I woke up before dawn yesterday to feel the quiet of the morning before the rain came. I put on some rain clothes, slung my camera around my neck, and pressed a steaming to go cup of coffee before heading out the door. My little dog fellow, whom since moving out here has become such a good and tired dog was dissapointed that she would’nt be joining me, but I promised her another day. She would be of no help this time; Today was a day for birding.
The sky was loud with robins and other thrushes, the tufted titmouse, jays and crows and chickadees too. I spotted a swallow or two and of course heard the knock knock drilling of woodpeckers catching a mornings meal. But it wasn’t 15 minutes into my woodland walk, even before the suns first rays came up over the hill, that the rain started to fall down and the forest settled back in. I continued on, why not I thought, the snow has melted enough to where you can pretty much navigate anywhere you please at this point. I followed a deer trail down to a little vernal pool and spent some time watching the spreading circles of an April shower grow.
There is a peace in the morning that I had forgotten about. Before my nights were filled with constant wake up calls I use to consistently enjoy this time of day. Whether it was for a run or to bake something sweet, the sun called me to get up each day. Some years later, with my little wakeful one tucked in safe on my husbands side and a bigger boy conked out like nothing else on mine, I get plenty of rest and have been taking advantage of my mornings from time to time once more, knowing full well that this feeling of being well rested is surely limited as we approach July and a new little baby will soon be in my arms.
It seems seizing the day is something I am coming to understand more and more of the late. When it is nice, go out. When it rains, feel the wetness. When it snows, marvel in its beauty. I can’t help but really notice how seasonably you live in the country. It is not an intentional lifestyle here, choosing stories to tell about the passing of the seasons, and crafting up projects to match, it is just what it is. There is no choice. When the sheep are to be sheared its spring, when its time for haying- you do, when the syrup is running- you gather, and when the snow is deep- you feed your wood stove and hibernate.
And today our ever changing land is presenting us with a beauty of a 70 degree day… oh my, oh my, how good it will feel…
a sunday hike with a conscious meditation appropriate for all sizes. just a few minutes of deliberate breath to notice the vivid world around through all our senses
and feel with all your heart around
When I was pregnant with Miles, my sweet man and I spent our Sunday’s hiking the red rocky crusts of Arizona. Living in Flagstaff gave us the rare chance to be in easy travelling distance to the vortex’s of Sedona, the largest Ponderosa Stand in the world, golden aspen and 10,000 foot peaks, amongst countless other beautiful treasures. Truth is, three years later, I still miss that spot like I would a piece of my body. But, that is a whole different topic all together.
Our hikes were done religiously. It was a built-in way to spend time together, a thing we knew would be more difficult in a few short months; And it was the perfect solution to living in a place with so many sights to see it is almost overwhelming. Little by little, forty weeks later (well 38 really), we felt we had seen a slice of what Northern Arizona has to offer. Only a slice mind you, but it was something.
I sort of feel the same way here. The amount of flowing rivers and streams, waterfalls and gorges, stands of amazing tree’s, types of moss and fern, and dinosaurs buried under the earth (not really but this is the way I always envisioned a mountains creation as a little girl and I like it); It is all so much at once so we decided to reinstate the Sunday hike. The pace probably won’t change all that much from a woman swollen with child to a woman chasing two of them, though the distance will be cut back for some time.
We hiked up Bill’s Hill. I believe it is called this. We found a little water proof box at the top tucked into a gnarly old maple honoring a man named Noel who passed on a little less than 10 years ago, which included a poem, a home-made stamp, an ink pad, and an article stating how Vermont and New Hampshire are very different. And they are!
Here is a glimpse of what this peaceful Sunday morning was like for us…
And my greatest attempt at a timed family photo…
While the days have been full of perpetual activity and the nights spent in content, quiet rest in very dark rooms, I must admit there have been a few bumps in the road. I have said it before, and I will say it again, but these boys of mine will not be caged up. No matter if the cage is in the form of a post office, a restaurant, a visitors center, a gift shop, the answer is no. Absolutely positively not. There is no need to get into details, but I can promise you food shopping in the narrow isles of the amazing co-ops around me, will be done solo if at all possible. I will avoid the confining walls of any establishment unless one hundred percent necessary. It just must be.
Otherwise you can find us outdoors.
I have heaved and hoed and cleared a few livable and comfortable nooks and crannies amongst the boxes and jumbles in our house for the moments of too much rain or too much prickers.
And I am attempting to appease the beasts by breathing in more moving air than stagnant. These pines fill my soul. The fresh water feels like it looks. Cold and crisp.
I wish I had the magical touch to allow my children to once, just once be the calm ones in the pack, but no, no it is not meant to be. I suppose when it really boils down to it, it is their energy that I envy most of all anyways.
Tell me- Am I alone in my fears of the public eye? Or public outings with children in general? Is it only me that struggles to find a way around putting myself in a situation of stress?