Fuzzy Fingers of Fungus

 

Fuzzy white fingers of fungus are growing out of a birch log in my wood stack. Aaagh! They're coming to get me!

Part of the fun of Halloween is the thrill of fear that doesn't last too long. Feel the fear of fuzzy fingers growing out of a log.... Coming to get me! Aaaagghhh. (But not really. :) Ha. Ha.

Often, fear is no laughing matter. Fear lodges in our muscles and organs. Fear lodges in our minds, and our neural pathways keep running over the same ruts.

The antidote to fear is friendliness. Loving-friendliness to our self, first of all. And then, if and when we can, to the scary thing. Start with the easy stuff.

I'm feeling loving-friendliness toward white fuzzy fingers of fungus.

Big Move

The big move is happening. The seasons are changing. Potatoes and winter squash have been drying in the woodshed, along with the gladiolus corms. Now it's time for everything to move to the basement, so that the wood can start coming into the woodshed.

Onions and garlic are already in the basement, but i have to shuffle them around to make room for incoming vegetables. I need more shelf space.

They say that wood warms you twice: once when you stack it and once when you burn it. Potatoes and squash aren't nearly as heavy, but there's a lot of up and down on the basement stairs. Good exercise!

Change. It's the only thing that's constant.

Last Chance

Snow is coming tomorrow. Today is the last chance, THE LAST CHANCE to dig leeks or carrots out of the garden. The last chance to put away lawn chairs and garden ornaments. The last chance to get the wood in. The last chance to move things out of the way of the snowplow. The last chance to turn over buckets so water doesn't freeze inside and crack them.

We usually don't know when it's our last chance to say good-bye. Sometimes people slip away before we are ready.

This year's garden slips away tomorrow. Farewell, dear garden.

Bill Turns 80

My dear Bill turned 80 a few days ago. He has entered the November of his life. He's stacking wood, trimming hedges for the neighbors, playing a piano concert, and more. During his toast at his birthday dinner party, he said he might have 10% of his life left. Another 8 years? Maybe yes; maybe no. Death is certain; the time of death is uncertain.

The realization begins to sink in that we may not have that much time together remaining. Each day is oh-so-precious.

Parallel Play

My partner Bill and i go outdoors together and engage in parallel play. He does wood; i do dirt. He looks up to the trees around our house; i look down to flowers and weeds. Occastionally we call to each other, "Hey! I need a consultation over here." We enjoy the benefit of an extra pair of eyes and another mind with creative ideas.

In the evening, after dinner, we stroll through the gardens. He plans which branches to prune; i decide which plants to move. The effect is gracious as he subtracts trees at the edge of the woods, and i add flowering plants.

Ceasing and arising. Arising and ceasing. The garden is never the same garden at dawn as it is at dusk.