Sharing Butternut Squash

Last night at 8:00, i went down to my neighbor who has chickens to get a couple of eggs so i could make scones this morning. In her garage sat 2 dozen butternut squashes. Wow! We are ready for winter. I have a dozen butternuts myself.

It's time to share the harvest of the garden. Or of the chickens.

So, this morning i made pumpkin scones, with cranberries, to take to my writing group.

Sharing squash. Sharing eggs. Sharing scones.
Share your life. It feels delicious.

Rats!

Rats have arrived in my neck of the woods. My neighbor, who has chickens, saw a rat yesterday in her chicken coop, followed quickly by a mink who chased the rat across the lawn, caught it by the neck, and took it home to the baby minks for breakfast.

Living in the woods, i expect a certain seclusion--no traffic goes past my house--and i enjoy the wildlife. Now i expand my definition of wildlife to include rats.

This new "neighbor" with its unsavory reputation has moved in. If i resist and cry "Not in my back yard!" my mind suffers the conflict of I-don't-want with but-I-have. What we resist, persists.

After all, i'm also neighbor to a mink.

Bear in the Compost Pile

The last time i looked, it was full to the brim. Hmmmm.

I'm pretty sure the bear finally got into my compost pile. My square 4-pallet bin was filled to the top with garden debris--dead leaves and last year's stems--plus a few kitchen scraps--onion skins, banana peels, grapefruit rinds, and coffee filters.

Earlier this week, i really looked at my compost pile, and it was a foot below the top. Someone had smashed it down. Not me. And, at first glance, i couldn't see any kitchen scraps at all, not even a teabag.

Somebody's been in my compost bin.

So, now i'm dividing our kitchen scraps into 2 buckets: one marked "for the bear" and one marked "for the chickens." The bear gets the onion skins, coffee grounds, and teabags. My neighbor's chickens get the vegetable matter.

The Buddha recommends dividing your thoughts and actions into 2 piles: wholesome and unwholesome.
Try it. For a few minutes or a few hours.

This exercise is a great way to become aware of those bugbear thoughts, the thoughtless zingers that trip off our tongue, and our kind and unkind actions.

It's time to stop feeding the bear!