Rusted Vehicles

Today, our local tour began with Rusted Ford Trucks on the side of the road. I recognized two or three of my grandfather's 1940s and 1950s trucks. I recognized my Aunt Jenny's 1949 Ford sedan. All the vehicles completely rusted--rather like my body.

My sweetie and i looked at the new cars on the road and the rental Kia we are driving. In 20 or 50 or 70 years, they will look so old-fashioned, so rusty, so impossible to imagine as new. Just as children and young people cannot imagine that we were ever their age. They are young, and we are old. Thus has it ever been.

My dear Ford Ranger truck--the one i use to haul manure, wood chips, mulch, mulch hay, and dozens of plants--even it will, one of these days, rust in peace.

Extruding Ice

 

We hiked on a wet hillside on a 33 degree day, and ice crunched underfoot. The water had frozen into ribbons of ice called extrusions. Water, which would normally be in the ground, expanded as it froze and "grew" or extruded out of the ground. Continued water seepage underground forces the extrusions up above the soil and leaf litter.

It looks like i'm hiking on crystals. It sounds very crunchy.

An oft-repeated behavior--gesture or word or thought--crystalizes into a habit. The habit hardens into our character and becomes our personality. That's who we think we are. By the time we're old, our personality can be downright crunchy. Perhaps you know someone like this.

Let the water flow through your life. Let Life flow through your life.

Red-Twig Dogwood

Red-twig dogwood (Cornus sericea) is especially beautiful in the winter when its red twigs stand out against the white snow. My red-twig has variegated leaves, which make it interesting all summer long. The dogwood flowers do not look like dogwood flowers; instead, they look like an umbrella cluster of small white flowers.

I have to prune it back to the ground every two or three years in order to obtain the bright red young growth. Old branches are thick and brown, sort of like old people.

Ah, the beauty of youth.

Old Potatoes

All my red potatoes have sprouted down in the basement, even though i covered them with a towel to keep them in the dark.

Planting season is 3 months away, so i won't keep them for seed potatoes--although that idea is quite enticing.

Instead, i'm cutting off the sprouts and grating up those wrinkled red skins to make hash brown potatoes. Yes, the skins are wrinkled. They look old. The potatoes are not pretty, but they still are a vegetable contributing to my well-being.

We get old and wrinkled too. We sprout hairs in unexpected places. We sprout brown spots in unwanted places. But we are still good for something.

An old person eating old potatoes. Why not?

Blue Sky

We are on vacation in the Caribbean, expecting sunshine every day. Yet a few days have been overcast with sprinkles or easy tropical rain. By afternoon, the clouds clear and the sun is shining in the blue sky again.

The Blue Sky vine (Thunbergia) is a lovely familiar tropical vine whose periwinkle flowers drop on the ground.

Rain falls. Flowers fall. It's all impermanent. Things change. The weather changes. Flowers change. Yesterday the blue vine flowers were fresh and lovely. Today they are old and brown.

I'm enjoying the blue sky here in the Caribbean.

Old Lilacs

The Barre Center for Buddhist Studies was, a hundred years ago, a small farmhouse on top of a small hill. The lilacs here are old. Old.

After the addition of the new library, classroom, and dorm rooms, one of the old lilacs was featured in the back yard. This year, for the first time, the foot of the very old lilac is a little flowerbed, which looks lovely.

In our old, old age, we too can look beautiful in our very own way. Not at all, like the young, beautiful, lithe lilacs.

We are old, and we are wearing purple!

Ixora

Ixora is blooming right outside the front door of our Airbnb condo. Due to its evergreen leaves and constant blooms, ixora is used often and everywhere in the tropical landscape.

The one blooming outside our front door is a beautiful sunset color. The young blooms are yellow; the middle aged blooms have streaks of pinky-orange; and the old blooms become almost completely salmon-colored. Sort of like an aging sunset, which begins sunny yellow and morphs into a pink-orange sky.

We too age and our skin changes color. Our skin starts off clear and unblemished, then becomes splotchy and more colored as we age.

In our culture, our eyes prefer the "young" color and fail to see the beauty of the "old" color.

Can we look without judgment? Can we see nonjudgmentally?

Old Mums

My 6-week old mums in pots are looking quite bedraggled now. By being on retreat for the month of October, i missed almost their entire lifespan.

It's sort of like falling in love with a child in your life; then the next time you see them, they are middle-aged. Ahhh, they were so cute and fresh and full of life energy back then. Now, their body is showing the effects of their good or bad habits. This person who was so easy to love back then has developed habits, personality, and character since the last time you saw them, and, well....

Aging. We start aging the minute we are born. For the first couple of decade, children are very cute, perhaps adorable. The second decade--the teenage years, they spring into adult form and lose their pliability, but gain a definite personality. Etcetera.

The peculiar thing is, even though we see people aging all around us, we never think it's going to happen to us. Until it does.

My mums are old.

The Middle-Aged Garden

One friend says she goes out to her garden every morning and deadheads. I take my garden cart and cut back the foliage of plants that have finished blooming. Now, in the middle of the season, plants are tall; they are middle-aged plants. Soon i have a cart full of dead bodies, which i haul to the compost pile.

Rupa dancing her way out of her living memorial service, cane in hand

Some friends die young. Rupa, a 75-year-old friend died 2 weeks ago. She was so vivacious and full of life. Yet i heard her say last winter that she was ready to go. I'm the one who wasn't ready for her to go.

Here's the chant i learned especially for Rupa's living memorial service 3 months ago--a memorial service that she attended and danced her way out of.

All things are impermanent.

They arise and they pass away.

To live in harmony with this truth

brings great happiness.

Flowers arising and passing.
Friends arising and passing away.

Aging Butterfly

I walked out the front door and almost stepped on a bedraggled monarch butterfly--quite the worse for wear. It flapped its wings lethargically. It didn't fly away. I moved it over to the flowers in a flowerpot on the front step.

This is what an aging butterfly looks like. It limps around. Its "skin" is faded and spotty.

I too am of the nature to grow old, just like this butterfly.

I just hope i look as beautiful as this monarch butterfly.

Aging Easter Lily

My sweetie is a church organist. Last Sunday, he forgot to pick up his Easter lily, so by the time he got it, it was the runt of the litter--bent over like an old woman, with two brown buds and a couple of hopeful-looking ones. He propped it up, using chopsticks as a crutch, and set Lily in a sunny window, hoping that would straighten her up a bit.

The message of Easter is suffering, death, and resurrection. My sweetie was dismayed to receive a rather ugly Easter lily with two dead buds. He is treating it compassionately, helping Lily in her old age.

Next week, i will bury her in the ground to wait for next summer's resurrection.

The Old Christmas Tree

Today i am taking down the Christmas tree. Actually, i'm just taking the lights off of it, and setting it outside the front door, in its tree stand, in the white garden. Instant landscaping! Suddenly, i have a nice little wintry fir tree in my front yard.

At the end of our lives, we still want to be useful, even if we are old and brittle. Doing good deeds, even little good deeds, makes our lives worth living. Even invisible good deeds, such as acting benevolently toward others and wishing them well is a way to make ourselves useful and to benefit our fellow human beings.

My dried-up old Christmas tree will bring a smile to my face for another 2 months.

Too Many Forget-Me-Nots

Forget-me-nots, which, for 2 months, provided an understory of blue (or white in the white garden), have now gone by. I am pulling up dozens, hundreds of them. And then what?

If i put them in the compost, i will have even more forget-me-nots in the vegetable garden. If i throw them in the woods, they will grow there. Hmmmm. Forget-me-nots are already a garden escapee. I have one shrubby hillside where i throw all manner of enthusiastic plants i have weeded out. Or i could put them on a campfire where i throw invasive plants that i really do not want to see again.

What to do with too much? Especially when it gets old and goes to seed. Like us.

I'm planning now for my old, old age when i am no longer able to fend for myself. What will i do when beautiful young people no longer want to look at me--so old and withered and gone to seed? It's difficult to contemplate when my body is still lively.

Forget-me-nots remind us that life doesn't last forever.

Snow Mold from Old Snow

Snow Mold

When i went to my singing lesson yesterday, i had to keep clearing my throat. "Oh, yes," the voice teacher said, "singing unglues stuff you didn't even know you had in there. And at this time of year, the snow mold is really bad."

Snow mold? I am allergic to molds and mildews, but i never thought about being allergic to snow.

Snow mold on the lawn appears as the snow melts, which was happening earlier this week. Before it snowed again.

Gray snow mold grows on unfrozen ground, under the snow, and lies around on the cold and wet lawn until temperatures reach 45 degrees. Pink snow mold likes it warmer--32 to 60 degrees.

 Snow gets old and moldy, and so do we. Snow decays, and so do we. Snow mold is a fungus, and, at times, we too get fungal infections.

Look carefully at the receding snow. Snow mold is teaching us a lesson. Can we hear it?

Old Geraniums

The geraniums i brought indoors in September are getting leggy as they reach for the low light of winter. The leggy stems lose their green and become not exactly woody, but definitely "old." These old stems do not root, so when i take cuttings, i use only the young green tops.

My geraniums are of the nature to grow old--lose their leaves, get leggy, and have long, bare, tan stems.

I too am of the nature to grow old. I lose the bloom of youth; the body spreads horizontally; and the skin spots brown with age. I've lost my ability to reproduce.

Nevertheless, the old body still blooms with generosity, joy, and service to others.

The Coldest Days

December 9 begins the coldest 90 days of the year. The garden has been put to bed, but the ground is still not frozen. You can plant spring bulbs, which you can buy quite cheaply now. But no dilly-dallying about getting those daffodil bulbs into the ground. Buy and plant immediately, because we can never be sure when the window will close on this pre-winter interlude.

I have moved out the polar fleece jackets of autumn into winter wool coats. I wear woolen scarves or neck warmers every day now, as well as hats and aging gloves with tiny holes in them.

My brother turned 60 yesterday and lamented that 60 is old, and he doesn't want to be old. I see the 60s as the gift decade when you still have your health and are also freed from responsibilities so you can focus on your purpose and passion in life.

The old, cold season begins whether we want it or not. Let's enjoy it for as long as we can. After all, there are some gifts awaiting us a little later on in this season.