.
But I've got to backtrack for one of these uncanny and wonderful Vermont connections that continue to keep cropping up. When I got to the theatre at 6, there was no line at all. Just me, Donald, and Sonia, Donald's wife, so we retired to the Green Mountain Film Festival offices, ideally located just above the theatre, and over a glass of wine discussed the upcoming festival while keeping an ear out to any line forming sounds from below. (None were forthcoming.) Somewhere in the discussion of films being screened we spoke of various themes cropping up this year, one of which is the 150th anniversary of the Civil War. Now growing up I had been a history nerd, my particular area of expertise, passion and undying love was anything having to do with the American Civil War. We visited battlefields, I collected paraphernalia, antiques, newspapers. I remember going down to our library and checking out the 20 reel silent film "Birth of a Nation" and screening it on our home movie projector and screen. Donald said he'd had a rich collection of Civil War material to choose from, early and impressive silent films he offered to loan me in the near future. And that's when it came to me. There had been a wonderful Civil War movie called "The Raid" starring Van Heflin, made in the '50's sometime, about the confederate raid on St. Albans, VT. I'd happened upon it on some late movie program years and years ago, probably in the '60's growing up in Indiana, and I hadn't seen it since. I had just begun telling Donald about the movie when he interrupted me with:
"We're showing "The Raid" on Sunday, March 20th."
I couldn't believe it! It made me so happy! Like hearing a long lost friend was coming to visit! But I had to ground myself with a little reality.
'Oh, it must be such a B movie. I've probably romanticized it terribly.'
"It's quite good, actually," Donald countered. "Strong performances, good taut story. Holds up extremely well."
Well, blow me down.
I can't wait. I'm pretty sure Lee Marvin's in it too. Or Richard Boone. Wait, both of them are.
I just accessed Green Mountain's site for more info -- There's a great schedule of films this year!! - - and I see that "The Raid" was made in the year of my birth, 1954, and also stars a young Anne Bancroft. I'm so jazzed. The Civil War and Vermont. All together.
Now that I think about it the entire evening was about reunion last night. Coming back together with the movie "The Raid" (About the Civil War which was reunifying the nation. That's a reunion too, don't you think? Okay, I'll drop it.) Watching the Oscars, broadcast from my old home, and where Richard is visiting. Feeling distant and close to the event, to movies, to all of the places and times of my life. Now and then all blended, a constant reunion, reunifying. I like it. Life feels like a lot of movies strung together. It's nice to pop up on a screen every once and awhile and see if they're really the way we remember them, if we have romanticized them, or if it's better than we're giving it credit. Memory serves. A good night.
The other animals are all watered and fed and cleaned up after. It's sleet/snowing outside, snare drumming the back windows whenever the wind picks up. There's a fine beech wood fire to my right cozying up the indoors.
I went to the Oscars last night at the Savoy Theatre in Montpelier. No kleig lights, no paparazzi, but there was a red carpet downstairs where a bobbed blue haired fellow in a light blue tux commented on what everyone was wearing. I had been told to show up an hour before the doors opened at 7 by Donald Rae, the head of the upcoming Green Mountain Film Festival (The Festival is one of my 100 reasons for loving living in Vermont!), because inside sources had told them there would be a line and seating was limited (50 seats - 1 couch, 8 tall bar stools, 12 theatre seats, and the rest black bean bag chairs). Well, let's just say "a line" is a relative term. The ceremony was downstairs in what had been until recently the video store (with an impressively large library) and now has been transformed to a smaller theatre with a bar, very den-like and comfortable. It was a good time.
But I've got to backtrack for one of these uncanny and wonderful Vermont connections that continue to keep cropping up. When I got to the theatre at 6, there was no line at all. Just me, Donald, and Sonia, Donald's wife, so we retired to the Green Mountain Film Festival offices, ideally located just above the theatre, and over a glass of wine discussed the upcoming festival while keeping an ear out to any line forming sounds from below. (None were forthcoming.) Somewhere in the discussion of films being screened we spoke of various themes cropping up this year, one of which is the 150th anniversary of the Civil War. Now growing up I had been a history nerd, my particular area of expertise, passion and undying love was anything having to do with the American Civil War. We visited battlefields, I collected paraphernalia, antiques, newspapers. I remember going down to our library and checking out the 20 reel silent film "Birth of a Nation" and screening it on our home movie projector and screen. Donald said he'd had a rich collection of Civil War material to choose from, early and impressive silent films he offered to loan me in the near future. And that's when it came to me. There had been a wonderful Civil War movie called "The Raid" starring Van Heflin, made in the '50's sometime, about the confederate raid on St. Albans, VT. I'd happened upon it on some late movie program years and years ago, probably in the '60's growing up in Indiana, and I hadn't seen it since. I had just begun telling Donald about the movie when he interrupted me with:
"We're showing "The Raid" on Sunday, March 20th."
I couldn't believe it! It made me so happy! Like hearing a long lost friend was coming to visit! But I had to ground myself with a little reality.
'Oh, it must be such a B movie. I've probably romanticized it terribly.'
"It's quite good, actually," Donald countered. "Strong performances, good taut story. Holds up extremely well."
Well, blow me down.
I can't wait. I'm pretty sure Lee Marvin's in it too. Or Richard Boone. Wait, both of them are.
I just accessed Green Mountain's site for more info -- There's a great schedule of films this year!! - - and I see that "The Raid" was made in the year of my birth, 1954, and also stars a young Anne Bancroft. I'm so jazzed. The Civil War and Vermont. All together.
Now that I think about it the entire evening was about reunion last night. Coming back together with the movie "The Raid" (About the Civil War which was reunifying the nation. That's a reunion too, don't you think? Okay, I'll drop it.) Watching the Oscars, broadcast from my old home, and where Richard is visiting. Feeling distant and close to the event, to movies, to all of the places and times of my life. Now and then all blended, a constant reunion, reunifying. I like it. Life feels like a lot of movies strung together. It's nice to pop up on a screen every once and awhile and see if they're really the way we remember them, if we have romanticized them, or if it's better than we're giving it credit. Memory serves. A good night.
Sunday, February 27, 2011
Snowy Day Shots
Here are a few shots of a snowy day at the old Vermont homestead. I let the turkeys out for a stretch and, as you can see, Tom was in full feather, his face flushed purple, protecting his babes. You can make Shumuel off in the distance in his coop, watching over his harum. And there are a few shots of the snowy chicken coops with our neighbor Royce's barn in the distance. That's where the turkeys reside, on the second floor.
Saturday, February 26, 2011
Sing a song of praises!
Back in from morning chores. A reminder, I'm taking over Richard's chore run while he's in southern California, so the various birds and I have a much deeper relationship than we usually do. We're not just passing in the hall, but we're engaging in conversations in depth with topics ranging from feed grade to feces freezing (a decided coup in winter) to territorialness or as Shmuel's behavior if translated would say: "Get the fuck out of our house!" It's beautiful out today, clear, a foot of new fallen snow shimmering on the surface of things. Gives the day a sparkle.
It's high time for some more reasons I love living here. I don't really know exactly where we are on the 100 reasons list, but let's say 46:
46) Hardwicke, Vermont. Just getting to know a little about this town that has turned itself around from derelict status to being a model for the way we look at food. Bringing back individual responsibility, a local focus, a respect and honoring of the land, cutting back our addiction to fossil fuels, all with an eye on entrepreneurship and extending these practices out to the common man. Read "The Town That Food Saved" very inspiring stuff. Makes me proud to be a Vermonter.
47) Richard. My husband. A proud Vermonter himself. Though I planted the seed to move here, he was the one that followed the dream with blazing speed, taking the lead, listening to his intuition, and now with a whole flock of various birds, coops he's designed and built, an array of new knowledge surrounding the care of his aviary, being a member of the town planning board, active in many varied and creative pursuits around the area, Richard has transformed himself into a Vermonter of the highest order, involved, proud, and knowledgeable. And loved by me.
48) High Mowing Seeds. Our local organic seed company. Very near Hardwicke. Grand catalogues, thorough instructions and stats all fueled by a firm belief in the larger picture, the good that they're doing. Very inspired and inspiring. Another reason I'm proud to be a Vermonter.
49) Single Payer Health Care. Granted, it's just in the discussion stage right now, but at least there's a discussion, there's an aim. I'm proud of Governor Shumlin for making this a priority. Vermont once more can lead the way - as they did with same sex marriage - to make our lives richer, more equitable. We can be the model that makes clear that Single Payer is the best way to go. Health Care is everyone's right. Added to that, I have a personal feeling that individual responsibility needs to be factored into this. Single Payer should not be a dependency relationship. When it comes to taking care of one's own body and one's health, the main responsibility should be ours by how we eat, how much, how we treat our body, how we honor it. I feel issues like obesity are many times indulgent individual issues whose "cure" should not be taken on by any insurance deal. I'm off my soap box now.
50) Newbury road care. I love our road crew. The way they tend and groom our roads is exceptional. I see our tax money at work. Especially impressive on our back roads in the boonies. High thumbs up.
51) VPR Both classical and news. I'm proud to be a contributor and listener.
52) Local libraries. I am absolutely blown away by the libraries in small towns in Vermont. I had expected there to be stacks and stacks of books from the nineteenth century, but the shelves are well stocked with current releases. They are rich, rich boons to every community, many times offering extra-curricular activities like book groups, sometimes facilitated by a member of the Vermont Department of the Humanities, and chock full of vital, curious, and passionate people. Terrific!
53) A Young Elder. This is a model I've experienced here. Maybe it's New England stock, but whatever the reason, I'm so fond of the 70 and above crowd here, all very engaged in life, wanting to learn more, staying active and vital and ALIVE in so many ways. They seem to have a firm and honored place in people's hearts and minds here and it's inspired a glow in the path ahead for me.
Have a great day!!
It's high time for some more reasons I love living here. I don't really know exactly where we are on the 100 reasons list, but let's say 46:
46) Hardwicke, Vermont. Just getting to know a little about this town that has turned itself around from derelict status to being a model for the way we look at food. Bringing back individual responsibility, a local focus, a respect and honoring of the land, cutting back our addiction to fossil fuels, all with an eye on entrepreneurship and extending these practices out to the common man. Read "The Town That Food Saved" very inspiring stuff. Makes me proud to be a Vermonter.
47) Richard. My husband. A proud Vermonter himself. Though I planted the seed to move here, he was the one that followed the dream with blazing speed, taking the lead, listening to his intuition, and now with a whole flock of various birds, coops he's designed and built, an array of new knowledge surrounding the care of his aviary, being a member of the town planning board, active in many varied and creative pursuits around the area, Richard has transformed himself into a Vermonter of the highest order, involved, proud, and knowledgeable. And loved by me.
48) High Mowing Seeds. Our local organic seed company. Very near Hardwicke. Grand catalogues, thorough instructions and stats all fueled by a firm belief in the larger picture, the good that they're doing. Very inspired and inspiring. Another reason I'm proud to be a Vermonter.
49) Single Payer Health Care. Granted, it's just in the discussion stage right now, but at least there's a discussion, there's an aim. I'm proud of Governor Shumlin for making this a priority. Vermont once more can lead the way - as they did with same sex marriage - to make our lives richer, more equitable. We can be the model that makes clear that Single Payer is the best way to go. Health Care is everyone's right. Added to that, I have a personal feeling that individual responsibility needs to be factored into this. Single Payer should not be a dependency relationship. When it comes to taking care of one's own body and one's health, the main responsibility should be ours by how we eat, how much, how we treat our body, how we honor it. I feel issues like obesity are many times indulgent individual issues whose "cure" should not be taken on by any insurance deal. I'm off my soap box now.
50) Newbury road care. I love our road crew. The way they tend and groom our roads is exceptional. I see our tax money at work. Especially impressive on our back roads in the boonies. High thumbs up.
51) VPR Both classical and news. I'm proud to be a contributor and listener.
52) Local libraries. I am absolutely blown away by the libraries in small towns in Vermont. I had expected there to be stacks and stacks of books from the nineteenth century, but the shelves are well stocked with current releases. They are rich, rich boons to every community, many times offering extra-curricular activities like book groups, sometimes facilitated by a member of the Vermont Department of the Humanities, and chock full of vital, curious, and passionate people. Terrific!
53) A Young Elder. This is a model I've experienced here. Maybe it's New England stock, but whatever the reason, I'm so fond of the 70 and above crowd here, all very engaged in life, wanting to learn more, staying active and vital and ALIVE in so many ways. They seem to have a firm and honored place in people's hearts and minds here and it's inspired a glow in the path ahead for me.
Have a great day!!
Monday, February 21, 2011
With Feathers
"What do you think you're doing?!"
"Why I never!"
"Who do you think you are!!!"
Just a sampling of the hum of effrontery I get when I reach below the feathered, nether regions of our hens and search through the warm straw for an egg (or 2 or 5. They've been laying really well lately.) Some peck, some squawk and scatter, a few take it in stride, but no measure of "thank you" or "you're beautiful" from me seems to mollify them. It's an intrusion. And I understand. They're trapped, literally cooped up, no where to go. Today I took an extra measure of appreciation when I went out to the coops to visit them. Why? I'll tell you later. I stood and watched, tip-toed about when I had to get to gathering.
We have a hen inside our utility room, Jasmine, I think, whose tending to 2 new chicks. They're residing temporarily inside a plastic pet carrying case, and about once a day, maybe every other day if one is lucky, Jasmine "messes" her cage and you have to extract the chicks and place them in a way station (not too hard) and then take Jasmine out (for some reason this was tricky today) and clean her cage. The smell was so potent it made me squint. Well, she'd been savin' it up, sitting there all day. I cleaned the cage, quick, laced the air with a few pine shavings, and put them back in. It's incredible when you think about it. Her stillness in there. A swami would be envious. Chicken meditation. The assuring clucks. Richard goes in there and sits on the stool in front of the cage and watches like a kid watching Saturday morning cartoons, a study in joy. The Chicken Channel. I tried it a little today and sure enough the chicks came out for a peak, one chirping it's way around the backside of his mother and then standing and studying me, taking me in, while the other surfaced right in the middle of a black sea of feathers. Jasmine's a surrogate mom, black feathered, sweet as can be, and the chicks are pale yellow. So when the one chick kept bobbing up and down for a look see there was no mistaking where she was.
I just took the geese up some celery and cilantro, our stores of old lettuce and cabbage from a local market that we usually have on hand having run low. Loved it. All posturing and neck lowering bravado from Shmuel disappears when he sees that I have some leafy grub. Suddenly we're best friends. Though I can't help thinking that the way he chomps into a stalk of celery is probably how he'd like to be chomping into my finger. Oh, he's a good gander!!
With the warm weather the other day, we let the turkeys and the geese out to roam around. Well our Tom and Shmuel had a bit of a showdown in our graveled parking area. Both had their attendant ladies at hand watching on. I didn't witness it first hand, but Richard told me our Tom puffed out his chest feathers and showed the whole deck of cards behind and went after Shmuel like a possessed Ninja warrior. Shmuel didn't know what hit him. No wounds, unless you count his pride. I came out just after the battle and tried to offer Shmuel some salutary savoy cabbage, but he just gave it a forlorn sniff and walked back up the snow bank with one of his daughters to the safety of their coop. Poor guy. I didn't want his spirit to be broken. And I think he shook it off. He got to the top of the slope and called out to the 2 remaining girls, a proud, protective bray, to come home, to safety. Mary Ann, his mate, flew up right away, while Daphne bothered around, taking her good sweet time. It was good to see them all up in their place together, putting the turkey encounter behind them. He's a good gander!
I was away in NYC over the weekend. It was supposed to be a one-day there, one-day back affair, but the winds were so high down there on Saturday, topping off at 55 mph, that a Cape Air 9 seat Cessena hadn't a chance of taking off. So I went back into town, taking in the drop of temperature from 66 on Friday to 20 on Saturday. Roller coaster. Richard said he was out tending the chickens when there arose such a racket at the goose pen. He ran out and peered up and saw Shmuel mounting Mary Ann to the shock and awe of their 2 daughters. They didn't know WHAT was going on. This is yet another thing I haven't witnessed first hand, but by Richard's account, it's a clumsy affair, with Shmuel hefting himself up onto a flattened goose and then situating himself just right. I trust this experience of seeing their parents "doing it" doesn't traumatize the girls for life. Wait'll Shmuel starts mounting them. The therapy bills. Oy!
I've got poultry on the mind today because Richard's leaving for 4 or 5 days at the end of the week and I will be taking over the full duties of care. After various conversations about this upcoming event I went out with a heightened awareness to their coops this morning. Richard takes great pride in them. He's set a structure for the beginning of each day which revolves around their care. He loves it, he loves them. It gives a foundation to his life here. I have come to an appreciation - and yes, love - second hand. Over our 4 years here there have been times I've grumbled about the mess and the havoc they create, I've sought to control aspects of it all, but the plus column of their being a part of our lives far outweighs the minuses. It continues to teach me a lot about myself. So I look forward to this week. I'll miss Richard. Of course. And if work unexpectedly carries me away, I have it covered. But it'll be me and the cats and the birds cooped up together for a few days.
And making the best of it.
"Why I never!"
"Who do you think you are!!!"
Just a sampling of the hum of effrontery I get when I reach below the feathered, nether regions of our hens and search through the warm straw for an egg (or 2 or 5. They've been laying really well lately.) Some peck, some squawk and scatter, a few take it in stride, but no measure of "thank you" or "you're beautiful" from me seems to mollify them. It's an intrusion. And I understand. They're trapped, literally cooped up, no where to go. Today I took an extra measure of appreciation when I went out to the coops to visit them. Why? I'll tell you later. I stood and watched, tip-toed about when I had to get to gathering.
We have a hen inside our utility room, Jasmine, I think, whose tending to 2 new chicks. They're residing temporarily inside a plastic pet carrying case, and about once a day, maybe every other day if one is lucky, Jasmine "messes" her cage and you have to extract the chicks and place them in a way station (not too hard) and then take Jasmine out (for some reason this was tricky today) and clean her cage. The smell was so potent it made me squint. Well, she'd been savin' it up, sitting there all day. I cleaned the cage, quick, laced the air with a few pine shavings, and put them back in. It's incredible when you think about it. Her stillness in there. A swami would be envious. Chicken meditation. The assuring clucks. Richard goes in there and sits on the stool in front of the cage and watches like a kid watching Saturday morning cartoons, a study in joy. The Chicken Channel. I tried it a little today and sure enough the chicks came out for a peak, one chirping it's way around the backside of his mother and then standing and studying me, taking me in, while the other surfaced right in the middle of a black sea of feathers. Jasmine's a surrogate mom, black feathered, sweet as can be, and the chicks are pale yellow. So when the one chick kept bobbing up and down for a look see there was no mistaking where she was.
I just took the geese up some celery and cilantro, our stores of old lettuce and cabbage from a local market that we usually have on hand having run low. Loved it. All posturing and neck lowering bravado from Shmuel disappears when he sees that I have some leafy grub. Suddenly we're best friends. Though I can't help thinking that the way he chomps into a stalk of celery is probably how he'd like to be chomping into my finger. Oh, he's a good gander!!
With the warm weather the other day, we let the turkeys and the geese out to roam around. Well our Tom and Shmuel had a bit of a showdown in our graveled parking area. Both had their attendant ladies at hand watching on. I didn't witness it first hand, but Richard told me our Tom puffed out his chest feathers and showed the whole deck of cards behind and went after Shmuel like a possessed Ninja warrior. Shmuel didn't know what hit him. No wounds, unless you count his pride. I came out just after the battle and tried to offer Shmuel some salutary savoy cabbage, but he just gave it a forlorn sniff and walked back up the snow bank with one of his daughters to the safety of their coop. Poor guy. I didn't want his spirit to be broken. And I think he shook it off. He got to the top of the slope and called out to the 2 remaining girls, a proud, protective bray, to come home, to safety. Mary Ann, his mate, flew up right away, while Daphne bothered around, taking her good sweet time. It was good to see them all up in their place together, putting the turkey encounter behind them. He's a good gander!
I was away in NYC over the weekend. It was supposed to be a one-day there, one-day back affair, but the winds were so high down there on Saturday, topping off at 55 mph, that a Cape Air 9 seat Cessena hadn't a chance of taking off. So I went back into town, taking in the drop of temperature from 66 on Friday to 20 on Saturday. Roller coaster. Richard said he was out tending the chickens when there arose such a racket at the goose pen. He ran out and peered up and saw Shmuel mounting Mary Ann to the shock and awe of their 2 daughters. They didn't know WHAT was going on. This is yet another thing I haven't witnessed first hand, but by Richard's account, it's a clumsy affair, with Shmuel hefting himself up onto a flattened goose and then situating himself just right. I trust this experience of seeing their parents "doing it" doesn't traumatize the girls for life. Wait'll Shmuel starts mounting them. The therapy bills. Oy!
I've got poultry on the mind today because Richard's leaving for 4 or 5 days at the end of the week and I will be taking over the full duties of care. After various conversations about this upcoming event I went out with a heightened awareness to their coops this morning. Richard takes great pride in them. He's set a structure for the beginning of each day which revolves around their care. He loves it, he loves them. It gives a foundation to his life here. I have come to an appreciation - and yes, love - second hand. Over our 4 years here there have been times I've grumbled about the mess and the havoc they create, I've sought to control aspects of it all, but the plus column of their being a part of our lives far outweighs the minuses. It continues to teach me a lot about myself. So I look forward to this week. I'll miss Richard. Of course. And if work unexpectedly carries me away, I have it covered. But it'll be me and the cats and the birds cooped up together for a few days.
And making the best of it.
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