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).

Sorrow, Glory, and a Mouse

Friday morning as Stu and I were sharing a ride into town we came upon a gravely wounded juvenile bird sitting in the road, hit, hurt, and too damaged to save.  In an act of deep mercy, Stu took its life.

No one has ever given me an adequate explanation for the pain in the world.  Easy answers make me crazy and even the Book of Job artfully mocks those who, sitting in safety, offer facile answers to the ones who suffer.

Oddly (or perhaps not so oddly) I have a mental block whenever I try to remember the word defined as "an explanation of how a good Creator can allow suffering and evil."  The word is "theodicy" and I have to look it up EVERY SINGLE TIME I want to use it.  "Epistemology" I've got.  Ditto for "apocalyptic" and other hard words that are fun to say but "theodicy" always slips away like a burglar through the back door.

So I'm not even going to try to offer an explanation.  I do, however, have an observation.  I saw Stu's ashen face after the bird was dead.  Only love leaves such a mark. Love wins.

Next subject (that's actually related if you think about it):  The wildflowers are rampant in the mountains right now -- rhododendrons that appear to be lit from within, bear grass, Indian paintbrush, columbine, wild raspberries (that look exactly like strawberry plants), twin flowers,.  Glory and more glory everywhere you look.  Exhibit A is Reflection Lake at Mt. Rainier (see photo above).



Today's front yard critter count:
Deer: 1 doe
Raccoons: 2 (Crabby Mama's youngest, smallest, and sweetest daughter and Old Tailless Guy's Little Woman without her 4 eggplant-sized babies)
Mice: 1 (sheltering underneath the wellhead cover)

Great Stories and a Banana Slug

I firmly believe that humans are wired for meaning and thrills.  We all live for something, whether it be money, politics, public service, God, art, ferrets, liquor, resentment, or a weed-free lawn. 

I'm convinced that folks who join extremist movements -- Islamists, John Birchers (do they still exist?), or the crazy wing of the Tea Party -- are motivated by a search for meaning and excitement that has been derailed by laziness and fear.  Join any of these three movements and your life has an immediate scoop loader full of meaning coupled with thrills up the wazoo. What could be more fun and fulfilling than banding together with a clot of like-minded collaborators to battle a conspiracy of evil adversaries?

But the problem is that this choice is ultimately a dead-end.  What do all the great stories tell us?  Choose a risky path that challenges your preconceived notions and end up braver, stronger, and more compassionate (and maybe save the world).  Choose a path that justifies your preconceived notions and end up just as selfish, ignorant, fearful, and self-satisfied as you were when you started out.  And that's a ginormous wasted opportunity.

Next subject:  here's an enthusiastic high five to the theology geeks who knew the answer to my last quiz question.  The correct answer was: "Nothing."  Jesus had exactly nothing to say about homosexuality. He did, however, have quite a bit to say about compassion and reconciliation.

Next next subject: the picture at the top of the page is of 3/4ths of Crabby Mama's youngsters.

Today's front yard critter count:
Deer: 3 (a doe and her two spotted spring babies).
Raccoons: 3 (Old Tailless Guy's Little Woman and her 2 eggplant-sized babies who seem to communicate with their mama by chirping)
Swainson's Thrushes: Lots
Chipmunks: Two
Slugs: 1 (a very handsome Banana Slug streaming across the front porch)

Friends and Firelight

Last summer we (well, Stu) built a small fire pit in our yard.  We had visions of friends gathered around the campfire, sharing food, laughter, and conversation.  I'm happy to report that the fire pit has worked out exactly as we hoped.  Yesterday evening we hosted some dear friends for dinner prepared under the stars: fresh wild salmon cooked over the flames on cedar stakes, accompanied by potatoes and apple crisp cooked in two Dutch ovens over charcoal.  I swear that food cooked outside tastes better than food cooked indoors. Plus nothing beats seeing friends' smiling faces lit by firelight.  Everything about the evening was a most welcome antidote from the head-exploding aggravation of the ongoing oil "spill" in the Gulf and continuing crapification of American politics. Sometimes it's grand to just focus on the blessings near to hand.

On a different subject, here is a quiz for my friends with an interest in theology:
Question: What did Jesus have to say about homosexuality.
Answer:




Today's front yard critter count:
Deer: 2
Raccoons: 5 (Crabby Mama and her young adult children are healthy, happy, and still hanging out together.  They stop by occasionally in hopes of a snack.  They occasionally get one.)
Chipmunks: 2 (living in the fenced vegetable garden)
Squirrels: many (still loud)
Rabbits: 1
Stellar's Jays: 2 (probably with a youngster stashed in a nest nearby)