Monday, March 30th 2020 is apparently the last day for us to be out in the wetland scrub until the first frost of autumn arrives. Dianne found a deer tick on her keyboard. As best we can figure, the little bastard jumped off the sweatshirt she was wearing when earlier in the day, during a break in the rain, we took Lucie out for a romp. We, ourselves, needed some exercise as well and love to take-in the solitude surrounded by the grays, browns and hints of purple mixed into the fields of early spring. And now that season is over: off came the clothes, into the shower we leapt to dislodge any tiny intruders, making certain to toss the bed linens and winter comforter down the basement stairs for a fresh washing, too.Saturday evening, while watching TV, from out of nowhere came an unholy gnawing sound from under the sun room floor. We had a baby skunk come into life last summer in the same vicinity as this scraping, prompting the purchase of coyote urine pellets as well as my modest attempt at repair. That worked - so after some research on what might make such a terrifying racket, we went into full attack mode again. There are now five mini-spot lights under this floor and the obvious entrances well blocked. We shall see but we certainly need to move the composter farther away from the garage. I am delighted that spring is arriving after the fullness of winter. And yet there are always surprises when you live this close to Mother Nature. I am ready to start working the soil for this year's gardens - and repair the damage winter did to my improvised terraces. There's a ton of leaves and dead branches to be hauled back to the wetlands border, too. I am so ready.
A phrase from one of Ralph Waldo Emerson's 1836 journals has been running around my head for about a month: “Make your own Bible. Select and collect all the words and sentences that in all your readings have been to you like the blast of a trumpet.” I heard the poet, Gregory Orr, speak of this in an interview on Krista Tippett's "On Being" podcast. And when the world changed completely over night three weeks ago, it seemed like the right time to follow this advice. Orr suggested it was a way of making "our own play list. As one who loved to make tape mixes back in the day, this resonated - and I have been collecting snippets and poems online non-stop without any rhyme or reason. Today I started to gather them all in one place in my "Solitude Collection" file. As this week unfolds I will likely turn it into a hard copy collection with a binder and artsy cover as I cherish the tactile experience of reading almost as much as the visual and intellectual encounter. Two quotes caught my attention again as I was sorting:
+ One is from Elvis Francois, the singing doctor/orthopedic intern at the Mayo Clinic, who tells us: In life, there are so many things that divide us: Religion, race, politics, social status and so much more. But today a global pandemic brings us all together as one. Over the next few months our health care system will be tested. Millions of lives will be lost. Health care providers will be under an incredible amount of stress to save thousands of people. But when times are as dark as they are today, nothing shines brighter than the human spirit. There is something beautiful about a collective struggle. And the beauty in what we are facing today is that the only way to overcome this pandemic is for us to all come together as one. Nurses, doctors, students, research scientists, politicians, Uber eats drivers, cashiers, factory workers etc.....Getting through this will be hard but one thing is certain...the only way we will get through it is together, as one.
+ The other is graffiti taken from a subway station in Japan: We can't return to normal, because the normal that we had was precisely the problem.
To be alive: not just the carcass
But the spark.
That's crudely put, but…
If we're not supposed to dance,
Why all this music?
And Orr's companion, Carrie Newcomer, adds:
I’m Learning to Sit With Not Knowing
I’m learning to sit with not knowing.
When I don't see where its going
Cool my heels and start slowing
I am learning to sit with not knowing
I'm learning to sit with what’s next
What if and my best guess
Be kinder when it’s a process
I'm learning to live with what’s next
Here's a clear space
I've chosen
Where the denseness of this world opens
Where there's something holding steady and true
Regardless of me or you
I’m learning live with the high stakes
Befriending my mistakes
Lay my hand where my heart aches
I’m learning live with the high stakes
I'm learning to live with what takes time
No ribbon across some finish line
Stop feeling I'm always a day behind
I'm learning to live with what takes time
I’m learning to sit with not knowing.
When I don't see where its going
Cool my heels and start slowing
I am learning to sit with not knowing
Me, too, my friends, me too: dancing with uncertainty - putting spotlights under the floor to ward off squirrels (or skunks) with laughter and trust - noting and honoring the fact that the ticks have awakened so now it is time to hit the Rail Trail for a season instead of the wetlands - figuring out how to call the grocery store to make a delivery at week's end because I ought not to be going out into public - and opening my heart to trust God that as we move through this unknowing we will come out as those who cannot return to the normal that was precisely the problem.
(NOTE: today's pictures are of the wetlands behind our home and St. Brigid's cross on our front door. I made three Brigid's crosses on Candlemas because I love the design. As the lesser known saint of Ireland I wanted to honor her legacy in our spirituality.)
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