It reached 94 degrees today. The clay soil is rock hard and the grasses have very little moisture in them. The dandelions and blackberries continue to grow and the later are putting out their sweetened fruit. Some sweet corn was picked tonight... delicious right off the stalk.
It is a very comfortable temperature, as the last light of the day seeps away. A planet shines brightly in the SE skies, Jupiter/Venus? The crickets call out their incantation to the cool evening. Two years ago I was staying on Lamma Island in Hong Kong. The crickets rubbed/chirped their music quite loudly. As a matter of fact, in most places that I have traveled these members of the Gryllidae family are present. We all are under the same sky, breathe the same air, dream similar dreams. We also share the presence of insects like these crickets.
This afternoon I watched a grasshopper walk across our deck. It was missing one of its rear legs. These are the ones they use for jumping. It would walk normally and then periodically list to the side. Was it attacked by a snake? Born without one leg? More mysteries of life. There are a multitude of moths, butterflies, gnats, mosquitoes, bees, wasps, earwigs, pill bugs... and many more. This land is filled with life.
Chagdud Tulku Rinpoche was born in 1930's Tibet. Since the part of Tibet he lived in was so high, there was very little variety in their diet. It basically consisted of meat and barley, plus the ever present butter tea. It was reported that he once said that they used to feel sorry for the lowlanders who had to eat all those plants and kill all those animals. Where the people of Eastern Tibet might have to kill a single animal to eat, the people who farmed had to kill worms, insects, small mammals to eat from their farms.
It is an interesting perspective. We have a way of dismissing the small creatures of the animal kingdom in favor of the larger animals. It is a conundrum if one is a vegetarian. The Jains, a religous sect in India, prescribe a path of non-violence toward all living beings. There are some who refuse to go out at night so they don't accidentally kill a creature and they might wear a mask around their mouth so they don't accidentally breathe in an insect.
There are those who think of such paths as "crazy" "extreme". I wonder who is crazy and extremist: such people as the Jains or those who consume huge amounts of resources. Is it crazier to live one's life focused on non-harming or to be ignorant of the harm one does toward others? I tend to think the view of acquiring as much capital and resources as possible is the crazier lifestyle.
One of the more difficult choices about living out here was the distance from town. I was looking forward to living in Corvallis and getting around town on bike and bus. It is very gratifying being out here, the land is beautiful and we are working hard to be good stewards of the land. There are trade-offs in this life and one of those is traveling out here.
One of those ways of being better stewards is to minimize our travel. One of the spiritual practices is to stay put. Going many places and doing a lot can be an addiction and one that is very hard to break. I'm used to traveling the world, seeing many people and things. Yet, what does it really bring us in the end? Travel helps us understand each other better. However, there comes a point where travel is another commodity; another thing to acquire.
It is a lesson to watch a grasshopper walk across the deck or a moth cling to the wall. This is a place where one can watch the grass grow (and wither in the heat). It is a place where one can sit and feel the cool of morning turn to the heat of afternoon, then feel the cool breath of night time. It is the breath of the earth as it spreads around the planet. May your path be aided by that cool breeze.
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Monday, August 10, 2009
Birch Bark
Outside our main door (which happens to be the "back" door) are three Paper Birches (also called American White Birch or Canoe Birch). These white trees peel back from the trunks in thin sheets. Some of them roll up into a tight roll, like a thin cigarette. Though it is native in Washington State, it isn't in Oregon. When I was a wee lad I remember my great grandfather's brother, Bob, used to harvest the bark and sell it. It was a way for him to supplement social security. In my memory of nearly fifty years ago is a comment that he said it was sold for making paper. This would have been the mid-sixties. Did they still make paper out of paper birch then?
Uncle Bob, that is what I called him, was a character that still fills my heart with joy. After my great grandfather Ben died, I went to visit Uncle Bob during spring break. I thought it was so cool that we went and dug nightcrawlers from a large and old pile of horse manure in the auction yards of Arlington, Washington. Machias was the name of the little hamlet that he lived near and this place had two stores (one with a post office), a tavern, and a worm farm. Doc's worm farm used to buy Uncle Bob's worms from him. He read Zane Grey novels, showed me my first "girlie magazines", ate Safeway pastries filled with sugar, and he told me stories of his life in the artillery in WWI. He also told me a bit about his life as a hobo riding the trains.
It's amazing what a little thing like peeling birch will elicit from one's memory. Everytime I go out the door I see those white trunks and think of him.
The other day I hauled these 15 foot 6x6s to the "tree house". This was put up by the previous owner and was more like a well-built platform. The platform is 8-10 feet up the Ash trees. So I hauled this beam over and it is long enough that I can walk up it and sit on this platform. I did yoga on it the other day too. It looks down on the creek and into this lush forest. I spent one day painting an ash tree and leaves.
This is a place that is conducive to retreat. Even though we have neighbors and horses right next door and people across the gravel road, it is very private. We can spend days in retreat and not have people intrude upon the space. We are far enough out from Corvallis that it takes a commitment to come out here. It is an easy place to slow down and be with the rhythm of the growing plants, the wind, the call of the crickets and tree frogs, and the movement of the moon and stars. When the moon is full it is so bright that one can walk through the meadow by its light.
The other day I was doing my morning meditation on the deck, listening to the call of the Mourning Doves, when suddenly they exploded off the ground and took flight. In a matter of moments they were attacked by a Cooper's Hawk. First one dove evaded the hawk, but then there was a sudden release of feathers and one of the dove's was fast in the talons. The hawk landed then took off into the willows. There were few birds that showed up for an hour or so.
Sitting there, watching this scene of life and death, it became an important insight into the impermanence of life. We never know when we will exhale and not inhale. It is a challenge to know how to experience joy in each moment of our lives. Opening our hearts and minds to each and every moment is simple but complex. There is no operating manual or rule book. We must each find our own way amidst the hawks, crickets, and peeling birch.
A talisman is an object that averts evil and brings good fortune. In ancient Greek it meant to initiate into the mysteries. This land is a talisman for me. It is a blend of the realities of life in the moment and the mysteries as they unfold. It also brings good fortune because it brings to me good memories of important people. Uncle Bob brought much joy into my life and Grandpa Ben brought a love for the outdoors into my soul. It's amazing what a piece of paper birch can bring into one's life.
May your life be filled with mysteries to contemplate.
Uncle Bob, that is what I called him, was a character that still fills my heart with joy. After my great grandfather Ben died, I went to visit Uncle Bob during spring break. I thought it was so cool that we went and dug nightcrawlers from a large and old pile of horse manure in the auction yards of Arlington, Washington. Machias was the name of the little hamlet that he lived near and this place had two stores (one with a post office), a tavern, and a worm farm. Doc's worm farm used to buy Uncle Bob's worms from him. He read Zane Grey novels, showed me my first "girlie magazines", ate Safeway pastries filled with sugar, and he told me stories of his life in the artillery in WWI. He also told me a bit about his life as a hobo riding the trains.
It's amazing what a little thing like peeling birch will elicit from one's memory. Everytime I go out the door I see those white trunks and think of him.
The other day I hauled these 15 foot 6x6s to the "tree house". This was put up by the previous owner and was more like a well-built platform. The platform is 8-10 feet up the Ash trees. So I hauled this beam over and it is long enough that I can walk up it and sit on this platform. I did yoga on it the other day too. It looks down on the creek and into this lush forest. I spent one day painting an ash tree and leaves.
This is a place that is conducive to retreat. Even though we have neighbors and horses right next door and people across the gravel road, it is very private. We can spend days in retreat and not have people intrude upon the space. We are far enough out from Corvallis that it takes a commitment to come out here. It is an easy place to slow down and be with the rhythm of the growing plants, the wind, the call of the crickets and tree frogs, and the movement of the moon and stars. When the moon is full it is so bright that one can walk through the meadow by its light.
The other day I was doing my morning meditation on the deck, listening to the call of the Mourning Doves, when suddenly they exploded off the ground and took flight. In a matter of moments they were attacked by a Cooper's Hawk. First one dove evaded the hawk, but then there was a sudden release of feathers and one of the dove's was fast in the talons. The hawk landed then took off into the willows. There were few birds that showed up for an hour or so.
Sitting there, watching this scene of life and death, it became an important insight into the impermanence of life. We never know when we will exhale and not inhale. It is a challenge to know how to experience joy in each moment of our lives. Opening our hearts and minds to each and every moment is simple but complex. There is no operating manual or rule book. We must each find our own way amidst the hawks, crickets, and peeling birch.
A talisman is an object that averts evil and brings good fortune. In ancient Greek it meant to initiate into the mysteries. This land is a talisman for me. It is a blend of the realities of life in the moment and the mysteries as they unfold. It also brings good fortune because it brings to me good memories of important people. Uncle Bob brought much joy into my life and Grandpa Ben brought a love for the outdoors into my soul. It's amazing what a piece of paper birch can bring into one's life.
May your life be filled with mysteries to contemplate.
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Living on the Edge
The riparian zone is the place where a stream and land meet. It is often a place where a chaordic (chaos and order) state exists. It is a place rich with variety even though it might be a tangle of alder, cottonwood, blackberry, snowberry, thistle, and poison oak. It is a place of safety for many small creatures and on this land they are the Cottontail Rabbit, squirrels, and songbirds. Many mornings our neighbor's cat makes its rounds along the edge.
If you've ever walked in a riparian zone you'll notice that it is rich with life, whereas if you venture deep into the wildwoods it is filled with less variety. As magnificent as the ancient trees are they reveal less life than do the edges.
If one goes toward our creek (now dry) the water striders are gliding across the surface of the water. Have you seen water striders as they move across the surface of the water? The ends of their legs push down on the water surface like a finger poking into plastic wrap. These insects belong to the Gerridae family. They have non-wetting legs and it is their structural design, not the wax coating that allows them to skim across the surface of the water.
The pond they call home will soon be a memory, but come winter it will be 4 feet deep and home for the Rough-Skinned Newt. I've seen this amphibian all over the Pacific Northwest. This slow moving, orange belly creature is toxic. However, for humans it would need to be ingested. Maybe it should have a warning label: Harmful when ingested. I guess if I were starving there would be that temptation. The newt has disappeared during this hot, dry phase of our climate.
This land is a place where the cultivated and the wild live side-by-side. In wildland firefighting terms it is the wildland-urban interface. No one would mistake this area for urban though. An environmentalist I once studied with wrote a book called The Comedy of Survival. Joseph Meeker draws a comparison in literature to our efforts in creating an environmental ethic. In one of the chapters he compares the pastoral with the picaresque. This term comes from the Spanish word, picaro. Rogue.
We live on the edge between the pastoral and the rogue; between the cultivated and the wild; where the riparian zone continues to reach out from its hold on the shore. Tentacles of blackberry and alder reach further and further into the field. Putting down roots wherever they can. It is like our own neural net making new connections when we learn. Here it is the earth reaching and expanding into new territory. It is a dance we play with keeping life wild and orderly. Too much order and the place begins to look like a formal garden in England or China. However, there is a calming aspect to this order.
If we let the land just take care of itself then it becomes a jumble of native and invasive plants. That disorder is less appealing as a preferred living environment. In the city I have seen people who have let their dandelions grow and the grass go to seed. I've preferred a blend, a little order and serenity nearby the house and wildness where it is easily seen and experienced. (We aren't talking about wilderness, which should be left to its own life.)
I guess it is like the taming of one's mind. If we hold too tight and structure our mental processes, we lose the creativity. But if we let the mind run wherever it goes, then we live a very chaotic and unpredictable life. This land is a place to contemplate and meditate on the variegated nature of our relationship with the natural world and our own mind.
Good night from the edge of the wildwoods.
If you've ever walked in a riparian zone you'll notice that it is rich with life, whereas if you venture deep into the wildwoods it is filled with less variety. As magnificent as the ancient trees are they reveal less life than do the edges.
If one goes toward our creek (now dry) the water striders are gliding across the surface of the water. Have you seen water striders as they move across the surface of the water? The ends of their legs push down on the water surface like a finger poking into plastic wrap. These insects belong to the Gerridae family. They have non-wetting legs and it is their structural design, not the wax coating that allows them to skim across the surface of the water.
The pond they call home will soon be a memory, but come winter it will be 4 feet deep and home for the Rough-Skinned Newt. I've seen this amphibian all over the Pacific Northwest. This slow moving, orange belly creature is toxic. However, for humans it would need to be ingested. Maybe it should have a warning label: Harmful when ingested. I guess if I were starving there would be that temptation. The newt has disappeared during this hot, dry phase of our climate.
This land is a place where the cultivated and the wild live side-by-side. In wildland firefighting terms it is the wildland-urban interface. No one would mistake this area for urban though. An environmentalist I once studied with wrote a book called The Comedy of Survival. Joseph Meeker draws a comparison in literature to our efforts in creating an environmental ethic. In one of the chapters he compares the pastoral with the picaresque. This term comes from the Spanish word, picaro. Rogue.
We live on the edge between the pastoral and the rogue; between the cultivated and the wild; where the riparian zone continues to reach out from its hold on the shore. Tentacles of blackberry and alder reach further and further into the field. Putting down roots wherever they can. It is like our own neural net making new connections when we learn. Here it is the earth reaching and expanding into new territory. It is a dance we play with keeping life wild and orderly. Too much order and the place begins to look like a formal garden in England or China. However, there is a calming aspect to this order.
If we let the land just take care of itself then it becomes a jumble of native and invasive plants. That disorder is less appealing as a preferred living environment. In the city I have seen people who have let their dandelions grow and the grass go to seed. I've preferred a blend, a little order and serenity nearby the house and wildness where it is easily seen and experienced. (We aren't talking about wilderness, which should be left to its own life.)
I guess it is like the taming of one's mind. If we hold too tight and structure our mental processes, we lose the creativity. But if we let the mind run wherever it goes, then we live a very chaotic and unpredictable life. This land is a place to contemplate and meditate on the variegated nature of our relationship with the natural world and our own mind.
Good night from the edge of the wildwoods.
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