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.
drive
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
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.
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