When we moved to Stoughton this August, the river by our house was busy with a big gaggle of geese. I loved to watch them swim and rest on the riverbanks. There was one goose amongst these wild Canada geese that wasn’t like the others. It was a barn goose, plump and grey with a bright orange bill, always close to her wild mate. As the other geese began to fly north, I wondered what would happen to this goose. Geese mate for life. Could she fly? Would she fly? Would her partner leave her behind? Their numbers dwindled until it was just the two of them sitting by the icy water. And then the temperatures dropped and I did not see them.
Today, Reed and I went walking by the river, and we saw the barn goose and her mate swimming with the ducks. It warmed my heart to see them, still alive, still together. It made me feel good about the world to know that a Canada goose would rather spend a cold Wisconsin winter with his mate than a warm, sunny one without her.
What a wonderful planet this can be.
photo of me and t. reed by aunt gretchen
“But here I am in my life, and I know I am not here as a representative white male American human, nor are the birds and animals and plants here as representatives of their sex or species. We all have our ways, forms, and habits. We all are what we are partly because we are here and not in another place. Some of us are mobile; some of us (such as the trees) have to be content merely to be flexible. All of us who are mobile are required by happenstance and circumstance and accident to make choices that are not instinctive, and that force us out of categories into our lives here and now. Even the trees are under this particularizing influence of place and time. Each one, responding to happenstance and circumstance and accident, has assumed a shape not quite like that of any other tree of its kind. The trees stand rooted in their mysteriously determined places, no place quite like any other, in strange finality. The birds and animals have their nests in holes and burrows and crotches, each one’s place a little unlike any other in the world- and so is the nest my mate and I have made”
-Wendell Berry, Life is a Miracle
In the morning when the sun is new, and the hot air still feels a little fresh, I like to make my way to the kitchen and put the kettle on.
It was cold, and our little rented cabin in Door County was filled with friends whose camping adventures had been rained out.
This spring is a beautiful one.
I hadn’t been quite myself.
Outside our bedroom window are the leaves of a tall tree. As I write this morning, three small sparrows are gnawing on its tough, red berries. I tried a small bite of one once. It was tasteless and bitter, probably poisonous. It makes me happy to see the birds enjoy them. It makes me happy to feel well, again, after a day and a half in bed and a week of being lethargic. Much gratitude to Adam for being the sweetest nurse in the world. Nothing like a bout of sickness to restore one’s enthusiasm. Kids are good at that, too. And sunshine after a rainy spell. And girl talk. And a listening to a good lecture of sorts. And a good, long breeze.
I had a dream about a breeze last night. It was a lovely dream. Maybe I’ll tell you about it sometime.
What are other things that restore your enthusiasm?
A man came into the shop, yesterday.
Hi, everyone. i haven’t gotten around to blogging much these last couple days. Nor taking pictures. But we are in our new place, and I’m thrilled to say that we are sharing it three days of the week with one of my best friends. Living with Janelle and Adam: it’s like a dream come true. Our things are slowly finding their way out of boxes onto the shelves. Plants are being put in the windows. Futons are being assembled. Lamps are being plugged in.
I don’t know why I never liked August. It’s such a bountiful time of year. I feel nourished by the good books around me and the presence of friends. I feel nourished by the late-summer vegetables, early autumn apples, and the birds outside my window nibbling at a tree’s hard fruits.
Coffee-shop customers have been asking if I’m taking classes this fall. I usually tell them that I’m done with school, for now. I know they probably assume that I graduated, but I don’t really feel deceptive. I really feel like I finished school. I didn’t go for a degree or security or a job. I went to throw myself in the academic world, to bury myself in books and soak up knowledge like there was no tomorrow. And I did that. And I loved that. But now, I want to do something else. I want to see live from the smaller corners, from the chalk-covered overgrown sidewalks of my neighborhood, rather than the fine steps of the university.
In this sun-soaked month, I am learning to recognize a lot of things in myself. Since I was little, there were only two things that I have ever really wanted to do: write and travel. I think it’s time to enjoy that about myself, rather than suppressing and then binging on it. I can’t share what I’ve been given very well without welcoming it.
So, happy August, dear readers. Feel free to share things you’ve been recognizing in yourself or even just whether or not you like August. You know I love to hear from you.
