My husband makes so much fun of my hippie throwback, tree hugging, one with the universe, groovy kind of love affair with nature. Don't get me wrong, he's very respectful of my free spirit. He walks with me down hiking trails, and even carries the backpack. He oohs and aahs at every photograph with enthusiastic interest -- even if it's nothing more than a tangled mess of tree roots. But sometimes his humorous observations of me are so true that even I can't help but double over in hysterics.
A few weeks ago, we spent an evening laying back in the Adirondack chairs, admiring the Spring growth in the forest all around us. I had forgotten that the previously mentioned growth includes the wide wonderful world of insects, but they didn't mind reminding me. As a persistent bee swung in and out of my personal space, I bobbed and dodged and eventually fled the scene. Once the coast was clear and I returned to my recline, a little green worm dropped out of some low hanging branches and landed in my lap, causing me to jump up once again.
I had spent the better part of a half an hour swatting and shooing and bobbing and weaving, while Hubsy just looked on from his laid back chair. Finally he stood and opened the door for me, chuckling and asking ... "are you done loving the nature yet?"
A couple of days ago, we went for a nice walk in the woods on a warm, sunny day. As my feet moseyed along my eyes jumped from the top of the tall pines, to the geese that migrated by, to the underbrush from which echoed the flute like call of a blue jay. Butterflies fluttered past and petals dropped from tree limbs onto the path before us. Every so often Mother Nature's heavy perfume drifted on the breeze and swirled all around me. I was deeply soul stirred by the experience, and inspired to discover the origin of that scent. As we walked on, I stopped to sniff at various leaves on trees, bushes, wild flowers on the ground, to no avail. And then the fragrance would swirl again. I was so frustrated by not being able to locate this glorious scent that has captivated me, and yet I was so captivated, I stopped in my spot, stomped a foot, and erupted with a truly heart felt "Son-of-a-Bitch." Well Hubsy stopped as well, and looked back to see what had gone wrong. Had I been bitten? Had I tripped? Was I in pain of some sort? No. "It smells so freaking good!", (but I didn't say freaking).
Well Hubsy began to chuckle again. He took a few steps back to where I stood, and put his arm around my shoulder, and gently encouraged me to continue walking down the path towards home. "I thought you loved nature." he commented. "I do." I responded. He laughed, "But you're cursing at it." Yes I did. I just couldn't take it, in that one momentary instant of time I couldn't find a better way to express the intensity of my emotion, and that's how it came out. "I love the way you love nature" he said ... so angrily."
And just in case you're really interested, it turned out to be pockets of jasmine sporadically vining along the path, hidden amongst all the other new shoots. A treasure worth hunting for, dammit!
Saturday, May 4, 2013
Wednesday, August 8, 2012
Clapping The Erasers
I need to confess that I had written this post back in April or May. Something must've distracted me, as there are many things in my life that have that power, and so it sat, amongst the other drafts in my post list all this time. I recently realized that I have been neglecting FascinationEarth, and I am trying very hard to break that pattern. So, let me not keep you any longer, please read on...
It was around seven o'clock, and a few of us still loitered around the table, finished with the meal, but not yet motivated to move on. As it often does, my gaze traveled to the triple window in the dining room, to marvel at the western view, searching through the trees for the bare wood footbridge that stretches across the marshland. It's where the deer emerge, and then follow the creek up into our back yard. It's where the moccasins arch their backs up out of the high grass to warm their skin in the Springtime sun. But something was different this time.
I thought perhaps the warm water, heated by recent summer like temperatures had mingled with the cool air, brought on by an earlier rain, and had created a heavy mist that hung over the marsh and wafted through the trees. But that wasn't it. It was thick, and hard to see through, so I thought perhaps that a rain cloud had stalled over the marsh and released it's gentle shower just there, in that one spot, not moving toward the houses, or the highway. But that wasn't it. I stood and moved to the window in the kitchen, looking out at the north side of the neighborhood. The cloud hung there too. I thought perhaps a fire smoldered nearby, letting the smoke carry off on the wings of the wind. But that wasn't it. Last year we could smell the smoke from wild fires burning on the coast, nearly a hundred and fifty miles away. On this evening, there was no scent of smoke.
I was stumped, in a serious way. What was this mysterious fog that hung low in the air, and silently slink'ed around the trunks of the tall oaks, and taller pines? From my back porch, I watched the cloud, slightly tinted in a light spring green, drift from the west marsh to the eastern woods, enveloping my yard, my porch, my body, along it's way. It was then that I knew what it was.
It was odorless, and near tasteless, too, but the consistency was unmistakable on my tongue. That ever so slight grit of chalk. Suddenly it all made sense. Mother Nature had spent the last few weeks erasing the signs of winter (however mild they may have been), and now she was out there clapping the erasers. Now, for those of you who don't believe in such things, let me put it another way. Every pine tree within a three mile radius had shuffled in the evening breeze, that was so gentle you wouldn't have even noticed it if you hadn't been looking very, very closely. I was looking, and I saw it. I also saw the wispy puff of yellow "smoke" that erupted from those evergreen needles. Pine pollen.
Fifteen minutes after the greenish cloud passed over the neighborhood, my husband and I stepped into the driveway, preparing to make a quick run to the store, only to find our black car completely dusted in yellow. The yellow dust kicked up behind each car that traveled up the road. Everything we saw from here to there and back again, was covered.
That night, while closing the doors and windows, it occurred to me that I had had them open all day. Every surface in my home now bares a yellow layer, that did not previously exist, as I had just dusted everything the day before. I had even shampooed the carpets... which I now must do again.
Since we all suffer the symptoms of those pesky seasonal allergies ...'Tis the season of the sinus infection! Happy Spring everyone!
It was around seven o'clock, and a few of us still loitered around the table, finished with the meal, but not yet motivated to move on. As it often does, my gaze traveled to the triple window in the dining room, to marvel at the western view, searching through the trees for the bare wood footbridge that stretches across the marshland. It's where the deer emerge, and then follow the creek up into our back yard. It's where the moccasins arch their backs up out of the high grass to warm their skin in the Springtime sun. But something was different this time.
I thought perhaps the warm water, heated by recent summer like temperatures had mingled with the cool air, brought on by an earlier rain, and had created a heavy mist that hung over the marsh and wafted through the trees. But that wasn't it. It was thick, and hard to see through, so I thought perhaps that a rain cloud had stalled over the marsh and released it's gentle shower just there, in that one spot, not moving toward the houses, or the highway. But that wasn't it. I stood and moved to the window in the kitchen, looking out at the north side of the neighborhood. The cloud hung there too. I thought perhaps a fire smoldered nearby, letting the smoke carry off on the wings of the wind. But that wasn't it. Last year we could smell the smoke from wild fires burning on the coast, nearly a hundred and fifty miles away. On this evening, there was no scent of smoke.
I was stumped, in a serious way. What was this mysterious fog that hung low in the air, and silently slink'ed around the trunks of the tall oaks, and taller pines? From my back porch, I watched the cloud, slightly tinted in a light spring green, drift from the west marsh to the eastern woods, enveloping my yard, my porch, my body, along it's way. It was then that I knew what it was.
It was odorless, and near tasteless, too, but the consistency was unmistakable on my tongue. That ever so slight grit of chalk. Suddenly it all made sense. Mother Nature had spent the last few weeks erasing the signs of winter (however mild they may have been), and now she was out there clapping the erasers. Now, for those of you who don't believe in such things, let me put it another way. Every pine tree within a three mile radius had shuffled in the evening breeze, that was so gentle you wouldn't have even noticed it if you hadn't been looking very, very closely. I was looking, and I saw it. I also saw the wispy puff of yellow "smoke" that erupted from those evergreen needles. Pine pollen.
Fifteen minutes after the greenish cloud passed over the neighborhood, my husband and I stepped into the driveway, preparing to make a quick run to the store, only to find our black car completely dusted in yellow. The yellow dust kicked up behind each car that traveled up the road. Everything we saw from here to there and back again, was covered.
That night, while closing the doors and windows, it occurred to me that I had had them open all day. Every surface in my home now bares a yellow layer, that did not previously exist, as I had just dusted everything the day before. I had even shampooed the carpets... which I now must do again.
Since we all suffer the symptoms of those pesky seasonal allergies ...'Tis the season of the sinus infection! Happy Spring everyone!
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