The Art of the Short Pilgrimage, Part 2

 Every once in a while Tyler needs to visit just a few of his customers on a holiday, and when that happens, I sometimes go with him. Yesterday was such a day. He was headed to San Francisco and I decided to go with him. It was windy, chilly, and grey, but as the sun became known, I grew more comfortable. Our first stop was to a small corner store that I find fascinating. The small store is packed with many items, including some nice produce and gourmet items. I enjoy watching the people and seeing what they choose to buy. A loaf of good bread. A head of lettuce. A good can of beer. Shaving cream. That small store does seem to serve the neighborhood well, including the dogs who love to come visit and get a treat.  

We then went on to the Academy of Sciences in Golden Gate Park. Parking was not easy to come by, but Tyler said he did not mind parking further away for this was one of his favorite walks. We parked, and walked through the Aids Memorial Grove. In contrast to much of the park, it was almost silent, and only a few people walked along the well maintained path through redwoods and many California native plants. We could not help but stop and ponder the flowers blooming. 

We then entered through the business entrance of the academy. It was abuzz with children who seemed to believe they had finally been forever set free, and their young parents who had the monumental task of trying to keep them in some kind of order. Tyler concluded his business conversation and we did not linger long, but on our way out, we did see Claude the albino alligator, who is now 24 years old. He floated in the moat, silent and still, with his limbs suspended in the water as if he was on vacation. A large turtle rested on a nearby rock. Although we were standing on the level about the moat where the noise seemed to grow with a life of its own, those two seemed quite unconcerned. I had a sense they had lost interest in such comings and goings quite some time ago.   

When we returned to the car, Tyler needed to make a phone call. I sat and continued to read The Left Hand of Darkness by Ursula K. Le Guin, first published in 1969. I think this is my first time to read one of her books. At first I was completely confused. She dropped me onto a strange planet with no warning. (I guess one should expect that when reading science fiction. I think I am out of practice with the genre.) However, I am settling in. Even the protagonist seems to be somewhat settling in. Yet, this planet that he knows as Winter does not seem to be particularly cozy, and he is continually baffled by a society populated by ones who have no fixed sex. In addition, even the weather changes often. Snow is not uncommon.   

Tyler's conversation continued, so I decided to step out of the car and take off my jacket. While the car was warm, it was still windy outside, so I did not feel like lingering, even though the sun was shining. As I was preparing to step back into the car, a young couple walked by pushing a stroller that carried  a very young child. She was happily munching on a snack that she held in her two small hands, reminding me of a charming little otter. She noticed me, and gave me the most miraculous smile I have received in quite some time. She was absolute light. Even though I still had the car door open, and Tyler was still on the phone, I gasped out loud and said in amazement, "What a beautiful smile!" The parents also smiled, and nodded their heads. I was humbled for I knew I was witnessing love. I smiled in return, but probably a bow would have been in order had I not been halfway into the car.  

Our day in the city concluded with a beautiful lunch in a small French bistro. It was a perfect day for a rich French onion soup. Tyler enjoyed a bowl of mussels. We were content. Perhaps this is the contentment of Claude and his turtle companion, and maybe even of a young child whose journey is just beginning.  Sometimes, you really do not have to travel far to find something that can deeply sustain you. I am grateful to know love is still guiding us through our own confusing and changing world.  

I know this post is longish, but I really must include this lovely poem written by James Wright that I received through First Sip. It speaks deeply of a Spirit of Place. We need these reminders to look around in gratitude and take in the grace. 

   

      

A Blessing 

  

Just off the Highway to Rochester, Minnesota
Twilight bounds softly forth on the grass.
And the eyes of those two Indian ponies
Darken with kindness.
They have come gladly out of the willows
To welcome my friend and me.
We step over the barbed wire into the pasture
Where they have been grazing all day, alone.
They ripple tensely, they can hardly contain their happiness
That we have come.
They bow shyly as wet swans. They love each other.
There is no loneliness like theirs.
At home once more,
They begin munching the young tufts of spring in the darkness.
I would like to hold the slenderer one in my arms,
For she has walked over to me
And nuzzled my left hand.
She is black and white,
Her mane falls wild on her forehead,
And the light breeze moves me to caress her long ear
That is delicate as the skin over a girl's wrist.
Suddenly I realize
That if I stepped out of my body I would break

Into blossom. 

image: Petaluma, 2024 

Learning the Art of a Short Pilgrimage

 Tyler and I spent last weekend at a KOA campground in Petaluma. We are not KOA campers, but two good friends were passing through in their motorhome, and it had been a few years since we had seen them. We decided to pack our camper and meet them there. The weekend proved to have some surprises for me. The campground is beautifully landscaped with pollinator friendly plants, and many of the tall redwoods and other trees still stand throughout the grounds. Everything was immaculately maintained. This property is owned by a fourth generation family, and it seems that they have learned their lessons well. I was stunned at how large some of the motorhomes were, and almost every one of them had a car or motorcycle in tow. Our little camper looked to be something that had gated in from some archaic planet, but we did have a few of our temporary neighbors stop by to inquire about our curious mode of travel. We even got a couple of thumbs up.  I did not expect to see much wildlife in such an environment, but in the early mornings and evenings, we were graced by the sound of two owls calling back and forth. On Saturday evening, I saw one take to the sky as the neighborhood crows adamantly  voiced their absolute disdain of them. Yet, my biggest surprise came on an early morning walk to the restroom when beautiful fox crossed the path ahead of me. Despite my mission, I instinctively stopped and stood very still. The fox took a moment to look at me cautiously, and then continued on. I felt honored to see this beautiful creature so close, and that moment still comes to mind. More than likely it was a California grey fox, but I have too little knowledge of these beautiful creatures to say for sure. 

On this short trip I began reading a book that a cousin recommended to me: the Cascadia Field Guide edited by Bradfield, Fuhrman, and Sheffield. The book is filled with information about the flora and fauna of Cascadia as well as lovely drawn illustrations and poetry. In the book all life that is found in Cascadia is referred to as beings, giving me hope that as dire as things often seem to be, we humans are making some incremental shifts in how we relate to the life around us.   

Tyler and I do not live in the vast area known as Cascadia. A drawn map included in the book shows that Cascadia stretches from southern Alaska, through western Canada, along the western side of the Rocky Mountains into Washington, Idaho, some of Oregon and part of northern California. I had never heard the term Cascadia, and I am grateful for the introduction.  

This trip was our third "practice" of the art of camping. We are settling into the rhythm of the packing and unpacking. Our hope is to take a longer trip in the fall. My thanks to our friends who invited us to join them for this weekend of pilgrimage, inspiration, and much laughter.       

"This book is for fellow beings - for those who leap, flap, walk, root, crawl, swim, and slither.  It is for a region we love and would love to love more fully." 

introduction to Cascadia Field Guide. May this be a mantra for us all. 

      

image: Tyler, surrounded by largeness. Photograph taken by a small phone.  

Enough

 Despite the fact that yesterday morning was grey and a little chilly and that I was congested and sniffly, I spent some time in both our front and back gardens - doing some watering, trimming, and pulling weeds. Again, I was reminded that there is healing to be found in a garden. As I walked in and between these fairly small spaces I greeted the bees and blossoms. As I did so, calmness began to take root in me. I forgot I was kind of cold and was pulling out a tissue out of my pocket every few minutes. Just before I came back inside I paused and realized that while yes, I know there are incredibly beautiful places in the world, and yes, I do want to do a little more traveling in the future, I am not sure I will find a place that offers me more peace than where I am right now. Such contentment has been long in coming. I think I have always feared contentment, confusing it with complacency. Today, I am not willing to sacrifice the peace of this moment for the restlessness of thinking there may be something more "out there". There surely is. I may even experience some of it. Yet, today, I have enough.

   

I pray that the seemingly unrelenting hunger and greed of the world's aggressors be abated by their realization that when everyone is allowed the chance to savor enough, there can be peace. We will then be able to hear the earth's song of love and wisdom once more. 

 

         

 

     

  

    

image: the peaks and valleys of a neighbor's rose.  April 2024

There Are Days (in case you have not noticed)

 I needed to see this today. I may not be the only one.  

"Be gentle with yourself. Be kind to yourself.
You may not be perfect, but you are all you've got to work with.
The process of becoming who you will be
begins first with the total acceptance of who you are."

~ Bhante Henepola Gunaratana
With gratitude to Claudia Cummins, who understands sometimes a poem  or meditation is needed.

           

 

The photograph was taken a few years ago. Nasturtiums are blooming again.  Spring continues.