Never Mistake a Clear View for a Short Distance

A big shout out to Dr. King on this MLK holiday. You had the guts to see clearly, to speak bravely, and to point us toward the promised land.  Your courage changed everything.   Thank you.

Dr. King’s example reminds me not to give up when success is doubtful, when the odds are bad, when maniacs run loose and madwomen grab the bully pulpit.  I’m not accountable for grand outcomes – I’m simply accountable for remaining resolute in pursuing what I know is true:  those on the margins deserve compassion; Creation is hallowed; enemies are to be forgiven; and lucre is not a signal of divine favor.   

On a more mundane level, I’m delighted to report that the garage is (almost entirely) clean.  Stu and I made a valiant attack on the forces of disarray yesterday, accompanied at times by Muttley the Dog who supervised us from his perch on old chair cushion with a heater pad on top.  We hauled a bunch of stuff to Goodwill, and will haul more to the dump later this week.  (Does anybody else have fond childhood memories of going to the dump with their dad?  Boy howdy, I sure do.)

Next weekend we’re going to begin to start to commence getting the vegetable garden ready for spring planting.  The wheel turns yet again.

Today’s front yard critter count:

Deer: 0

Raccoons: 0

Time Enough

Weirdly, one of the many things that physicists cannot really explain is time.  Strange, huh? We live embedded in seconds, and years, and centuries, and to us nothing is more natural than time moving forward – the arrow of time pointing inexorably from the past to the future, from youth to age, from birth to death.  Oddly, however, physicists who think about such things tell us that there is no rational explanation for why the arrow of time moves forward – as a matter of the laws of physics the arrow of time could equally well point the other direction (a la The Curious Case of Benjamin Button).   Moreover, physicists have come up with all sorts of theories about what time is and how it works.  For example, as I recall it, one theory is called “block time,” in which all of space-time is a four dimensional block -- both past and future events are all “there” – and the only thing that changes is our sense of the “present” moving forward along that four-dimensional block.
I mention this because I’ve reached that stage of life where time grows a bit short.   Part of me rebels against the transitory nature of what I love.  At least on this earth, nothing lasts forever.  I begin to discern, however, that time’s limits may contain a hidden sweetness.  Gold has value because it is rare.  Perhaps the value of what we love is greater because, at least on this earth, what we love is ephemeral.  Maybe every creature, in its never-to-be-repeated uniqueness, is  more precious because it is not going to be here forever. 

Today’s front yard critter count:
Deer: 0 (although one of the does has been here the last few mornings, spending a chunk of yesterday morning laying relaxed in the front yard, chewing her cud and taking  in the view).
Raccoons: 2
Birds eating leftover raccoon food on the front porch: many.

Flabbergasted Gratitude and Random Thoughts

Topic #1: It’s a crisp, cold, bluebird sky day here in the Pacific Northwest.  Everything glistens, including the air around me.  I’m reminded of a quote I read last week in Kate Braestrup’s wonderful new book, “Beginner’s Grace: Bringing Prayer to Life”, about one of my heroes:

St. Francis of Assisi, who really did walk around in flabbergasted gratitude all the time, wrote: Such love does the sky now pour, that whenever I stand in a field, I have to wring the light out when I get home.

Exactly.

Topic #2: Last night when I got home from work, as I approached the front sidewalk I thought I heard a snuffling sound down near my feet.  I looked down and there, almost touching the toes of my shoes, were the latest batch of raccoon babies, evidently under the mistaken impression that I was bringing them treats from work.  I was reduced to taking baby steps (lest I step on one of them) and waving my arms around, hissing “back up, back up,” loudly enough that they would, indeed, back up, but not so loudly that they would get scared.  Mission accomplished.  I made it to the front door, into the house, and back out with the raccoon chow, all without mishap.  As I’ve said before, their mama has a more relaxed parenting style than prior raccoon mamas, so these babies are much less fearful and more willing to engage with large primates than their predecessors.

Topic #3: Is anybody else out there a perfectionist?  How’s that working out for you?  As for me, being a perfectionist is sure a mixed bag.  Until recently I’ve recognized the inherent negatives (intellectually at least) but my heart was convinced that the negatives were outweighed by the positives.   This is probably another one of those areas where black and white thinking is the real problem.  I probably don’t have to shoot for 100% perfection.  (What hubris to think that’s even possible – I have to chortle at myself for even saying that.)  Maybe I could shoot for 91%?  That’s an A-, right?  Probably good enough most of the time?

Case in point?  The photo above.  I didn’t have a tripod with me (a failing that should be the subject of another blog entry) so the photo isn’t crystal clear.  But  I love it anyway.  So there it is anyway, posted for all the world to see.

Today’s front yard critter count:

Deer: 0

Raccoons: 1

Stellar Jays: 2 (eating raccoon chow on the front porch)

I Was Lost But Now I’m Found

For several weeks we’ve been hosting a stray cat in our back bedroom. Last night we transferred Sam, a sweet shorthaired black tomcat, to his lovely new home with our dear friend Mike.  Sam was the most recent in a long line of homeless felines who were initially attracted to the raccoon chow on the front porch but who, sooner or later, settled down enough to be rescued.  Some of them took more than a year to tame, while others -- like Sam – essentially fell into our arms after a very short courtship.  One characteristic common to all of the strays is that  after days or months of being afraid and silent,  a day comes when they suddenly decide that we’re safe.  We always know that day has arrived when the stray starts to talk to us – never just a few words – speech pours out of them like a water over a waterfall – words, sentences, and paragraphs describing what’s in their hearts and their loneliness and their joy at having found friends to care for them.  Little Sam will be very happy with Mike – he hadn’t been in Mike’s house for 10 minutes and he was already going to Mike for head skritches and comfort.

The good news is that we get as much from our animals as they get from us.   Creatures teach us to love, to live in the moment, to have compassion, to live without guile.  Two excellent very short and very funny books that express this truth from different places on the theological/philosophical spectrum are “Guardians of Being” by Eckhart Tolle and Patrick McDonnel and “God and Dog” by Wendy Francisco. 

Today’s front yard critter count:

Deer: 0

Raccoons: 0

Towhees:  lots

Small Victories and What Autumn Teaches

After months of successfully uploading photos to this blog, today I was stupendously unable to do so.  The little upload circle just keep spinning and spinning around, as did the circle of increasingly hot steam over my head. I’ve never had to fix technology problems by myself due to Stu’s skills and patience (“Here Stu, fix this….”) but Stu is in Alaska helping to stop the damned Pebble Mine (see the latest issue of National Geographic magazine for more on this particular abomination).  So I was thrown back onto my own devices.  As you can see, I successfully tracked down the answer and solved the problem.

Snow is predicted for the weekend here in the Pacific Northwest, which will put paid to autumn.  Autumn is probably my favorite season – I love the subtle palette of colors, the return to warm winter nests, fires in the fireplace, woolly afghans on the sofa, and permission to sit inside and read a book.  It can be a melancholy time though, as the wheel of the year turns, as leaves fall and as life becomes more fragile, or ceases.  This autumn has been harder that its predecessors in this regard -- it seems like every day brings news of another friend facing loss. 

So how do we harmonize our deep and abiding love for this sweet earth and its creatures, with our certainty that all we see, all we love, is temporary?   I’m convinced that the struggle to hold both things in our hearts – at one and the same time embracing in love and letting go – is a central task of becoming fully human. I think the paradox must be squarely faced, eyes wide open, without taking premature refuge in philosophical or theological answers.  (Note well the word “premature.”) 

As I've thought about these things this autumn, here is what brought a measure of illumination (from, as usual, my hero Mary Oliver):

Lines Written in the Days of Growing Darkness

Every year we have been
witness to it: how the
world descends
into a rich mash, in order that
it may resume. 
And therefore
who would cry out

to the petals on the ground
to stay,
knowing as we must,
how the vivacity of what was is married

to the vitality of what will be? 
I don’t say
it’s easy,
but what else will do
if the love one claims to have for the world
be true?  
So let us go on

though the sun be swinging east,
and the ponds be cold and black,
and the sweets of the year be doomed.

Today’s front yard critter count:
Raccoons: 2 (a couple of last year’s babies)
Stellar jays: 2 (eating left-over raccoon food)

Leaves, Dogs, and Poetry

Fall is here.  The swallows have passed through the nearby prairie on their way south, the Big Woods are full of mushrooms, and there's a hint of a chill in the air. 

Muttley wonders if poets write about dogs.  The answer is yes:

         Percy (Nine)

Your friend is coming I say

to Percy, and name a name

and he runs to the door, his

wide mouth in its laugh-shape,

and waves, since has one, his tail.

Emerson, I am trying to live,

as you said we must, the examined life.

But there are days I wish

there was less in my head to examine,

not to speak of the busy heart.  How

would it be to be Percy, I wonder, not

thinking, not weighing anything, just running forward.

                            -- Mary Oliver

Today's Front Yard Critter Count:

Raccoons: 7 (the 4 squash-sized babies and their mama, Crabby Mama's youngest daughter, and one more)

Deer: 2 doe, here to eat nectarines.

More Owls Than You Can Shake a Stick At

I haven't seen very many owls in the wild so I'm feeling very fortunate that this summer I've crossed paths with two.  Recently Stu and I were hiking the Rampart Ridge trail at Mt. Rainier and as we approached the top of the ridge we happened to look up and see this little fella. We think he's a Saw Whet Owl.  A few weeks before that, as I took Muttley for a walk early one morning, I caught sight of something big and brown gliding from the roof of the house to a tree limb just inside the Big Woods.  Much to my delight it was a gorgeous Barred Owl.  She and I watched each other with great interest for about 10 minutes until she flew deeper into the woods (probably because she didn't want her picture taken).  I saw her again briefly the next day but haven't sighted her since.

Here's a piece of woodsy wisdom that we tried out this summer -- with great success.  Next time you're out in the woods and get stung by nettles, look around for a sword fern with pollen under the fronds.  Rub the fern pollen where you've been stung.  The sting will feel 20% better immediately, 90% better in 5 minutes and in 30 minutes the sting will be permanently gone. I don't know how or why this works but it does. Cool, huh?

The four eggplant sized raccoon babies are now the size of  medium winter squashes.  Their mama continues to be more easy-going about mothering than Crabby Mama and Not-So-Crabby Mama were with their babies last summer.  As a result, these babies have a lot more freedom to explore -- which makes me nervous but so far so good -- they appear to be healthy, happy, and full of mischief.

Today's front yard critter count:
Deer: 2 (the little buck and his mom)
Raccoons: 5 (the eggplant babies and their mama).