All The Seasons Of Our Lives

 

These last two weeks it's been had to figure out what season we were in here in upstate New York. We traveled back and forth from summer, to fall, to winter, to a bit of spring, and back to summer again. It felt as if we were reliving the entire year in the space of just a few weeks. The summer heart cooled down to more fall-like temperatures, then did a nosedive with enough frost to coat the cars and endanger any plants that were fooled into thinking it was still summer ... which, a few days later, actually happened when the temperatures climbed into the low 80's. If I was a plant, I'd swear I was experiencing what humans call "seeing my life pass before my eyes."

I've been feeling a lot like that myself lately. With all the changes that have been thrown at us over the last few months, one of the things that has come from having so much time on my hands is the luxury of looking back over the seasons of my life and trying to see what part all of these changes and challenges will play in the story of my life. Before all of this it was easy to see my life in the same way that I see the life of a garden (which, after all, was the whole point of starting this blog in the first place). We prepare the soil, order the seeds we wish to see grow, plant them with care (spring), water and nurture them, feed and water them, learn to be patient as we wait for them to produce (summer), harvest them when they are ready and enjoy the bounty (fall) , and prepare the garden for the long sleep of winter. It's the same with all of the seasons of our lives. Spring is our childhood when everything is new. Summer is when we learn to grow, to become the adults we hope to be. Fall is when we finally harvest the bounty of all we've put into our lives, not only in a material sense, but in the wisdom we've gained as well. Finally, the winter of our lives shows up, usually much faster than we'd imagined, and we settle down to rest, to reflect, and then turn it all over to nature to show us what the next step will be.

It's been very hard to see where all of these crises fit into our lives since they are affecting people who are currently in one season or another. For the youngsters it is scary and they feel lost, groundless. For the adults, they feel helpless to do anything to help themselves and their families. For those of us in what we'd like to call our wisdom years, all we can do is look back at some of the other crises in our lives and remember how we got through those. Natural disasters? Personal disasters? Political and economic disasters? Wars, terror attacks? We've gotten through them all and we're still here. Just as the seasons come, and go, and then come around again, so, too, will this moment, this season in our lives move on. What the next season will look like is anyone's guess, but just like this recent "four seasons in one month" that we experienced up here, we just need to follow the signs and prepare accordingly. For me it's pulling out my sweat pants and sweat shirts, but keeping a few pairs of shorts handy as well. Experience and nature are our best teachers after all.

And so it is. 

Five Pigeons, Four Squirrels, Two Chipmunks, And A Woodpecker

 

One of the things I love about early morning walks is that you never know who you'll run into. So many people have taken to the streets and paths around their homes since all of this pandemic thing started that all kinds of folks who may never have had time before to get out and enjoy all of the benefits of walking are doing so now. From the very young being briskly pushed in strollers by moms in yoga pants to much older couples not only out walking together, but talking together. 

My favorite early morning companions, however, aren't pushing strollers or looking for a morning workout ... they're looking for breakfast. And most of them don't actually have feet as we know them, but, rather feathers and paws. This is the cast of characters I ran into this morning:

• Five pigeons calmly walking around the curb and street picking up something that had been dropped by the trash collectors who had been by earlier. It looked like popcorn. There was no fighting among them to get more than anyone else. They were simply looking around, following the trail, and seeing if maybe anything else might present itself. There was no competition and it seemed as if they all got along rather well.
• Four squirrels were having a different sort of experience. One had something in his mouth and the other three were chasing him up and down a very large tree. It seemed to me that it was less about trying to get what he had and more about having some fun and exercise in the early morning sunshine. Their tails were all fluffed out and they ran with abandon. Made me wish I could still run a track.
• Two chipmunks were quietly sitting beneath some kind of bush with berries (some gardener I am ... some kind of bush) eating with those quick little movements they have. When they finished one berry, they would pick another one and go to it. No one was fighting over the same berry. It was very calming to watch them but I didn't want to stand there too long and intrude on their quiet time together.
• A woodpecker was diligently and persistently pecking away high up in a tree over my head. He would peck away very quickly for a few seconds, stop for a few seconds, and then get back at it. He stayed in the same space for quite some time. He was the picture of patience and commitment to the job in front of him. I should be so patient and committed.

Some Native American elders I had the privilege of sitting with and learning from always used to say that we can learn a great deal about how to live our lives in alignment with what the Creator had intended by watching the animals. This morning I learned about working together for a common goal, not taking what wasn't yours or being greedy but only taking what you needed, respecting another person's  space, and working patiently and with purpose to achieve your goal. You might say that today's walk was a lesson on how to live in harmony with everyone and everything. Not a bad way to start the day.

And so it is. 

 

 

 

The Apple Of My Eye!

 

"Even if I knew that tomorrow the world would go to pieces, I would still plant my apple tree today."

~ Becky Anderson 

There are two things I absolutely love about September: the start of football season and apple season! 

Yesterday I had my fill of NFL games and enjoyed every minute even if my favorite team didn't win it's first game. The fact that we even have a football season this year, even with no preseason games to get the guys ready and whet our appetites, is a gift and I will hang in there and root for every game in gratitude.

Today, however, what I refer to as my applesauce itch is starting to make itself known. That's when I get up one morning, breathe in the cool, crisp air, smell the apples sitting in the fruit bowl on my table, and think "is it too early to start making applesauce?" The answer in my case is, of course, it's never too early to start making applesauce. In fact it's never too early to start making apple everything as far as I'm concerned. I've already tasted my first slices of apple pie for the season and have been buying apples since the orchards have started delivering their wares, although it's hard to keep my fruit bowl filled as each visit from my youngest granddaughter and great-grandson seems to empty it. That's okay. I'd rather have to go out and buy more apples then see them munching away on unhealthy snacks. Besides, now that apple season is here, I love to have a reason to get out there and check out each variety.

I don't know what it is about apples that stirs my soul in such a way. Sure, they are delicious and versatile fruits with an apple for every cooking and baking need. They have a wonderful aroma that reminds me of apple picking with the kids when we were all younger and days spent in the kitchen together peeling, chopping, and cooking the apples, adding the brown sugar and cinnamon that I love. Ah, the smells that filled the house! The jars were all washed out and lined up on the table awaiting their precious cargo. But I think it's more than the tastes and the smells. I think it's another symbol of the season, of harvest time and glorious fall foliage, of looking up to the sights and sounds of geese flying in formation as they make their way to warmer climates, of Halloween and pumpkins. I think that this year, however, these things mean even more to me. With all that has been going on, it's all of these little, happy things that keep me and others going. It's having something to look forward to that brings a smile to your face even if it's just peeling apples and filling jars. It's saying to myself that if I go to all the trouble of peeling and cooking this apple, it means that I have hope for tomorrow and all the tomorrows to come, when I will be able to pull a jar out in the depths of winter and still enjoy the tastes and memories of fall. If an apple a day will keep the doctor away, as the old saying goes, maybe it will keep despair and hopelessness away as well. Maybe it's hope in a jar.

And so it is. 

Summer's Grand Finale

The season has come full circle in my tiny garden, from the first pictures I shared of empty pots, seed packets and bags of soil, to the beauty and bounty above. It took a few false starts and having to learn the lay of the land, (aka how this apartment used - or didn't use - light and air quality), but all of my hard work finally paid off. I have already cut back my basil plant several times and enjoyed some fresh in sauces and stir-fries while drying the rest to keep and use over the winter. The same holds true for the parsley, rosemary, and spearmint. We'll see how long I can keep them going under the grow light as the days, and especially the nights, get colder. Just to show you how brave I've gotten with this experiment, I even started some new basil seeds just to see what they'd do and, low and behold, they are coming up. I might even get another plant going before the first frost.

I have come to believe that this tiny garden was my lifesaver over these last few months. The sowing, watering, pruning, moving pots around from grow light to window sill as the weather got warmer, and finally enjoying the tiny harvest while absorbing the beautiful colors of the begonias, geraniums and impatiens, has kept my spirits up and put the cycles of nature front and center for me. That has kept me focused on the beliefs that keep me going, like acknowledging that nature keeps evolving and so do we, that life also has seasons to go through just like in nature, and that, in the end, all the work and learning will bear flowers if we just believe and sow love into the seeds we plant in the dirt and in our hearts. 

Soon it will be time to put all the plants back under the grow lights to see which ones will solider on through the winter and which won't. Next spring I'll take what I've learned this year and put it to use to make my tiny garden even better and more productive. That's kind of what we're supposed to do with life as well, to take what we've learned and use it to build an even better life. It just depends on what you want to grow, and how much work and love you're willing to put in.

And so it is. 

Messages From The Mist

 

It seems like every morning for the last two weeks I have opened my eyes to a vista shrouded in fog and mist. Laying in my bed I listen for the sound of the birdsong that sings in the day, every day, only to find that it comes across muffled, sounding far away when I know that there are daily visitors to the tree outside my window even before the sun comes up. I'm no scientist but according to the all-knowing Google the distortion in sound is caused by the water droplets in the mist that weigh down the sound and keeps it from moving freely. I know it makes me feel as if it's weighing down my ability to get out of bed. Is it any wonder that, waking up to a foggy morning, we just want to pull the covers back up over our head and wait for the sun to put in an appearance? 

As with many things in my life lately, synchronicity, a.k.a. The Universe, showed me the following quote this morning while I was browsing for one for the "Flower Bear's Thought For The Day" daily post on the Flower Bear's Garden Facebook Fan Page:

"In between fog and mist nature finds its way to bloom."

Swati Priya 

It doesn't matter how many mornings we wake up to fog and mist, at some point the sun will burn it away and nature will continue doing what it does best ... bloom. The trees and the flowers will shake off the wetness and reach for the warmth of the sun, sending energy to their roots. The birds will sing louder and we can hear it more clearly. Vegetables and fruit continue to ripen in the sunshine and, at this stage in the year, are getting ready for harvest. Even in the deepest fog there is always the promise of sunshine.

I know this year has seemed like one continuous, huge, blanket of fog, but the sun has to come out sooner or later. In all honesty, it was always there but we've been too busy trying to survive to remember that life is doing its best to summon up enough strength to burn through to us. We have to keep the faith and know in our hearts that it will come out and we will begin the process of blooming again. Like the birds, we just have to keep singing until we can all hear the song.

And so it is. 

 

Tweets, Twitters, And Other Critters

 

Someone asked me recently why I didn't have a Twitter account. I told them that I had enough to handle with email, blogs, and Facebook that already took up a big chunk of my time. Besides, I prefer the real tweeters and twitters, the ones with feathers who sing me awake each morning and entertain me all day long.

The other day I was sitting at my desk staring out of the window at the sky as I usually do when searching for an idea or some inspiration when a sudden movement to my left caught my attention. Suddenly the huge pine tree next store was covered in black spots as a flock of tiny black birds flew in and landed. There was easily a hundred of them and I wondered if they weren't starlings or similar birds, the ones who fly in what they call "murmurations," like when you see a cloud of them wheeling and soaring in the sky in formation like aerial ballet. While I have certainly seen that phenomenon before, I had never seen a flock up close and personal. After what seemed like only a minute or two they took off again. A bunch of stragglers who obviously had been catching their breath in a nearby tree too off after them, followed by one, tiny bird who was struggling to keep up with the others. It only took a few minutes for the entire drama to unfold, but it was both beautiful and mind-boggling at the same time.

I have come to know from years of personal experience that there is nothing I can find in cyberspace or on the cloud that can compare with what Mother Nature has to show us. Watching those birds working together in perfect unity only showed up the glaring differences between animals and humans. There wasn't any in-fighting between two sides of the flock, like two political parties, about which way to go or what in-flight dance they were going to do. They just followed each other and it all got done, with great majesty, I might add. Whether it's a flock of starlings, or geese heading south, or beavers working together to build a dam, or a colony of ants carrying food back to the others, nature knows how to work in harmony with each other to get things done for the good of all. Perhaps we need to pull our eyes away from the news and digital tweets and start looking for answers outside of our windows. Mother Nature, it seems, already has a handle on things. She has, after all, had a few million years head start. It would be nice if we could give that kind of head start to the next seven generations of humans as well.

And so it is.

Saved By A Donut And A Cup Of Apple Cider

 

Nothing ties people together like a love of food, and nothing ties a community together better than opportunities to share that love with each other via local gatherings like festivals and fairs. Our community is no different but this year, sadly, just about every festival and gathering has been cancelled or postponed. So far we've lost the Maple Festival, the Strawberry Festival, July Fest, and even, possibly, the State Fair which is seriously in question. Our biggest event of the year locally, The Spedie Fest and Balloon Rally, is tentatively rescheduled for October and we're all keeping our fingers crossed. So when the brave folks over at the Cider Mill announced that they would be opening August 1st as usual, you can imagine the cheers that went up all over the county and beyond.

I've written about the Cider Mill just about every year that this blog has been active but this year it is bringing a special dose of much-needed joy to all of us. In case you have somehow missed previous postings about it, let me bring you up to speed. The Cider Mill is a local establishment that opens for the season in August of every year. Their specialty is anything and everything made from or with apples: cider, pies, candied apples, apple butter, apple jams and preserves, plus the best donuts you've ever had. As the surrounding farms start to bring in their harvest, the outside bins are filled with every kind of apple imaginable (did I mention that just an hour's drive from here is the home of the much loved Cortland apple?) for eating, cooking, and baking. By September the autumn harvests of pumpkins, gourds, and every kind of squash are added along with other goodies. It is a paradise for those of us who live for fresh, home-grown produce and a nice, cold cup of freshly made cider. It wouldn't be August let alone Autumn without the Cider Mill.

Yes, they are following social guidelines and only letting a few people in at a time. Yes, they have added curb-side (or should I say parking lot side) service. Sadly, the tours to watch them actually make the cider and the donuts are closed for the present, but when we drive by I can see the trucks starting to pull in and the outside bins being set up to bring in the harvest. I can't wait to get down there and get my first glimpse of those lovely red beauties - applesauce, here I come.

These are sad times for everyone but when the community comes together and steps up to the plate, we all benefit. When I took my first bite of one of their donuts (cinnamon), and washed it down with my first swallow of cider, it was like coming home after being away for a long time. Sometimes it's the little things that bring us the moments of happiness that turn into happy memories. My family and I are blessed to live in a community that gifts us with those kinds of moments. Seriously, who can't smile over a donut? 

And so it is.