Laying Down and Lifting Up

The time has come. My garden tools are ready. There is no use putting it off any more. It's time to put the garden to bed for the winter.

I didn't have much of a garden this year as I wrote in a previous blog. Between construction trucks, piles of debris all over the place, and a summer with very little rain but plenty of bugs, my haul this year was a drop in the bucket compared to last year. Last night we had frost. This morning everything was covered in a shiny, silver, lacy shawl. It's time.

Sometimes we just have to come to terms with situations or ideas that need to be put to bed. Either they have outlived their usefulness, or they never bore fruit - or at least the kind of fruit that would nourish you. Sometimes instead of holding on to it with a death grip because you are sure it has at least one more blossom left in it, you just have to lay it down and pick up something else.

Last week I was reading a book about Buddhism and, specifically, meditation. The author said that when he was done sitting, he would get up, bow to his meditation cushion, and say, "I lay down all of my burdens, and lift up enlightenment." The thought of doing that inspired me. I started implementing that phrase at the end of my yoga practice in the morning. I thought that since I was laying down tight muscles along with the strangle-hold my thoughts often have as I am unrolling my mat, I might as well surrender all of my burdens there as well and, when I got up from my practice, I would lift up a more enlightened spirit. It has proved to be a wonderful way to set the tone for the day. It allows me to go forward with a strong, healthy body and a strong, healthy mindset.

So today I am laying down my gardening tools and gloves for another year. The plants that can come into the house will do so, and the rest will be turned under. Any remnants of lettuce, basil or anything else that is edible will be cut and scattered under the bushes and trees where I know the neighborhood critters live. They will be happy to have it, and I will have a lighter spirit.

Today I lay down my burdens, and lift up enlightenment.

And so it is.

In Passing

In Passing

How swiftly the strained honey of afternoon light flows into darkness,

and the closed bud shrugs off its special mystery in order to break into blossom,

as if what exists, exists so that it can be lost

and become precious.

~ Lisel Mueller

I came across this poem while listening to a Dharma talk by the gifted writer and teacher, Natalie Goldberg, at the Upaya Dharma Center. I can think of no other season of the year when this poem is more true than in autumn.

How precious all of nature becomes when the light begins to change, the garden begins to fold into itself in preparation for winter, and the leaves start their magnificent transformation before gliding to the ground. It seems like only yesterday that it was summer with everything in full bloom. Now, each morning reveals another subtle change in our surroundings. How true this is as well when we take a look at our lives and realize how swiftly the things we consider most precious flow away like the afternoon light.

I think about my children as I look at my favorite picture of them on the wall, two little girls, one with a big smile on her face posing in her first-day-of-kindergarten outfit, and her younger sister by only 14 months, a mischievous sparkle in her eye that is still there some 40 years later. How swiftly they grew up, and how precious the time I had with them when they were little and make believe seemed more real than reality

I think about my parents, both long passed now, and my own childhood. Why is it that we often only realize how precious something is when it is lost to us? Maybe what we should be teaching our children is not how to keep up with this fast paced world, but how to slow down and appreciate the preciousness of every moment. Perhaps we all need to slow down and capture as many precious moments as we can before they are gone. I think that's what draws me to autumn so much. It is because it is a stark and beautiful reminder of how swiftly things change and how we only have this moment to appreciate them.

Take a moment today to go outside and just experience a moment in nature. Capture the sights, sounds, smells and feelings. Hug your kids and grand kids. Cuddle your pets. Let it all become precious now, not after it has passed from us.

And so it is.

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.