"To live deep and suck out all the marrow of life..."

 

"I meant to do my work today...."  No, let me begin again.  I should do my work today, but that's not what I am doing.  All of that business is out the window, and I am out the door.  The leaves are falling so there's not a moment to spare. 

 Millie and I took a longer than normal walk around the backwoods' trails this morning, and, as much as my faithful companion loved it, I think I loved it more, so I am documenting it here.

~ ~~

One of my favorite quotes of Thoreau seems pertinent here.

"I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived...

I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life, to live so sturdily and Spartan-like as to put to route all that was not life, to cut a broad swath and shave close, to drive life into a corner, and reduce it to its lowest terms..."   

So, that's why I went..." to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life."  Well, today is a perfect day to do just that.  In just a bit, Millie and I are going to catch up our trusty steed, fuel her up, and head out again.  Millie will probably refuse to ride as she usually does, but I'll not be going far and will drive slowly.  But first, here are a few more phone shots from our morning walk.  

We did not do something so foolish as to climb down this boulder-strewn steep hillside.  I have been here and done that before, and vowed, then, to never do it again.  

In the back of my mind, and I am sure in Millie's too, was our recent encounter with the wild dogs, which I am now calling them.  Where might they be holed up for the day, awaiting the setting of the sun?  

And then.... just off the trail was this.   I actually thought bear at first.  But, ha ha, the joke was on me when I realized it was nothing but an old half rotten log.   

The trees are tall in this part of the woods, so the pretty leaves were taking their time floating to the ground.  I made a little video of leaves falling all around us, but not having YouTube, I can't post it here.  

So, we are out of here.  Take care, everyone.  

Until next time,

Mary

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A Close Encounter and More...

 

Sad?  Why should I be sad?  It's my birthday.  The happiest day of the year."  

"Your birthday?"  said Pooh in great surprise.

"Of course it is.  Can't you see?  Look at all the presents I have had."  He waved a foot from side to side.  "Look at the birthday cake.  Candles and pink sugar."

Ha Ha!  I always love to read this chapter on my birthday.  It's Chapter Six, In Which Eeyore Has a Birthday and Gets Two Presents.  I had to go upstairs and dig around to find my big A.A. Milne book, The Complete Tales & Poems of Winnie-the-Pooh with decorations by Ernest H. Shepard.  

The big rock where Millie and I sometimes sit to reflect on the day or to observe Nature. 

 

After having read Sharon Butala, I began to concentrate more on my surroundings. She says a mindless walk, when one is lost in thought, is a wasted walk.  

  "I began to try to stop thinking about anything else but the dirt on the road, the grass beside it, the stones, the fields spreading out on each side, the hawks circling overhead, the song of the meadowlark or red-winged blackbird, the sound of the wind in the grass, a particular rock high on a hillside.  This required concentration, I found, and a constant calling myself back from thoughts of other things to my surroundings at the moment."  ~Sharon Butala's Perfection of the Morning.  

 I will admit to having been guilty of taking many wasted walks.  I have at times said to Millie on our way out the back gate.  "Millie, we need to talk about some things.  You are a girl so you will understand."  So, I would talk, and she, I assumed, would listen. At the end, just as Ms. Butala would have predicted, I couldn't remember a thing about the walk we had just taken. 

But yesterday's walk was not wasted.  It was a walk of a close encounter.  I still shudder about this one.  Millie was slightly ahead of me as we stepped from the wooded lane above the big pond, when she was suddenly surrounded by "Animate Beings," with the clear intention of doing her harm.  

I could not, at first, wrap my head around what these beings were.  I counted at least six heavily coated creatures in black or red.  I kept thinking, "Are they coyotes or are they dogs?" They were definitely very different from the much less bold and usually bedraggled common coyote that I have befriended, defended, photographed and sketched.   In the end, after having Googled, I decided that they were, in all probability, a cross between the two breeds.  I read that when a coyote is red in color, it is a good indicator that it is of mixed parentage, being in this case, coyote and dog.  This cross is also often more aggressive and less afraid of people.  

Thankfully, Millie is very athletic and a fast runner, but so were these wild critters.  She disappeared from my sight surrounded by two blacks and a red and didn't return for several minutes.  When she finally reappeared, she was dripping wet.  She, apparently, escaped from her pursuers by getting into the pond.  She seemed okay otherwise.  I am still shaken.  

  

Until next time...

Mary

Close to Nature...

 

It was a perfect day for exploring backwoods trails.  "I had meant to do my work today, but a brown bird sang in the apple tree, so what could I do but laugh and go." (Richard Le Gallienne) 

 Well, that's almost the way it was, but without the brown bird in the apple tree, instead the EEEEE of a red-tailed hawk could be heard from high above the northern ridge.  It was enough.

As I walked, I stopped to pull dead limbs, some that were quite large, out of the path's way.  Farther on, we found one huge dead tree had fallen, blocking our way.   I will need help with that one but do know just the right guy for the job.  

It's a rugged and wild land - home of the coyote, and perhaps of a black bear or two, but I don't mind.  Oftentimes at dusk, when the coyotes begin to cry, Hubby will say, "There are your coyotes."  I say, "I like them."  He replies, "I don't."  I am still not sure how Millie feels about them.  I think it is a kind of love/hate thing with her.   

Sharon Butala in Perfection of the Morning, writes quite a bit about the coyotes of far southwest Saskatchewan.    

"In the evening, during the night, and in the early morning coyotes sing to us from out on the prairie.  They are actually calling to their brothers and sisters across the valley or from hill to lonely hill.  Sometimes they sound happy, yipping delightedly out of sync with each other, without melody or decorum; other times their song seems a heartfelt lament to the gods, as humans sing of their sorrow, their suffering across the centuries and around the world."

Back at home, I am continuing to get the house ready for the long winter months.  It's my big fall housecleaning that usually doesn't get finished in the spring.  I have made much progress, both inside and outside, having only my closet to finish and that always-needs-cleaning garage.  I have decided that definitely "less is often times more," as I am calling the photo of the old printers' drawer that hangs above my sewing machine (shown above).  

                                                                 

                                                                    Until next time,

                                                                    Mary

A Wild Jacket's Journey...

It's a long journey from being a worn-out bed sheet to becoming a stunning wild jacket fit for the backwoods trails, but .......   It can happen, and it did.  

I won't clog up the internet with all the fine details, from drafting a pattern to the scary step of immersing this sweet jacket into a kettle of boiling brew.  Lady Luck was definitely on my side this time.  And here it is finished just in time for cooler days ahead.  I did not leave it hanging on the hillside trail this morning but wore it the entire day.  

Summer's End...

The last of the hay has been baled. :~)  As we were finishing the field, we saw again, two young coyotes poking their heads up above the tall grasses.  They were catching and eating grasshoppers. I don't think a coyote has an easy life but these two seemed to be plump and in good health.  

Fall colors are beginning to show up along the trail on which Millie and I walk every day.  Our oldest granddaughter, who enjoys walking as much as I do, went along with us today. We stopped along the way and picked some muscadine grapes which are quite plentiful this year.  The granddaughter filled her pockets.   

I have much love for this old well-worn path that winds past the upper pond, over hill and through fields and meadows. In summer the tanagers, cardinals and mockingbirds sing from the thickets and treetops, but today there was only the scream of a Red-Tailed hawk and the caws of some noisy crows.  

The latest set of twins were lying in the upper meadow, while Momma Cow grazed nearby.  She thought something looked suspicious, so she came running and quickly took her babies away.   I am thankful that she can, at least, count to two, for most cows can't, or won't, so that we have to raise the rejected one on a bottle.  It has been a year for twins, and we currently have two bottle calves to care for.  

Safe Travels...

"The happening was migration.  It was full upon the Northern Hemisphere.  The shorter hours of sunlight and lowering temperatures were telling millions of birds to go south.  The event had begun in mid-August.  The loons, geese, ducks, and shorebirds had heard the message and had left the barrens of Alaska and Canada.  A few days later the swallows and swifts felt the change and left the Northeast.

And then it happened.  Frightful hopped from limb to limb until she reached the wispy top of the ancient hemlock.  She took a bearing on the sun's rays.  She fixed on a longitude between ninety and seventy degrees.  After many takes, the direction was indelibly printed on her brain.  She pointed her head and body along the invisible line.  She bent her knees and ankles.  She lowered her wings.

Frightful flew.  She did not look back.  She rode the prevailing wind over mountains and rivers into unknown territory..."

~ Frightful's Mountain by Jean Craighead George   (A favorite little trilogy from my school teaching years - My Side of the Mountain, On the Far Side of the Mountain, and Frightful's Mountain)  

Our weather guy posted this map yesterday which I found fascinating.  We are smack in the middle of high migration traffic rate.  It was estimated that yesterday there were 60,000,000 birds flying south over Arkansas and Oklahoma.  And, to think somewhere out there are my little birds!  

Safe travels, little ones!  We will see you in the spring.