Monday, August 13, 2012
See the flowers, so faithful to Earth.
We know their fate because we share it.
Were they to grieve for their wilting,
that grief would be ours to feel.
There's a lightness in things. Only we move forever burdened,
pressing ourselves into everything, obsessed by weight.
How strange and devouring our ways must seem
to those for whom life is enough.
If you could enter their dreaming and dream with them deeply,
you would come back different to a different day,
moving so easily from that common depth.
Or maybe just stay there: they would bloom and welcome you,
all those brothers and sisters tossing in the meadows,
and you would be one of them.
-Rainer Maria Rilke
We brought flowers and vegetables from our gardens and arranged them on a raft I built for the occasion. We made sure we were good and grateful for the generosity of the soil and the good fortune of rain this year- then we swam the colorful raft out into the middle of the French Broad and let it go at dusk. Homemade peach pie, ice cream and strawberry wine followed on the bank of the river.
Bring on the harvest!
Tuesday, August 7, 2012
Wednesday, August 1, 2012
- a machete for bushwhacking ease
- a flask with Rebel Yell
- cell phone
My companion: Hopey, the ever-ready plott hound
We set out through the woods, and the first thing I found was a tulip poplar that had fallen in one of our recent storms. There was usnea growing on the trunk and all the branches, and I am fresh out of usnea tincture (there is always somebody calling for that stuff), so I worked up a dripping sweat gathering a big bundle. I wasn't working hard or anything, it was so blasted muggy.
I carried on to the sunset spot where I found the blackberries are no longer for picking (oh well), but the view is still breathtakingly stunning.I figured I would bushwhack down through the brambles to an old run down farm in a meadow that I love walking to once and a while, and then take a certain gravel road I know home. Well, I found a 4 wheeler trail through some steep dark piney woods, and I supposed that was as good a way to go as any. I found a lot of mushrooms I don't know the name of and some beautiful specimens of cardinal flower, a late summer blooming native flower so brightly red and surprising it will stop you in your tracks. I followed a little branch down farther and farther through some lovely dark woods, while thunder rumbled in the distance and the air stood hushed and still.
Eventually I came to a caved in cabin and then a barn, and another barn. Then I caught a glimpse of the blacktop road, and realized I was turned around. I came to the river, realizing I was trespassing on someone's farm, and took my boots off and rolled my pant legs way up so I could cross without going closer to the house to walk the bridge. I don't know whose property it was or if they were likely or not be the type of people who would be comfortable with a sweaty machete wielding girl emerging from the woods in the mid-evening.
All and all the adventure was good, if not cut a little short due to my strange sense of directions.