Breathing

Massive Canadian Shield boulders

On top

The wind blows through me

The Side of the Road in Paradise

Our heat wave has ended and cool, crisp, typical fall days are embracing us. This month I've been picking apples in Paradise. Along the side of a country road in Paradise Township, I've discovered apple trees, long gone wild and neglected. The apples are a little puny this year. We just didn't have enough rain. But that does not diminish my delight.
As a child I used to sneak into active orchards and steal one or two apples for a snack. Stolen fruit tasted so much more delicious. Now, there are so many abandoned trees that I can pick a couple of bushels in broad daylight without repercussion. Of course, in my childhood imaginings, the orchard owner was far more dangerous and evil than any farmer can possibly be. But the adrenaline produced by thoughts of an angry farmer made the fruit just a little sweeter. Sadly, the orchards are being abandoned as fruit farming takes a back seat to more profitable endeavors with the land.

During my late teens and early 20's, I picked apples each fall for extra cash. I worked hard, climbing up tall, skinny, and precariously placed ladders to fill a metal and canvas bucket hanging from shoulder straps in front of me. Then, descending that ladder with my burden, I would open the bottom of the bucket and empty the apples into a large crate. I got paid by the crate but now I can't remember how much. It seemed like very good money at the time. I suppose because that hard work didn't feel like work at all. I mean, what's not to love? I was outdoors during the most beautiful time of year, I had plenty of apples to eat and take home, I was moving my body and I was making money.

I once lived in an old farmhouse with a cider press in the backyard. We made fresh cider every October. Once the excess juice and pulp hit the ground, the deer visited my back yard every night throughout the fall. I so enjoyed sitting on the back porch, a hot, spiced cider in hand, watching the wildlife descend upon the remains of my labors.

So what is delighting you during this time of the equinox, this solar mid-point? Here are comments I've heard from a few of you...
...staying home, evening fires, Indian Summer, bushels of tomatoes, pickling and canning, a new box of crayons, a new teacher, new school clothes, color tours, falling leaves, piles of leaves, burning leaves, acorns falling on your head, hot drinks, the buzz of a chain saw, the rhythmic thud of an ax, camo clothing, bows and arrows, tree stands, muskie fishing, football, warm socks, wool blankets, fuzzy sweaters, cider, fried doughnuts, apple pie, acorn squash, mums, pumpkins, cold mornings, warm afternoons, seeing your breath, morning frost, vees of honking geese, large flocks of birds, ...what else? Have I missed anything? Please share. And enjoy the sights, sounds and smells of your own little Autumnal Paradise.

“Even if I knew that tomorrow the world would go to pieces, I would still plant my apple tree.” ~ Martin
Luther

“If you want to make an apple pie from scratch, you must first create the universe.” ~Dr. Carl Sagan

“Ever since Eve gave Adam the apple, there has been a misunderstanding between the sexes about gifts”
~ Nan Robertson

Labor Day

Our Annual After-Labor Day Community Picnic

Labor Day marked the beginning of the end of tourist season here in Northern Michigan. The crowds have diminished. Our fair-weather friends have gone home. For those of us who live here all year, it is the time to lean back in our chairs a little, throw another log on the fire, take a deep breath and a sigh of relief, and once again enjoy the company of those friends and neighbors we lost to the summer frenzy of living in a resort community.

Field Notes

I'm motivated to write by my emotions, not fact or accuracy.  So please forgive me if I've sacrificed verity for a juicier story. I'm not fibbing. I'm simply sharing my truth as it feels. Enjoy my anecdotes for what they are, the big messy puddle I so enjoy wallowing in. Come on in, the water's fine!

The more time I find for my favorite leisures, the more grounded I become. I'm amazed and impressed with my ability and desire to do little and, consequently, more.

I spend a lot of time in the wilderness. Each day I take time to hike close to home or camp. But I won't carry a notebook or notepad with me. I’ll leave one on the house or cabin table, one by my bed, one on the kitchen counter, one in the car, even one in the outhouse at camp. But I won't carry one, no matter how small. My policy for my daily hikes is, if it does not fit in a pocket, I don't take it with me.

Oh, I know all about field notes. They are the notations those more diligent than me take to accurately chronicle a rare or unusual thing or event as it occurs in the field, getting as much of the description as possible at the spot of the sighting. Many field notes feature sketches or photographs with written detail. Some field notes include an opinion or interpretation by the observer. “Proper” field notes can be used as evidence and become part of history.

But I've come to live with the fact that I'm probably less than accurate when I relate a sighting or an event in my life. By the time I get back to paper and pen, sometimes hours, sometimes days, my emotions about the sighting have taken hold. I'm unable to distinguish the facts of the event from my emotionally-triggered imaginings.

Does this mean that much of my recalled life, while not total fiction, is liberally spiced up? Probably. My field notes are unreliable. But I would challenge that we're not accurate about anything we observe when we leave out the emotional impact that observation has on us.
So in the final stretch of sweet, sweet summer, before autumn envelopes us, throw away your notebooks, allow your emotions to run wild and imagine BIG.

“I am enough of an artist to draw freely upon my imagination. Imagination is more important than knowledge. Knowledge is limited. Imagination encircles the world.” ~Albert Einstein

"Out beyond ideas of wrong doing and right doing there is a field. I'll meet you there.” ~Rumi

The Drought

It's August and I'm stunned to feel my clothes getting a little tighter. But surly I'm not putting on my winter layer of insulation already. I must be having a highly sensitive month. One of the constants in our lives that, due to my sensitivity, seems to have a profound effect on me is the weather. So until it rains here in Northern Michigan, which it has not done in over a month, I'm just retaining water. My body is simply responding to this dry spell by becoming the camel.
Yeah, right! Pass the marshmallows, please.