Pollinators

It has been too hot already this year and I worry about what the summer will bring.  Most of us worry about what will be of the next few months, the nation and world sweltering, sweating, drying out. Some boil over, others simmer. Too many scald, but there have always been those kind of people.  I distract myself--put my phone away, walk barefoot over the grass, and sit on the back porch watching the only neighbors we have met--birds, bees, and deer.  The bees and birds scatter over the property, from flower to flower, back and forth doing their job.  They are the pollinators, scattering goodness across our land, dutifully and diligently.

The bees hum in unison, their voices hypnotizing.  Some with red backs, others a soft yellow.  I ask my dad why they are different colors.  "Why did the goldfinch that landed in my hand have a black back?"  he asks.  I guess it doesn't matter as long as they are happy to be here and aren't hurting anyone.  The bees favor the lavender, which the deer stay away from.  We will have every kind of lavender by the end of our mortgage, I'm convinced.

The hummingbirds are a bit more aggressive, but contribute just the same.  They quarrel between themselves, with as many as five at a time vying for a spot at the feeder.  The birds peck quickly at each other, then leave for a flower, come back when it is their turn.  Still, the red liquid remains full as they instead spend most of the time in the garden.  The purple sage flowers are thriving, again untouched by the deer, but maintained by the flying neighbors.  I am grateful for what is left behind, whether it was stripped or has time to grow.

I watch the birds putter around the garden, the bees staying put in the front yard.  Sure, they contribute to stay alive, but have a bigger purpose.  If it weren't for their work, we would be without wildflowers, without the bright hues we rely on.  Their work is good work, their flight with meaning.  They do not take as the deer do, they do not scamper when I sit and watch them.  Other birds pollinate accidentally, unintentionally--dropping a sunflower seed and not noticing it in time before it grows its sturdy stalk.  The pollinators teach to keep pushing, trying, and focusing on the flowers straight ahead.  Everything will bloom in due time.

A large female deer frequents our yard and takes what is in sight.  A few weeks later a fawn emerges behind her, saturated with white spots and walking on knobby knees.  A twin stumbles from the woods minutes later and I am reminded, though they take too much, they are doing the best they can. She is scared too, she is focused on her own. She need a bit more those weeks ago  She can't give like the birds, she is more vulnerable and can't fly away.  For those of us who can, we can always do more.

The heat looms, but the birds and bees are unfazed, the flowers bloom, and the world will keep turning.

To Yes

Tonight, K is still at work and I'm gently being pushed out of bed by the labs.  Work has happily consumed us this year, steadily and generously.  While I have found myself using this space to complain about the lack of time in my corner, eagerly awaiting a break to garden! and cook! and take photos! I realize the busyness is just as satisfying.  Lately and possibly consciously, we do not hesitate.

We say yes.

Like, yes to driving across the state, over 500 miles total for a conference.  Yes to still-snow capped mountains and extra large cinnamon twisps.  

Yes to running here and literally.  Yes to giving up Saturdays for another event, viewing it as an opportunity to expand.  Yes to doing something really crazy, like agreeing to host an exchange student next year.  Yes, we are going to do that!  

Here's to saying yes to standing throughout an entire Bruce Springsteen concert.  Because you'll probably get few chances to dance your heart out at a four hour concert again.  And, you should always stand for him anyways.  Yes to looking up at the lights with your husband swaying next to you and belting out the songs with thousands of fans, realizing you're in the moment now.

A loud yes to anyone who is in the moment now, nowadays.  

I'm sorry, I have to take a minute to relive that in my brain.  Life altering.  

Yes to late hours, an extra part time job, a volunteer opportunity, nearing the end of the tunnel, and sacrifice. 

Yes to chasing sunsets, allowing puppies to burrow under the covers, and buying new throw pillows, again.  To another 10 minutes at the gym, an extra happy hour with friends, to donating, and to opening the windows even though it's still a bit early.

Yes to working hard, loving it all--yes to life.  

In the Mountains

We are home.

Without sounding cliche, this space here is ours, maybe it always has been.  I hold my breath when I think back on the last year of searching, waiting, and pacing.  While it seemed impossible at the time, finding the right place to lay our head down at night and build our family tree was actually easy.  Be patient, be positive, and jump when the opportunity strikes.  Cliche, yes, but true nonetheless.

Boxes are still scattered, K lost all of his ties, and the dogs have figured out there are ample opportunities to play hide and seek, but we have effortlessly found a new groove and routine.  True, we have yet to meet a single neighbor except for the family of five deer.  But friends down the street and community have filled that need.  Everything will come in due time.

I say it hasn't hit me, but at this point I'm not sure if things necessarily hit anyone.  Instead, we maybe have moments of clarity where we see ourselves suddenly but thoroughly engulfed in new roles and experiences. It didn't hit me that we are married but instead I feel the steady jolt of electricity when I reflect on the strong marriage we've developed.  This house too will not strike me now but instead in many years as hydrangeas have grown twice as large and children are busy with homework on the dining room table.  A house is one thing but it takes time to build a home.

I drive home after work, tired and worried about the little ones who I need to do more for.  The road winds along the canal and our town pushes deeper into the valley with every turn.  The mountains dip in and out of view.  On some days they are icy and crystal and vivid against the blue sky.  Mostly, unapologetically, they hide behind the marine layer as it hangs low in the evergreens.  I drive and keep my eye on above the horizon, either conversing with the mountains or telling them "fine, I'll look at the trees instead".  I turn and the road becomes the mountain, the cement creating switchbacks and the trees canopying above.

My heart rate settles and speeds up again as I climb that mountain in my car, approaching the drive way.  This is ours, on top of this mountain, where the snow falls more frequently, the dirt is filled with rocky terrain, and all the possibility of what life offers, awaits.