I visited a few friends across the mesa today, a big step for me seeing more than one live person in a day much less in a week. I’m grateful for getting out and about. The fields everywhere are knee-high and green; it will be a banner year for the ranchers, and it’s an extraordinary sight. Other fine sights today were the sandhill cranes and their chicks in Garden Buddy’s field, though as soon as I slowed the car to take some pictures the parents shooed the chicks down into the grass. I’ll try again in a few days.
I enjoyed birds and beverages all day at various places, a lovely sparkling water on the west end of the mesa connecting with friends who are moving shortly and who also have nesting phoebes; then iced tea and cookies next door, where these magpies are nesting right next to the house. Back home, after sitting outside for a meditative evening desensitizing my phoebes to my presence on their patio, I came inside to enjoy a raspberrytini. I rolled the glass rim in the last of the homemade raspberry syrup then in Demerara sugar, and mixed the gin with sweet vermouth, garnished of course with fresh raspberries. I’m grateful as always for savoring the simple pleasures; for cultivating contentment rather than discontentment.
So simple, so delicious: making time to make breakfast special.
More gifts on this one precious day that will never come again, the first scarlet gilia blooming in the woods, along with other wildflowers. And then a short rest on a bench with a small dog looming over me…
… and time in the garden this evening with arugula, peas, onions, and scarlet salvia, appreciating fresh snowfall on the mountains, a cat in the lettuce, and a dinner harvest. I am truly grateful for the simple gifts of the simple life I’ve created, and for all the support from generations of known and unknown people who helped me make it.
I’m grateful that my scheme for luring the phoebes to nest here again may have worked. They continue to slowly work on construction and I can see the nest rising on the platform. This is the old nest, which I left fully formed in this bowl at the edge of the patio: in the past week they’ve reduced it to a pile of fluff and pilfered some choice bits for the new nest. The rest will go into the compost once she’s sitting on eggs.
It’s not my town, I don’t own it or even live in it, but it’s the closest town to where I live. At one point in history it was a thriving center for people moving from various points east to colonize these river valleys, and has been settled by immigrants since the late 1800s after booting out the native Ute peoples. I’m sad about the brutal history. And, I can’t take responsibility for it; but I can point out that all the white folks who live here now are descended from immigrants from foreign countries, and I hope that they remember that.
Anyhoo… I moved here thirty years ago from my roots in centuries of Irish-English immigrants back east, and I was seeking the leading edge of peace in some ways just as they may have been. The oppressions I fled were different from theirs, indeed of their making, but perhaps my motivation was similar. I wanted space and freedom, and because this is America I was able to find that. To some extent.
It’s taken a decades long practice of meditation and mindfulness to fully realize how completely the true heart of peace comes from within each of us, not from external circumstances. I’m grateful for recognizing and beginning to live in this truth before I give up the ghost one day. And I’m grateful for my little town that provides almost every amenity I need to enjoy my share of inner and outer peace.
First, there’s community. Like me, most of my ‘clan’ live outside of town, but we all live around its nucleus. There are also gas, essential groceries, a bank, post office, coffee shop, and a rotation of various gift and souvenir shops; and then there’s the Hitching Post. This morning, I had some errands to run, including bank, post office, and buying a high quality soil amendment to beef up the remaining unplanted garden beds.
I thought I was going to have to drive twenty miles to one of the ‘big’ towns that make up our triangle of villages, but stopped in at the little farm store that ever since I’ve lived here always seems to have at least one of whatever I need in a pinch. Sure enough, they carry Ocean Forest organic soil amendment. So I loaded up the trunk with that and some steer manure compost, and gratefully drove the four miles home before the afternoon squall rolled in. I look forward to a productive and peaceful day in the garden tomorrow.
I’ve been wanting to try my hand at bagels for awhile, and finally made time today after class. These silicone bagel molds made shaping them easy, but the recipe that came with them just made round bread. Still, I’ve had lox, cream cheese, capers, and red onions in the fridge for over a week, to make a nostalgic ‘comfort lunch’ from childhood, so I made do, with gratitude for all parts of the meal. I’m grateful that I have a different and I suspect much more authentic bagel recipe lined up to try next time.
I’m even more grateful for the meaningful conversations I got to engage in today with graduates and students about life, death, moods, thoughts, and the panacea of gratitude.
I love how tulips close up at night, and open with the sun. I was up and out early enough to catch these gorgeous tulips before they opened, and back out later to enjoy their sunny insides. Wish I could remember what variety they are, but maybe I’ll find the receipt for them one day.
Of all the jonquils I’ve planted only one has bloomed so far.
I’m grateful for a full day of gratitude practice. For the nice internet repair guy who came and fixed my connection for real, finally; he said there’s still a lot of trouble since the lightning strike more than two weeks ago, but he thinks he got my system squared away. For the kind personnel at the clinic where I spent the early afternoon getting my second shingles shot (for shingles shots), and annual physical. For coming home to a good little dog who leapt and bounced for a few minutes then quickly calmed down. For a hot shower, and a talk and meditation with one of the Dalai Lama’s right hand monks, Thupten Jinpa: Connecting with Purpose & Joy in Everyday Life. For a wonderful zoom with a bunch of women exploring sustainable end-of-life options, hosted by Natural Transitions and featuring Mallory McDuff, author of Our Last Best Act discussing her reasons for and research into alternatives to standard burial.
And I’m grateful for a quiet evening savoring the sky, birdsong, and flowering trees. I got lucky with this shot of the clouds to the north, and this of the apricot sky south beyond the apricot tree.
I’m grateful for spring flowers, in the garden and in the forest. Like clockwork, I heard the first hummingbird yesterday, only a day later than usual, and this afternoon saw the first paintbrush bloom which must have opened yesterday: the two events invariably synchronize.
I’m grateful for all the green resulting from the banner winter water… but only in the fields. This lush green carpet is entirely made of two noxious weeds: bur buttercup, the lighter green; and weedy alyssum. The alyssum is annoying when it goes to seed, while the bur buttercup is downright hostile. Soon Wren won’t be able to stand on it, when those precious tiny blossoms turn to hard round stickers.
In the meantime, we rested on a bench under the Ancient One, and then strolled home. I’m grateful for her happy ignorance; we both enjoyed the balm for the eyes when I could shelve my awareness of what this forest floor will become in the hot dry summer. At least some native grasses will have a good year.
And in the yard? Oh my. Again, it’s pretty now, but in a week or so I’ll be mowing daily until I get these weeds under control. So though I’m grateful for many things today, green is not one of them, not really. In fact, looking at these weeds makes a little sense out of the nightmare I woke from this morning, where I had spent hours crawling through one obstacle after another trying to find clear sky.
Topaz doesn’t give a damn. She’s just happy, and so am I, that we can go sit down by the pond again at last, and listen to the frogs.
I’m grateful for another day alive, and grateful I was patient with a handful of quotidian frustrations; grateful for a wonderful MIR meeting despite skippy internet and thankful for the warm support and acceptance of the group. And I was glad to wrap up the day with a delicious spontaneous ginger-ice cream sandwich to take the edge off the melancholy that has dogged me since that disconcerting dream, and hit hard this evening when I came across some photos of Stellar in his last spring.
Image from GLAAD.org of some winners and honored allies
I stumbled upon the GLAAD Media Awards show this evening on Hulu. I’d heard of GLAAD but not seen the award show nor known the extent of the work they do. The show was a celebration of acceptance and love, courage and resilience, and queer joy. I was delighted to have seen a few of the many films and shows nominated, and interested to see the breadth of media recognized including graphic novels and video games. I immediately looked up the full list of nominees so I can check out those available on the platforms I stream and broaden my entertainment palette. I’m grateful for GLAAD and for LGBTQ+ people I’ve known and loved, and lost, in my life.
I’m grateful for snowmelt filling the reservoir, pouring down from the West Elk Mountains on an exceptionally warm day.
I had to run to the post office this morning so I came home the long way around the reservoir to see what was happening, and was excited to see water rushing in through the lowest culvert, coming down from the Saddle Mountain area. Clear Fork and Iron Creek inlets were trickles compared with this, but they’ll be flowing strong soon. I’m grateful to live near Crawford State Park, where this water disbursed through the growing season also serves as year-round wildlife habitat and human recreation.
Saddle Mountain, one of the sources of snowmelt filling the reservoir today.
The flowering jasmine is flowering its fragrant white star blooms. I bought this online a couple of years ago after a friend and teacher in Australia mentioned that the jasmine HEDGE in her yard was blooming. I’d always wanted a bonsai jasmine, so I got this one to honor her. The lovely jade tiger is an ancestral memento.
…and the way she watches me…
And I’m grateful that she doesn’t always watch me, but lives her own adventuresome life as well. Today we walked to the canyon rim for the first time. It made me feel silly: I missed yesterday’s Wordle, which is rare for me, and it was LEDGE. Duh. Ice Canyon is melting…
I’m grateful for Spring at Last! Suddenly, after the long wait, just as in This is Happiness, precipitation ceased and sun emerged just in time for Easter. Today was beautiful from start to finish, and we spent as much time outside as possible. I hooked up a couple of hoses for the first time since November to rinse off some stuff. Wren made the most of the snowmelt by rolling in every possible blend of dirt, and wasn’t happy when I lifted her onto the table to document it.
“Can you plant garlic in spring?” I was asked a month ago. Yes, you can! Though I don’t know how well it will bulb, it has certainly sprouted well.
I’m grateful for a smoothie outside in the late afternoon under the apricot tree on Easter Sunday. The smoothie includes half a frozen banana, some pineapple chunks, soy milk, protein powder, flax meal, frozen blueberries, fresh ginger, coconut cream, lemon juice, a large kale leaf, and a little water. And maybe something else, I don’t remember. And the straw is washable and reusable silicone. There was no bunny, but Wren did her best to impersonate one.
I just learned about another doggie DNA lab. This one is a non-profit research organization called Darwin’s Ark. You can pay for a DNA test kit, or you can get on the waitlist to get a free one if you answer 10 short questionnaires about your dog. There are 26 questionnaires, each with around 10 questions. I answered all of them, but I doubt that will bump me up in the list. They rely on grants and donations, and only run the DNA tests when they get enough money and a certain number of entrants. So it could be years before I get to do this test for Wren, but I’m interested to see if it provides more information about her breed mix than the first one. They use substantially more genetic markers than Embark, which uses the most of any commercial lab. Even if you don’t want to get the DNA test, the questionnaires still provide valuable data as they work on issues like dog cancer, and ticks.
This is just one of the many citizen science projects that technology and the world wide web make available to anyone to participate in. I’m grateful for these opportunities to provide our everyday observations to teams that can learn and discover. Some others are: I See Change, which was born in the North Fork Valley and now has participants around the world measuring and sharing climate change in their backyards; eBird from the Cornell Lab of Ornithology gathering bird sightings from around the world to advance research and conservation; and CoCoRahs, the Community Collaborative Rain, Hail and Snow Network, which started 25 years ago on Colorado’s Front Range and now has participants throughout North America and beyond. Technically I’m a member of all these, though I’ve let my participation in a couple of them slide in recent years. National Geographic also has a list of fine citizen science opportunities.
