Voices in the Woods

I heard this morning what sounded like a girl and a man talking.  It woke me up.  I tried to go back to sleep and even pretended maybe I dreamed the voices.  I told my neighbor and she said her husband saw three vans of Mexicans coming down Junker's road.  We all just assumed it was a dope growing enterprise.  But I don't want dope growers in my watershed.  The day wore on and I forgot the voices, chaulked it up to imagination.

It was a cool and rather dreary June day and my spirits were low, but in an effort to gain some sense of space and some control of my life, I cleaned house and planted the new cukes I got that the striped beetles had eaten.   Then I heard the voices again and fear arose.  I hesitated to jump in the truck like I used to and go check things out.  The dog is old and I can't run fast,  but I also know that I feel better when I know what it is, than when I sit and stew and guess.  So I lifted Samson's hind end into the truck.  He has learned to put his front paws on the tailgate, so I can shove the rest of him in, and we started up the mountain, encountering almost immediately two white vans and, yes, Mexicans, working.  I stop and say, "Que pasa?"  One guy turns around and replies, with obvious distain for the nosy old gringa, "Not much.  I'm working" and indeed and he and the others were grubbing brush away from the small fir trees that had geminated after the fire.  I wait while a smiling woman in a hard hat worked her way down to the road to reassure the local.  We chat briefly.  She says there  have been two trucks and and suv passing them as they worked.  I tell her I really don't think their grubbing will make a difference 10 years from now, but I'm glad people are working.  We make nice and on a whim,  I head on up the mountain.  I haven't been up there in over a year.  The brush and madrone have grown head high and I wind on around through Grapevine Creek drainage to where you can look down into Grouse Creek and Devastation Slide.  We get out and walk around the point to look down into Bear Creek canyon.  I notice some berry bushes that will soon be ripe and am glad to see so little traffic up this far.  The drop off is shear and it's possible to see all the draws and folds of the landscape through the grey snags of burnt out trees.  

I am reminded that  everything changed with the fire, startling and abrupt change, instead of the slow easy growth of season, sun and rain.  So much of living long is about loss--the body, the land, the political landscape, the  commercial one, what's in what's out, who's in control, the memory reels with the progression of eras lived, a kaleidoscope dance of images past and present and fragments of music.  It's bittersweet.  Nothing stays.  Which is why the grandchildren are such a delight, being filled, as they are, with wonder at what is, so pure and free of what has past or what might have been--just this huge Moment to be alive in.  My fear of the voices has led me to love.

Animal Rescue

Rescuing animals is a big deal in the Bazar/Brewer household thanks to Diego. When we were at Stinson Beach last summer, Anya and Kadin set up a snail rescue center on top of an empty cooler which was sitting in the sun. There were lots of snails and they didn't seem to really want to be rescued. In fact the whole rescue center seemed to be about catching the snails, bringing them to the cooler and then catching them as they tried to escape. The snails were frantic, as much as snails can be frantic, trying to get to the shade. When the landlord came to check us out, he was very pleased with the rescue center and hoped that the whole population of snails would be similarly rescued thus saving his garden from destruction.

But today I had my own rescue center. Leroy who had come to work found a baby robin under the oak in the driveway. We ohhhhed and ahhhed and wondered what to do and finally decided to pick it up and put it back in the tree. As we leaned over to pick it up, it's mouth opened so that it became just an open mouth, so hungry and hopeful and then suddenly the mother robin dive bombed us. Such a brave heart, she came back and dive bombed again. We picked the baby up and then realized it couldn't sit by itself in the tree. We put it on the big rock hoping that was enough room so that it wouldn't fall off, but it floundered around while the mama cheeped and peeped and flew around distraught. It started to fall off the edge and I ran and got it. More dilemma. Leroy found a hubcap and we stuffed it with grass and moss and wedged it in the crotch of the tree. That was it. I had to go to Hayfork and Leroy was off to work. Before I left I climbed a ladder and checked the baby. It didn't look good. It was breathing but lying flat and not peeping or moving. It seemed like it was lying on its back which I particularly thought was a bad sign, since I really don't think birds sleep on their backs.

The first thing I did when I got home was to look in the nest, and whoa! the baby bird was gone. I searched all around the tree to see if it had fallen out but found no sign. I made up a number of senarios. The mother came and coaxed it out of the nest and to safety. That's the best one. It fell and I didn't see it the body.   It fell and the cats ate it. I just tried to interest Fat Cat in a dead mouse and he couldn't have cared less. Sniffed it and walked away. Perhaps  bigger bird came and snatched it and ate it. Blame the jays for that. Leroy mentioned the jays push baby birds out of their nests. To what end I'm not sure, but I'm always ready to blame them for anything--they are loud, raucous and mostly obnoxious neighbors.

So ended my animal rescue efforts with uncertain results. Interfering in nature is always an iffy and hazardous. That big mouth and the mamma's brave heart are images will encourage me.  The urge to live.

Lying in the Meadow

It used to be that I kept a backpack by the door, filled with some almonds, raisins, maybe cheese, and water. I could grab it as I went outside, not knowing where I would go, just going out into the green world I lived in. In later years, and as a sign of maturity, I also included some pitch wood, matches and ibuprofen in case of injury. I might be gone an hour, or all day, I never knew because it was a walkabout and there was no agenda. I went where my energy took me without concern. Not to say it all was pleasant because I could get stuck in brush, having to crawl through manzanita, or get into steep shale, slipping and sliding down as I tried to go up. When I came back to the cabin, though I might be dusty and sweaty, scratched or bruised, soaking wet and cold, exhausted, I was, above all, throbbing with life. In the bath, or in bed, with closed eyes, images of lime green moss, grooved bark, golden fallen leaves, or newly green sprouted ones, a rushing creek, or trickling spring would flicker like a slide show. Maybe I would have found one of those places nature makes that humans for millennium have recognized as magic and there have sat and stared or prayed which is the same thing really and been open to what is.

Now doctors speak to me of new knees, of eight week recovery period, of the possibility of uncertain results and the walkabout seems past and gone. I walk on the road now, where there is no torque on the knees and yesterday walked out into the Big Open meadow and lay down on the new green stalks of grass. I was surrounded by burnt trees and felt so heavy with loss. It was not about money; it was about the slowly accelerating break down of the body, and the restriction of possibilities.

When I was on retreat, I talked to the teacher about this. I joked that I had dodged a few bullets, but that one was coming eventually that would take me out and that I was feeling the reality of this. We laughed. He had no advice. Being a real Buddhist, he did not make comforting noises to support my tendency toward denial. It is what it is, this life, so precious, so finite. He said he had had a life long dream of circumnambulating the mountain in Tibet that is known in that region as the center of the world, Mt Kailash. He was sobbing as he climbed some of the time, the leader of the group, but overcome with emotion. About halfway around, he got altitude sickness and could not complete the pilgrimage and his son lead a small group on. He understood.

It is death that makes life precious, after all. So, the haiku I posted yesterday came to me, like a good poem should, as I sobbed in the meadow. It was born out of what is.

March Meadow

Lying on the new leaves of grass,
feeling so heavy with all that is lost,
mingling with spring's delicate urge.

Out with the old, in with the new--but not so fast.

This morning my heart hurt which I ignored until meditation. I had been avoiding unpacking the purchases about which I felt so conflicted. They seemed so extravagant like my life choices right now, building a house, spending $1000s of dollars on something I can already foresee crumbling back to earth. Letting go of the simple, inexpensive way of life and moving into another way of being here is frightening. Where are the values I've held all these years? The ones I'm attached to and rather proud of? What is the point of this change I am making? I could have stayed quiet and close to the earth, coming and going quite easily without the stress of building and afterwards, upkeep.

I spent the morning feeling the tug and pull of conflicted feelings and finally went down to the river where I could sit and watch the water flow and feel the release that accompanies such idleness. The sun had gone off the rocks on my side of the river so lying in the warmth and doing yoga was out of the questions. Bear tracks, nice clear ones, lots of deer, raccoons and a couple of humans had all been there before me. I walked upriver, stumbling a bit, the torque on bad knees hampering me. I sat for a while and then wandered down river to sit by the cedar tree I love and looked at the "Montana calendar picture" of the river curving into the mountains. A few high clouds were coming in.

I remembered that the river didn't care that it hadn't rained, that it was too warm for January or that I was conflicted with doubt. It flowed on. And it would flow on long after I'm gone, continuing on through whatever human or animal traffic came and sat or sniffed around. It would flow on whether the woods burned up or a shopping mall was built above it or if humans never came again. It flows on and life in whatever form flows on and for whatever reason the house going up as my life here continues.

It is something to do that might make my life easier, but will not make it any happier. I sometimes get up the morning rather daunted by the big empty day ahead of me, glad that there is laundry to do, or house to clean. I often let my habits carry me through the day. Maybe it is time to shed that old skin of habits and move onward with a flow. A new stage of life before the final transformation. I went home and later unpacked the new LCD TV and the DVD player.

Lost in a Quandary

Today is one of those unsettling days where the carpenter doesn't like the architect's choice for a roof--galvanized metal, which I had kind of accepted as being in the Hyampom style. I had thought roof color was finished and now it becomes an issue again. This potentially changes all the other colors. And so the still pond is stirred up again, muddied, swirling around and making my head spin. There is also the question of siding which has to be hardiplank, not wood, new rules for wildfire safety. So Hardiplank has to be painted and moreover, there are different styles, shake, board and batten. I like this latter style better. Again it is typical Hyampom, but again the carpenter doesn't think the panels of Hardiplank will be easy to handle and the battens would have to be made from wood and maybe this violates the wildfire rules and Hardiplank battens are hugely expensive So nothing is decided after I had winnowed it down to the outside color of the windows. Everything is in question again.

Plus this morning I went outside to discover there is water under the deck and along the house but no sign of where it is coming from, certainly not the sky which would be so welcome. So have to dig around in the cold to find the new leak and how could a leak have started so suddenly!!!! Richard was outside last night smoking while we were toasting the new president and claimed he heard water gushing, but I didn't believe him. So much for denial. This augments the annoying fact that the cabin door does not open all the way anymore as the front of the cabin is sinking and I feel I will not be able to get out of here fast enough and into a new house to avoid sinking into the water which is coming from I know not where.

Furthermore, on the ride back from Hayfork yesterday, where we travelers have to sit and wait a half hour each way as the road work is continuing all through winter (making the trip two instead of one hour) I lost two bales of straw unbeknownst to me. Straw is now going for $7 a bale thanks to who knows ponzi hay scam.

So that's how my days are going. At least the new president is doing what he said he would.

Adventure to town in the snow.

Woke up to snow this morning. It was only a couple of inches, but it kept on snowing and getting a little deeper. Had to go clean off the satellite dish twice. The snow kept coming and I got restless as I had to get my netflix movies to the Post Office(yeah, really) and it could get worse if not impossible later. I heard trees falling last night and the road could be blocked, could be more snow past the Red Point. Ya never know. So I try to interest RK in going in with me. I am remembering the days of yore when we back-to-the-landers were the newbies in town and there were lots of flannel shirts, levis, boots and we'd smoke, drink strong coffee and go screw around in the snow, getting stuck or getting someone else unstuck or getting into town to the bar to drink hot buttered rums and to tell everyone how we almost didn't make it. RK doesn't buy the fun of my bit of history; he is tired and sleepy having stayed up all night, washing the snow off his satellite dish(go figure).

So I decide to go it alone. I pour the three gallons of very very expensive gasoline(purchased in September) into my empty truck, get bundled up, take the ibuprofen in case I get stuck and have to walk, and climb in the cab, turn the key and nothing--not even a click. Let me tell you life is easier today than in days of yore because I can go back inside, AIM my neighbor and she sends her husband over to jump start me. So while we're under the hood, I remember there is loose connection which has been causing problems before I left and he discovers a broken ground wire and notices the battery is loose and so I follow him back to his house and visit with J while he fixes the battery connections. I have to say I love men. They know stuff that I no longer even pretend to care about, and it is a relief to have neighbors who fix things for me. Moreover, he gives me a fresh cooked crab from his latest ocean fishing and I'm off to town, truck running smoothly and a cooked crab to eat if I am stuck and need sustenance.

The snow is about 6 inches by his house and on to the Red Point which is the cut off place for storms coming from the west, although sometimes surprisingly, it gets worse there and on into town, but that's not the case today. By B's driveway, I see new tracks and stop to investigate, yelling "Hey what's going on?" as I see actual humans standing around. Turns out it's B and W and they are stuck in B's driveway which pleases me a great deal as the traditions of screwing around in the snow continue. They indeed have been to see RK, gotten him out of bed with a promise of smoke, drink, football and the addition(he was acting uninterested) of money. W is really anxious to get this old trailer home and had left it in B's driveway, discounting the predicted snow or more likely too tired and drunk to fool with it last night. So they are happily awaiting RK and I drive on happy that there has been rescue, albeit tangential, involved in my trip to town. This is especially true as the snow diminishes until it is splotchy in town and the road is totally clear. Fortunately, my timing is good and I get the Netflix there in time, yelling at the postman through the slot to be sure to get them in the mail truck which is waiting outside and ask him please to give me my package the notice for which is in my box. So I stop at the store, fill up with much cheaper gas, and come back from town with my neighbor's salt(don't ask--we're very particular about our salt downriver), my computer wire so I can upload the pictures of my adventure and a cooked fresh crab for supper. You could say it doesn't get any better than this. Well, it does but that's another story and this is just fine the way it is.