March 30, 2010
From a new direction, things seem a little off.
Vaguely familiar, but not quite right...
Who would have thought trees had backsides, totally different from their fronts?
The lilacs, the large rock, the pines, they're all the same, no roots have lifted and moved.
Yet I still feel an eerie sense of changedness, and I stop for a moment to take in the newness.
As small as this stand of trees is, the gray weather leaves me looking over my shoulder for the Big Bad Wolf... Or maybe it's the Big Bad Seagull I should fear.
There it is now, my stump, my homeplace in this piece of woods.
A slight rotation to the left and all is right again.
I sit, relieved. I hear the familiar crackling noise of a squirrel's midday pinecone snack.
And now, I wonder, in which direction will I leave?
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
In like a lion...
March 23, 2010
The saying is March comes in like a lion and goes out like a lamb. Well, I want to know what last week was, unless it was supposed to be a lion cub...
Anyway, sitting at my spot on this chilly, soggy, gloomy day, I just could not rid myself of a nagging sense that I was being watched. When I turned to identify my watcher, I was surprised, and unnerved to say the least, to find a seagull staring directly at me. It proceeded to pick up a drowned worm with its large yellow beak and, while continuing to watch me, swallow its prize like a piece of spaghetti. Perhaps it was a subtle display of dominance, or it wanted to make sure I didn’t steal its worm…Then I heard a crackling noise, as though someone was peeling Velcro apart. I turned around again to see a squirrel perched in its lilac bush gnawing on a pinecone as we would corn on the cob. I can’t help but laugh to myself about this little squirrel, less than 2 feet away, chewing on a pine cone like there’s no tomorrow. Of the trees that I looked at surrounding my spot, only lilacs and red maple appeared to be budding. The tall white pines didn’t seem to have any new growth, but looking up at them I have to admit they are somewhat sickly looking. There is also a rhododendron nearby, but it has its waxy leaves all year round, so I didn’t notice anything new or unusual about it. I think that the lilac buds are what excite me the most, and I can’t wait to be enveloped in their sweet perfume when warmer weather makes its way into town. It will truly be a treat to see if it’s a white or purple lilac (although judging by reddish tinge to the buds I would say it’s a purple lilac … but I could be wrong). Hopefully when I return I will not be faced with a territorial sea bird, although its fierceness was quite admirable. Because I don’t have a camera I will scan some sketches of buds later today/tomorrow to post here.
The saying is March comes in like a lion and goes out like a lamb. Well, I want to know what last week was, unless it was supposed to be a lion cub...
Anyway, sitting at my spot on this chilly, soggy, gloomy day, I just could not rid myself of a nagging sense that I was being watched. When I turned to identify my watcher, I was surprised, and unnerved to say the least, to find a seagull staring directly at me. It proceeded to pick up a drowned worm with its large yellow beak and, while continuing to watch me, swallow its prize like a piece of spaghetti. Perhaps it was a subtle display of dominance, or it wanted to make sure I didn’t steal its worm…Then I heard a crackling noise, as though someone was peeling Velcro apart. I turned around again to see a squirrel perched in its lilac bush gnawing on a pinecone as we would corn on the cob. I can’t help but laugh to myself about this little squirrel, less than 2 feet away, chewing on a pine cone like there’s no tomorrow. Of the trees that I looked at surrounding my spot, only lilacs and red maple appeared to be budding. The tall white pines didn’t seem to have any new growth, but looking up at them I have to admit they are somewhat sickly looking. There is also a rhododendron nearby, but it has its waxy leaves all year round, so I didn’t notice anything new or unusual about it. I think that the lilac buds are what excite me the most, and I can’t wait to be enveloped in their sweet perfume when warmer weather makes its way into town. It will truly be a treat to see if it’s a white or purple lilac (although judging by reddish tinge to the buds I would say it’s a purple lilac … but I could be wrong). Hopefully when I return I will not be faced with a territorial sea bird, although its fierceness was quite admirable. Because I don’t have a camera I will scan some sketches of buds later today/tomorrow to post here.
Monday, March 15, 2010
Home Sweet Home
March 12, 2010
Being home is so peaceful. I wish I could teleport myself from Burlington back to Wantage so I could have a sit-spot near my house. Not that I don't like Burlington, but there's something about my home place that I connect to with such ease. All I hear is the snow melt running down to the stream, the rumblings of an occasional car or truck passing by, the animals in the barn, and the songs and calls of dozens of birds. There are the rude old blue jays, little flashes of red that I know are male cardinals in pursuit of a lady friend, three types of woodpeckers (who like to serve as my unwanted alarm clock), nuthatches, sparrows, crows, chickadees, a mockingbird and some hawks. I even saw a pair of blue birds the other day, contently sitting next to each other on a set of telephone lines soaking up the sunshine. If spring isn’t on its way here, nature is playing a cruel trick. There are definitely more tree buds here than back in Vermont, and judging by the sheer number of birds I would say that migrations are in full swing, and perhaps a little earlier than usual based on my blue bird sighting. There’s still quite a bit of snow on the ground, but wherever the snow is absent the ground ranges from brownish, spongy grass to squelching brown slime that sucks my rubber boots off. The changing of seasons seems right on schedule for this year, although the weather has definitely been fairly sporadic, leading to what seems to be confusion amongst the animals here. It's been sunny and in the high 40s to low 50s everyday this week, and my dad is ready to start seeding, the cows and sheep are anxious to be grazing on sweet green grass, and my brothers are ready to have longer days so they can be outside longer. I don't think it's quite spring time yet, but it is certainly on its way. There's that saying: March is in like a lion, out like a lamb. We'll see when the lamb-ness begins and then I'll decide if the seasons are normal here or not.
Being home is so peaceful. I wish I could teleport myself from Burlington back to Wantage so I could have a sit-spot near my house. Not that I don't like Burlington, but there's something about my home place that I connect to with such ease. All I hear is the snow melt running down to the stream, the rumblings of an occasional car or truck passing by, the animals in the barn, and the songs and calls of dozens of birds. There are the rude old blue jays, little flashes of red that I know are male cardinals in pursuit of a lady friend, three types of woodpeckers (who like to serve as my unwanted alarm clock), nuthatches, sparrows, crows, chickadees, a mockingbird and some hawks. I even saw a pair of blue birds the other day, contently sitting next to each other on a set of telephone lines soaking up the sunshine. If spring isn’t on its way here, nature is playing a cruel trick. There are definitely more tree buds here than back in Vermont, and judging by the sheer number of birds I would say that migrations are in full swing, and perhaps a little earlier than usual based on my blue bird sighting. There’s still quite a bit of snow on the ground, but wherever the snow is absent the ground ranges from brownish, spongy grass to squelching brown slime that sucks my rubber boots off. The changing of seasons seems right on schedule for this year, although the weather has definitely been fairly sporadic, leading to what seems to be confusion amongst the animals here. It's been sunny and in the high 40s to low 50s everyday this week, and my dad is ready to start seeding, the cows and sheep are anxious to be grazing on sweet green grass, and my brothers are ready to have longer days so they can be outside longer. I don't think it's quite spring time yet, but it is certainly on its way. There's that saying: March is in like a lion, out like a lamb. We'll see when the lamb-ness begins and then I'll decide if the seasons are normal here or not.
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
March 2, 2010 - My "sense" of place
March 2, 2010
Well, once again, I missed out on most of the snow at my spot. The ground is soft and squishy, with water pooling up around my shoes with every step. The snow that is left shows signs of squirrels, dogs, and humans, but not much else, anything smaller probably melted away. I need to spend a moment lamenting for the trees around me, many of which lost limbs to the heavy snows of last week. The boughs lay there, useless, broken, forgotten, and I offer them my respect. As I was walking to my spot today I stopped to feel the sunbeams filtering through the clouds onto my face, and I momentarily revel in the warmth. Sunny winter days, when the sun warms your body while the brisk air gently cools it, are some of my favorite days. I noticed on my walk today, that on my way to my stump there is a gorgeous view of Mount Mansfield that I had never been able to see before as a result of clouds. It’s stunning, and I wish I saw the mountains more often. Back to my spot, I have started with my silent, blind sitting, I listen. And listen. And listen. I don’t feel very patient today, but I know that sound is an important part of my place because of its location so I should be more focused. What I do hear is sirens, and two different birds. My problem with birds is that, unless I see them (with the exception of blue jays, chickadees, geese and a few others) I don’t have a clue what they are. I know one of them, the crow, by its grating “caw,” but there’s a small trilling chirp that I can’t quite place. Touch is more important to me today, as I pick up sprigs of white pine from the ground and feel the smoothness in one direction contrast with a resistance in the opposite. It’s interesting how something can be so smooth and yet so rough at the same time, and I am reminded of the sensation of a cat’s lick. I’m not daring enough to lick or taste anything in my spot, but I can attest to smell: I smell manure. The UVM farm must be spreading or moving crap because it has sneakily entered into my sanctuary and interrupted my observations as I begin to reminisce about my home. I never thought I would miss the smell of cows…
Well, once again, I missed out on most of the snow at my spot. The ground is soft and squishy, with water pooling up around my shoes with every step. The snow that is left shows signs of squirrels, dogs, and humans, but not much else, anything smaller probably melted away. I need to spend a moment lamenting for the trees around me, many of which lost limbs to the heavy snows of last week. The boughs lay there, useless, broken, forgotten, and I offer them my respect. As I was walking to my spot today I stopped to feel the sunbeams filtering through the clouds onto my face, and I momentarily revel in the warmth. Sunny winter days, when the sun warms your body while the brisk air gently cools it, are some of my favorite days. I noticed on my walk today, that on my way to my stump there is a gorgeous view of Mount Mansfield that I had never been able to see before as a result of clouds. It’s stunning, and I wish I saw the mountains more often. Back to my spot, I have started with my silent, blind sitting, I listen. And listen. And listen. I don’t feel very patient today, but I know that sound is an important part of my place because of its location so I should be more focused. What I do hear is sirens, and two different birds. My problem with birds is that, unless I see them (with the exception of blue jays, chickadees, geese and a few others) I don’t have a clue what they are. I know one of them, the crow, by its grating “caw,” but there’s a small trilling chirp that I can’t quite place. Touch is more important to me today, as I pick up sprigs of white pine from the ground and feel the smoothness in one direction contrast with a resistance in the opposite. It’s interesting how something can be so smooth and yet so rough at the same time, and I am reminded of the sensation of a cat’s lick. I’m not daring enough to lick or taste anything in my spot, but I can attest to smell: I smell manure. The UVM farm must be spreading or moving crap because it has sneakily entered into my sanctuary and interrupted my observations as I begin to reminisce about my home. I never thought I would miss the smell of cows…
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