“Full of Winter”

18 Tuesday Feb 2014

Posted by judithar321 in environment, friendship, inspiration, meditation, pets

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“Full of Winter.” My friend Heather used that sentence in her post today about her lunch in a village that was quiet, empty, yet “Full of Winter.”

We are full of winter here, too. Full up, filled up, fed up.

Our walks have been white and cold — frigid, in fact. Too frosty to expose already numb fingers to the icy air and snap a photo.

And yet, on a snowy day like today, when the dog has been walked and I have nowhere to go, I have the luxury to sit quietly on my indoor perch and watch the flakes slip from the sky.

I am warm, safe, grateful: “Full of Winter,” Full of Peace.

Our California Dream

24 Friday Jan 2014

Posted by judithar321 in aging, environment, inspiration, mid-life transition, travel

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California, elephant seals, Tomales Bay, Tule elk

Tomales Bay © Judith A. Ross

Yesterday, we returned from a week in Northern California. While real life continued all around us, we were wrapped in a drought-spun cocoon of warm, sunny weather as we traveled through a green, blue and often sere landscape populated by amazing creatures.

Birches ©Judith A. Ross

Don’t know if this has a name, I call it “Camel Rock.” ©Judith A. Ross

California coastline ©Judith A. Ross

Cyprus trees ©Judith A. Ross

Knots ©Judith A. Ross

We observed these elephant seals from a distance. They moaned and squealed and flipped sand on their backs to stay cool. You could tell who had been sunning the longest by the pile of sand on their back.

We got a bit closer to the Tule elk.. .

Menfolk ©Judith A. Ross

Mama’s got her eye on you! ©Judith A. Ross

… and I was lucky to catch a shot of two youngsters at play.

Sibling rivalry ©Judith A. Ross

There were wildflowers and mysteries.

Wildflowers ©Judith A. Ross

Remains ©Judith A. Ross

***

Now that we have returned to the reality of the Massachusetts winter, our trip already feels like a long ago dream. But it is also our future dream. Will we live there some day? Only time will tell.

Footprints ©Judith A. Ross

Grounded Clouds

06 Monday Jan 2014

Posted by judithar321 in aging, environment, friendship, inspiration, marriage, pets, travel

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Dominique Browning, Morocco, Slow Love Life, weather

When the weather goes from cold and snowy to warm and rainy, the air becomes thick with moisture as though the clouds have dropped to the ground.

Walking through the mysterious murk, we heard voices before we could see their source. Dogs popped in and out of the grounded clouds.

Last January, I claimed the word “focus” as my New Year’s vow, and some things are sharper today than they were back then. Yet I’m viewing the year ahead through a soft-focus lens. The changes and events to come are as foggy as these woods. I’m okay with that uncertainty.

If I learned anything from my year of increased focus, it was that the best, most memorable experiences came when I just let them, when I stayed in the moment and swayed with the wind of life rather than fighting it. My trip to Morocco is but one example.

Of all the New Year posts and articles I’ve read these past weeks, it is Dominique Browning’s words that I keep repeating over and over in my mind. She was recounting her year, “It was a big year. But every year is a big year,” she wrote. And then she said,

Every day is a big day. That is what we realize when we are older. That we are lucky enough—and that is all it is, plain dumb luck—to be here makes it a big day, a big year.

So maybe my “resolution” this year—if you want to call it that—is to celebrate my life and luck every day. I’m going to burnish my love for my family and friends until it is a beacon they will return to over and over again. I’ll make every day a big day.

Weather

17 Tuesday Dec 2013

Posted by judithar321 in environment, pets

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nature, snow, winter weather

Yes, it is beautiful after the first snowfall. And so quiet you can almost hear a feather being ruffled by the wind.

And I finally got a clear shot of this hornet’s nest that I picked out through the trees last summer.

But it’s cold, too. This morning when I walked into the kitchen the thermometer read 1 degree Fahrenheit. “It’s dangerously cold,” Paul said. Karina and I waited for the temperature to rise into the double digits.

When it hit 10 degrees, I began layering on the thick socks, long underwear, heavy jeans, sweater with turtleneck to pull over my nose, down coat, hat, boots, gloves — and then I took a step and felt something sticking into my foot. Oy….

It wasn’t so bad once we got out. No wind, and our neighbors John and Marie, assisted by their big, jolly lab, Yankee, had tramped out a short loop in the woods with their snow shoes.

It’s the time of year when I look longingly ahead to striding down clear pathways in a pair of my favorite shoes instead of trudging through snow and ice in my clumsy-but-warm winter boots.

For now though, I’m taking a page from AA: One day at a time.

(Good thing, too, because when I lifted my head to look outside after hitting “publish,” more snow was starting to fall.)

In October, Red Is the Color of Home

24 Thursday Oct 2013

Posted by judithar321 in books, environment, inspiration, politics

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Bill McKibben, home, Oil and Honey, red, seasonal cycles, seasons

What is home? It is the place where waking up to the sound of pots clanging in the kitchen, means that Dad is making his special Sunday pancakes. It is the rattle of the dog’s tags as she trots from room to room. Home is the velvety report of a son’s deep laugh seeping through the floorboards as he watches late night TV.

Home is warm, comfortable, familiar.

Home is also found outdoors in the honking of geese as they fly over the house during their spring and fall migrations. In June, it is where the hummingbirds return year after year to drink the nectar my husband prepares for them.

Home is predictable, reliable. It is found in the cycles of this gorgeous, irreplaceable planet — in its winter whites, spring greens, summer yellows, and autumn reds.

In his book, Oil and Honey: The Education of an Unlikely Activist, writer and environmental activist Bill McKibben shares his “…two lives lived in response to a crazy time.” One life is that of McKibben the activist who travels around the world, fighting against the fossil fuel industry. That public, hectic life is punctuated by a calmer, more soothing one spent in the beeyards of his home state of Vermont, where he watches “… a very different, very beautiful way of dealing with a malfunctioning modernity.”

In describing the lessons he learns about environmental activism and beekeeping, and the facts and data that make halting climate change an urgent matter, McKibben is also composing an ode to home.

No matter where he is or what he is doing, McKibben’s fight to save our planet is driven by an intense longing for home —both the planet that he and his fellow boomers grew up on, and his actual domicile. That desire weaves in and out of the narrative like a red thread through a complicated tapestry.

“The old cycle we’ve always known is very nearly gone, but not quite,” he concludes. “It lingers yet, and while it does the fight is worth the cost.”

October Morning

20 Sunday Oct 2013

Posted by judithar321 in environment, meditation, pets

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Crisp, cool, crystal-clear are the adjectives of the day. We walked quietly over a carpet of leaves.

The tops of pine trees turned to feathers in the sun.

The wind above us rubbed the bare trees together until their whines filled the air

And a medium-sized dog

was dwarfed by the old, old, trees.

We ended the walk in a big field, where Karina turned on the gas and expressed our joy at Being. Right Here. Right Now.

Video:

Field Trip to Brooklyn

14 Monday Oct 2013

Posted by judithar321 in adult children, environment, music, travel

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"66 Square Feet", 66 Square Feet: a delicious life, Brooklyn, Marie Viljoen, Prospect Park, Raya Brass Band, wild food foraging

It is October in New York and these residents, at least, aren’t happy to see this Red Sox fan. I’m a little slaphappy after our whirlwind, less than 48-hour trip to the big city and back.

Saturday night we were up until past 2 am partying with Raya Brass Band.

After a rowdy night and a little sleep (my ears barely had enough time to stop ringing), Older Son made us his usual 4-star breakfast and then we raced over to Prospect Park for a foraging walk. (I’m working hard to feel guilty about the pile of dirty dishes we left him with, but so far that’s not happening.)

As a result, many of my photographs look like I took them after being up all night. I actually considered going out and reshooting these plants in my yard: Ironically, I went all the way to Brooklyn to learn about wild plants that have been growing under my nose for at least 20 years.

The walk was with Marie Viljoen, author of 66 Square Feet: a delicious life. If you haven’t yet visited her blog, I suggest you put on some sturdy walking shoes and head over.

After a night that was months in the planning, and then giving his all while on stage, our musician still had enough game to start the walk by picking some salad.

Dandelion greens. Photo by Marie Viljoen. Used with permission.

It turns out that a lot of plants that have been encroaching on my garden and annoying the heck out of me are actually wild edibles.

For example,

Young violet leaves (not older ones like these), which grow freely all over our yard and have a tendency to take over one of my gardens, combined with lamb’s quarters (below) will make a lovely salad.

These pretty little pink plants, called smartweed, that also run rampant around our grounds, are a Thai coriander — just the thing to zip up a meal.

Blue flowers on long stems began popping up among the vinca and other ground cover in my back garden. I was on the fence about them: liked the blue, didn’t like how pushy they are. Marie set me straight. They are called commelina and their shoots, flowers, and seeds are all edible (again, apologies for the tired, unfocused photo).

These gallant soldiers have young leaves that taste like sugar snap peas, and can be cooked like spinach. Exactly the kind of motivation I need to do a bit of “weeding.”

Then there’s goutweed, its leaves add a delicious, herbal taste to salads. Here it is back home mixing it up with my european ginger. I tried pulling the stuff up, but it’s nearly impossible to uproot. In addition, Marie says that breaking off the roots will encourage it to send out more.

I guess we’ll just have to eat it.

Nature Girl

21 Saturday Sep 2013

Posted by judithar321 in adult children, aging, environment, inspiration, politics, writing

≈ 9 Comments

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350.org, Bill McKibben, environmental activism, great horned owl, nature, Oil and Honey

Never mind what the dream was about. It could have been about so many things: my mother-in-law’s passing last month; my kids being far away; my own mortality, my husband’s, the dog’s… But in the moment of the dream I felt as deep and raw a sense of loss as I’ve ever experienced in waking life.

But then I woke up, and poof, the feeling evaporated. Soon after that, I realized that I haven’t heard the owl this summer. Usually I’ll hear him in the wee hours through the bathroom window, a muffled hoo, hoo, hoo, hoooo floating softly over the grass between our house and the woods.

His (her? their?) call has been a comfort these past 20 years. I first heard the owl a year after we’d moved in while I was in the midst of cancer treatments. That summer and fall, I found the nature here—the owl hooting from the woods, while I lay awake, feeling my poisoned blood pulsing in my abdomen, or a pheasant strolling across the lawn on a sunny afternoon when I was waiting for test results— to be comforting omens.

Being in nature grounds us. And, in fact, it’s good for writers. “Nothing coaxes jumbled thoughts into coherent sentences like sitting under a shade tree on a pleasant day,” writes Carol Kaufmann in last week’s New York Times, “With a slight breeze blowing, birds chirping melodies, wee bugs scurrying around me and a fully charged laptop or yellow legal pad at hand, I know I’ll produce my best work.”

I also heard writer and environmental activist Bill McKibben speak this week about why we must fight to prevent approval to complete the Keystone XL pipeline as one step in solving our climate crisis. He is so smart, so sensible, so inspiring, I hope everyone will join me in reading his new book, Oil and Honey: The education of an unlikely activist.

Nature is one of the things that truly matters to all of us, whether we know it or not. It is what binds us to this earth. We can’t live without it.

Now when I think back to that dream, I don’t worry about my mortality or my family’s — or even the owl’s, who if it was the same one, lived a good, long life.

No, I worry about the end of nature as we know it, and how little time we have to halt its decline. Not succeeding would be the greatest loss of all.

Meandering

31 Saturday Aug 2013

Posted by judithar321 in art, environment, inspiration, meditation, pets, writing

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This summer I’ve begun numerous posts and articles – ideas that haven’t quite gelled. This week alone I started one post on lipstick and another about a news story that I read back in July. I’ve always thought of myself as someone who is good at finishing things, taking a project and seeing it through to the end. When it comes to writing for myself, however, it’s not so straightforward.

This morning, Karina and I went for a walk at Mount Misery. As we wandered down its broad trails, we met a friendly, apricot-colored Cockapoo named Goldie. A little later we heard something big running through the trees. It was a white-tailed deer and Karina gave chase. I called and called, until she finally returned to my side.

A minute later, I heard the loud patter of rain hitting the leaves above. Under their shelter, only a few cooling drops made it to the back of my neck.

The rain changed the look of the trail and for a few moments, I wasn’t sure which turn to take. We backtracked, and then I realized we were on the right path after all. That slight change in the light and resulting misstep reminded me that meandering, both in life and in writing, is important—essential, actually.

Those unfinished pieces and half-baked ideas have not been a waste of time. You have to keep working, even when you feel as though you are going nowhere. Regular practice provides us with more opportunities to get lost and then pay attention when we find ourselves on the edge of new territory.

One of the projects I’ve been working on this summer is a piece about an artist I admire. I have learned much from her and her work. Among other things, she has reminded me that making mistakes and following false leads can force you to explore unexpected places. Meandering, wandering, starting and stopping: all good.

Eventually, something will take hold, and you’ll find your way home.

Summer Vacation

19 Monday Aug 2013

Posted by judithar321 in environment, friendship, health, inspiration

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Little Cranberry Island, Maine, vacation

Summer vacation: those two little words convey freedom and release with undertones of adventure; a break from a routine that is beginning to feel like a rut. The opportunity to read in bed before breakfast, without the usual sense of urgency to get moving. The chance to let loose, be daring — to strip off one’s clothes and dive into the waves lapping against a fogged-in and deserted beach, for instance, or to climb a small mountain and surrender oneself to a rocky, green fairyland.

To vacate that routine, let go, and just wander. Take notice of what it means to live on an island, where discarded stuff eventually gets swallowed by the landscape.

Paul and I spent last week with friends in a big house on a small island in Maine. It was a loose, undemanding group. We were able to arrange activities so that everyone got to spend their time the way they liked — including the children, who were happy to hike with any adult willing to take the hardest, scariest climb that day.

We cooked and ate beautiful food, had a front row seat to this year’s perseid meteor showers, and collected treasures from the island’s rocky beaches.

I arrived home refreshed, and, at long last, fully seduced by summer’s glow. I’ll hang onto that whiff of freedom for as long as I can. It’ll come in handy when summer’s light fades and the sea monsters of winter begin their yearly descent.

Shifting Gears

Category Archives: environment

“Full of Winter”

Our California Dream

Grounded Clouds

Weather

In October, Red Is the Color of Home

October Morning

Field Trip to Brooklyn

Nature Girl

Meandering

Summer Vacation