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!
drive
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
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.
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