Reflections On A Rainy Autumn Day

I woke up this morning to a perfect autumn morning. The sky is a soft blue, and the sunlight reflects the brilliant golds, reds, and yellows against it as if Mother Nature chose this vista on purpose in case someone wanted to turn it into a painting. I only wish I had that kind of talent. 

Saturday morning, however, was quite different. I woke up to dark, overcast skies. Wind whipped the rain around and threw big, heavy drops against the window. My beautiful leaves were raining down as well and I grew sad at the thought that if we have more days like this, they will be gone before we know it. As I sat down at my desk with my morning coffee and journal in hand, I saw propped up against the cup that holds my pens and pencils one of my Power Thought Cards from a deck I've had for years. It was invented by one of my greatest teachers, Louise Hay. This is what it said:

"It's only a thought, and a thought can be changed,"

I remember watching Louise on a DVD of her movie, "You Can Heal Your Life." In it she said that by changing how we perceive something, we can change how we feel. Instead of looking out onto a rainy day and saying, "Oh, it's a miserable, lousy day," we can say, "Oh, it's just a rainy day." It changes the emotional charge we get from using negative words. So I decided to use the rainy day to make a list of all the rainy-day things I could do to lift me out of my sadness. This is what I came up with:

1. Chop up some veggies and make a pot of soup to bubble on the stove to make the place smell yummy.

2. Clean out my bookshelves, give them a dusting, and start a pile of donations for the library sale.

3. Bake some cornbread.

4. Find a really good book to curl up with.

5. Make a pot of tea (to go with the above book).

6. Call someone I haven't seen in a while just to say hello.

7. Write a letter or send a card to someone just to let them know you're thinking about them.

8. Take a nice, long, hot shower, break out that lovely lavender lotion you got for your birthday, and put on something warm and comfy.

9. Journal, meditate, spend time in prayer.

10 Make a list of things you are grateful for. 

Wow, lots of things I could do to lift my spirits. Just writing the list out made me feel better. I didn't even mind when I had to go out in the rain to take out the trash and recycling or collect the mail. Since I'm not the Wicked Witch from The Wizard of Oz, a little rain wasn't going to make me melt. Whatever happened to that child who liked to jump in puddles? Maybe it's time I went looking for her again.

So the next time you wake up to a rainy day, think of some fun, cozy activities you can do to take away that sadness. Change your thought and change your day ... but don't forget to jump in a few puddles now and then!

Peace and blessings. 

Finding True North

There is a small flock of geese that fly over my house every morning on their way to the river, and back again as dusk settles in. These are not part of the bigger flocks that are just now starting their yearly trip south before the cold of winter sets in. No, these birds have it made. They live on a farm not far outside of the town where I live. They spend some of their day on the local golf course, digging for worms and whatever the golfers might leave for them. When school is out, they hang out on the athletic field of the local middle school (kids always drop something edible). When the day warms up they can be seen floating along on the river looking for goodies and just doing what geese do. When the day is done, they head back to the farm, to a nice, warm barn, with hay to curl up in and a supper they don't have to work for. Yep, these geese have definitely found their "true north," like that point on a compass that shows you the way home.

I found my "true north" 31 years ago. It's the place where, when the challenges of the day are done, I can set my compass and find my way to peace, contentment, and rest. It's the place where I can watch the antics of the geese flying over my home twice a day, calling to each other, making a racket as they head for water, and then back home. It took me the majority of my adult life to find it, but when I did, I knew by the way my heart sang out to me, that this was where I belonged. I'm not in the same house as the day I moved up here, nor even in the same town, but I am still happy. I am surrounded by the beauty of Mother Earth, family, friends, and my furry and feathered neighbors. I marvel at the glory in the changing of the seasons and never get tired of them. I'm not one of those winter birds who fly south for warmer climates before the first snowflake falls. I just put on an extra sweater, pull out my gloves, and head out. 

By the way, do you know why geese make so much racket when they fly? A study was done some years ago that said they are really shouting encouragement to each other to keep going, sort of like a pep talk in the locker room before a game, but this one is in the air. When the leader gets tired, he falls back and and another takes his place. If one should have to land because they are sick or hurt, one or two others will go with him and stay with him until he is able to continue and they can catch up with the others. We should all be so lucky to live in such a community.

So the next time you see a flock of geese flying overhead, ask yourself if you know where your true north is. If you do, good for you. If not, maybe it's time to spread your wings.

And so it is. 

The Last Days Of Summer

"Oh, the days dwindle down to a precious few ..."

from September Song

The calendar may say that summer ends with the First Day of Autumn, this year falling on September 23rd, but for most of us it ends with Labor Day and the beginning of the new school year. Although summer may not be my most favorite season, I think it deserves a good send-off.

Every year it seems that Back-To-School supplies and Halloween decorations start showing up in stores earlier and earlier. This year I spied the first of these in July. July? Didn't we just celebrate the Fourth of July, and now we're selling notebooks and plastic pumpkins a few weeks later? Why do we rush the seasons by so fast? The older I get, the faster the days seem to go by. I don't need any reminders, believe me. I'm all for businesses being able to make a decent profit, but not at the expense of our lives, our senses, and the opportunity to make memories. 

Our kids will only be kids for a short time. You can buy school supplies any time, but how often will you be able to play on the beach in the sand with them? How much longer will you be able to go camping with them, staring up at the stars in the night-time sky, roasting marshmallows? 

And what about us? We still have time to walk on the beach and collect seashells. We still have time to take a walk in the woods, sit outside on a starry night, throw some hot dogs and burgers on the grill and spend time outdoors together. Let's not be in such a hurry to let that all go. Our time together on this earth is so short as it is. 

Now, if I'm being honest, I have to admit that Fall is, indeed, my favorite season, but that doesn't mean we should give summer a shorter time. Even though this particular summer wasn't the greatest weather-wise in my neck of the woods, I'll still miss waking up to the sounds of birds calling to each other, squirrels chattering, and a morning sun that beckons me outside. We still have a few last days to make the most of the summer we have left. Let's give summer the send-off it deserves.

And so it is. 

Faith In A Seed

 

"Though I do not believe that a

plant will spring up where no seed has been, I have great faith in a seed."

Henry David Thoreau

This is my geranium plant. I've a had it for the last five years. Over the winter it suffered greatly and at one point I thought I'd just have to toss it. Then I thought, "why not give it one more chance?" If there is anything I've learned from my years gardening both outdoors and indoors, it's that one should never underestimate the power of something to grow, to fight it's way back into the light. So I cut it all the way back to a stump, gave it light, water and love, and now she's blooming again.

This summer has been devastating in terms of my indoor garden. In late May we had a 10-day heat wave with temperatures well up in the 90's that forced things to bloom way before they usually do. This was followed by terrible air quality issues from the wildfires in Canada which necessitated either leaving windows open and letting it all inside, or closing the windows and having the air conditioning running 24/7. Even with grow lights going, my seedlings and new plants just couldn't cope. Even the ones I bought from trusted nurseries couldn't handle it. One by one they just gave up the fight. The only plants to survive were the old ones that I've had for several years, like the giant bamboo plant I showcased in my last blog post. These older plants have acclimated themselves to this environment and have absorbed that wisdom right down to their roots. 

I can't think of a better analogy than this one when it comes to getting older. Sure, we may be a bit rough around the edges, and sometimes our bodies let us know in no uncertain terms that it's time to rest, cut back, and give ourselves some extra love. We know, deep down in our roots, what we need to to do thrive. We've been through all the storms and changes in life, and we know how to fight our way back to the surface and into the sun once more. Now, every time I look at that geranium blooming and reaching for the sky, I have an overwhelming urge to stand up, stretch, and do the same thing! Faith can grow lots of things, even us.

And so it is. 

Putting Down Roots

This is Bertha. She is a bamboo plant. Notice I said "plant" instead of "tree." Bertha measures almost 5 feet tall. She is approximately 9 years old. 

I purchased Bertha at a marked-down plant sale at Walmart. She was only a few inches tall and was planted in a tiny ceramic pot in very little soil and lots of horticultural grit which improves the pH balance of the soil in plants. I paid $5.00 for her. Bertha followed me from home to home, apartment to apartment and was placed in various locations trying to find the right light, exposure, and moisture for her to grow. Over time I can to accept that she would never grow bigger than about a foot despite all of my best efforts at re-potting and care. Then we moved to my present location, and dear, sweet Bertha came into her own.

From the start, Bertha took to her new home and it didn't take long before she was looking pretty cramped in her pot. I decided to put her in a big planter and position her at a diagonal in front of the window so she would get a southwestern exposure. It was there, through the next 5 years, that Berta finally put down roots and reached for the sky. She had found her home.

Life is so much like gardening. In the garden, we often have to move plants around to find the place where they can put down roots and thrive. Some like a southern exposure, some not. Some need lots of sun, some need partial shade. Some like moist soil, others do not. I have lost count of how many moves I've made in my life, from the time I was a young bride in my 20's, to exploring life in a new state, to becoming a mom and needing to find the best place for my children to put down their own roots, and now, in what I like to call my "third age" (I hate the terms "senior" and "golden years"), I feel as though I have finally found the place where I can put down my own roots. 

I turned 74 this week. Since I've been living in my sweet, cozy, studio apartment with the killer view, I have successfully gone through three joint replacement surgeries, written and published two novels, and am working on a third. I have created a welcoming nest for myself and love coming home to it when I've been away. My creative juices thrive here. If I want exercise, I have a lovely neighborhood to walk around, and 21 steps from the lobby to my apartment (who needs a gym?). I've developed new and improved  plant-based cooking skills in my tiny kitchen just as successfully as if it were a full-sized one. I am content. I feel rooted. 

It doesn't matter if we live in a huge, fancy home with all the bells and whistles, or a tiny apartment with a killer view. What matters is if it is a place where we can put down roots and thrive. Like Bertha, it needs to be a place where we can reach for the sky!

And so it is. 

 

Trusting The Process

The apartment building when I currently live is situated in a lovely, well established, family-type neighborhood surrounded by trees. This affords me hours of entertainment watching the many birds and squirrels that have taken up residence there. In addition to the squirrel family that lives in the porch roof of the house opposite my window, the trees behind the building are especially inviting to my winged and furry friends. They are a varied assortment of evergreens, black chestnut, maple, and a host of others. The only drawback is that often, both in the dead of winter and the sweltering days of summer, my little friends are challenged to find safe, adequate, food and water. After having my heart broken one day watching these little creatures dumpster diving to find food, I decided that I would adopt all of them and become their grandma. 

I started by finding a spot that was near the tree line out back and started leaving nuts, seeds, and the scraps from fresh fruits and vegetables (I am sorry to report that they definitely do not like kale, but that's an acquired taste for anyone). As the weather got warmer and the rain got scarcer, I found an old, small pot I no longer cooked in and placed it under the trees where it wouldn't get too much sun. I kept it cleaned and filled with fresh water. I did have to rig a small wire plant support around it as some of the squirrels were knocking it over when they sat on the edge of it to drink. 

At first, when I would come out every morning, I would see the squirrels sitting on top of the trash dumpster in the parking lot, digging for whatever they could find. As soon as they saw me, they would scatter and disappear. Once I started setting out the food and water, especially the seeds, the birds would come to life and start chattering loudly as if they were sending out a message to their bird relations: "Hey! The food lady is here!" By the time I would check a few hours later, it would all be gone except for the nut shells. As time went on, the squirrels would still scatter when I came out, but they wouldn't go far. One squirrel in particular would stay up in one of the trees but within sight. Then one morning, when I came out to fill the water bowl and lay out some seeds, one of the squirrels went up into the tree right overhead and just sat there, watching me. I spoke to him, softly, as I put out the feast. He would twitch his tail and chatter at me. This has now become a daily ritual for him and I. He sits either in the tree or on the fence a few feet away as I put out the food and water, and we have a chat. He knows I won't hurt him, and that I am there to take care of him. He trusts me. The day I realized that this tiny, furry creature trusted me, when most humans weren't to be trusted in their world, I felt as if I had been blessed. 

If we can get animals in the wild, especially small ones like my buddy here, to trust us instead of run from us, what does that say about how we treat and trust each other? Animals don't know anything about hate or greed. They do know about love. They love their children just like we do. They want to provide for them and keep them safe just like we do. They want to survive, just like we do. They want what we want: a safe place to live, food to eat, shelter from the storms, and to love and be loved. If we can get animals to trust us, why can't we learn to trust and care for each other? The answer is, we can, if we just take it one day at a time, one person at a time, one loving gesture at a time. That's how love grows.

And so it is. 

Welcome Summer!

Summer arrives on Wednesday at 10:58 AM here in my part of the country, but I decided to celebrate a little early and went to our big, regional farmers market on Saturday to get a look at the first pickings of the season. For me, touring farmers markets and gardens is like going to Disney World without the rides and people dressed up like story characters, although I have seen people dressed like fruits and vegetables in other areas!

I am so proud of our local, organic farmers who work so hard to bring us good, healthy food. I know how difficult it is to grow organically, especially these days. To be certified organic, a farm has to go through a lengthy and expensive process with the government. Meanwhile, factory farms who use GMO's, pesticides, and other, non-healthy practices get the subsidies. Our local farmers are heroes to me. 

I have to admit that, being a vegan, I sometimes go overboard when I'm turned loose in this environment. Although I do a lot of my own cooking from scratch, I still live in a studio apartment with a small, apartment-size refrigerator and freezer. My poor veggie bin only holds so much. Since the early greens are in season, I went a little crazy with the spinach, Swiss chard, and green onions. Some of our folks use green houses to get an early start, so I was also able to pick up some yummy mushrooms, a shiny cucumber, and snap peas. Then I had to go home and figure out what to do with it all!

The farmers market was not the only place that gifted me with beautiful produce. My own little tabletop herb garden is doing well and I was able to harvest some parsley and mint to make a batch of tabbouleh for my granddaughter's husband as a surprise for Father's Day. He loves the stuff and summer is when I make a lot of it. It was such a joy and a blessing to use my own homegrown herbs. It came out pretty good if I do say so myself. Then I used some of the Swiss chard to make a chard-tomato-garlic pasta sauce to toss with veggie pasta. Some of the spinach went into a smoothie this morning. 

I'm not here to brag about my vegan cooking skills, but to honor this season of growing, and the hard work and dedication of our local farmers. Small farms that are productive and make the farmers a decent living are few and far between. Factory farms have made it more difficult for them, so I applaud those that have stuck it out and found a way to go on. Perhaps their courage and creativity will inspire a new generation to get out on the land and keep it going. Or, maybe it will encourage us to get out into our gardens, dig up that lawn, and plant the seeds of healthy eating for ourselves, our families, and our communities. As long as there are farmers markets, there is hope for all of us.

And so it is.