Peripatetic philomaths…focusing on what's really important, eating ethically and cleanly, fermenting, foraging/wildcrafting, practicing herbalism, and being responsible stewards of our land. Sharing our photos, musings, and learnings. Still seeking our tribe.
It’s a mercifully cool (relatively speaking) Friday here, and for that I am thankful. I’m also deeply thankful for the support and fellowship of a very special person, my friend S. When I saw this dewy, unfurling sunflower glowing in the early morning sunlight, I thought of you.
S is one of those inspirational people who subtly, unconsciously, reminds you – through their actions – that you can do better. That you can be kinder, more trusting, more patient, more understanding, without being a victim. S has the patience of a saint, something that I struggle with, and I marvel at her ability to accept things that would, inanely, irritate me to no end. That’s really just wasted energy, isn’t it?
S reminds me that, sometimes, people simply need words of encouragement, a joke that makes them laugh, a shared experience or perspective that reminds them of our common humanity and makes them feel like someone (who is not a relative) cares. And this isn’t just obligatory caring.
My wish for each of you who see this post is that you have the privilege of knowing someone like S, who sees and appreciates beauty, including the beauty in you. Unicorns do exist. Keep growing, learning, and sparkling!
It was the kind of day that snails celebrate: not too hot, and steamy with humidity. As the very small snails gathered at the White, two were talking excitedly. A snail with a spiral shell was aflutter, repeatedly asking about the Legend. Another tiny snail was waving her antennae nonstop, proclaiming that she had heard that someone had been told that the Legend had been sighted. Sophie took the chatter in with a bemused smile, then said, “little snails, gather around – we have news about Gaston!”
Now that it’s Fall, sunrise occurs later, which provides me with some time in the morning to read, write, attend to indoor tasks, or simply think while it’s dark and quiet…before I need to go out and tend the animals. It’s a welcome period in days that sometimes feel like I’m racing the clock.
A strong storm blew in yesterday – the kind that made me wish I’d shut the solid coop door (often open for airflow this time of year, with the chickens safe behind a wire-covered “screen” door). The rain pounded the earth in slanted sheets, and the trees’ limbs flailed in the whipping wind. Thunder rattled the glassware in the china cabinet and I steered clear of the windows, wary of the brilliant flashes of lightning.
As he contemplated how to get across the Gray, Sylvie’s warnings about its terrible dangers were still fresh in Gaston’s memory. Yet, he felt compelled to go there, feeling that some important event loomed in his future, and that it was inextricably entwined with his quest. He gazed at it with trepidation and worked up his courage.
The baby snails had congregated at the White and were looking restless. Sophie knew that the recent heavy rain had brought them out, and they could be a handful when they were in groups. The tiny one with the light section of shell finally turned to Sophie, and, nearly shouting with excitement, asked “has Gaston reached the Red yet??”