Posts Tagged ‘appreciation’
Watching Changes
Each afternoon that I have been up at the lake has brought melting temperatures, and yesterday was the warmest so far. It climbed to 58°F and turned the surface of the lake from white to wet.
That buoy I photographed the day before took on a whole new appearance.
Taking advantage of the mild conditions, I worked on a wood sculpting project on the deck in the bright sunlight. When it came time for a break, I laid down and faded into a nap on the deck boards, waking with my face in a puddle of drool that signaled a good sleep was had.
I stayed down on my back on the deck and listened to every sound I could detect, including the faint hum inside my head. Blood flow? A version of tinnitus, maybe. When I finally stood up and surveyed the surroundings, it became clear that I was watching the swift change from winter’s snow cover to exposed ground that was heralding the coming of spring.
Most of all, I was immersing myself fully in the pleasures of not needing to do anything by any specific time.
Mission accomplished.
Eventually, I will need to wash some dishes. I’m going to take advantage of staying in this lazy mode for one more day. Tomorrow, I will set things in order here to leave no trace and drive home to Cyndie and the animals. She leaves for Florida on Thursday and I will be in charge of the dog and horses for the week she is away, following their daily schedule of needs.
Having had these few days away on my own will go a long way toward making Cyndie’s next absence less daunting, especially since I love the routine of animal care just as much as I love these little breaks from it. When we finally end up at home together for a stretch of time again, it will be like a bonus.
Luckily, I love my time alone just as much as I love living together with Cyndie.
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Solitary Refinement
In the middle of my solo escape to the lake, I find myself thinking about how I can most fully absorb the pleasures of these agenda-less days. When I am tasked daily at home with duties, the dream of having nothing pressing me into an activity grows and grows. I long to have no reason to get out of bed and to pick and choose what comes next by whim instead of by the hour on the clock. An hour, by the way, that has once again shifted disorientingly forward to DST overnight. Ugh, I say, and I don’t even have any schedule that needs to be upheld today.
Looking back on the already vanished last two days of luxurious solo pursuits, I fear the benefits of getting what I so dearly wanted are disappearing without my fully appreciating the greatness of the moments. Today, I plan to see if I can improve on that perception.
There is a herd of deer wandering the grounds that I have enjoyed seeing each day. I counted seven yesterday in the middle of a sunny afternoon. From the obvious pattern of their heavily traveled hoof prints in the snow, it appears they have a much more set agenda than I do.
I made my way to our mini labyrinth in the woods and reclaimed the pathway with my own footprints. There was no sign of wildlife traffic in that area.
No, the deer have been walking right past the house along the ridge above the lake. One or two of them had approached the house to nibble on the branches of one of the landscape shrubs.
I took a few pictures on my walk yesterday morning when the temperature was still below freezing. There was a striking difference in the texture of the snow where shade had kept it all wonderfully powdery, as opposed to the hard crust more prominent everywhere else.
Later in the day, the clouds broke up, and the sun kicked up the amount of melting significantly.
My slow, aimless wandering was one of the divine pleasures I want to deeply appreciate in its contrast to strolling along with Asher, which is more my norm.
Oh, my. Look at the hour. How can it be this late already? Oh, yeah. That.
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Appreciating Here
Day two of my intentional news avoidance exercise was a smashing success yesterday. The resulting calm was doubly rewarding when compared with the week before when junk mail and phone spam were at an all-time high. The morning began with a thick fog, which gave the early routine a wonderfully mysterious feel.
Sometimes, the fog puts the horses on edge because they rely on visibility to survey for potential threats. Yesterday, they weren’t showing heightened nerves and promptly buried their noses in their feed buckets, which puts them in an almost vegetative state after one mouthful.
Asher was incredibly patient with me as I traipsed around the paddocks, scooping manure into the wheelbarrow. I rewarded him with an extended walk in the north loop field before heading back to the house for his breakfast.
We revisited that field later in the afternoon, and he went wild following the scent of some creature. There were several circles where deer had laid down that interested him but it is known that bunnies live in that field, too.
Other visitors we’ve seen in that field include skunks, raccoons, foxes, pheasants, turkeys, and grouse. However, the culprit that probably most interests Asher is the neighbor’s cat that makes regular incursions into our territory.
Standing in the field while Asher rooted around, I felt a wave of renewed appreciation for this place we call home. We’ve had some rain to take the edge off the drought, and the sun was out all afternoon, warming things considerably.
We stopped for a pause in the rocking chair at the lookout knoll on the top of the first hill on the driveway. From that vantage point, we couldn’t see anything wrong with the world. We all know that isn’t true, but it makes the tranquility here all the more precious.
It practically obligates me to banish harsh news media from disturbing our peace.
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Home Vacation
It’s been a little over a month since our adventurous trip to Iceland, and the thrills of the experience are still resonating. As I was sitting in our newly established lookout knoll with the horses grazing nearby yesterday, I recognized a feeling in me that matched those thrills of standing in the presence of incredible waterfalls or striking basalt columns or the spectacular ice formations of a glacier.
Listening to the quiet natural sounds of distant bird calls, feeling the combination of the warm sunshine and the cool breeze, and watching the little details of how the horses were behaving filled me with a sense of gratitude for the moment.
In Iceland, after flying for hours across an ocean, we drove long distances and walked for miles to reach amazing sites that presented a similar sense of awe. I only need to open my door and step outside to find myself in a place that offers me equivalent satisfaction.
It is as if I am on vacation at my very own home.
Plenty of people prefer travel adventures for fulfillment. I am not one of them. An occasional road trip serves me just fine, but more often than not, I prefer to stay home and soak up my immediate surroundings.
It is not lost on me that we are living in a place of exceptional natural beauty.
With our log home on the top of the hill surrounded by forest and fields, combined with the magnificent energy of the herd of four horses, this place makes me feel like I am on vacation every day.
It probably doesn’t hurt that we’ve put a lot of sweat equity into improving and maintaining some of the features. That’s just part of my nature. I saw several opportunities on trails in Iceland that I felt an urge to tend to as well.
Taking care of the land fits into the kind of things I like being able to do. It’s pretty great I get to include that in my vacation life on our glorious acres at home.
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Today Arrived
It’s here! We have arrived to the day Saturday, August 17, 2024. If you haven’t been waiting for this day to happen, it might feel like just another Saturday. Maybe it is simply the first day of the weekend. I suppose a few birthdays fall on this date or maybe a few weddings were scheduled.
While I was walking this morning with Cyndie and Asher and we marveled anew over the grandeur of our surroundings. I asked Cyndie if she thought she would still be able to visualize the views along our Middle Trail in some future situation when we are no longer physically fit enough to walk these woods.
We are in our twelfth year of living on this land and I still feel awe over the fact we own a portion of a forest. This summer has been different than most since we moved here from the suburbs. It has been wetter and for longer than normal. The land reflects that in a variety of ways.
There are new levels of erosion and significant accumulation of the runoff soil downstream that disrupt our preferred flow through ditches. Meanwhile, plants and trees are growing strong. It requires a constant effort to control undesired invasives and keep vines from swallowing trees.
In that regard, today would be just another day for me.
I feel lucky to have the opportunity and the time to tend our fields and woods but I won’t be doing much of that this day. We have a lunch date in the Cities that will fill much of our time. Another luxury we enjoy of visiting with friends, some with whom we rarely spend time.
Our land will wait another day for attention from me.
I have a strong suspicion that Sunday, August 18, 2024, will be arriving soon, and with that, new opportunities galore as time keeps ticking away.
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Song Inventors
This morning finds me enrapt with a song on an album from 1974. It’s been around since I was 15 and I have heard it probably thousands of times over the years, but I never closely listened to it. The song is “Fountain of Sorrow” from Jackson Browne’s “Late for the Sky” album.
The song is 6 minutes and 42 seconds long which allows for a listener to easily get distracted from following each precious nuance of Jackson’s specific phrasing or the subtly of instrumental embellishments or background vocals. Those features are the underlying fabric of the more notable lyrics that interweave a mixture of simple and complex lyrics.
I visited the Wikipedia entry about the song and liked one reviewer’s description of it as “an intricate extended metaphor.” I also learned that the song is “generally assumed to have been inspired by” his relationship with Joni Mitchell. I didn’t even know they were a thing, but the word used was “brief.”
As often happens for me, I find myself dumbstruck by the invention of each brilliant aspect of a song that materializes from a person’s mind to become something significant and timeless.
The structure of a simple hit song that consists of a series of verses separated by a repeating chorus, sometimes augmented with a bridge interlude, seems so simplistic in comparison to successful songs that deviate from that basic structure.
In “Fountain of Sorrow,” I don’t know when I am hearing a verse, chorus or bridge. It just flows like a river.
Speaking of inventing a song, I saw that Joan Baez, who created her own epic relationship remembrance in “Diamonds and Rust,” recorded a cover of “Fountain of Sorrow” a year after it was released.
There are a lot of songwriters in the world. I am grateful for all of them. My appreciation goes to the next level when the creation of song recordings takes them to places of wonderment that didn’t previously exist. Each pause, every instrument, and every aspect of making a person’s idea into a musical “thing” that will last and last, that is the invention.
I don’t know why a single song will suddenly grab my attention after so much time but I thoroughly enjoy it when it happens.
It’s one of the few times I would ever welcome an “earworm” repetition of a favorite line or two.
Looking through some photographs, I found inside a drawer
I was taken by a photograph of you
There were one or two I know that you would have liked a little more
But they didn’t show your spirit quite as true…
written by: Jackson Browne album: Late for the Sky recorded: 1974
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Incidental Accents
I suffer to imagine how plain my world might become if I lived alone. Once again, I am tending to the day-to-day alone while Cyndie is away from home. My meals have become embarrassingly simplified. I don’t change sheets, I wash the ones I just slept in and put them right back on the bed. I move from one chore to the next methodically, practically.
Too often, I take for granted the myriad enhancements Cyndie bestows upon our surroundings. Incidental accents that subtly enrich my environment, not only visually, but energetically, too.
As much as I like having alone time, the void created by Cyndie’s absence greatly impacts the cost/benefit ratio.
Where do the magical flower blossoms come from that are scattered along our pathways? I don’t have anything to do with them. That’s all Cyndie’s effort.
I usually walk past all the places she stashes them without noticing, but the other day, I spotted this one that looked like it was reflecting the expanse of starry space, light-years beyond our planet.
That priceless morsel wouldn’t be here if it were left up to me at this point in my life.
I might fail to pay worthy attention to the flowers, but I will never fail to appreciate that the compliment of Cyndie’s and my way of doing things is so much more than just the sum of two parts.
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More Thanksgiving
During the three-day-weekend following Thanksgiving, we enjoyed leftover turkey sandwiches and some spectacular creamy turkey with wild rice soup that Cyndie whipped up from the remains of our feast. Saturday night, we were both looking for a change. A scrumptious homemade pizza from scratch more than fit the bill.
By the middle of the afternoon yesterday, neither of us had an appetite, let alone a craving for what to do for our Sunday dinner. I suggested we wait until either of us got hunger pangs and then we could revisit our options. Before we reached that point, Cyndie happened to notice we still had all the side dishes left over from the holiday meal that we shouldn’t let go to waste.
That made the decision for us.
When all the goodness was heated up and heaped on plates, it became the only thing I could possibly have wanted. It was a Thanksgiving feast all over again.
I am even more thankful than ever for all the blessings we enjoy.
- For the culinary skills Cyndie employs daily to feed me better than I will ever deserve.
- For our home and a warm bed.
- The companionship of all our animals.
- Family and friends who love us and make us proud.
- Entertainers who work every day to bring laughter into the world.
- That most people understand the risks of the pandemic and take healthy precautions.
- That the majority of people in the world are good and would help others in need.
- I have a job that gives me access to health insurance.
- That the NFL football team I stopped watching yesterday didn’t quit when I did.
- Jigsaw puzzles, a fireplace, books to read, and my lifetime collection of music to listen to.
- That I saved 100% by not buying anything from much-hyped sales “bargains” over the entire weekend.
- A car that safely makes my long commute tolerable.
- Monday mornings, that make a prior weekend seem that much more precious.
Okay, I admit it. I turned off the game when the punt was fumbled. I had a puzzle to finish. Imagine my surprise when the score was flashed on an update of games later in the afternoon.
If you are reading this from beyond the Minnesota region, just disregard that part. It’s not really important.
Honestly, yesterday was a pretty dreary day for me. I suspect a large part of it was the harsh reality that the long weekend was ending and a return to the workweek was getting closer by the minute. The stark contrast of weather from the sun and warmth of Saturday to cold, cloudy, and windy Sunday didn’t help, either.
Ending on a high note of feasting in continued thankfulness is a pretty good way to break that spell.
Here’s to not letting a single dreary day become anything more than a temporary affliction and making a point to pay frequent attention to things we can be thankful for each and every day.
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Storm Departs
Cyndie shared some scenes from the aftermath of a thunderstorm that bowled over us earlier in the week. There has been a steady stream of them lately, most being of the non-concerning variety, but not without some minor consequences.
There is another tree that has fallen across one of our trails. Honestly, before living here, I had no idea how often trees topple over in a forest. Sometimes, it’s even weather-related, but not always.
The backside of the storm was pretty obvious and the blue sky behind it served as a wonderful exclamation mark of bidding the blustery beast good riddance.
After the sun drooped below the horizon, it provided one last parting gift of illuminating a whisp of a heart-shape in one of the lower clouds.
I’ve heard of silver linings, but this cloud definitely had a pink one.
We’ve been spared the hail that some areas received the other night, and for once, the total precipitation amounts have bounced between a quarter and a half of an inch, instead of overflowing our rain gauge. A blessing that we do not take for granted one bit.
All the aspects of our paradise glow and flourish in the aftermath of each rumbly event of rocky weather. As I recline on our deck or inside the screen door soaking up the glorious calm, there is no place I would rather be.
It’s social distancing on the grandest of scales.
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Quiet Evening
After dinner last night, I stepped out to spend some time on one of the zero-gravity chairs Cyndie left on the deck. She pulled them out on Sunday to watch the Perseid meteor shower in the wee hours of Monday morning. I opted to sleep and missed that show.
Last night, the air outside was absolutely still. The sky was muted by a white-washed backdrop that held just a few discernible cloud shapes floating in front of it.
The temperature and humidity had eased to a perfectly comfortable warmth for the end of a hot August day. As I lay back in total relaxation, I tried to absorb the moment to the depth of my bones, for use as a reference in six months, when everything outdoors will be completely opposite.
It was so quiet, I could hear the acorns getting dropped to the ground when a bird hopped in the branches of a tall oak tree. The culprit was also adding to the soundscape with an occasional simple one-note, even-pitched tone. That was in stark contrast to the songbird who arrived in a tree behind me to show off a dramatic and richly complex repeating series of staccato chirps, tweets, and climbing trills.
I spotted a dragonfly high above me, near the top of the trees, and followed its aeronautical acrobatics of instant right-angle and logic defying immediate one-hundred-eighty degree turns in what I assumed must have been a feeding frenzy. It kept at it for a surprisingly long time.
The bliss of the moment served as a good remedy for my lake hangover. There might not be a gorgeous lake rippling in our back yard, but we do have plenty of nature in which to submerse ourselves, as an alternative.
Later, back in the house, I caught a glimpse of the doe and two fawns who hang out here regularly enough that we consider them family. They were loitering near the truck before disappearing down the trail toward the chicken coop.
I suggested to Cyndie that she should be extra quiet when she headed down to close the chicken door for the night, and maybe she would be able to mingle with the deer.
Delilah didn’t really know what I was watching out the back window, but she instantly spotted the flash of brown bodies and white tails when they darted out of the trees and crossed the yard to where the trail enters the woods on the other side.
Cyndie didn’t get to do any mingling.
She did find all ten chickens safely roosting in the coop for another day. I took the deer sighting as a sign there wasn’t any immediate threat in the area, implying our animals all enjoyed a quiet evening, too.
Egg production continues to pick up. Yesterday was the first time there were three eggs in a single day. I take that as another sign they are happy and healthy.
It all has me wanting to achieve an unprecedented level of full appreciation for the blessings we are currently enjoying, especially the simple ones like yesterday’s calm and quiet night.
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Relative Something 