Category Archives: Natural World

Alive to the Abundance #2

Sometimes in good weather after I’ve delivered Quetzal to school, I take the long way home. And often on these drives I pass an elderly man out for his morning walk. He’s close to ninety years, I’d say, bent and a bit shaky, but alert and still active.

This morning when I passed the man, he was standing in the grass just down the hill from his house. Continue reading

The Perpendicular Bean

Last week in the rains, a frog leaped out from a row of yellow beans I was harvesting and landed directly in my bucket about three feet away. As the bucket was almost full, and as I was on my knees, the frog and I were instantly eye-to-eye and intimate, his eyes showing greenish-yellow, mine maybe grayish-blue. I didn’t say anything, the frog didn’t say anything. And so we became studies for each other, two strangers trying on their Taoist way. Continue reading

This one. Or this one

THIS ONE

From where I live on Saddleback Mountain the sky is blue as purest love just now. From west across to east, from north across to south, it’s the blue original, the blue Eve knew, the blue you wish of your friends, of your lover, of your song, this rarest of blue in perfect certainty.

OR THIS ONE Continue reading

Floating Around in the Land of Diminished Wonder

We have a freshly cut bouquet of lilacs on the dining table just now, and the reason I’m telling you this is because I didn’t put them there. Quetzal put them there. I used to put May lilacs on the table. In the 1980’s in Batesville, Virginia I put lilacs on the table. In the 1990’s in Colorado I did. In the early 2000’s in Columbus I did. But these last years in New Hampshire: Have I cut lilacs for the table? No. Continue reading

May the earth we live on likewise live within us

In driving rain yesterday, I sat out a new planting of asparagus, thinking several times as I worked to give it up until drier weather. But in the end I held on, and so the job was done and twenty-some asparagus crowns from New Jersey overnighted for the first here in New Hampshire.

And also yesterday in maybe even colder rain, I planted apple trees, old heirloom varieties I brought home on Saturday from Plainfield, Vermont. Consider for a second their names:

Westfield Seek-No Further
Ashmead’s Kernel
Black Oxford
Stembridge Cluster
Esopus Spitzenburg

Is life fine-tuned a bit when we look out the kitchen window and, seeing an apple tree, think Ashmead’s Kernel? when we say the words? Do the trees we live with, the plants, the architecture, the sounds, the predominate slant of the sun—do these things influence our lives in ways we don’t realize? Is working in rain actually a kind of gift? Is the coming of spring, the coming of spring, the reoccurring coming of spring profoundly more important than we understand?

Quetzal told me a week ago that she is going to “live like a wild child this summer.” I’m not sure what that means, but I’m all for it, and I suggest we join her as best we can.

May the earth we live on likewise live within us.

carry on, guys.