Judi B's Blog

Farmer’s Pond by author

I’ve been binge watching this series called Springtime at Kendal. I am hooked. A friend told me yesterday of an earlier episode in May that I missed at Button Bush Pond. Spoiler Alert: it was about reproduction as is most of the first half of the season. The one I missed was about two turtles slowly rolling about in the water, like choreographed wrestlers. Yes, they were mating, not wrestling.

Painted turtle, by author

In the first June episode I was coming back from Farmer’s Pond and heard two geese making a ruckus at BB Pond where they don’t usually hang out. I ramped up my mobility scooter and zipped down the road and over the wooden bridge, thunkity, thunkity as my wheels rolled along. I stopped on the observation deck of this swampy vernal pond and saw a drama up close.

The gander was in the water at the edge of the pond where it meets the woods. The Mother Goose was in the woods next to the water standing with one gosling at her feet. Both adults were loudly squonking and vigorously flapping their wings. I spied another gosling in the shallow water who was apparently stuck on a fallen branch that barely rose above the pond’s surface. It was like watching two people trying to move a vehicle stuck in the mud. The adults were encouraging the poor gosling from front and behind, back and forth, back and forth as best they could.

For a brief moment I jumped out of my scooter, hopped over the railing, splashed through the water and convinced the gander I was only saving his baby- no, of course, I didn’t. To everyone’s great relief the gosling was suddenly free and limped up on the shore to join his mom and sibling. The gander lined them up and marched them out of the woods and down the road. Though the one gosling was going slowly at first, the family waddled out of sight and was on their way to safer waters.

More episodes so far this month have been watching fledgling birds being refused by their mothers to feed them, and fawns walking out of the woods.

fawn safely crossing road by author

Every day, more beauty and more beauty blossoms as flowers, trees, our cactus garden, and bushes perfume our eyes and noses.

cactus garden by author

The program that is always on, is the one starring me, just as you are always engaged with the one featuring you. Stepping back to observe ourselves is a wonderful gift we human beings have. We may not always use it to the best advantage, but sometimes taking a moment can help us to breathe through a knee jerk reaction giving ourselves a chance to make a more thoughtful choice. When we lie down at night, we might use the time to review ourselves in the worst possible light. We chew on the, “should haves, could haves, and would haves,” as if by replaying moments gone by, we can fix the sense that we messed up somehow.

Knowing how much I delight in catching each springtime episode in the outdoors, I would rather bring the same open curiosity to myself. Each tiny moment of spring adds up to the entire season unfolding before my eyes. Spring will morph into summer at the end of the month while each tiny moment in my in my own life adds up to this day I am living through.

June features my husband’s birthday towards the end of the month. It is eight years since his death, and I do not plan on experiencing nostalgia or sorrow. Grief has its own pace and its bittersweet place when it shows up. I wouldn’t say that time heals all wounds, but time allows for reframing painful events within the larger picture of our lives.  I have also witnessed fallen nests, broken eggs, and well-fed snapping turtles as spring moves on. It is not all about amusing or cheerful successful baby beings. Taking time for each moment to be alive and touch our hearts is where I ask June to take me. All of it.

woodland garden whites by author

Christmas cactus by author

The month of March (also the Red Planet) is named after the Roman god of war, Martius or Mars. Our country has honored his name this month in a very visible way. Although there is likely a war always going on somewhere on the planet, this particular ‘war-not a war-a war’- is very visible with the potential for many dire unforeseen consequences. I don’t believe our leader is currently able to process logical systematic ideas. I think unelected advisors are filling his disorganized brain with what to do couched in terms he wants to hear and so he spouts what he is told in his own discombobulated manner. For the moment, this has proven acceptable for the machinery behind the throne. Who knows for how long this arrangement (derangement) will go on? Rashes and bruises aside, there may come a time when it no longer serves their purpose, and they will find a way to move forward with a new face promoting their agenda.

In concert with other powerful violent men, they continue to wreak further havoc on the world. We watch, we protest, we suffer in sympathy and keep working to find our own heartful sanity every day. It is difficult to endure but I am not the one dying from the devastation of daily bombs.

Enough said.

What else is happening in March? My Christmas cactus pictured above decided that the latest thaw that began last month, was the signal to send forth exuberant blossoms. I sat by one pond today and listened to the tree frogs peeping and chirring, so it must be spring, even though they do not read calendars. Down the road I can hear geese squownking loudly in the latest kerfuffle involving impressive water fights with powerful wings. Some paired geese have returned to their own nesting sites from past years and look away from such youthful bravado.

Aconite popped up last month in the first thaw we had, and today the daffodils are swelling with buds even though we know it could possibly snow once again. I am thinking that the old, ‘In like a lion and out like a lamb.‘ is no longer a reliable expectation. The weather is on its own trajectory. I saw mourning doves and heard new songbirds calling last week and I see iris, tulip and other leaves spearing up through the mulch in many beds around the campus. They are hardy as are we. We welcome each warmer day as it comes. I read somewhere online- sorry I can’t attribute it properly- that this is ,‘Wrong coat weather. No matter which coat you choose it will be the wrong one.” She is correct.

The week before last I created a silent retreat for myself. No computer or phone at all. It was nourishing and as I quipped, “It was just like real life only much quieter. All distractions were of my own making.” The following is a poem I wrote about the second to last day. My dear neighbor and friend across the street is Carol, to whom I dedicated the poem.

After the February Thaw

For Carol

Yesterday, whole trees wildly welcomed

an incoming gusty cold front.

Weather gods withdrew

their warm moist breath that melted

compacted snowplow mountains.

Across the road, the white canvas cover

of an outside patio chair

billowed up, puckered in, billowed up, puckered in.

I saw a bird, whose claws were caught in the seat

extending two brown wings flapping and flapping,

trying hard to escape the chair.

I keenly felt its struggle for freedom.

Today, the cold settled down to bite back

your every inhale, condensing around your exhales.

The potent breath of life that gave rise to a bird

made of worn-out cushion stuffing

is gone.

Life is like this sometimes-

we are sure we see things clearly before us-

that then turn out to be

products of our own illusion.

aconite through window by author