Country Perfume

On Saturday I attended the Harvest Open House at a local country farm store just outside of town called Country Wagon Produce. It is situated close enough to stores and schools to be convenient, but far enough out of a more urban setting to feel like what it is ... a country store on a country road. I love to visit this place and browse their shelves of homemade jams, jellies, dried spices (all from herbs grown right there on the farm), baked goods, fresh produce (also grown right there) and handmade items of every kind from soaps, to scarves, to household decor and more. Outside the store are baskets and bins filled with apples, pears, squashes, gourds, and, or course, pumpkins of every size. I could visit this place every day and never grow tired of it.

On the day of the annual Harvest Open House, there is food, music and fun things for the whole family including a hay ride, a magician, animals from the local Zoomobile, and even a giant sling shot where you can send a less-than-perfect apple or pear sailing across the field to try and hit the target. The one thing that caught my attention the most that day, however, was what filled my nostrils and my heart, what I refer to as the perfume of the country.

Even though it was raining the day we went, I didn't mind. For me there is something intoxicating about the smell of the rain on the grass and the fresh cut hay, and on the barrels of apples and pears. There is a scent from the nearby river that calls to me of days spent sitting on a blanket beside it and having a picnic with my very first grandchild when she was only a toddler, watching the ducks and geese glide by. The freshly fallen leaves have a smell all their own that announces the season, and the aroma of wood-smoke from the fireplaces and wood stoves around the area call to mind chilly with a mug of hot soup at my elbow and some yarn and a crochet hook in my hand. No other season's perfume calls to me as this one does, nor makes me as homesick for my old country home.

I expect I will return there from time to time to stock up on my supply of cooking herbs before they close for the winter after Christmas, and to grab a loaf of freshly made raisin or pumpkin bread, or just to stand outside to breathe in the those memories of home. Perhaps one day if I'm lucky they will move from the realm of memory to the realm of reality once again.

And so it is.

Waking Up To Autumn

Autumn finally arrived here overnight on Friday ... literally. On Thursday the high for the day was 83 degrees. On Friday it was still in the 70's but the rain was moving in. Overnight Friday into Saturday it rained and rained, and when I woke up on Saturday morning the temperature was 34 degrees, the heat had kicked on, and when I opened the curtains, the tips of the trees around my building were sporting vibrant hints of color against a brilliant, Autumn-blue sky!

I always feel as if I wait the whole year for Autumn to come, and when it's as late as it was this year, I get impatient. It's my all-time favorite season of the year and I just wished it lasted a little longer, or at least as long as winter seems to last. The temperature is just right for jeans and sweatshirts, the air tingles with the promise of pumpkins, and the colors, well, the colors are often beyond words. It's as if Mother Nature were helping us to record the beauty our minds to hold us over during the dark days of winter. I know it feels a bit like the movie, "Groundhog's Day," but sometimes I do wish it could be Autumn all year long. 

Wishing away our days for something outside of our control does not serve us. I think that's why Mother Nature created four different seasons. She wanted us to learn those things that would serve us as we evolved, things like patience, growth, and having goals or dreams to name a few. Can you imagine not having enough spring and summer to grow our food, or give baby birds enough  time to grow in their shell? And what about us? Which one of us would like to see our grey hair and wrinkles show up years ahead of time by wishing life moved faster? Wishing away our time hoping to change things that we have no control over is the same as wishing away our lives. That time can be better spent on finding ways to bring joy into our lives ... like enjoying Mother Nature's Fall Art Exhibit for as long as she keeps it hung out there. Now that's something we can not only hope for, but achieve.

And so it is. 

Marketing Advice From Mother Nature

In all the years I worked in marketing and Public Relations, no campaign, not even with a huge advertising budget to work with, ever came close to what Mother Nature can put on with a snap of her fingers. By far, I would have to say that the most popular and celebrated of those has to be Autumn. If you asked a dozen people what their favorite season was, I would bet that more than half would agree.

It's not just the colors, spectacular as they are. She gave these colors to the great artistic masters of the world, yet none of them could match what she was able to do with them. The blue of a sunny Autumn sky is a blue that knocks your socks off, so that the visit a few weeks ago from that lovely brown hawk that flew past my window stood out in stark contrast. An Autumn sun glows like no other season's sun and makes the shadows it casts more dramatic. The other day my attention was caught by that favorite sound of Autumn that I constantly rave about, the sound of the geese in motion. This time, however, the sound was unusually loud and when I went to the window, I found that they had changed their normal flight path and were flying directly over my roof! They were low enough for me to get a good look at their beautiful forms, but the most dramatic sight was their shadow, deep and powerful, that flowed over the shingled roof next door like a special effects show! The sights, the sounds, the colors, it all went to make a masterpiece that I doubt even Michelangelo could beat, nor could the best and the brightest on Madison Avenue come up with a more attention-getting, memorable ad.

Whenever I find myself caught up in that distinctly human pursuit of perfection, of being "better-than" the self-created competition born in our own minds, I have only to go outside and look around me. It doesn't take me long to be brought back down to earth and be reminded that the only perfection in the world comes at the hands of Mother Nature, God's Director of Marketing, the one who took all the time in the world to get it right, and is still at work each and every moment. Now that's dedication to a job! Would any of us be as willing to give our lives in the pursuit of our passions? It's certainly something to ponder.

And so it is. 

Remembering To Look Up

One of the features I love the best about my tiny apartment is the big window over my desk that looks out on a tree-lined street of older, well-kept homes that leads to the green hills beyond. There is plenty of open sky and lots of small, non-human neighbors to watch and, especially at this time of year, beginning to keep a lookout for the first signs of the colors of Fall beginning to touch the tips of the leaves.

On Saturday I was sitting at my desk reading emails while my 6 year old great-grandson was sitting on the love seat playing an educational video game on the PBS Kids website. Suddenly out of the corner of my eye I saw a flash of brown soar past my window. Looking up quickly I just made it in time to see a huge hawk circle a tree across the street and disappear among its branches. I called to Xavier to bring his handy-dandy binoculars which he always brings to my house when he visits to do some bird and insect watching with me. As he was scrambling to find where he'd put them down last, the blur of brown erupted from the tree and landed on the very top of a very tall telephone pole. The pole was almost the same color as the hawk and, while he sat absolutely still, he was hard to see at first. Finally Xavier located his binoculars and together we took in this magnificent sight. In the almost three years that I have been living here, I have never seen a hawk here in this residential area. The river is only a few blocks south of here and that is where one is more likely to see birds or prey and a host of animals and fish, a much better hunting ground, one would think, than a row of houses and concrete. In any case, there he was in all his glory. He sat for a while, barely even moving his head, then with a sudden woosh of his very large wings, he took off down the street and headed for the hills in the distance. He did not put in another appearance that day or any day since. Xavier was thrilled to have witnessed such a sight (the most exciting thing he'd ever seen in his whole life, as he put it). I was just glad that I had looked away from my laptop in time to capture the moment for the both of us.

I have to wonder how many magnificent things we miss when our heads are constantly bent down and our eyes glued to a screen. How many beautiful, moving, amazing things, the ones that go on around us all the time, do we miss because we think what is down there is more important and fulfilling than what is up there. An email cannot compare to the sight of that mighty bird in flight, in an area where he would not normally have been seen. A Facebook post can't compare to a brilliant sunrise or sunset. An Instagram message can't replace the thrill of a flock of geese in flight across the sky in a perfect formation, or bald eagle soaring, or bunnies playing tag on the neighbors lawn in the wee hours of the morning. Nothing down there can teach us anything more important about life than we can learn by lifting our eyes up and seeing what Mother Nature can teach us about living a life filled with wonder. Why see the world second hand when you can see it up close and in person?

I will be keeping my eyes open and watchful to see if our new visitor comes back. In the meantime, I think I will turn off my screen for now and watch the show that is going on outside for a while ... and I don't even have to pay for a hook-up or a monthly fee!

And so it is.

Voices in the Mist

In that early morning moment, between sleep and waking, I heard them. Softly at first, a far-away, muffled sound. Then more clearly ... there! There it is again! I wasn't dreaming. I sat up in bed and looked out of the window. A thick fog had descended over the hills beyond and wafted over the street below like a gauzy curtain. I got up, grabbed my glasses and moved closer to the window. As if on cue there was a parting in the mist like a curtain being pulled back on a stage, and there they were: about 20 or 30 geese flying in that perfect "V" that only they can do. Their voices called out to each other as they moved across the sky. It was official: Fall was here. I don't care what it says on the calendar or how high the temperature is still likely to go for at least the next few weeks. When the geese are on the move, Fall is right behind them.

Some years ago during a team-building exercise at my place of employment, we read about geese as an example of how to work together. All the noise and cacophony that geese send out as they journey to warmer climates is their way of encouraging each other to keep going. If one falls behind, or becomes ill and can't fly, one or more will land with them so that they are not alone as they rest and heal. When the leader gets tired, someone else will automatically move up and take his place. Moment by moment, day by day, they cheer each other on. That is how they have survived since the beginning, by working together as a team for the good of all.

I love the sound of the geese. To some it may be noise, but to me it is music. It is the music of Fall, of brilliant foliage, of fresh-picked apples and pumpkin flavored everything! Of crisp days dressed in comfy sweats visiting the pumpkin farm and enjoying the blessings of the harvest. It is also a sound that reminds me of what can be accomplished when we work together for the good of all. I firmly believe that if we all just stood still long enough to study the behavior of our animal relations we would find examples of how to make this a better world. In this case, it is a community that cheers you on, that reminds you "great job, keep going, we've got your back," and that stays with you when you need a break. It's called family. It's called community. It's called peace.

I know there will be many more early mornings ahead when the music of the geese will come through the morning mist and sing me awake. I am grateful for them all. It's like they are calling to me to get up, keep going, good job! When you think about it, it's way better than an alarm clock, wouldn't you agree?

And so it is. 

Messages In The Mist

For the last week I've awakened to the sight of heavy mist covering up the hills in the distance and drifting down to the rooftops and trees on my street. It is the kind of weather I usually don't see until we're already into September. Whenever it starts showing up at this time of the year, every year, it always carries with it, at least for me, messages about the changing of the seasons and new adventures ahead of me.

When I was a little girl, I would always see the return of the misty mornings as a sign that it was time to go back to school. Summer was officially over even though there were many first and even second weeks of the new school year in September when we had temperatures in the 70's and 80's. I would stick my head outside on one of those magical mornings and take a deep breath, then pull my head in and report to my Mother that it "smelled like it was time to go back to school outside!" 

So the other day I opened the window ... I had closed it during the night because the temperature actually went below 60 and into the low 50's ... and took in a deep breath. Ah, yes, there it was! It was that smell I remembered from my childhood. It carried not only the aroma of the pine trees next door drenched in dew, or that smell that only wet grass can produce, but inside my heart the memories of the smells of freshly sharpened pencils and blank, clean notebooks ready for the knowledge that would be written there came back to me as well. The morning mist carried messages of a new journey into learning and the adventures it would take me on. All these years later I am still thrilled by those aromas of childhood and use them to spur me into action. Year after year, I find some project or area of interest and make it my assignment for the school year. It could be anything from compiling a collection of natural remedies, to the lives of some of my favorite writers and poets, to taking up painting. Whatever it is, the need to know comes back to me at this same time every year and I jump at the chance just like a 6 year old with a new backpack filled with supplies and a cool, new lunchbox.

I cannot imagine a world where we cannot challenge ourselves to learn something new regardless of how old we are. A thirst for knowledge and new experiences can hit us whether we're 9 or 90. The important thing is to go out and quench that thirst no matter what. Like the morning mist it should call to us to wake up and breathe in the day with open minds, open hearts, and the thrill of a new adventure.

And so it is. 

The Summer Day

With August quickly coming to a close, and summer right along with it, I can think of no better way to acknowledge it than by sharing the beautiful words of the late Mary Oliver:

The Summer Day

Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
this grasshopper, I mean—
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down—
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don’t know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?

And so it surely is!