More thoughts in the time of COVID-19 …
The weather has been a bit cooler, the sun is rising later, and the angle of the sunbeams coming in the window is changing. All because I live at 40+ degrees north latitude. I remember growing up further south where the length of days changes very little. As I have said before, repeatedly, I didn’t understand the Robert Louis Stevenson poem until I moved north …
In winter I get up by night and dress by golden candle light.
In summer quite the other way, I have to go to bed by day.
Well … my candles are ready.
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There is a family of sand cranes hanging out in our meadow near the driveway entrance to the property. There is an adult pair (did you know sand cranes mate for life?) and this year’s colt (I just learned that is the name for baby cranes).
Cranes are such interesting creatures. They are so gawky on those long stilts of legs. Their tail feathers make a funny bustle on their rears. They stretch waaaaaaaaay out when they fly with neck stretched in front and legs straight out behind. And their call is raucous and rude sounding.
All cranes are symbols of good fortune in Asia, and they are good parents. I’ve never seen a colt (I like that name) by itself and when I’ve seen one with adults it is always between the two.
The choice of our meadow for their summer home is a blessing.
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On the other hand … there is an exciting and rather scary addition to the local indigeneous wildlife … a bear sow with triplets. She has been seen to the east of us and captured on motion sensitive cameras in several places.
It is nice to see wildlife doing well in spite of city incursions. But the thought of facing a sow with three cubs …
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The first of the planned “Pizza at the Fire House” evenings went well. There were only eight folks there in addition to the presenter and the fire fighters. But for a “community” without a center and no cohesion, that’s not bad for a starter and if each person tells one other person the way to prepare for an emergency, such as a fire, knowledge and safety will spread.
I’ve been having thoughts about better “advertising” for the next time … maybe posters featuring a picture of a large pizza with bigger lettering of the word
⇒ P i z z a ⇐
stapled to trees all over the area? And a postcard mailing?
Of course, we can’t have too big a gathering and still adhere to COVID regulations.
Oh well …
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Lunch packing is done for this year, but there are three more “Tailgate” sessions left before winter.
The problems created by the pandemic restrictions are affecting food production in the California Central Valley. Restrictions show in the kind and amount of fresh produce available for the give-away sessions. I remember last year when one month we were able to hand out full flats of sumptuous strawberries. The best we’ve done so far this year has been bags of grapes, small boxes of blackberries, and small watermelons … and those only once.
We have even been skimpy of zucchini.
In addition, there is more past-prime produce in what does arrive. Fortunately, here at Cold Comfort we have chickens so I bring home boxes of scraps and over-ripe stuff and that way not all goes to waste. As I once said in a poem … garbage out, eggs in.
I know there must be food rotting in the fields. To the north of us the potato farmers were piling their crop in heaps and advertising “come and take as much as you want”.
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I recently saw a photo of Michele Obama in which she was wearing a glittery shawl patterned of large open squares with looooonnnnnnnnnnnnng fringes on the bottom. She was wearing it over a black outfit. I was captivated.
I have some basically black fiber with small flashes of glitter colour. I wonder … if I spin it very fine, triple ply, and then crochet …
Maybe I could wear it over white, light blue, or grey.
Maybe I’m too advanced in age for that kind of a fashion statement.
But then … maybe I’m not.
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At my age, little joys are precious. If these blogs seem to be getting less ebullient, it’s probably because I am no longer on the fast track. I’m seeing things through old eyes, which have already seen a lot, and so I am not finding much to call new.
However, there is still joy. Like last sunday morning, before sunrise, but as the light was increasing, looking out my south window toward the meadow I could see green … green … green … more shades of green than I could count.
Not more than I could appreciate.
Just more than I could count.
The catalpa was light green shading toward yellow. The birches were bluish green, their branches showing as streaks of white, with their foliage flashing in the breeze. The lilac was pale green with just a tinge of sepia showing where the flower clusters had been. The fir close to the house was forest green with dark shadows and light tips. Firs further away, toward the mountains to the south where the sun hits first, were lush green and full of light. There were dark brown spots in the pines where some of last year’s needle clusters are still hanging on. Those spots were more noticeable because of the clear glow of this year’s green offerings.
Adjectival descriptions are meager. I wish you could see through my eyes.
As was said by A. A. Milne …
How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard.
It’s just old age renamed “situational depression”.
So … remember to give someone a full smile every day. They may need it more than you know, and even more than you do.
‘Til next week …