Flo

It seems on most days, I can easily create a list of all I’ve done, accomplished and achieved.   And typically, if I need to do that, my planner does it for me. Weekends, I prefer no listing on my Treo, and I resort to pieces of paper, Post-its, stuck on the end of the granite bar.  In reality, I’d like to get through my weekend without a list, without my brain saying “snow tires*pedicure*Target*Sunflower Market-> you really didn’t do much today” as if I need to measure*validate*prove how I spend my weekend time.  Today I created the “list”, hoping I’d have a little focus and not spend the entire day watching movies.  I did about 1/2 the list and many little things that didn’t make it on the list - rakes and shovels from the summer to and in the shed, tires to the barn, and my favorite, feed apples to the neighbor’s horses and miniature donkey.  This donkey is a funny creature, coming to the fence to ensure receiving apples she can’t eat in one bite.  She takes a bite, chews, then takes another bite.  Polite-like.  Meanwhile, the two not-so-polite horses come over to steal her apple.  This little miniature donkey is white with brown spots and the first time the white horse came to steal her apple, she turned around and kicked at his face, both back legs high in the air.  She’d show him. Unfortunately, the height of her back legs, full extension, is lower than his head and she lost her apple.  I ran back home, cut up another apple into pieces her size, hurdled the fence and hand fed them to her, while I was nudged on the backside by her sorrel pen-mate (I don’t really know if she’s “sorrel” or not, but I do know that’s a word indicating a horse color and I think it’s brown!). 

This is what really mattered in my day.  Not the laundry, the conference registration, the vacuuming or the research on HP portable printers - what really mattered, was the fresh air and feeling those little donkey lips (are they called “lips” on a donkey?) touching my palm as she nuzzled around for bits of apple.

Morning tea - the sun eeks its way up and I see the side of the barn brightening with its rays. (I will not declare or analyze what day it is).  The sun is now hitting the neighbor’s pear tree, whose leaves have turned a golden rust color.  I love fall and all its colors, the way this season leads us to winter.  I also feel a sense of unease as I watch the summer flower blossoms bend over, freeze and shrivel when the frosts begin.  Last year, unable to watch, I pulled several summer planters inside for the winter - the house looked like a poorly kept arboretum.

Makena creeps around the deck, checking in around the door, ensuring I’ll let her in if she is too cold and she wanders away again.  I watered the planters on the deck this morning. Their leaves are no longer upright and green and I try desperately to breathe life back into them again.  I want to see the deep purple petunia blossoms, the pink and striped geraniums, the purple fountain grasses that waves in the very slightest of breezes. 

It’s Tuesday morning and I am working on cup of tea #2.  The sun is barely peeking up, so the sky is a grey-ish color.  It’s light enough out to be able to see how the leaves have drastically changed color in the last week and are more on the ground than in the trees.

The garden is harvested.  The last part, garlic and potatoes, sitting in a box in the kitchen.  The pumpkins left from the pumpkin party are in the yard, scattered like litter.  They are white, yellow and orange and stacking them together might be a good idea.  Minus their treasures, the pumpkin vines are wilting and it looks like last night might have been our first frost.  The tomato plants continue to give red*yellow*orange tomatoes, however I wander off and quit looking for them.  Isn’t that funny?  At some point, the garden loses its appeal and I’m ready for it to be done, while plans for next year’s garden evolve in my brain.  Looking ahead, I’m missing out on the fact that I can still eat the tomatoes now.  That’s not too unusual and I doubt I’m the only person who misses out on what is right in front of me because I’m looking ahead, past fall (golden, red, brilliant leaves), past winter (hibernation, snow shoes, skiing) to spring when the earth is renewed. 

Excuse me for leaving.  I need to go look for tomatoes to eat with my morning cups of tea.

Wednesday night I had the privilege of hearing Jane Goodall speak at Colorado State University.  As the CSU Wind Ensemble played “Out of Africa”, I felt an intense rush of emotion when Jane walked to the podium and put her materials in place, prior to her presentation.  She received a standing ovation for walking onto the stage, another as she was introduced and a final one as she completed her talk, “A Reason for Hope” (also the title of one of her books).

Jane Goodall traveled to Africa at a time when it was not expected that a woman could or would be so adventurous.  For more than 30 years she studied the chimpanzees in Gombe Stream National Park, in Tanzania and established the Jane Goodall Institute.  The Institute  was “Founded by renowned primatologist Jane Goodall, JGI is a global nonprofit that empowers people to make a difference for all living things. We are creating healthy ecosystems, promoting sustainable livelihoods and nurturing new generations of committed, active citizens around the world.”

Jane currently travels 300 days out of the year, speaking to audiences about healthy ecosystems, promoting the “Roots and Shoots” program for youth and advocating for creating sustainable living opportunities for the citizens of Africa.

From where I’m standing, I see the sapphire colored heads of three blackbirds (I always thought their heads were black).  A chubby squirrel hangs upside down on the bird feeder and I can see his tail and periodically, he hangs his head down while chewing a sunflower seed.  Two bright yellow goldfinches perch and eat thistle seed (according to my bird book they are a male and female, likely a breeding pair). 

All these things make me happy.  Today I was gifted with a free day - cancellations which allow me to be standing at my laptop during daylight hours and observe the creatures that hang around my house, enticed by the food we set out.

I watch them, take a deep breath and say “ahh…”.  

Michael has written several times of of his fondness for Yosemite National Park. This morning I was reading the most recent Patagonia catalog (2007 Spring Yosemite). The entire catalog features pictures of Yosemite. I can’t really tell you what they are selling and I love the catalog for this reason. The photography and writing are always phenomenal. The catalog’s special feature is photographs of climbers in Yosemite and the park is featured on the Patagonia website.

The website features a slide show of Yosemite photography from Glen Denny from the 1960s. I was in Yosemite only 45 days ago and stood in the spot the first photo was taken. Of course, not being a climber, the pictures that follow are out of bounds for me. I marvel at the drive of climbers, the commitment to “go higher”. It’s difficult for me to imagine spending that much time on one thing - days to climb one peak. The weeks and months and years it can take to prepare.

Take a few minutes to check out the photographs; some are breathtaking.