What I Wish I Didn’t Know

It was probably not a good idea to put my writing table in front of the big window in the new front room. At the time I told myself that looking out over the valley would be a source of inspiration for me. Now I wonder if I am doing more “mental writing,” (also known as just gazing out the window), than actual writing, although I have been assured by famous writers like Elizabeth Gilbert that time spent gazing is a form of creativity. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

This morning there is a lady pushing her little one in a stroller down the dirt road that boarders the corn field directly opposite my window. The baby is pointing upwards to the crows that are swooping up and down over the corn, cawing for all they are worth. Beyond the field the hills are just barely starting to show a bit of color on the tips of the leaves. It is an idyllic picture, that is, until … until I see the cow carrier hauling cows from the farm up the hill to wherever, perhaps to slaughter, perhaps to be sold as breeding cows. I wish I didn’t know that. I wish I didn’t know the indignities, pain and fear that cows, or any farm factory animal for that matter, goes through just so we can eat ice cream and burgers. I wish I didn’t know that, but I do.

I turn my attention to my computer and pull up Facebook so I can post my weekday “Flower Bear’s Thought For The Day.” (see link below). Someone has shared a video with me of a new country music video called, “Forever Country.” It is an awesome video. I love country music and every one of my favorite singers and groups are in this video. I listen to it, watch the faces of the people singing, and wish that I had grown up in the country, in a small town, knowing everybody’s name, and everybody’s kid, and having them all know me; where you can sing about “Hunting, and Fishing, And Loving Every Day” … except that I don’t believe in hunting and fishing anymore. I believe that every sentient, feeling creature has as much right to live as I do. I wish I didn’t know that, but I do.

Deciding to become a vegan wasn’t an easy choice, but once I started knowing things that I wish I didn’t know, I had to follow my heart. When I actually moved to the country and took up gardening, and spent so much time in communion with all of the life that moved around me, I couldn’t go back to my old way of thinking and living. That’s something I did know, but that doesn’t make it any easier to be a huge square peg in a round hole so huge that there is no bottom, no end in sight. It doesn’t make it any easier to be where the life of an animal is judged by its usefulness. If it ain’t useful here, it has no worth as a living, feeling thing created by God just like we are.

Here’s what else I do know: I know that you can love a corn field and the sound of crows and still call yourself a country girl. I know that you can watch in awe as hundreds of geese take flight overhead, and gratefully watch bunnies munch on the lettuce in your garden because you have enough to share, and not want to have said bunny for dinner, and still be a country girl. I know that you can share your broken up pieces of bread and seeds with the birds and chipmunks, and delight in the arrival of a new blue jay to the neighborhood without wanting to trap, kill or drive them off, and still be a country girl. I know that you can send love to the woodchuck down the hill and pray he doesn’t get run over, and still be a country girl. I know that you can still love the country without destroying the lives that live there with you.

So maybe it’s a good idea that my writing table is in front of the window, and that along with seeing the things I like to see, I am reminded as well of the things I wish I didn’t know because it reinforces what I do know for sure, that being a country girl is less about the hunting and fishing, and more about loving every day.

And so it is.

(Here is the link for Flower Bear’s Thought For The Day: www.facebook.com/FlowerBearsGarden).

A Walk In The Clouds

Along with crisp mornings, kids outside waiting for the school bus to come and the first signs of the leaves changing comes another signal that fall is almost here in these parts ... fog. Dense, thick, can't-see-more-than-two-feet-in-front-of-you fog. Living up here on the hill as I do, I can see it roll up the valley as it makes its way to me. These mornings become more and more prevalent the deeper into September we go. My morning walks now either have to wait until some of it burns off or require that I dress in a hoodie to keep from getting soaked. Still, there is something magical about walking in the fog.

I can remember my mother walking my sister and I to school on foggy mornings. Everything looked different. When you can't see the usual landmarks and signs, you have to rely on your experience and memory to take you in the right direction. Even sounds are muffled and distorted. What you think you know becomes something quite different when the sun comes out. To me, it felt like walking in the clouds. I used to wonder if this was where the angels lived.

My mother used to tell me that I needed to get my head out of the clouds. She meant that I spent too much time in the land of make-believe and what if? All these years later, at the tender young age of 67, I still spend a lot of my time with my head in the clouds. That's the place where miracles are born and magic happens. This is not to say that I spend all of my time there. I spend plenty of time with my feet plated firmly on the ground and rooted in what is before me in the present moment. It's just that I know I will wake up one morning surrounded by brain fog so dense that everything I thought was real has melted into the clouds. Then I am free to create something new, something magical.

It's important that we build a firm foundation for ourselves. We need something that we can count on to be there when life pulls the rug out from under us. Often that foundation is faith, or a spiritual practice that keeps us grounded. But there is something to be found in the fertile ground of our imagination that cannot be found by keeping our heads down and pushing forward. The most magical moments in our lives come when we look up and take a walk in the clouds. Who knows? You might even bump into an angel while you're there.

And so it is.

Hey! September! Could You Please Make Up Your Mind?

In a 48 hour period, it has gone from a temperature of almost 90, with a heat index of 97, and humidity at 86%, to an overnight low of 45 and waking up to a foggy, 50 degree morning which required a sweatshirt to take my morning walk. Welcome to the month of September where we can't seem to make up our minds whether we want to hang on to summer a bit longer or dive right into Autumn!

I know I'm probably going to hear moans and groans when I say this, but I am so done with this summer. It has been hot, dusty, filled with construction noise, insects running from the construction and hiding out in my apartment, and not the kind of soft, sweet summers I enjoy. So when I woke up that first morning to cool, crisp air and the first hint of fall color way up on the hill, I was jumping up and down for joy. However, just to make sure I didn't forget who was in charge, September decided to throw in a heat wave, complete with hair curling humidity of Biblical proportions. The AC broke down on the bus coming home from getting my hair cut. Yeah, it was that kind of day.

Then the heavens opened up, the rain came tumbling down like Niagara Falls, and the temps came tumbling down. I threw open the windows to let in the delicious coolness ... and by noon on the following day it was back up to a heat index of 92. At this point I literally stuck my head out of the window and shouted towards the sky: "Will you please make up your mind before I lose mine?"

Don't you just hate it when you can't make up your mind between two alternatives? When either/or has it's pros and cons, and neither one stands out as the obvious choice? What I have found is that when that happens to me, I just offer this up to the Universe: "I don't know which way to go with this. So I will remain open to whatever is in my highest and best interest, with harm to no one." Eventually a way presents itself and I am able to move on. Often the best thing we can do when we find ourselves stuck between a rock and a hard place is to offer it up, stay open, and as Mike Dooley of Notes From The Universe fame always says: "choose the one that sucks the least" until another door opens. The worst thing is staying stuck and not moving at all which, if you think about it, is also a choice.

In the case of this month of September, the one with an identity problem, I have decided to give it up, keep the shorts and the ice tea handy, and not put the fans away just yet, but just to be on the safe side, I've dug out the hoodies and sweat pants. If you can't be a woman for all seasons, what's the point of it all anyway?

And so it is.

Second Plantings

At this point in the gardening year many people opt to do what is known as a second planting. This is the planting of a second batch of cool weather crops that do well as the mornings and evenings begin to turn chilly and can even withstand a light frost. Some of those plants that do well are lettuce, broccoli, cauliflower, Brussel sprouts, and many others. It is nice to know that even after everything else is harvested and the garden is beginning to look lost, there is still the possibility of enjoying fresh veggies and salads well into autumn. Some folks don’t realize that they can do this once the rest of the garden is harvested and ready to put to bed for the season. What a treat when we get a second chance at something we enjoy.

Sometimes we don’t realize that we can have a second chance to enjoy those things we believed we had to give up in order to grow up, or that we never pursued because it wasn’t high enough on our priority list. We used to love to dabble in art, but gave it up to get a “real job.” We enjoyed singing in the choral group at school, but gave up the idea of singing to raise a family. We watched in envy as our daughters took dance lessons, feeling the music speak to our feet and our souls.

 But here is the good news, Baby Boomers: the job is over, the kids are out of the nest, and the music is still playing if you just take the time to listen. Now is the time to plant some new seeds. You’re not in the dead of winter yet! Picking up some inexpensive art supplies is planting a new seed. Checking with your local library or community college to see if they offer beginner art classes is like planting another seed. Maybe there is a local church or choral group that could use another voice. No harm in planting that seed. And while you’re looking for art classes, look for a beginner dance class as well. Scatter those seeds anywhere and everywhere!

Just remember that it is never too late to plant a new seed of desire. As any gardener will tell you, some will take root and bloom, and some won’t. However, you’ll never know if you don’t try. You just never know what might come up!

 And so it is.

P.S. And while we’re on the subject of second plantings, don’t forget to check out my new ebook: “Second Chances: Lessons In Wisdom From A Life Well Lived.” It’s full of suggestions and lessons on second chances for every area of our lives. Available from Amazon Kindle

www.amazon.com/dp/B01KOPXXTK

Kiss the Earth Gently

This morning dawned overcast and cool. The early mornings and late evenings have already started their journey towards autumn here. Of course we’ll still get some heat and humidity well into September as summer makes a last stand before turning over the baton to the next season, but I’ve arrived at the point in the summer when I am done with it all. I want to wake up to crisp, clear air, throw on a sweatshirt and go outside. I want to see the corn waving in the wind, waiting to be harvested. I want to smell that very special smell that only comes in September … I want it to smell like the first day of school.

When I was a little girl, I can remember going outside in the mornings in late August and telling my mom, “It smells like school in the air.” I always loved school. I got a distinct feeling of excitement buying school supplies, inhaling the aroma of freshly sharpened pencils, and gazing longingly at the clean, blank pages of my notebooks just waiting for wisdom and knowledge to fill in the lines.  I still feel that way today. Every year when parents are filling their shopping carts with school supplies, I join in. I get myself a stack of brand new spiral notebooks, a pack of No. 2 pencils, a new highlighter, and some new pens. I take an especially long time buying my pens. I want to see how it will feel in my hand. I want to be assured that it will glide across the pages as the inspiration pours out of me (hopefully!).

I am a life-long learner, something I talk about in my new book: Second Chances: Lessons In Wisdom From A Life Well Lived,” (available through Amazon). Every year after I have my “school supplies” purchased and neatly put away in my desk, I ask myself if there has been any subject or idea that I have come across recently that has ignited a desire in me to know more about it?  One year it was quantum physics. Another year it was advanced container gardening. This year I am fascinated with the whole subject of developing permaculture – the development of agricultural ecosystems designed to be sustainable and self-sufficient without the use of pesticides, chemicals or anything that harms the earth. I figure if I start studying now, I’ll have a handle on it by next spring when, hopefully, I’ll be able to put what I’ve learned into practice.

You all know that I am a vegan. It seems natural that a desire to learn about responsible, natural and sustainable food production would follow. I no longer want my footprint upon dear Mother Earth to be harsh and heavy. I want my presence here to kiss the earth gently, and to teach my grandchildren to do the same. So I guess it’s time to crack open a notebook, sharpen a pencil and put Google Search to work.

Mom, it smells like school out there.

And so it is.

Knowing When It's Time To Bury Your Acorns

I just love the way the Universe works! When you ask for guidance and a sign, you get it in ways you couldn't even imagine if you tried. Sometimes we're just not observant enough or focused enough to see those signs, and when we miss what's right in front of us, we wonder if our prayer were even heard. Happily, this was not the case last week. If anything, I got signs that I couldn't miss if I fell over them.

On a day when I had trouble deciding what to have for breakfast, let alone where I was supposed to be going in my personal as well as my creative life, I tearfully threw up my hands and addressed my Creator, my angels, my spirit guides, and anyone else who was willing to listen: "I have no idea what I'm supposed to be doing next.  I know I need to break out of the box and challenge myself to do something different. Doing what is comfortable is very nice and safe, but I know I'm here to do more than that. So if the new direction I've been considering is the next right step on my journey, could you please send me a sign so I'll know? And could you make it something I can easily recognize? Thank you. Amen."

I love it when the Universe has a sense of humor. The first sign I saw was that very afternoon. For anyone who is a fan of the work of the late Wayne Dyer, the teacher of my heart for over 20 years, you will know what I mean when I talk about his "Butterfly Story." For those of you who don't, Wayne shared a story about a very lengthy visit from a monarch butterfly he had immediately after writing a story about a friend of his who had died and how the last conversation he had with that man was about monarch butterflies. He immediately took that as a sign that his friend was communicating with him from the Other Side. Well, I had a visit from a monarch butterfly. In case you don't think that means much given that I live in the country surrounded by flowers, let me just say that in the two years I've been here, the only butterflies I've seen have been all white ones. So when this big, beautiful monarch butterfly not only flew into view, but attached itself to the screen right outside the window where I write ... and stayed there for an hour ... I could not help but get the message. Even my cats could not scare it off. I called him Wayne. We had a lovely one-sided chat for the hour that he hung out with me. (Side Note of Interest: the anniversary of Wayne's death is coming up at the end of this month).

The second message was literally the answer to a prayer. A brown and red squirrel decided to take a quick shortcut across my front walkway and up the hill towards the pine trees. If you've been following my blogs for a while, you know that I've written in the past about how much I missed the squirrels from back where I used to live, and about how I could not believe that in two years I had not seen a single one. The locals told me that too many predators had moved into the neighborhood, like the eagles and hawks from down near the pond, while the dozens of barn cats from the farm up the hill had probably killed or chased off the rest. I had refused to believe that I was going to spend the rest of my days here surrounded by trees of all kinds and never see another squirrel. Lo and behold, when I asked for a sign, one came scampering across my field of vision! So naturally I went right to my books on animal totems and here is what it told me: if a squirrel has crossed your path, it is telling you to lighten up and not take life so seriously. At the same time, it is reminding you to lay your foundation for the future, to bury your acorns. As the old poem says, "mighty oaks from little acorns grow." This little guy was telling me that, while I needed to remember to lighten up and enjoy life, it was time for me to bury my acorns and start growing something new.

I came away from all of this confident that the new direction I had been thinking of taking was what I was meant to do next. So for the next several days, I went to work with a new enthusiasm and on August 29th, my new "brand" will be launched. It will consist of: 1. The release of my new ebook, "Second Chances: Lessons in Wisdom From a Life Well Lived,- Book Two In the Third Age Trilogy ("Song Of An Extraordinary Life" was Book One)" 2. My first very own website: Barb Parcells, Writing A Life ,with a new blog by the same name, and,  3. A sale on my first two ebooks to celebrate the release of Second Chances (more to follow on this next week). For those of you who are followers of Flower Bear's Garden, please know that it will continue as always. Life would not be the same without taking the time to visit the garden and see what lessons it has to teach all of us each week and throughout the seasons of the year. That means I will be writing two blogs a week, plus working on the final book in the Third Age Trilogy. I think I'm set with projects for a while, don't you?

I will admit, it was scary to think about starting a website and another blog. I am not technically savvy and my Geek Squad (my oldest granddaughter and her husband) no longer lives a few blocks away as they did when I started Flower Bear's Garden. While I know that the website may be a bit rocky getting started as I learn to do this on my own, I figure if Creator has so much confidence in me, who am I to argue? I am excited and a bit breathless by it all, but at the same time I look forward to the new journey I am embarking on. I hope you will all go on this journey with me, as you have for the nearly 4 years in the garden with Flower Bear and me. I thank you all from the bottom of my heart for your love, support and comments. It has given me more joy than you know.

See you all next week in the garden, as always.  And so it is.

P.S. Nice flying, Wayne. Very impressive, but then everything you do soars! Blessings!

Finding Grace in Surrender

I am not someone who gives up easily, especially if the cause is something near and dear to my heart, like gardening. However, I have lived enough years on this earth to know when I am beaten. I bow to a very powerful tag team: men and construction.

Since mid-April the house where I rent a ground floor/basement combo apartment has been under construction. The owners are turning the one-family upstairs into two apartments. The work is being done in phases as time allows and people are available. It reminds me of that delightful book that was later made into an equally delightful mini series on PBS called: "A Year In Provence," by Peter Mayle. It tells the story of an English couple who decide to chuck it all and move to the beautiful region of Provence, in France, where they will renovate an old farmhouse and live in peace and simplicity. However, the local tradespeople have a different work ethic than the industrious Brits, and when they say they will be back on Tuesday, it does not necessarily mean next Tuesday. It could mean a Tuesday three months from then. The book documents the couple's hilarious education into simple, rural living and how they managed to survive it all and keep their sanity intact. I feel like I am living in Provence.

When it came time to clean up the garden in the spring and prepare the beds, I was surrounded by trucks, dumpsters and piles of ripped out walls, cement, nails and other debris. The tulips were smashed under piles of broken concrete. At every turn there were construction trucks, plumbers, electricians, piles of lumber, and pieces of wall board blowing in the wind. There was nowhere to set up my containers and my mini green house. Then they kept turning off my Internet, my water and my power. I finally managed to get a few containers out there only through the hard work of my 9 year old granddaughter who may look skinny but who had no problem carrying hugs sacks of soil down the driveway where we assumed it would be safe to put the containers. The lettuce and basil have roused to the occasion, although Rosemary seems to be afraid to poke her head through more than an inch and the spinach is anemic. They were planted late and not in the optimal spot for the best growth. Alas, the biggest casualty has been the tomatoes. After painstakingly hauling water from the house to water them - they kept shutting off the hose - they succumbed to several days of torrential downpours that backed up a river in their pots which plugged the drainage holes and would not let the water out fast enough. The entire bottom of the plants are gone, and only about 6 grape tomatoes remain to turn red, if ever. As for the weeding, only a machete and a strong back could get through what should have been tackled ages ago with only minimum upkeep needed afterward. It was when I walked out and saw my drowned tomatoes that I threw up my hands, waved the white flag and told the Universe, "I Surrender! I Give up! It's all yours!"

Sometimes we just have to accept the idea that not every plan is going to work out the way we'd like, and we cannot control every event in our lives. Last year I came to accept the fact that, as excited as I was to finally be able to live somewhere that had an actual garden to play in, some physical setbacks were not going to permit me to go back to the way I used to garden before the injury to my hip. That was okay. I found ways to still enjoy gardening, still have a hand in creation, and still take pride in the harvest. This year, no way. So what do you do with those lemons you've been handed? You make lemonade and use the seeds to plant something new, like patience, gratitude and acceptance. It won't be the last time I'll ever get to garden, and it also won't be the last time that I won't be in control of how something works out. Let go and let God, as they say in the recovery movement.

So where is the grace in surrendering? It was there when I looked out among the weeds one day to see wild roses growing where I'd never seen them growing before. It was there when I saw wild morning glories wrapping themselves around the lambs ear and boasting beautiful white flowers at sunrise. It was there when the wild strawberries, unimpeded by anything I might have planted there, took over, much to the delight of my grandkids who went out to pick them and came back laughing with red fingers and mouths. It was there when the local critters came out early in the morning to eat the clover and dandelions. Grace. Grace in what Mother Nature has planned and executed, beauty in the randomness and gratitude in the bounty. Grace.

And so it is.