It's been in the air for about a month now: crisp evening air, sometimes dropping into the high thirties, sharper shadows and the light through the trees looking different, increased breezes blowing around the leaves that are falling. It is definitely autumn. The birds and animals all know it and are going at berries and stashing stores. The yellow jackets are dying off. The moles seem much more active as they fill up on worms and grubs. Ms Kitty is taking advantage of some of our wild friends who are becoming more reckless in their search for winter provisions. She shows up more often with her leftovers: mice, moles, and chipmunks. Burrows are opening all over. We are now hearing ducks and geese fly overhead. Last weekend we had a visit from seven turkeys. Tree frogs serenade us every evening. Deer also seem to be more present.
We're enjoying blackberries and raspberries now. What was driving us nuts earlier in the Summer is now a bonanza of berries. When we remember we bring boxes with us when we go get our newspaper and mail in the morning and load them up with berries. Most go into the freezer, but lots are eaten before they hit the boxes or go into our breakfasts.
The pace of things is slowing down and we can feel the itch to be done with all the outdoor work and turn more inward. Soon we'll be getting freezes so there is work to be done to protect our late season crops (broccoli, chard, kale, spinach, and salad greens are what we're doing this year) and we also need to get our garlic and shallots in. We had a bit of rain last Sunday and we have to get ready for when the rains really come. We've had a couple of days of decent rain and the pond is starting to fill up again. The last of summer warmth seems to be fading fast, from now on it will probably be warm spells in the midst of the progression towards cold.
We are now into our first full cycle of seasons. As I think about it I am aware how much our activities have been a function of the season. I guess country living is like this, especially if you are going to grow as much of your food as you can and have a large woodland flower garden to tend. Then there's just having all the land to take care of. I am happily awaiting Winter and the in-dwelling that comes with it.
drive
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
Thursday, August 11, 2011
Bats
Yesterday bats made it to our "what do we do about this?" list.
I was working in the attic with my son Jacob finishing an old job of putting up insulation. This was after finally getting around to putting screens on the attic windows. As we were stapling the insulation onto the rafters we seemed to have disturbed some bats that had taken up residence. Off went the screens and luckily the bats flew out. What we didn't know was whether there were more there or whether there were dependent young there. If we put the screens back up any bats inside would die. I read that the young, who are born in June, are usually fully functional by August. We decided to leave the screens off until evening, when they ought to have gone out. It was the best I could think to do.
Later that evening we found another flying around our zendo. It probably got downstairs sometime when the attic door was open. We got the screens off the windows and got all the windows open. It wasn't so easy, but the bat finally figured out how to get out.
Still I kept thinking about whether there were others up there stuck. Today, almost a week later, there was a pretty weakened bat on the attic floor. Catherine and I were able to coax it into a box and get it outside. We put the box atop a bird bath, hoping it could get to some water. It then curled up in the back of the box. I was a bit pessimistic about it's chances.
Life and death is one of the constants out here. Our cat brought us a special catch the other day: a rabbit. While Peter Rabbit's father ended up in Mr. McGregor's stew pot this one, nameless (as if rabbits in the wild need names), got a simple burial and the Dai Shin Dharani. Every time we go into town we pass road kill, usually raccoons or possums, but once a deer. Tuesday night I almost ran over an opossum. I'm beginning to get life and death, which is to say that while it's not easy to accept in its raw form, I'm learning how to see that it is a natural state of affairs. As Catherine says in one of our meal verses "turned in the wheel of living and dying"; well I'm seeing that wheel turn again and again and am increasingly seeing that there is no separation between life and death.
Morning end note: the bat left the box in the night and hopefully got its fill of 500-1000 mosquitoes.
I was working in the attic with my son Jacob finishing an old job of putting up insulation. This was after finally getting around to putting screens on the attic windows. As we were stapling the insulation onto the rafters we seemed to have disturbed some bats that had taken up residence. Off went the screens and luckily the bats flew out. What we didn't know was whether there were more there or whether there were dependent young there. If we put the screens back up any bats inside would die. I read that the young, who are born in June, are usually fully functional by August. We decided to leave the screens off until evening, when they ought to have gone out. It was the best I could think to do.
Later that evening we found another flying around our zendo. It probably got downstairs sometime when the attic door was open. We got the screens off the windows and got all the windows open. It wasn't so easy, but the bat finally figured out how to get out.
Still I kept thinking about whether there were others up there stuck. Today, almost a week later, there was a pretty weakened bat on the attic floor. Catherine and I were able to coax it into a box and get it outside. We put the box atop a bird bath, hoping it could get to some water. It then curled up in the back of the box. I was a bit pessimistic about it's chances.
Life and death is one of the constants out here. Our cat brought us a special catch the other day: a rabbit. While Peter Rabbit's father ended up in Mr. McGregor's stew pot this one, nameless (as if rabbits in the wild need names), got a simple burial and the Dai Shin Dharani. Every time we go into town we pass road kill, usually raccoons or possums, but once a deer. Tuesday night I almost ran over an opossum. I'm beginning to get life and death, which is to say that while it's not easy to accept in its raw form, I'm learning how to see that it is a natural state of affairs. As Catherine says in one of our meal verses "turned in the wheel of living and dying"; well I'm seeing that wheel turn again and again and am increasingly seeing that there is no separation between life and death.
Morning end note: the bat left the box in the night and hopefully got its fill of 500-1000 mosquitoes.
Monday, August 1, 2011
Drums
A couple of weeks ago there was a talk given at Empty Field Zendo (the zendo is at an organic farm eight miles from us). The talk was given by a Native American named Mala Spotted Eagle, who is half Shoshone and half Cherokee and who has a community(Nanish Shontie) near the farm that focuses on maintaining Native American traditional culture and spirituality and works to be what we nowadays call a sustainable and ecologically sound community, but for them is simply living with a Native American respect for Mother Earth.
His talk stressed the importance of being aware that everything we do affects everything else in this world and that everything we have comes from the bounty of life on this fragile planet. He spoke of the traditional ways as not coming from a "religion," but rather from a spiritual way of life: a way of life that holds that each little act should be done with the awareness of its connection to everything and that nothing should be treated simply as an object. A wonderful statement he made about experiencing things: just experience them from start to finish without thinking about them, there will be plenty of time later to think about the experience. I don't do justice to the simple and elegant way he expressed this. A fine Buddhist talk.
After he talked he led us in some "inter-tribal" songs with his drumming. The important thing about the drumming and singing is to keep subject of the song in your heart and sing from there: if it was a deer song you sang to the deer from your heart. Just honoring everything, it sounds so simple but my monkey mind often gets in the way.
A few days later at his community there was an afternoon of drumming and songs. Catherine and I went. There were about a dozen of us around two drums and we all drummed together and sang the songs. Whole hearted practice, singing and drumming with the ears, letting the voice and hands follow.
We had another drumming experience the next week. Early in the week Catherine and I heard some odd noises that sounded like drums, but may also have been some odd machines. I walked around our lane to try to get some idea of where the sounds came from, to no avail. But the sounds kept going, all day and into the night. We thought about it, forgot about it, thought about it, eventually thinking less and forgetting more. Jake and Leslie came and visited later in the week and they heard it and wondered. By Friday evening we were really wondering what it could be. We were sitting outside around dusk when Catherine gets her car keys and says she's going to find out what was going on. She had a hunch. We piled into the car and drove off, headed towards Camp Serene, a Lutheran camp about a mile from us. We'd stop the car and listen carefully for the sounds. They led us to Camp Serene. A bit down the road from the main entrance there were the drums and a big camp fire. But what was it? A Lutheran rave? We headed home and Leslie did some web searching and found out that there was a week long drumming camp going on, the twenty third annual drum camp. No frenzied Lutherans, they were just renting their space out. So next year when the drums begin we'll know that it's just the twenty fourth annual drum camp.
In telling the story over at Horton Organic Farm, where Empty Field Zendo is, we found out that in the valley over from them folks let there place be used a couple of times a year for raves. All day and all night and damned loud. It's amazing how sound travels out these ways.
Country living isn't always peaceful and quiet.
His talk stressed the importance of being aware that everything we do affects everything else in this world and that everything we have comes from the bounty of life on this fragile planet. He spoke of the traditional ways as not coming from a "religion," but rather from a spiritual way of life: a way of life that holds that each little act should be done with the awareness of its connection to everything and that nothing should be treated simply as an object. A wonderful statement he made about experiencing things: just experience them from start to finish without thinking about them, there will be plenty of time later to think about the experience. I don't do justice to the simple and elegant way he expressed this. A fine Buddhist talk.
After he talked he led us in some "inter-tribal" songs with his drumming. The important thing about the drumming and singing is to keep subject of the song in your heart and sing from there: if it was a deer song you sang to the deer from your heart. Just honoring everything, it sounds so simple but my monkey mind often gets in the way.
A few days later at his community there was an afternoon of drumming and songs. Catherine and I went. There were about a dozen of us around two drums and we all drummed together and sang the songs. Whole hearted practice, singing and drumming with the ears, letting the voice and hands follow.
We had another drumming experience the next week. Early in the week Catherine and I heard some odd noises that sounded like drums, but may also have been some odd machines. I walked around our lane to try to get some idea of where the sounds came from, to no avail. But the sounds kept going, all day and into the night. We thought about it, forgot about it, thought about it, eventually thinking less and forgetting more. Jake and Leslie came and visited later in the week and they heard it and wondered. By Friday evening we were really wondering what it could be. We were sitting outside around dusk when Catherine gets her car keys and says she's going to find out what was going on. She had a hunch. We piled into the car and drove off, headed towards Camp Serene, a Lutheran camp about a mile from us. We'd stop the car and listen carefully for the sounds. They led us to Camp Serene. A bit down the road from the main entrance there were the drums and a big camp fire. But what was it? A Lutheran rave? We headed home and Leslie did some web searching and found out that there was a week long drumming camp going on, the twenty third annual drum camp. No frenzied Lutherans, they were just renting their space out. So next year when the drums begin we'll know that it's just the twenty fourth annual drum camp.
In telling the story over at Horton Organic Farm, where Empty Field Zendo is, we found out that in the valley over from them folks let there place be used a couple of times a year for raves. All day and all night and damned loud. It's amazing how sound travels out these ways.
Country living isn't always peaceful and quiet.
Monday, July 11, 2011
Back Home
I've been back home for almost two weeks after being in California for two weeks. When I left I wasn't sure whether Spring would move into summer and whether the vegetables would ever grow. When I got home the local flora took off, with the warm loving vegetables still hanging back. What it did mean was that there was a lot of weeding and pruning to do and a lot of the grasses in our little meadows going to seed at five feet in height. I think I'm caught up now, especially after getting the John Deere going with help from our neighbor Mike, and we finally have warm weather. The tomatoes and peppers are now growing and we're feasting on various greens from the garden. Buying produce is becoming a memory.
The chickadees that were working on a nest in the lawn post gave up that task, I do hope they found a better place. The hen house chickadee chicks have fledged as have the house wren chicks. I keep finding new wasps nests and butterflies galore are dancing through the garden. The woods continue to be alive with many different birds' songs and we find new wildflowers all around.
We've had no new episodes of hens eating eggs, so I'm relieved, but I have a deepened awareness of the wheel of life and death and my place within it.
The Sunday before last we went to a Jukai ceremony at Empty Field Zendo where Patricia, who sits with us Tuesday morning, received the precepts. It was a wonderfully powerful and intimate affair and moving as these ceremonies always are. Patricia is a student of Seido Martin, a lay transmitted disciple of Kyogen Carlsen. Kyogen was there and it was good to get to meet him and have the chance to talk to him. There is good strong practice happening up this way and we are gradually getting to meet what is becoming our extended Oregon sangha. So much is opening up as we establish our own practice here. All this with no planning.
The chickadees that were working on a nest in the lawn post gave up that task, I do hope they found a better place. The hen house chickadee chicks have fledged as have the house wren chicks. I keep finding new wasps nests and butterflies galore are dancing through the garden. The woods continue to be alive with many different birds' songs and we find new wildflowers all around.
We've had no new episodes of hens eating eggs, so I'm relieved, but I have a deepened awareness of the wheel of life and death and my place within it.
The Sunday before last we went to a Jukai ceremony at Empty Field Zendo where Patricia, who sits with us Tuesday morning, received the precepts. It was a wonderfully powerful and intimate affair and moving as these ceremonies always are. Patricia is a student of Seido Martin, a lay transmitted disciple of Kyogen Carlsen. Kyogen was there and it was good to get to meet him and have the chance to talk to him. There is good strong practice happening up this way and we are gradually getting to meet what is becoming our extended Oregon sangha. So much is opening up as we establish our own practice here. All this with no planning.
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
Hens, Chickadees, and Mountain Men
A month ago we had a period of soul searching about our hens. Catherine announced one morning that one of the hens had eaten an egg. It doesn't seem like such a big deal at first, but it is actually a serious problem if you raise hens for eggs, as we do. They do like the taste and pretty soon the whole flock does it. Chicken books put this problem in the category of cannibalism (chickens will eat each other). Catherine has a friend who had a similar problem, but delayed action and the one egg eater initiated the others into the pleasures of egg eating. Chicken books all say that you have to remove the egg eater as soon as you can determine who it is. We swung into action. I made what I call our mini Guantanamo in the pump house and we both watched and watched, trying to find out who the culprit was. The important thing is finding the culprit and isolating her, but what then? The term the "experts" use is cull the hen from the flock. Cull is a nice word for getting rid of the chicken, i.e. killing her. If someone would take her it would only be for the meat, unless we lied about her situation.
So, here we have two Buddhist priests with a dilemma. Our hens aren't pets, they are parts of our household economy. Around here they are a part of most everyone's household economy and many of our neighbors depend on them for eggs and meat. Hunting, raising animals for meat, and small vegetable gardens are important in people's lives in ways that have been alien to this city guy.
We lucked out as the egg eating seems to have been a one time thing, but in the back of my mind I am aware that I may have to face this issue again. All I can say now is that I don't know what I would do.
We have some other egg layers around here.
In our lawn we have a post, about six feet high. It is the base of a tree that was cut down and is quite dead. Our cat likes to climb up to the top, as do my kids. A few weeks ago a chickadee decided that it would be a good spot for a nest (nesting season seems to get started in May around here) and she began to excavate a cavity. Day after day she would dig out her site. I first became aware of her work not by seeing her, but by hearing the tap tap of her work. The cavity got bigger and bigger and I was getting excited about having a nest I could see from my desk. I also was worried about our cat, so I strung up a fence of chicken wire around the post to keep the cat out. The chickadee began to get skittish about her site when tree swallows went zooming around the place looking for nest sites, but she continued her work. Then, she stopped showing up for work. I'm guessing that she realized what we realized: her site was very open to predators and had too much activity going on around it. So she apparently abandoned the site and, I hoped, found a better site elsewhere.
Birds and animals aren't the only interesting living beings out here. We have mountain men out here, independent and fairly self-sufficient folks.
About three or four miles down the road from us there's a fellow who is often having a yard sale (Catherine refers to it as the perpetual yard sale). So last Friday on the way home from picking up Deborah from the airport we stopped at the yard sale. This fellow comes out. He's got on a large floppy leather hat, a droopy mustache, and longish hair. Large and somewhat lumbering with what seems to be only one tooth on his lower jaw. Patricia, the woman who sits with us on Tuesday mornings told us that the fellow had a lot of skillets that he finds and restores. Well it was cast iron heaven. We talked about cast iron and skillets and he showed us some that were very old and beautifully restored. He has lived as a hunter and also as a restorer of muskets and cast iron, and showing folks how to use these.
I think our listening got him inspired and he then went into a tale about a Mountain Man Rendezvous (a get together of people who try to maintain and re-enact the lives of people in the early nineteenth century) during winter.
We were told that the wind chill factor was twenty below. There were a couple of sections to the site: the primitive area (using nothing that came after 1840) and the area merchants were. He was there showing his 300 plus collection of muskets in a 30x40 tent. He set up a butane heater and enjoyed the day with a couple of friends. In pops a woman in buckskin who tells him he can't have that heater, he tells her he wasn't in the primitive area and he damned well can. They have a good squabble and she storms out. It turns out that the woman was the wife of one of the fellows he was with. She comes back later a bit huffy, but goes over to the heater to warm her hands. He gets up and turns the heater off, followed by another scene. She does come back the next day and apologizes and they become good friends when when they learn they have an interest in beads.
I have the feeling that this is a mountain man tall tale or a stretch of what happened . I don't know what really happened, but he's a pretty good story teller.
As I'm writing this the chickadee has reappeared to work on the nesting cavity. Meanwhile we have another bird house where another chickadee is sitting on her eggs. Right now I'm just wondering how long it's going to take to finish the cavity.
End Note: I took a break from editing this and went outside to do some work. I found another eaten egg. No more editing of this; just being here with this awful feeling in the pit of my stomach.
So, here we have two Buddhist priests with a dilemma. Our hens aren't pets, they are parts of our household economy. Around here they are a part of most everyone's household economy and many of our neighbors depend on them for eggs and meat. Hunting, raising animals for meat, and small vegetable gardens are important in people's lives in ways that have been alien to this city guy.
We lucked out as the egg eating seems to have been a one time thing, but in the back of my mind I am aware that I may have to face this issue again. All I can say now is that I don't know what I would do.
We have some other egg layers around here.
In our lawn we have a post, about six feet high. It is the base of a tree that was cut down and is quite dead. Our cat likes to climb up to the top, as do my kids. A few weeks ago a chickadee decided that it would be a good spot for a nest (nesting season seems to get started in May around here) and she began to excavate a cavity. Day after day she would dig out her site. I first became aware of her work not by seeing her, but by hearing the tap tap of her work. The cavity got bigger and bigger and I was getting excited about having a nest I could see from my desk. I also was worried about our cat, so I strung up a fence of chicken wire around the post to keep the cat out. The chickadee began to get skittish about her site when tree swallows went zooming around the place looking for nest sites, but she continued her work. Then, she stopped showing up for work. I'm guessing that she realized what we realized: her site was very open to predators and had too much activity going on around it. So she apparently abandoned the site and, I hoped, found a better site elsewhere.
Birds and animals aren't the only interesting living beings out here. We have mountain men out here, independent and fairly self-sufficient folks.
About three or four miles down the road from us there's a fellow who is often having a yard sale (Catherine refers to it as the perpetual yard sale). So last Friday on the way home from picking up Deborah from the airport we stopped at the yard sale. This fellow comes out. He's got on a large floppy leather hat, a droopy mustache, and longish hair. Large and somewhat lumbering with what seems to be only one tooth on his lower jaw. Patricia, the woman who sits with us on Tuesday mornings told us that the fellow had a lot of skillets that he finds and restores. Well it was cast iron heaven. We talked about cast iron and skillets and he showed us some that were very old and beautifully restored. He has lived as a hunter and also as a restorer of muskets and cast iron, and showing folks how to use these.
I think our listening got him inspired and he then went into a tale about a Mountain Man Rendezvous (a get together of people who try to maintain and re-enact the lives of people in the early nineteenth century) during winter.
We were told that the wind chill factor was twenty below. There were a couple of sections to the site: the primitive area (using nothing that came after 1840) and the area merchants were. He was there showing his 300 plus collection of muskets in a 30x40 tent. He set up a butane heater and enjoyed the day with a couple of friends. In pops a woman in buckskin who tells him he can't have that heater, he tells her he wasn't in the primitive area and he damned well can. They have a good squabble and she storms out. It turns out that the woman was the wife of one of the fellows he was with. She comes back later a bit huffy, but goes over to the heater to warm her hands. He gets up and turns the heater off, followed by another scene. She does come back the next day and apologizes and they become good friends when when they learn they have an interest in beads.
I have the feeling that this is a mountain man tall tale or a stretch of what happened . I don't know what really happened, but he's a pretty good story teller.
As I'm writing this the chickadee has reappeared to work on the nesting cavity. Meanwhile we have another bird house where another chickadee is sitting on her eggs. Right now I'm just wondering how long it's going to take to finish the cavity.
End Note: I took a break from editing this and went outside to do some work. I found another eaten egg. No more editing of this; just being here with this awful feeling in the pit of my stomach.
Friday, April 29, 2011
Spring
I haven't written anything for some time. I've been busy and away, but mainly dealing with Spring.
So, I've been thinking about this season called Spring. The calendar says it is a new season and it is called one. It is true that the days are getting longer (it's not getting dark here until almost 8:30) and flowers, both wild and cultivated, are blooming, and trees are budding. But, being out here reminds me of what I remember of Spring back in the Northeast: not a season as much as a transition, and a messy transition at that. The weather has been going from warmer and sunny to colder and wet. We are still getting frosts and last week we had another hail storm. It was characteristic of Spring as a transition: at noon it was sunny and the temperature was in the mid fifties, an hour later it dropped to the mid forties and began to hail, the sun then came out, and within an hour we had rain mixed with snow.
The birds also say that it is a new season. The woods are full of bird songs, most of which I've never heard before. In the early morning the crows gather in the tree tops and caw enthusiastically before flying off to some other place. At dusk the birds are lustily singing again and we've begun to hear an owl somewhere off in the woods (by the sound and is considered common around here it's probably a Barred Owl). Then there's a Rufous Hummingbird showing up from time to time. There's a frog croaking mightily in the pond at dusk. Our cat brought us a Spring gift the other week: a mole. I was happy about that gift as moles are a big nuisance here. I don't mind them in the woods, but my garden? No way. I reminds me of the bit I wrote some time ago about "whose place is this?" I feel a pang when I consider being happy about the cat's mole hunting. And the truth is that moles haven't been a problem (yet) in the garden. I don't think about her bird hunting the same way. I've got my preferences and likes and dislikes these keep me from seeing this hunting as a part of the natural world.
Then there is the garden. I'm still going to have to protect against frosts, but I feel good to be getting things planted. Weeds are also taking off. Having a garden here also requires a lot of defensive maneuvers. The two main problems are the deer and the hens. I have finally been able to foil the hens attempts at getting in and there is still more to do about the deer.
So let's get back to this thing called Spring. It is transience and unsettledness par excellence. Spring also is my impatience for the warmth of summer, whether that means shucking layers of clothing or planting vegetables. Spring is also about believing that today's weather will be tomorrow's when it's what I think is good. Spring is also that when this cold raw weather keeps returning summer will ever come.
I'm reminded of a children's book: "When is Tomorrow?" Right now is today and will always be today; right now today is 40 ish and rainy. But since I can't ever live in tomorrow I might as well try to live as thoroughly in the rainy forties as I can. The frogs and the birds certainly can.
So, I've been thinking about this season called Spring. The calendar says it is a new season and it is called one. It is true that the days are getting longer (it's not getting dark here until almost 8:30) and flowers, both wild and cultivated, are blooming, and trees are budding. But, being out here reminds me of what I remember of Spring back in the Northeast: not a season as much as a transition, and a messy transition at that. The weather has been going from warmer and sunny to colder and wet. We are still getting frosts and last week we had another hail storm. It was characteristic of Spring as a transition: at noon it was sunny and the temperature was in the mid fifties, an hour later it dropped to the mid forties and began to hail, the sun then came out, and within an hour we had rain mixed with snow.
The birds also say that it is a new season. The woods are full of bird songs, most of which I've never heard before. In the early morning the crows gather in the tree tops and caw enthusiastically before flying off to some other place. At dusk the birds are lustily singing again and we've begun to hear an owl somewhere off in the woods (by the sound and is considered common around here it's probably a Barred Owl). Then there's a Rufous Hummingbird showing up from time to time. There's a frog croaking mightily in the pond at dusk. Our cat brought us a Spring gift the other week: a mole. I was happy about that gift as moles are a big nuisance here. I don't mind them in the woods, but my garden? No way. I reminds me of the bit I wrote some time ago about "whose place is this?" I feel a pang when I consider being happy about the cat's mole hunting. And the truth is that moles haven't been a problem (yet) in the garden. I don't think about her bird hunting the same way. I've got my preferences and likes and dislikes these keep me from seeing this hunting as a part of the natural world.
Then there is the garden. I'm still going to have to protect against frosts, but I feel good to be getting things planted. Weeds are also taking off. Having a garden here also requires a lot of defensive maneuvers. The two main problems are the deer and the hens. I have finally been able to foil the hens attempts at getting in and there is still more to do about the deer.
So let's get back to this thing called Spring. It is transience and unsettledness par excellence. Spring also is my impatience for the warmth of summer, whether that means shucking layers of clothing or planting vegetables. Spring is also about believing that today's weather will be tomorrow's when it's what I think is good. Spring is also that when this cold raw weather keeps returning summer will ever come.
I'm reminded of a children's book: "When is Tomorrow?" Right now is today and will always be today; right now today is 40 ish and rainy. But since I can't ever live in tomorrow I might as well try to live as thoroughly in the rainy forties as I can. The frogs and the birds certainly can.
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
A visit from Mary Lou
Mary Lou Goertzen and her son David visited the other day.
Mary Lou is 81 and has lived on Deadwood Creek Road along Deadwood Creek in Deadwood Oregon for over 35 years, across from where Catherine and her family had a farm. Mary Lou, her husband Ernie, and their three children settled there from Berkeley a year or so after Catherine settled there.
Ernie has died and Mary Lou still misses him. He is buried under a tree on their property and Mary Lou often goes there and sings. She has a beautiful voice, strong and clear at 81 years. She lives in what was an old one room schoolhouse and David lives in a cottage on the place. A daughter Anya lives nearby.
Mary Lou and Ernie came from Mennonite families Kansas and later became Quakers. Mary Lou is an artist, as was Ernie.
When you meet her you meet a presence, the quiet and clear presence of someone who is totally at home with who she is and where she stands. You sit up and pay attention. You feel good being with her and happy to share conversation with her. A quibbling and contentious person like me has no interest in being quibbling and contentious.
Because we live where we do there aren't many folks around and visits don't happen often. Because they happen less often they stand out more and this helps me appreciate them more. Perhaps some day I'll appreciate them all regardless of how often they happen, but this is how it is now and I'm simply enjoying it. Especially when Mary Lou visits.
Mary Lou is 81 and has lived on Deadwood Creek Road along Deadwood Creek in Deadwood Oregon for over 35 years, across from where Catherine and her family had a farm. Mary Lou, her husband Ernie, and their three children settled there from Berkeley a year or so after Catherine settled there.
Ernie has died and Mary Lou still misses him. He is buried under a tree on their property and Mary Lou often goes there and sings. She has a beautiful voice, strong and clear at 81 years. She lives in what was an old one room schoolhouse and David lives in a cottage on the place. A daughter Anya lives nearby.
Mary Lou and Ernie came from Mennonite families Kansas and later became Quakers. Mary Lou is an artist, as was Ernie.
When you meet her you meet a presence, the quiet and clear presence of someone who is totally at home with who she is and where she stands. You sit up and pay attention. You feel good being with her and happy to share conversation with her. A quibbling and contentious person like me has no interest in being quibbling and contentious.
Because we live where we do there aren't many folks around and visits don't happen often. Because they happen less often they stand out more and this helps me appreciate them more. Perhaps some day I'll appreciate them all regardless of how often they happen, but this is how it is now and I'm simply enjoying it. Especially when Mary Lou visits.
Monday, March 14, 2011
Daffodils and Lambs
After our morning zazen we do bows to the altar. This morning as we were preparing to do them I saw a large doe munching around the lawn. We both stopped and watched her as she worked her way across the grass and back into the woods. A pretty nice way to experience the night giving way to the day.
We made a trip into Cottage Grove, nearly fifty miles away, to Territorial Seed Company, a West Coast gardener's paradise. We bought a lot of things we need and then tooled around town. We happened upon a cafe and wanted coffee and something to munch on. We peered in and then entered. The young fellow at the counter asked "did we pass the peek test?" It did. The space was made up of three different businesses: the cafe, a used book store, and a club called "The Axe and Fiddle." The club has a very Celtic flavor, mainly Irish and hosted groups with names like "Strangled Darlings." They were pushing their March 17th St Patrick's Day party. I'm sure it's going to be a great party. We were both very happy to have ended up there, especially as the coffee and eats were great.
Besides the cafe, club, and bookstore we came across "West Coast Machine Guns." Judging from the imposing grill over all their windows I'm inclined to say that their business was machine guns. We didn't go in to find out. Catherine tells me that Cottage Grove has a reputation as a tough place. Right now Main Street looks like it's getting what we euphemistically call revitalized.
Once home we agreed that it was a good trip and that we were happy to be back. The sun was shining and at the south end of the house a hard rain was falling and at the north end just the sun.
Daffodils are a big deal around here and every year Junction City (about 15 miles from us and not what anyone would call a city, hence it is known locally as Junction) has a daffodil festival. So off we went to see the daffodil festival at the Long Tom Grange (the Long Tom is a local river), driving along a road the sides of which were loaded with daffodils. It was cool and rainy, normal for this time of year, but that didn't seem to deter anyone from the festivities. Inside the grange was a wonderful display of quilts, cinnamon buns, and coffee and a fellow playing the accordion. And lots of folks. Outside were lots of crafts folks, people selling food, and a delightful tuba band. Llamas were also on hand. There are lots of them around here, kept to guard flocks of sheep.
Speaking of sheep this is lambing season. And that brings me to another part of our trip to the festival.
We stopped at a Feed and Seed, they're about as common around here as a 7-Eleven, to get more cat food. We walked around, checked out the chicks, this is the time of year people get new chicks, and got our cat food. The woman at the checkout mentioned a box in the back with a lamb. We went over and looked and then heard the story. Two days prior this lamb was born, but left by its mother. The woman's nine year old daughter found it and they tended to it and kept it alive. It has been staying in their home by the stove (most people here heat with wood stoves) being bottle fed. The woman has been up most of the nights with it, but is working to keep it alive and healthy (Catherine tells me it is a most unhealthy looking lamb). They have named her Miracle. I should add that the nine year old girl has been helping with the lambing at her place and her grandfather's. I didn't ask, but I guess that she's also been going to school.
Talking to Catherine over lunch (at a place we agreed we would never go back to) I realized how much having a farm with livestock get's you intimately involved with birth and death. And involved so personally that you go out of your way to save and nurture back to life what nature would have been ready to discard. Memories of "Charlotte's Web" come up. Simply responding with an open heart to a crisis and responding with total undivided activity.
We made a trip into Cottage Grove, nearly fifty miles away, to Territorial Seed Company, a West Coast gardener's paradise. We bought a lot of things we need and then tooled around town. We happened upon a cafe and wanted coffee and something to munch on. We peered in and then entered. The young fellow at the counter asked "did we pass the peek test?" It did. The space was made up of three different businesses: the cafe, a used book store, and a club called "The Axe and Fiddle." The club has a very Celtic flavor, mainly Irish and hosted groups with names like "Strangled Darlings." They were pushing their March 17th St Patrick's Day party. I'm sure it's going to be a great party. We were both very happy to have ended up there, especially as the coffee and eats were great.
Besides the cafe, club, and bookstore we came across "West Coast Machine Guns." Judging from the imposing grill over all their windows I'm inclined to say that their business was machine guns. We didn't go in to find out. Catherine tells me that Cottage Grove has a reputation as a tough place. Right now Main Street looks like it's getting what we euphemistically call revitalized.
Once home we agreed that it was a good trip and that we were happy to be back. The sun was shining and at the south end of the house a hard rain was falling and at the north end just the sun.
Daffodils are a big deal around here and every year Junction City (about 15 miles from us and not what anyone would call a city, hence it is known locally as Junction) has a daffodil festival. So off we went to see the daffodil festival at the Long Tom Grange (the Long Tom is a local river), driving along a road the sides of which were loaded with daffodils. It was cool and rainy, normal for this time of year, but that didn't seem to deter anyone from the festivities. Inside the grange was a wonderful display of quilts, cinnamon buns, and coffee and a fellow playing the accordion. And lots of folks. Outside were lots of crafts folks, people selling food, and a delightful tuba band. Llamas were also on hand. There are lots of them around here, kept to guard flocks of sheep.
Speaking of sheep this is lambing season. And that brings me to another part of our trip to the festival.
We stopped at a Feed and Seed, they're about as common around here as a 7-Eleven, to get more cat food. We walked around, checked out the chicks, this is the time of year people get new chicks, and got our cat food. The woman at the checkout mentioned a box in the back with a lamb. We went over and looked and then heard the story. Two days prior this lamb was born, but left by its mother. The woman's nine year old daughter found it and they tended to it and kept it alive. It has been staying in their home by the stove (most people here heat with wood stoves) being bottle fed. The woman has been up most of the nights with it, but is working to keep it alive and healthy (Catherine tells me it is a most unhealthy looking lamb). They have named her Miracle. I should add that the nine year old girl has been helping with the lambing at her place and her grandfather's. I didn't ask, but I guess that she's also been going to school.
Talking to Catherine over lunch (at a place we agreed we would never go back to) I realized how much having a farm with livestock get's you intimately involved with birth and death. And involved so personally that you go out of your way to save and nurture back to life what nature would have been ready to discard. Memories of "Charlotte's Web" come up. Simply responding with an open heart to a crisis and responding with total undivided activity.
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
Back from a trip
It's a week since we got back home after a week and a half trip to Berkeley and this is the first I am able to sit down and write. I was wonderful seeing everyone and enjoying the company of close friends. It was also hard to leave our new home and a pleasure to return to it.
When we left it still felt like winter and we were able to dodge bad snow in the passes, but now it is starting to feel like Spring. Flowers and trees are beginning to open and the days are longer; even though the the temperature this morning was about 34 it is actually warming up. In Eugene, where the season is about 1-2 weeks ahead of us, people are planting snow peas and the daffodils are in full bloom. Most noticeable are the birds: we're hearing more different songs and seeing birds we've not seen before (Huttons' Vireo is one). That Varied Thrush is still around as are Robins and the Stellar's Jays are getting more active. The rabbits that live in the woods are out more so we can see them. Then there's kinky sex: seeing two newts in the pond mating. Definitely Spring is springing. The longer days have the hens laying more and us being out more.
Spring is one thing I really missed in Berkeley.
We are finding a delight in all the new things we are seeing and sounds we are hearing, such as all the different bird songs we heard today as we went to get our mail and newspaper. I found myself wondering "what kind of bird is that?" As I did that I realized that at that point I wasn't hearing the bird, but was trying to label and categorize what I had heard. I had stopped experiencing the sounds and being delighted and started thinking. Goodness only knows what I didn't hear or see while all that thinking was going on. So I'm going to try not to get too involved in the name attached to what I see or hear and just enjoy whatever it is. I sure can feel the itch to know, but I'll just try not to scratch it.
Right now five Barred Rock hens are pecking away on the lawn and I can't tell which is which. And I'm not going to try to figure out which one is which and give them each names. Hens, or "The Ladies" as I call them, is good enough.
When we left it still felt like winter and we were able to dodge bad snow in the passes, but now it is starting to feel like Spring. Flowers and trees are beginning to open and the days are longer; even though the the temperature this morning was about 34 it is actually warming up. In Eugene, where the season is about 1-2 weeks ahead of us, people are planting snow peas and the daffodils are in full bloom. Most noticeable are the birds: we're hearing more different songs and seeing birds we've not seen before (Huttons' Vireo is one). That Varied Thrush is still around as are Robins and the Stellar's Jays are getting more active. The rabbits that live in the woods are out more so we can see them. Then there's kinky sex: seeing two newts in the pond mating. Definitely Spring is springing. The longer days have the hens laying more and us being out more.
Spring is one thing I really missed in Berkeley.
We are finding a delight in all the new things we are seeing and sounds we are hearing, such as all the different bird songs we heard today as we went to get our mail and newspaper. I found myself wondering "what kind of bird is that?" As I did that I realized that at that point I wasn't hearing the bird, but was trying to label and categorize what I had heard. I had stopped experiencing the sounds and being delighted and started thinking. Goodness only knows what I didn't hear or see while all that thinking was going on. So I'm going to try not to get too involved in the name attached to what I see or hear and just enjoy whatever it is. I sure can feel the itch to know, but I'll just try not to scratch it.
Right now five Barred Rock hens are pecking away on the lawn and I can't tell which is which. And I'm not going to try to figure out which one is which and give them each names. Hens, or "The Ladies" as I call them, is good enough.
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
This place
It's an indoors day today. Finally we are getting more seasonable weather. When we got up this morning there was snow on the ground. The temperature was in the mid thirties and it began melting as a light drizzle began to fall. Yesterday was spent taking care of fencing around the garden and today with shelving another ten boxes of books.
No, I am not going to write about the hens. And no, I am especially not going to write about our finding fourteen eggs in a newly discovered nest under our pole barn (barn makes it sound more rustic than it is).
I've used the words settle and settling a number of times in this blog and I think they can be misleading.
What got me thinking about this is that I bought a new fruit tree last week and planted it. As I was digging the hole for it and then setting it in I had the thought that I was marking this place the way a dog marks territory. I was saying that planting this tree made this place mine. Well, that's a pretty poor understanding of the reality of this place. We have five acres here and maybe one is open, the rest is woods.
This place is inhabited, more or less permanently, by newts, frogs, moles, rabbits, mice, various birds, and unknown kinds of insects and micro-organisms. It is often visited by turkeys, weasels, raccoons, bears, and deer. Many of these beings, and their ancestors, have been established here long before I "took title" to this place and will continue their use of it long after I have left.
My settling here is a pretty short term affair that is blown out of proportion by my own sense of self importance. This idea is not some original insight. What I am experiencing here is an urge to settle in a way that is not possible. I want to establish myself here and extend my idea of self to include this land and thereby believe that I am more permanent than I am. I'll just try to get comfy here and settle into not being settled.
A couple of local bits from the weekend to be noted. Saturday we had breakfast at the local grange. This is a regular thing that helps support a local food program (there's been a big increase in the need for food support out here in the past couple of years) and it turns out that the Valentine's weekend breakfast is something of an attraction, at least for a vintage Ford V-8 club in Eugene. The grange folks are very friendly and focused on the community (for scale Cheshire covers 30+ square miles and has a population of about 1100) and have a great little library. The older folks do the cooking and the kids doing the serving. Payment is purely donation. We ate with Dwayne and his wife, who were part of the car club. He farms and drives trucks and was quite friendly.
After breakfast I burned a whole lot of yard debris hearing all sorts of gunfire, some of it obviously automatic. There was a "3D Shoot" about a mile from here. I don't think I want to know much about a 3-D Shoot. They did keep going all weekend. The big spreads in the Sunday paper ads for sporting goods are for guns and ammo.
Just finishing things up the next morning (it's Wednesday) as I had to go into Eugene last evening for what has become a regular Tuesday evening trip to Eugene Zendo. Right now there's a heavy wet snow fall. It's in the low thirties, so I don't expect it to stick, but it sure looks beautiful. If it keeps up it will be a wonderful walk to get our newspaper.
Last note: it's clear and sunny! Impermanence!
No, I am not going to write about the hens. And no, I am especially not going to write about our finding fourteen eggs in a newly discovered nest under our pole barn (barn makes it sound more rustic than it is).
I've used the words settle and settling a number of times in this blog and I think they can be misleading.
What got me thinking about this is that I bought a new fruit tree last week and planted it. As I was digging the hole for it and then setting it in I had the thought that I was marking this place the way a dog marks territory. I was saying that planting this tree made this place mine. Well, that's a pretty poor understanding of the reality of this place. We have five acres here and maybe one is open, the rest is woods.
This place is inhabited, more or less permanently, by newts, frogs, moles, rabbits, mice, various birds, and unknown kinds of insects and micro-organisms. It is often visited by turkeys, weasels, raccoons, bears, and deer. Many of these beings, and their ancestors, have been established here long before I "took title" to this place and will continue their use of it long after I have left.
My settling here is a pretty short term affair that is blown out of proportion by my own sense of self importance. This idea is not some original insight. What I am experiencing here is an urge to settle in a way that is not possible. I want to establish myself here and extend my idea of self to include this land and thereby believe that I am more permanent than I am. I'll just try to get comfy here and settle into not being settled.
A couple of local bits from the weekend to be noted. Saturday we had breakfast at the local grange. This is a regular thing that helps support a local food program (there's been a big increase in the need for food support out here in the past couple of years) and it turns out that the Valentine's weekend breakfast is something of an attraction, at least for a vintage Ford V-8 club in Eugene. The grange folks are very friendly and focused on the community (for scale Cheshire covers 30+ square miles and has a population of about 1100) and have a great little library. The older folks do the cooking and the kids doing the serving. Payment is purely donation. We ate with Dwayne and his wife, who were part of the car club. He farms and drives trucks and was quite friendly.
After breakfast I burned a whole lot of yard debris hearing all sorts of gunfire, some of it obviously automatic. There was a "3D Shoot" about a mile from here. I don't think I want to know much about a 3-D Shoot. They did keep going all weekend. The big spreads in the Sunday paper ads for sporting goods are for guns and ammo.
Just finishing things up the next morning (it's Wednesday) as I had to go into Eugene last evening for what has become a regular Tuesday evening trip to Eugene Zendo. Right now there's a heavy wet snow fall. It's in the low thirties, so I don't expect it to stick, but it sure looks beautiful. If it keeps up it will be a wonderful walk to get our newspaper.
Last note: it's clear and sunny! Impermanence!
Saturday, February 5, 2011
Hens and Chainsaws
We've got a real nice hen house here with a dandy roost and five nifty nesting boxes each lined with soft wood shavings. It's an comfy place for them to lay their eggs and that's pretty much what they've done up until now. They've tended to favor a couple of the nesting boxes and have been noted to lay their eggs on the house floor, but that's all. Until now, that is.
The shop here is an enclosed space in the pole barn and outside the shop are shelves with all sorts of tools and gear stored. It's a covered but open area. On the bottom shelf are our two chainsaws. It's a hard shelf, something you just wouldn't want to sit on. But hens are strange birds and for no good reason two of the hens have decided that that shelf and between the two saws is where they want to lay their eggs. I have to admit it, they just don't think the way I do about a good place to lay eggs.
There may be a reason they do this: when out during the day they like to hang out under the shop and it's a closer place to lay than a trip back to the hen house.
You may think I'm a bit obsessed with these hens and it's true that I find them fascinating, but there's more to it than that. There's a lot less going on out here, fewer distractions and action. So things like the hens, our cat, the birds, and the newts in the pond are more noticed. Even the constant activity of the moles, it all stands out more clearly. So if you're not trying to do too much all the time it's a lot easier to see what's in front of you. And sometimes it's amusing as all get out.
The shop here is an enclosed space in the pole barn and outside the shop are shelves with all sorts of tools and gear stored. It's a covered but open area. On the bottom shelf are our two chainsaws. It's a hard shelf, something you just wouldn't want to sit on. But hens are strange birds and for no good reason two of the hens have decided that that shelf and between the two saws is where they want to lay their eggs. I have to admit it, they just don't think the way I do about a good place to lay eggs.
There may be a reason they do this: when out during the day they like to hang out under the shop and it's a closer place to lay than a trip back to the hen house.
You may think I'm a bit obsessed with these hens and it's true that I find them fascinating, but there's more to it than that. There's a lot less going on out here, fewer distractions and action. So things like the hens, our cat, the birds, and the newts in the pond are more noticed. Even the constant activity of the moles, it all stands out more clearly. So if you're not trying to do too much all the time it's a lot easier to see what's in front of you. And sometimes it's amusing as all get out.
Thursday, February 3, 2011
A Flat Tire
It's a clear and cold winter morning. The sun is peeking through the trees, the hens are huddled under the shop, and wood shop kitty is still out on her evening jaunts.
Tuesday was one of those days we set aside for a trip to town for shopping and other things, as it's 25 miles each way we try to minimize the number of trips and maximize what we accomplish. Yesterday it was to get Catherine a haircut, get our driver's licenses, check out a second hand store, buy groceries, take some things to a friend of Catherine, and go to the Eugene Zendo for an evening program. All went well until we were on our way to Martha, Catherine's friend. We ended up on a street that didn't go anywhere and I made a last minute turn, but too soon and over the curb we went. I said "that's how you can mess up a tire." Catherine said "well, everything seems fine." A block later it was apparent that things weren't so fine and sure enough the right front tire was going down. Catherine's prepaid cell phone and AAA came to the rescue (it was dark and I didn't feel like changing a tire in the dark and I thought the spare may not be fully inflated). A cheerful fellow later pulled up in his truck, got the spare up to pressure and had us in business. We then got to Martha's and gave her her things and realized it was too late to get to the zendo and we still hadn't eaten. I was also concerned about the 25 mile trip back home and another long trip to get a new tire. Martha mentioned that there was a Les Schwab not far from her. We drove off and pulled in to Les Scwab, but the doors were locked and the sign said they closed at 6. There were, however, the folks who worked there finishing things up from the day. One of them poked her head out the door and we told her our predicament. Their response was pure zen practice: say yes and step forward. Before we knew it we had a replacemnent tire and were on our way.
So here we had an experience that seemed bad, had messed up our plans, and was simply one I did not like. But this experience led us into receiving the warm generosity of these people. Yes, they get paid to do it, but the AAA fellow didn't have to be so warm and friendly and the Les Schwab folks didn't have to open their doors and none of them had to do it with such generous spirits. So much for cynicism. Both Catherine and I pulled into a Pizza Hut, had a pizza, and felt so good the way this all turned out. It was worth a flat tire to have had this experience of other people.
Tuesday was one of those days we set aside for a trip to town for shopping and other things, as it's 25 miles each way we try to minimize the number of trips and maximize what we accomplish. Yesterday it was to get Catherine a haircut, get our driver's licenses, check out a second hand store, buy groceries, take some things to a friend of Catherine, and go to the Eugene Zendo for an evening program. All went well until we were on our way to Martha, Catherine's friend. We ended up on a street that didn't go anywhere and I made a last minute turn, but too soon and over the curb we went. I said "that's how you can mess up a tire." Catherine said "well, everything seems fine." A block later it was apparent that things weren't so fine and sure enough the right front tire was going down. Catherine's prepaid cell phone and AAA came to the rescue (it was dark and I didn't feel like changing a tire in the dark and I thought the spare may not be fully inflated). A cheerful fellow later pulled up in his truck, got the spare up to pressure and had us in business. We then got to Martha's and gave her her things and realized it was too late to get to the zendo and we still hadn't eaten. I was also concerned about the 25 mile trip back home and another long trip to get a new tire. Martha mentioned that there was a Les Schwab not far from her. We drove off and pulled in to Les Scwab, but the doors were locked and the sign said they closed at 6. There were, however, the folks who worked there finishing things up from the day. One of them poked her head out the door and we told her our predicament. Their response was pure zen practice: say yes and step forward. Before we knew it we had a replacemnent tire and were on our way.
So here we had an experience that seemed bad, had messed up our plans, and was simply one I did not like. But this experience led us into receiving the warm generosity of these people. Yes, they get paid to do it, but the AAA fellow didn't have to be so warm and friendly and the Les Schwab folks didn't have to open their doors and none of them had to do it with such generous spirits. So much for cynicism. Both Catherine and I pulled into a Pizza Hut, had a pizza, and felt so good the way this all turned out. It was worth a flat tire to have had this experience of other people.
Friday, January 28, 2011
Sun Break
January 27, 2011
We just bought some things for the house today and the young woman at the checkout said "enjoy the sun today." Up here a sunny day is not taken for granted. In the winters when the sun comes out people take "sun breaks." A couple of days ago the sun was out and we ran into an old friend of Catherine's who warned me not to think this was anything but unusual weather. Well the sun has been out some for the past few days and today I'm going out with a hat on my head and enjoy a sun break.
We just bought some things for the house today and the young woman at the checkout said "enjoy the sun today." Up here a sunny day is not taken for granted. In the winters when the sun comes out people take "sun breaks." A couple of days ago the sun was out and we ran into an old friend of Catherine's who warned me not to think this was anything but unusual weather. Well the sun has been out some for the past few days and today I'm going out with a hat on my head and enjoy a sun break.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Bonds of Affection
I just sat down after getting the hens back into their hen house. It's an interesting way that they head back at dusk. They start scurrying towards it, then pause, scratch and peck about for a while before they get to the coop. Then they hang about the outside of the coop pecking around and one or two head in. The ones in the house start chattering and the others outside listen and slowly in fits and starts work their way in. Catherine tells me that they are not pets. She's probably right, but I find them endlessly fascinating and do think of them as pets.
Anyway the hens are in their house now and I am writing.
Being up here and away from all the people and social connections I have been a part of for over twenty years has got me thinking about those connections and what they are like when the "flesh and blood" of them are far away. Last December I gave a Friday talk at the zen center around the theme I called "bonds of affection." Perhaps this is a good time to revisit that theme.
A few days before I gave that talk I had a pretty good idea what I would talk about: my upcoming move to Oregon, what it felt like preparing to move, and the feelings about the people I have grown close to over the years. That all changed by the time I gave the talk. Rebecca's death and her cremation ceremony shifted things in a very fundamental way. The whole range of connections and attachments I felt were interwoven in a new way. When I sat up in my seat to give the talk the word "affection" came up and it is that word that opened up the theme that developed.
Then it was Rebecca having left and my remaining. In a way now I am looking at it from the other side: I've left and you remain. I was part of the group that lost a member and I was feeling the richness of being a part of that group, in the midst of the group, through the experience of the loss. Even as I feel that the bonds of affection are still there I am aware that there has been a change. I've left a home where I have done a lot of maturing. I've become a homeless monk grappling with not knowing what to do and not even knowing what is going on. I feel the urge to figure things out and come up with some new "settled" way with rules that will tell me what to do, but I will try hard not to fall into those brambles. Check where my feet are and step forward.
Two weeks after my talk I was at the SPOT training program and we had a Skype hook-up with Darlene. In silence we each went up to the laptop showing Darlene and bowed. She then bowed back. Now Darlene has left. I find myself living in this tiny speck of space and time in the middle of unknowable coming and going. Svaha!
Anyway the hens are in their house now and I am writing.
Being up here and away from all the people and social connections I have been a part of for over twenty years has got me thinking about those connections and what they are like when the "flesh and blood" of them are far away. Last December I gave a Friday talk at the zen center around the theme I called "bonds of affection." Perhaps this is a good time to revisit that theme.
A few days before I gave that talk I had a pretty good idea what I would talk about: my upcoming move to Oregon, what it felt like preparing to move, and the feelings about the people I have grown close to over the years. That all changed by the time I gave the talk. Rebecca's death and her cremation ceremony shifted things in a very fundamental way. The whole range of connections and attachments I felt were interwoven in a new way. When I sat up in my seat to give the talk the word "affection" came up and it is that word that opened up the theme that developed.
Then it was Rebecca having left and my remaining. In a way now I am looking at it from the other side: I've left and you remain. I was part of the group that lost a member and I was feeling the richness of being a part of that group, in the midst of the group, through the experience of the loss. Even as I feel that the bonds of affection are still there I am aware that there has been a change. I've left a home where I have done a lot of maturing. I've become a homeless monk grappling with not knowing what to do and not even knowing what is going on. I feel the urge to figure things out and come up with some new "settled" way with rules that will tell me what to do, but I will try hard not to fall into those brambles. Check where my feet are and step forward.
Two weeks after my talk I was at the SPOT training program and we had a Skype hook-up with Darlene. In silence we each went up to the laptop showing Darlene and bowed. She then bowed back. Now Darlene has left. I find myself living in this tiny speck of space and time in the middle of unknowable coming and going. Svaha!
Friday, January 21, 2011
Nearing the end
I've changed the picture today. This is the drive up to our house. Some have asked about the previous picture. It is not our house, we call it the Yellow Cottage (it's small, 9x12) and we hope to set it up for people to stay.
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
January 19, 2011
It's hard to imagine that we'be only been here for two weeks. Our routines are completely different and our environment is completely different. And we have been so involved each day with setting up our home. And we are only beginning to become a part of this community.
Last week we had drizzly warmish weather. All the snow that managed to stay on the ground melted and we spent most of the time at work: Catherine was at the Clear View Project books and I was trying to sort out my work space and learning where things were.
We've got into our rhythm of sitting, twice a day. We're doing our pm sitting before going to bed. So our day begins with am zazen and ends with our pm zazen.
Last Thursday we headed into town after breakfast to shop for some specific things, which we mostly got. In the process we found two wonderful places: an unfinished furniture store and a bookstore. The bookstore was a book lovers delight: old antique and rare books and the kind of new books Black Oak would carry. I couldn't resist a book of Atget photos and the new Wendell Berry essays and Tony Judt's "Ill Fares the Land." I had planned to buy them from Amazon, but am so happy I spent more to get them from J. Michaels. It's a place I have to spend more time in. Catherine says if I do I should leave my wallet at home.
It was rainy, generally not too hard, mostly drizzly showers. On the way home in the late afternoon I wished I had my camera. The look of the pastures and bare trees with the hills rolling up in the mist was wonderful. Just experience it, don't try to grab on to it.
The scale of things out here is pretty small when compared to the Bay Area. An example that came up Friday: just as we were sitting down to lunch the power went out. I dutifully checked all the breakers, nothing blown. Then with my old touch tone phone I called the power company (Blachly-Lane Electric Co-Op), Cynthia answered the phone and I told her our power went out. She immediately said that they had to turn it off to change a transformer and that it would be back on in 15 minutes. And by golly it was back on in 15 minutes. Try that one with PG&E. I didn't even have to wade through phone menus and being told that my called may be monitored to ensure the quality of service. Maybe Cynthia's boss isn't interested in listening in on her conversations and figures she knows how to do her job.
Then there's the mail. As I said in another post the mailbox is half a mile from our house. So we walk down the hill to check the mail and put things in the box for pick-up (putting up those little red flags). Well, when there's a package that doesn't fit in the mailbox the woman who delivers the mail drives on up and beeps her horn.
Yesterday we checked out the Low Pass Cafe for breakfast, just four miles from us next to the Low Pass Market which makes a Seven Eleven seem like a supermarket. Food was cheap, the coffee ok, and I had enough that I didn't need lunch.
Being at the end of our small lane (a one lane gravel road) we don't see any traffic. When someone does come up it's pretty exciting. Today (Tuesday) a car came up, I went out to see who it was. A woman waved out the window and yelled "Happy New Year from your meter reader." Now that was fun.
Last week we had drizzly warmish weather. All the snow that managed to stay on the ground melted and we spent most of the time at work: Catherine was at the Clear View Project books and I was trying to sort out my work space and learning where things were.
We've got into our rhythm of sitting, twice a day. We're doing our pm sitting before going to bed. So our day begins with am zazen and ends with our pm zazen.
Last Thursday we headed into town after breakfast to shop for some specific things, which we mostly got. In the process we found two wonderful places: an unfinished furniture store and a bookstore. The bookstore was a book lovers delight: old antique and rare books and the kind of new books Black Oak would carry. I couldn't resist a book of Atget photos and the new Wendell Berry essays and Tony Judt's "Ill Fares the Land." I had planned to buy them from Amazon, but am so happy I spent more to get them from J. Michaels. It's a place I have to spend more time in. Catherine says if I do I should leave my wallet at home.
It was rainy, generally not too hard, mostly drizzly showers. On the way home in the late afternoon I wished I had my camera. The look of the pastures and bare trees with the hills rolling up in the mist was wonderful. Just experience it, don't try to grab on to it.
The scale of things out here is pretty small when compared to the Bay Area. An example that came up Friday: just as we were sitting down to lunch the power went out. I dutifully checked all the breakers, nothing blown. Then with my old touch tone phone I called the power company (Blachly-Lane Electric Co-Op), Cynthia answered the phone and I told her our power went out. She immediately said that they had to turn it off to change a transformer and that it would be back on in 15 minutes. And by golly it was back on in 15 minutes. Try that one with PG&E. I didn't even have to wade through phone menus and being told that my called may be monitored to ensure the quality of service. Maybe Cynthia's boss isn't interested in listening in on her conversations and figures she knows how to do her job.
Then there's the mail. As I said in another post the mailbox is half a mile from our house. So we walk down the hill to check the mail and put things in the box for pick-up (putting up those little red flags). Well, when there's a package that doesn't fit in the mailbox the woman who delivers the mail drives on up and beeps her horn.
Yesterday we checked out the Low Pass Cafe for breakfast, just four miles from us next to the Low Pass Market which makes a Seven Eleven seem like a supermarket. Food was cheap, the coffee ok, and I had enough that I didn't need lunch.
Being at the end of our small lane (a one lane gravel road) we don't see any traffic. When someone does come up it's pretty exciting. Today (Tuesday) a car came up, I went out to see who it was. A woman waved out the window and yelled "Happy New Year from your meter reader." Now that was fun.
Monday, January 17, 2011
What is in a name
What is this "end of the road?"
Some people have been critical of the name "End of the Road" for this blog. My initial choice of the name was a simple geographical fact: we live at the end of a road, lane to be more precise. But that was not the only reason.
The end of the road is not just some finality that we all face before ceasing to be or some impasse that gets us stuck in a place. That may be the first thing that comes to some people's minds, but I think of it differently: "I've stopped my wandering about and come to this place. This is where I will set myself and this is a place I will experience in its fullness." I can't do that if I keep going down the road. The end of the road is a true beginning. In Buddhism we experience the opening up of all possibilities when the mind stops its wandering from one thing to another and we are finally able to see what is right in front of us.
So only when I come to the end of the road and stop can I move about and discover what is around me.
Some people have been critical of the name "End of the Road" for this blog. My initial choice of the name was a simple geographical fact: we live at the end of a road, lane to be more precise. But that was not the only reason.
The end of the road is not just some finality that we all face before ceasing to be or some impasse that gets us stuck in a place. That may be the first thing that comes to some people's minds, but I think of it differently: "I've stopped my wandering about and come to this place. This is where I will set myself and this is a place I will experience in its fullness." I can't do that if I keep going down the road. The end of the road is a true beginning. In Buddhism we experience the opening up of all possibilities when the mind stops its wandering from one thing to another and we are finally able to see what is right in front of us.
So only when I come to the end of the road and stop can I move about and discover what is around me.
Friday, January 14, 2011
January 11, 2011
Sunday afternoon around 4:30, the sun has dropped below the trees and I'll bet that the hens will be heading back to their house pretty soon and kitty is curled up in her bed on the porch, the picture of domestic tranquility.
We're much more settled now and most things are out of boxes, but not set where they'll end up. At least we can find most things. The kitchen is pretty well set up. We're keeping cooking very simple until we get some running water. Vegetable soup from the freezer will be tonight's main course along with bread and cheese. Our sitting area is set up, so am zazen tomorrow.
Monday: it felt good to getting back into a day starting with zazen.
It's about 11 am Tuesday. Very overcast with a chance of snow turning to rain, right now it's 29 so the chance of snow seems to be receding.
Yesterday we got our new pump and pressure tank installed, so we are basking in the luxury of hot and cold running water. No more trips to the pond with 5 gallon buckets. The feel of a warm shower is greatly appreciated and not taken for granted, although I'm sure that as time rolls on I will fall back into taking it for granted. Right now I am appreciating all these little luxuries I have and that most people in this world do not have.
We had our first house guest yesterday. Richard Haefele got here in the afternoon: a good dinner, good coversation, just plain good company. After morning coffee we did morning zazen. He's on his way now to the Portland area. He and Joan may stop by on their way back to the Bay Area.
I'm experiencing an interesting feeling about getting settled here. It's not so much getting boxes unpacked, but it's more about dealing with the well pump and the people who got the water flowing again. We even had a bit of drama about when the pump would get replaced as Bill's (he's the well man) daughter was about ready to give birth to his first grandchild and being there for the birth was his first priority and his assistant was his son-in-law Tanner, the expectant father of the to be born Will. Being part of this small drama and having Richard stay with us made this place feel much more like our home.
I just noticed that it is now snowing. I look out from my desk across the lawn and see a steady and gentle snow falling against the backdrop of the firs in our woods. A couple of hours later it's still snowing, but the temperature has gone up to 33, whether any accumulates it's just nice to watch not thinking of having to go anywhere. Maybe the half mile down the road to the mailbox.
The snow's stopped so now as I look out from my desk I see a robin furiously going at whatever is under some leaf litter. As I'm watching this another bird tried to get through the windows, it looked like a bushtit, but I'm unsure. As I usually see these in groups and there were no others around I'm guessing it's another of the neighbors I'll have to get to know. As he/she goes off I see a varied thrush working on the lawn.
The hens are now outside my window. They seem to be an aimless lot, appearing not to know what to do next. It's very entertaining out here.
We're much more settled now and most things are out of boxes, but not set where they'll end up. At least we can find most things. The kitchen is pretty well set up. We're keeping cooking very simple until we get some running water. Vegetable soup from the freezer will be tonight's main course along with bread and cheese. Our sitting area is set up, so am zazen tomorrow.
Monday: it felt good to getting back into a day starting with zazen.
It's about 11 am Tuesday. Very overcast with a chance of snow turning to rain, right now it's 29 so the chance of snow seems to be receding.
Yesterday we got our new pump and pressure tank installed, so we are basking in the luxury of hot and cold running water. No more trips to the pond with 5 gallon buckets. The feel of a warm shower is greatly appreciated and not taken for granted, although I'm sure that as time rolls on I will fall back into taking it for granted. Right now I am appreciating all these little luxuries I have and that most people in this world do not have.
We had our first house guest yesterday. Richard Haefele got here in the afternoon: a good dinner, good coversation, just plain good company. After morning coffee we did morning zazen. He's on his way now to the Portland area. He and Joan may stop by on their way back to the Bay Area.
I'm experiencing an interesting feeling about getting settled here. It's not so much getting boxes unpacked, but it's more about dealing with the well pump and the people who got the water flowing again. We even had a bit of drama about when the pump would get replaced as Bill's (he's the well man) daughter was about ready to give birth to his first grandchild and being there for the birth was his first priority and his assistant was his son-in-law Tanner, the expectant father of the to be born Will. Being part of this small drama and having Richard stay with us made this place feel much more like our home.
I just noticed that it is now snowing. I look out from my desk across the lawn and see a steady and gentle snow falling against the backdrop of the firs in our woods. A couple of hours later it's still snowing, but the temperature has gone up to 33, whether any accumulates it's just nice to watch not thinking of having to go anywhere. Maybe the half mile down the road to the mailbox.
The snow's stopped so now as I look out from my desk I see a robin furiously going at whatever is under some leaf litter. As I'm watching this another bird tried to get through the windows, it looked like a bushtit, but I'm unsure. As I usually see these in groups and there were no others around I'm guessing it's another of the neighbors I'll have to get to know. As he/she goes off I see a varied thrush working on the lawn.
The hens are now outside my window. They seem to be an aimless lot, appearing not to know what to do next. It's very entertaining out here.
January 9, 2010
Here's the past few days.
Thursday, January 6, it got up to 50 today and was sunny. It was 27 when we got up and after breakfast we went off on a walk around the place. The ground was crunchy and covered with frost. A nice chilly winter's morn with a slanting low light. In a tree at the edge of the woods we saw what appeared to be two rufous sided towhees, but I'm not sure that they should be around here at this time. I'd have loved to have had Dean with us.
We got a lot organized today and I'm pretty tired from toting boxes full of books. We were going to check our mail, but were both too busy and then too tired to make the one mile down and back to our mailbox. Fed Ex and UPS will drive up the road, but the Post Office justs goes along the main road half a mile away. The pace here is such that it doesn't seem to matter whether we check our mail. That different pace and feeling for what's important is beginning to rub off on me. I have to look at my computer to check what day of the week and day of the month it is. I'm also getting used to the much slower internet connection we get with our satellite hook-up. My old cable connection was more of instant gratification, now I just have to wait.
A curious thing after dinner: Catherine is washing the dishes and says "there's not much water coming out." A check in the pump house tells me the pump ain't pumping. Ain't no EBMUD out here, gotta get someone out here tomorrow morning. Country livin'. If you're wondering why she's doing the dishes it's because I did the cooking.
Right now it's Friday afternoon. It's a cozy sort of day, around 42 and cloudy, the kind of day to step back from all the activity of putting a house together (still some ways to go). I'm trying to organize files from boxes and Catherine is upstairs doing the same. The plumber can't make it out this afternoon. He will get here tomorrow morning.
The pump may be taken care of in a day or two. Because of the likelihood of power outages we had quite a bit of water frozen in gallon milk containers in our big freezer, so we're ok for basics. We hauled up a bunch of water in 5 gallon buckets from our little pond and that does fine for flushing the toilets and the hens and the cat. Part of our practice is "don't take anything for granted." Didn't think that would be something to take so concretely!
Catherine's son Miles came be over later with Jasper, so we had a nice afternoon and family dinner. Besides Miles brought us another 7 gallons of water.
I'm now writing this Sunday morning, a quiet day for us after so much working over the past few days. We had a few snow flurries a couple of hours ago, but as the temperature is heading up towards 40 so anything that falls will just melt: arising, abiding, ceasing.
The plumber was out yesterday and found a burned out capacitor. He went out got another and installed it, but, to our dismay, that wasn't the problem. It was more likely an effect of the problem. So we called the well and pump guy. He found all manner of problems: non-functioning pressure tank and a bad pump. Monday he will be here and we will be back with indoor running water either Monday afternoon or Tuesday morning. This morning he came with his truck to use his winch to get the old pump out. It really makes this all the more an adventure! The only hitch may be his daughter giving birth to his first grandchild, but it didn't happen last night or this morning, so all's going well (ha! ha!).
We're getting our sitting space set up and easing off of no schedule mode, using our alarm and getting back to facing the wall. Also Richard Haefele will be dropping by on Tuesday and we're both looking forward to that.
I think that will be it for today. Pictures will come next week.
Thursday, January 6, it got up to 50 today and was sunny. It was 27 when we got up and after breakfast we went off on a walk around the place. The ground was crunchy and covered with frost. A nice chilly winter's morn with a slanting low light. In a tree at the edge of the woods we saw what appeared to be two rufous sided towhees, but I'm not sure that they should be around here at this time. I'd have loved to have had Dean with us.
We got a lot organized today and I'm pretty tired from toting boxes full of books. We were going to check our mail, but were both too busy and then too tired to make the one mile down and back to our mailbox. Fed Ex and UPS will drive up the road, but the Post Office justs goes along the main road half a mile away. The pace here is such that it doesn't seem to matter whether we check our mail. That different pace and feeling for what's important is beginning to rub off on me. I have to look at my computer to check what day of the week and day of the month it is. I'm also getting used to the much slower internet connection we get with our satellite hook-up. My old cable connection was more of instant gratification, now I just have to wait.
A curious thing after dinner: Catherine is washing the dishes and says "there's not much water coming out." A check in the pump house tells me the pump ain't pumping. Ain't no EBMUD out here, gotta get someone out here tomorrow morning. Country livin'. If you're wondering why she's doing the dishes it's because I did the cooking.
Right now it's Friday afternoon. It's a cozy sort of day, around 42 and cloudy, the kind of day to step back from all the activity of putting a house together (still some ways to go). I'm trying to organize files from boxes and Catherine is upstairs doing the same. The plumber can't make it out this afternoon. He will get here tomorrow morning.
The pump may be taken care of in a day or two. Because of the likelihood of power outages we had quite a bit of water frozen in gallon milk containers in our big freezer, so we're ok for basics. We hauled up a bunch of water in 5 gallon buckets from our little pond and that does fine for flushing the toilets and the hens and the cat. Part of our practice is "don't take anything for granted." Didn't think that would be something to take so concretely!
Catherine's son Miles came be over later with Jasper, so we had a nice afternoon and family dinner. Besides Miles brought us another 7 gallons of water.
I'm now writing this Sunday morning, a quiet day for us after so much working over the past few days. We had a few snow flurries a couple of hours ago, but as the temperature is heading up towards 40 so anything that falls will just melt: arising, abiding, ceasing.
The plumber was out yesterday and found a burned out capacitor. He went out got another and installed it, but, to our dismay, that wasn't the problem. It was more likely an effect of the problem. So we called the well and pump guy. He found all manner of problems: non-functioning pressure tank and a bad pump. Monday he will be here and we will be back with indoor running water either Monday afternoon or Tuesday morning. This morning he came with his truck to use his winch to get the old pump out. It really makes this all the more an adventure! The only hitch may be his daughter giving birth to his first grandchild, but it didn't happen last night or this morning, so all's going well (ha! ha!).
We're getting our sitting space set up and easing off of no schedule mode, using our alarm and getting back to facing the wall. Also Richard Haefele will be dropping by on Tuesday and we're both looking forward to that.
I think that will be it for today. Pictures will come next week.
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