November Musing - Part 3

There comes a time when autumn asks,

"What have you been doing all summer?"

Going out on a limb, and then meeting ourselves coming and going...

 

In August, my dear husband once again called my attention to something he knew I'd want to see. I quickly spied it clinging tightly to the rough wood of a standing planter box. Hidden among the clutter of old pieces of wood and blue tarp, it might easily have been overlooked if not for its brilliant green color.  Carefully observing, studying, and photographing it, I then made an attempt to grab it for a closer look. This little green tree frog depended on heightened awareness for its very survival, so when its supposed camouflage failed, it quickly switched to Plan B: speed and cover. It took me a few minutes of searching and grabbing, but finally I held it in my hand.

We were trying to settle in to what passes as a normal summer for us -maintaining our sizable yard and enjoying a number of local camping trips. But the reality is that this was not a normal summer for us. May had seen us offering some measure of long distance support for the move and settling-in of our brother-in-law near to his youngest daughter. June saw us helping to pack and move my older sister to our area from out-of-state. 

 

 And in between, we'd lived with many weeks of a major overhauling of a large slab of concrete near the back of our house. This served as a floor for both a double carport and a patio area, but it was very old, cracked, chipped, and beyond repair. After seeking expert advice, there was nothing to do but have that whole, huge slab removed and replaced with something better.

 

This brought major disruption, noise, and mess. So much for our normally quiet home...

 

 

Was it worth it? Absolutely!

To better photograph it, I set the little tree frog on a small plant near the ground, thinking I could sit down and focus right in on it.

 

Apparently, the frog had other ideas as it made a flying leap to a nearby red huckleberry bush and began climbing.

 

Several times I caught it and again placed it back on the short plant, but each time it leaped to the bush and continued its upward trek.

Finally, I just tried to photograph it wherever it was perched.

 

"Real action is in silent moments."

Ralph Waldo Emerson

I had my usual volunteer activities, some of which require more time and energy in the summer.  

 

As a volunteer beach naturalist, many hours are spent on our local beaches interacting with both children and adults who visit and would like to learn more about sea life.

 

 

As a member of the steering committee for a local nature park being developed in our area, I help with some stewardship work as well as many of the educational events we have there. The hours do add up...

 

 

"A bee is never as busy as it seems;

it's just that it can't buzz any slower."

Kin Hubbard

One thing we did not fully expect was the time involved with our church's new building project. My husband became the self-appointed "official" photographer and made at least one trip a day to the site to capture every stage of the building process.

This took nearly a year and was full of all sorts of ups and downs.

When the building was complete, we had a huge amount of landscaping to do and guess who was on that committee?

Most of what we did was required by the county, so it was not just for looks or our own satisfaction, although the results turned out well.

 

 

 

 

 

We're glad it's all done!

 

 

We did manage to go camping, as planned. Although we live in a rural area, we are not far from two major cities and the surrounding areas teem with population. Because of this and (we surmise)  the current economic conditions, to get a desired camp site with the needed or wanted hookups one really needs to make a reservation months in advance. We had reserved all of our camping sites back in January and, fortunately, we did not need to cancel any.

 

For us - even with planning and packing - getting away to the relative peace and quiet of a campground is well worth the effort. It really is getting back to the basics of simple living - relaxing, enjoying the great outdoors, cooking, eating, and sleeping.

 

 We spend little time inside, choosing to sit outside in camp chairs or taking a drive or hike to see the surrounding countryside.

 

 

We revel in the variety of life on this planet and never cease to be amazed at how well each is adapted to its particular niche.

 

 We breath it all in and find ourselves refreshed and revitalized again and again.

 

"The point is that when I see a sunset or a waterfall or something, for a split second it's so great, because for a little bit I'm out of my brain, and it's got nothing to do with me. I'm not trying to figure it out, you know what I mean? And I wonder if I can somehow find a way to maintain that mind stillness." - Chris Evans.

 The tree frog continued to climb and leap - from one slender branch to the next. It seemed very odd to me that it would choose this spindly bush over the sturdy plant below until it dawned on me - this was a TREE frog. It simply chose the path it was best equipped to deal with.

 

When I find myself overwhelmed with the myriad facets of life - the worries, frustrations, burdens, pain, grief, busyness, and constant changes, I always seek some measure of solitude.

 

 

While digging weeds, I can work out the solution to a problem.

 

 

While walking the beach, I can contemplate ultimate change.

 

 

While standing among trees, I can recognize my true size and importance.

 

 

When my mind is a-swirl and my body racing, instinctively I know what I need - solitude and silence.

 

 

Through these, the ultimate power of life and love and all that is speaks volumes and brings me back to who I am.

 

"When you lose touch with inner stillness,

you lose touch with yourself.

When you lose touch with yourself,

you lose yourself in the world.

Your innermost sense of self, of who you are,

is inseparable from stillness.

This is the I Am that is deeper than name and form."

~Eckhart Tolle

 

 

“Be still, and know that I am God."

Psalm 46:10

November Musing - Part 2

There comes a time when autumn asks, 

"What have you been doing all summer?"

The best laid plans of mice and men...

In early June, while I was out working in the yard, my husband came to me with "I found something you might want to see..." By the outside corner of his workshop he had been moving and rearranging some spare lumber. "We need to be careful, but behind these boards I found a small bat - there seems to be only one." My husband knows me well - I did, indeed, want to see this. Only once before had I ever seen a wild bat live and up close. (To read about that time, please click here: A Flap in the Night)

 

 Carefully we removed the boards, one at a time, until we spotted a small, lumpy, oddly-shaped dark creature neatly tucked into a small space near the ground and between the boards. Taking a stick, I gently nudged it from behind until it wriggled out to where we could get a closer look. I thought it might take off, but then it was bright daylight and that pretty much goes against a bat's nature. Probably this was the day roost of the Little Brown bat and it planned to settle in there until sunset when it would take off to feed.

 Photo courtesy of BatGuys

We obviously roused it early; it wouldn't flee, but then it also wouldn't give up its space easily. Opening its little mouth widely, it divulged a set of tiny, needle-sharp teeth.

Having expressed its discontent, it turned its head away and froze, undoubtedly hoping this was all just a bad dream. We carefully covered it with boards and left it alone.

"But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane [you aren't alone]
In proving foresight may be vain:
The best laid schemes o' mice an' men
Gang aft a-gley, [often go awry]
An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain,

For promised joy."

From Robert Burns' poem To a Mouse, 1786

 

 

Several times in recent years my older sister had mentioned that she might consider moving closer to family at some point: "After all, in five years I'll be ninety..." Having lived most of her life in Montana, with parents gone and sisters living in other states, she was facing up to some tough decisions. She'd always been independent - single with no children - so had to take care of herself. She'd lived in her current town for 60 some years and, although she was fairly active and had many friends, knew the time was approaching when she might need some help. Friends are wonderful, but there's usually nothing quite like family.

Last December, while she was here for Christmas, we visited a couple of independent/assisted living facilities. One seemed just right for her - small and very friendly. Best of all, it was located in our little community and just ten or fifteen minutes from our house. She flew home telling us she'd "think about it." Evidently, that didn't take long, as we soon received a phone call telling us she'd decided to move here. We were very happy with her decision.

 

Over the next six months, she methodically and single-handedly (for the most part) plotted her course and set about accomplishing some extreme down-sizing and preparing for a major move. She was merciless in her mission! She had it all planned - would go through her belongings, make decisions on what to keep, line up others to do her garage sale, contact her realtor, have the condo appraised, and do whatever needed doing to get it ready to sell. She figured she could accomplish all that and put the place up for sale around the first of June. Whether it sold or not, we'd drive over and move her in the late summer, by September at the latest.

In early June, I received a fretful phone call. The condo had sold within the first week and she had three weeks to vacate. "It's OK" I reassured her. "Line up your garage sale and we'll see where things stand after that." Wrong - the people who ran garage sales needed more notice, but they did visit her and gave her a rough estimate of what her furniture pieces were worth. Operating like the true trooper she is, she invited friends in to pick and choose items to buy, lined up other friends to help prepare for a garage sale, checked into places to take the things that didn't sell, and advertised her very own sale, which turned out to be fairly successful. But there were still many decisions to be made and many things to do.... her weekly phone calls became daily ones. After one particularly stressful call, my husband looked me in the eye and said "You need to go and help - NOW!"

It wasn't that I didn't want to. It's just that this sister, who is fifteen years older than me, has always handled her own life and told me what she was going to do. I've always been her "baby sister" and never felt that there was much I could do for her. But now it was obvious that she needed my help, even though she might not ask for it. I flew to her as soon as I could.

 

Arriving at her place, I found her physically exhausted and frailer than I'd remembered. Obviously, the last few weeks had taken a toll. I set about packing up all of her belongings that she knew she was going to take. That part, although time-consuming and challenging at times, was not terribly difficult. But there were still a number of decisions to be made, most of which only she could make and she was running out of steam to do so. Gently, I tried to move her along on these, but often heard "I can't make that decision today - I'll look at it tomorrow..." Sometimes we exchanged angry words and there were tears. This was not the sister I knew, but I gradually tried different methods to get her to budge and, in some cases, just quickly told her what the answer had to be. She began then to tell me "I just want to wake up and have this all over with." Believe me, I felt the same...

 

There were numerous errands to change banks, sign papers, and pick up empty boxes. Little by little, the physical part of her move progressed. But then there was the emotional part. In the course of the first week that I was there, we had three different farewell social events to attend. These were each rich, heart-warming occasions that showed just how deep my sister's connections were and how much she was admired and loved. To me, somewhat the outsider with the "need-to-get-done" checklist, they took valuable time away from all we yet had to accomplish before moving day. But I also knew how necessary this part of the process was for all involved, so I put on my best smile and my company manners and made the best of it. My sister reveled in each celebration and became more exhausted.

The day after we discovered the Little Brown bat, I tried to find it again. Carefully removing the boards, I checked out every tiny nook and cranny but found no sign of it. Having been disturbed, poked, and prodded, it must have decided that this was no longer a safe place to remain. I'm sure it was agitated that it needed to move and I hope it found another more suitable day roost where it could sleep in peace and comfort. May it eventually congregate with others of its kind and lead a long, fulfilling bat life...

 

My husband drove in the following week and began figuring out the space needed for what size of moving trailer we'd rent. That week, as the preceding one, quickly evaporated and we glimpsed the end in sight. My sister, who suffers from severe osteoporosis, developed back pain which she surmised to be another hairline fracture. She ate like a sparrow and just wanted to sleep. I stopped asking for decisions to be made and just packed, figuring we'd deal with it later. The last two days passed in a haze - the trailer got loaded, lots of folks dropped in for final goodbyes, to pick up items they'd purchased or been given, to drop off goodies. With the condo now empty, I scrubbed and vacuumed until I was exhausted. Finally, we hit the road.

 

The trip home was thankfully uneventful. My husband took the lead with the truck and loaded trailer; we followed behind with me driving my sister's car. Although my husband and I take many road trips and trade off driving, it had been many years since I'd put in a full day's drive myself. I knew I was capable and just hoped it would go well, but I needn't have worried. My sister slept much those two days on the road and never once asked to drive. I think it was a case of just doing what needed to be done - for each of us.

Since the move, we have all settled into our own routines. My sister is still independent, but has help where she lives if she needs it and knows she can call on us any time. She is slowly adjusting to the new community, climate, and lifestyle. While allowing each other space, we do call and see each other more often. She has rested up, regained her appetite, and enjoys her new home; old friends call often. I love her dearly and she so amazes me! I hope that if and when I'm her age, I'll have the courage and determination to make whatever decisions are needed, to uproot myself and move on to wherever I need to be. I hope I'll have someone to stand by my decisions and help me do what I must...

"To decide is to walk facing forward
 with nary a crick in your neck
from looking back at the crossroads."

Betsy Cañas Garmon 

 

 

To be continued here:

November Musing - Part 3

 

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November Musing - Part 1

There comes a time when autumn asks, 

"What have you been doing all summer?"

It is never expected - not really, anyway.

Early last summer as I walked by our kitchen window, I glimpsed a dark, blocky shape out of the corner of my eye. We were having some old concrete work replaced out back and it occurred to me that the workers might have propped up a large piece of plywood there. What? Going back to the window, I looked out to see a large black bear standing on its back legs and licking sunflower seeds out of our post bird feeder. Quietly, I summoned my husband and we watched while the bear continued to eat.

 

Temporarily satisfied, he sat down next to the feeder to reflect on what he had done.... well, probably not.

He did seem fairly content, however, until I opened the door and yelled at him, clapping my hands loudly. Begrudgingly, he got up and slowly ambled across the yard, glancing back at me from time to time.

Before he got far, however, he plopped himself down as if seriously contemplating whether or not it really was time to leave.

 

That's when my husband picked up his pellet gun & bounced a pellet off the bear's hind end. No longer feeling comfortable or safe, the bruin took off for the woods - where maybe he could feel both.

 

After the death of my sister nearly two years ago, my brother-in-law remained in their home alone. It's often recommended that the remaining spouse not make any hasty decisions about moving; allowing for the grieving process and establishing a "new norm" takes time. But he was dealing with a progressing dementia and time was definitely not on his side. He was adamant that he was fine and not moving anywhere!


 

His three adult daughters, with vastly different personalities, lived in three different states - none nearby. Somehow, visiting home care was arranged long-distance and life went on after a fashion. He took his daily walks, visited with neighbors, received and made phone calls, and managed to tolerate the daily intrusions of his caregivers, none of whom he'd previously known. He ate his prepared dinners and spent the evenings alone. One daughter, who seemed to be in the best position to do so, suggested that he move near her where she could monitor his care. He wouldn't budge - not even for a visit -  and over the course of a year, and a number of flights for her, all her persuasions led to naught.

No longer having her mother to turn to, this niece would call me when she needed to vent or bounce around her next idea on how to deal with her dad. Mostly I listened, but sometimes I did have suggestions and together we commiserated on a troubling, difficult situation. I had watched my husband attempt to handle the care of his aging parents from long-distance when both suffered from Alzheimer's and refused to move, so I know how difficult this can be. It is worrisome, frustrating, and heartbreaking.  You do what you can, but in the end are left drained and guilt-ridden. I did not want this for my niece and her dad, if at all possible, so tried to be there for her when she needed me.  



Finally, with yet another change in his caregivers, increasing social isolation, and some changes in his behavior which caused more concern, she flew to visit him yet again with one more proposition: he could come to visit her for a month and stay in one of the assisted living facilities he had previously visited and liked. At the end of that month, he could stay or go back home - the decision would be his. We both knew this was risky, for there was no way she could force him to stay, but he finally consented to give it a try.  Her tremendous compassion and patience paid off at last.

 

As it turned out, he liked his new place, made friends immediately, and felt at home there. After that year of mourning his loss, he now realized just how lonely and isolated he'd become. He was finally ready to admit and somewhat accept his failing memory. He decided to move on and enjoy having some family nearby - one daughter, two grown grand-daughters, and his one and only precious great-grandson. 

 

 

After our early summer visit by the large bear, we removed all our bird feeders so that he'd have nothing to come for. It seemed to work and we tried to figure out ways to suspend a couple of the feeders beyond what any bear could reach. Finally, we put two feeders back up - one attached high up on the side of a large, metal outbuilding, and one suspended far up a tree on the outer end of a branch. We did not expect any bear to reach either of these, but late one night a smaller bear came by and tore down the feeder hanging from the tree. We're still not sure how he did that, but he also grabbed a suet feeder hanging high outside a window and carried it off some distance from the house. We've not put either back up. The one remains on the side of the metal building - so far. No matter how hard we try, some things are beyond our control.

 

 

Since my brother-in-law's move, things have changed and life still goes on. It is a bonus for us that he now lives somewhat closer. Some of his own belongings have been transported to his new home and he remembers most of them. His family visits often, yet gives him breathing space and "independence" as much as is possible. He shuffles his important papers and writings numerous times, misplaces and loses things, and thinks they have been stolen. He likes where he lives and the people he's met there - most of the time. He still thinks the city and state he's moved to are strange and says they've always been so - we no longer argue that point. Some things are just not worth discussion any more.

 

 

Sometimes turmoil leads to cohesion. This niece and I have grown closer as a result of family upheaval. She still calls to talk, for all is not settled yet. His previous home has not yet been emptied and put up for sale, which is a concern. There are some financial and legal matters to put in order and two sisters for her to deal with - all of it long-distance. There is the slow, steady decline in her much-loved dad, the only parent she has left. I cannot begin to fill that space in her heart or answer all of her concerns.  I never expected to be in this position, but then no one ever does. I can only give her one thing - time on this end of the line. Time and love, for in the end those are what matter the most.

"Time is too slow for those who wait, too swift for those who fear, too long for those who grieve, too short for those who rejoice, but for those who love, time is eternity." ~ Henry Van Dyke

 

To be continued here:

November Musing - Part 2

 

 

Caring - Feathered or Not

 

"I don't want to make a bird out of a pine cone!" Arriving for the morning's nature study, this rambunctious ten-year-old boy had seen the projects of the six to eight- year-olds strewn about on the table and grass. Those children had chosen a cone, colored and glued on paper wings and bills, and then formed a nest of twigs, grass, moss, dog fur, and - in some cases - mud for it to "nest" in. He did not want to do what the younger kids had done. Of course not.

 "Don't worry," I assured him, "we won't be making any birds." He and his age-mates gathered around as I brought out the various birds' nests that I have collected over the years. Passing them around the circle, I explained how each bird carefully constructs a nest for its young using whatever materials are available that suits it. We had looked at pictures of birds likely to be found in our area and talked about where those nests might be built. Some are high up in trees, made of small branches and added on to year after year; some are found in holes which the birds peck into dead trees, hollowing out a space just big enough for the nest and nestlings. Others are built in low shrubs or on the ground in such a way that they are camouflaged from all but the most observant.  Indeed - the lives of their young depend on it.

"I don't want to make a bird... or a mud nest, either." He was adamant and the others looked as if they might agree. "You don't have to - that's what the younger kids did. You're all older, so we'll do something different - out in the woods." The eyes rolled and the questions started, but I learned long ago that enthusiasm and mystique only add to a learning experience, so plowed on. "You'll see - you'll be constructing something..."

The overall theme of the week was "Under Construction" with a sub-theme each day. We would be delving into how a community shares, cares, worships, and celebrates. My intent was to tie these into nature studies.

 

 

 

 

We had looked into how ants share within their anthill and on this day were learning how hard birds work to care for their young - even before any eggs are laid. And we humans? It definitely takes effort, and sometimes sacrifices, to care for each other. We talked about the ways in which we can show that we do care for others.

 

 

Each child chose a rock and then we were off to the woods. A short ways in they were given their challenge: to pretend their rock was a bird, explore and choose what they thought was a good spot for a nest, construct the nest using whatever they could find, and make sure that their "bird" fit in the nest. Oh - and one more thing. They were each given a simple pair of tongs to use during some of the construction. Birds don't have hands with fingers and thumbs, you know.

 

 

Later, as I related this experience to the mom of that particular boy, she told me of his reaction to this activity. He came out of the woods, sought her out, and exclaimed: "Mom, come see the nest that I made!" While I care deeply about all of the children that I interact with, it's not always easy to get through to them. I have to say - that one statement pretty much made my day!

 

Even the sparrow finds a home,

and the swallow a nest for herself,

where she may lay her young,

at your altars, O LORD of hosts,

my King and my God.

Psalms 84: 3

 

 

Selling their possessions and goods,

they gave to anyone as he had need.

Acts 2:45