A visit to the farm

A glassy green thread of water flows through shades of brown, bronze, and gold below the bridge.  Figures of oak trees pierce endless sky over the prairie beside the railroad tracks.  The days are too short, the temperatures no longer balmy.  Winter lurks in the darkness that surrounds me as I drive home.

Will I see a deer like I did the other day near the hospital?  Lee thought it was fake, but I knew better, with rutting season in full swing.  This whitetail, at least an 8- point buck, was going to leap across the road at some point, just (fortunately) not as I was passing. 

Tonight there were no deer visible to my eyes, but they were there – in the fields, hills, and prairies I passed shrouded in darkness that seemed to swallow everything in its path.

About 6 pm, I got home from an afternoon of making soap – measuring and melting fat, watching a volatile chemical (lye) make distilled water come to a rolling bowl in a plastic container, then watching my friend thoroughly mix everything together and bake this soupy jade-colored concoction.  I got to help put it in molds although I didn’t stick around long enough for the soap to become solid.  It was interesting, but a bit scary working with lye.  It made me wonder what was in my scented gel soaps at home..

Dinner, death, and darkness

The wind bit at my ears as I rode my bicycle today.  It is one day past the middle of November and it seems as if our part of the world is tilting further and further away from the sun.  Darkness intrudes in the late afternoon hastening children to come in from their backyards and find something to do indoors.  The food is a comforting spinach quiche wrapped in a doughy blanket of hot brown crust.  Lee and Ez don’t like it but Scott does.  For a thin man, he is voracious and eats every meal like it is his last. 

For one of our friends, it was her last meal yesterday.  She didn’t drop dead, but slowly departed a painful earthly existence taking one last breath in the presence of her husband and children. 

It wasn’t fair for her to suffer, but it wasn’t fair for her to die.

All is dark and silent as blackness shrouds the Midwest with dots of light from distant stars.  Smokey, a gray tabby cat with black stripes, purrs on my lap.

No more waiting

Let me preface this by saying, I did not write this today.  It was sitting on the laptop waiting to be sent out.  Waiting... waiting.. alright I was thinking about it, but it was still waiting.. so I'm finally sharing it.

No more waiting..

I wish you were here to see the trees adorned in bronze with intermittent hues of scarlet, a blue sky painted overhead with clouds from heaven touching their limbs.  It is fall in the rolling hills of St. Charles, Illinois, a place that makes me less homesick for the foothills of Appalachia found in southern Ohio where I was raised. 

I took some photos of Pleasant Valley Conservation Area in Woodstock (attached) to give you a glimpse of the beauty here.   Autumn is not just a season for the eyes, but an invitation for all of the senses to feel warm sunlight punctuated by sharp winds, smell scents of wet leaves mingled with fungus, and taste apples so fresh that they have little of any resemblance to their store bought counterparts.

The value of today

It’s another beautiful early fall blue-sky day.  A pile of work awaits my attention even though the dishes have been washed and everyone has left for their respective jobs.  

The goldenrod beckons my hand to pick a bunch for the table as the phone rings..

I’m on the other line. 

It’s Mom.  

She has called to tell me that her friend’s husband just died.  He wasn’t well, but that doesn’t matter for now he is treading a path where he shall never be seen again by his loving wife or family in some heavenly place  (if such a place exists).  We’re taught that it does, but where’s the proof? 

What if we’re living in heaven today?  What if we are supposed to behold the grandeur of creation in a ladybug walking on a squash vine, a duck swimming gracefully atop the water of a mirror-like pond, or a warming beam of sunlight?

What if everyone we met were someone special – someone to be valued and cherished the way a great Maker might see him or her, someone who recognized the greatness they were meant to reflect in their being every moment in time?

Taking a closer look

Outside my kitchen window, an orbed weaver built a web bigger than a dinner plate at an angle to the house which made it invisible indoors, and to the careless gnat, invisible outdoors as well.

Late afternoon sunlight glinted off its silvery strands as if to beckon an unwitting dinner guest to his final resting place.  Tiny bodies clung to its skimpy ropes, but there was room for more. 

I felt sorry for the helpless insects, even though I knew the spider deserved to eat.  Why did the natural world have to be so harsh?  

Intrinsic motivation

Does a chickadee mother tell her fledging that he’s a good flyer or does he simply soar because it is a natural for him?  I thought about this on my morning walk as I had just spoken to my brother about our mother, a woman who we always tried to please but to little accord.  Mom didn’t give compliments.  It wasn’t part her make up to say, “good job.”  Whether this is good or bad, this is how things were and continue to be. 

Consequently, my brother and I have been motivated to make ourselves happy – working hard to accomplish what we’d like to get done in our lives and not looking for the approval for others to keep us going. 

While I like to believe humans as well as other animals encourage their young, I realize some parents aren’t around – like turtles.  When a turtle hatches from her egg, she is on her own.  There is no celebration or loving care, just a treacherous journey back to water.  Does this make the turtle a more motivated individual or a soul deprived of love? 

How does humanity nurture the development of individuals intrinsically motivated to better to the world?  

What's in a name?

Reaching through the leaves on the forest floor (as well as the mulch surrounding a tree in front of a neighbor’s house), autumn orange fingers with glossy mud-covered fingernails thrust their spindly bodies into the light.  Better known as elegant stinkhorns, these unique fungi dare a forest guest to take a closer look and come to his own conclusion about the relevance of a name.

Fresh air

This afternoon I took a walk with my friend Bea in a nearby community park with an adjacent natural area.  I was noticing the colors – a brilliant yellow goldfinch sitting on a hot pink bull thistle flower eating seed with his camouflaged mate, a perfect blue sky with billowy silver-tinted clouds, bright yellow discs with comparably colored petals radiating from their center to form cup plants – while Bea perceived the scents.

“I love the way it smells,” she said.  I looked at her in wonder.  What did she mean?  I didn’t notice anything special about the smell of the area.  Bea, who works indoors during the week could discern the smell of the earth and water mingling – textures forming an invisible tapestry. 

I began to smell it, too, as the breeze filled my body with air and left me feeling renewed.  Maybe you should get outside for a breath of fresh air today, too.

Summertime supper

We had the best roasted corn I’ve ever eaten at Brother Johan’s birthday on Saturday night.  Here is a poem inspired by that night (written the next morning 8/14/11..)

“Summertime supper”

Beneath papery husks and silky hairs

buttery sweetness

squirts.

Sticking between teeth

Smoked peppered kernels leave a cob

naked.

P.S.  That pesky poison ivy rash on my arms is just about gone now -- Amen!

Treating poison ivy

Tonight I gave in and scratched.  It felt great to rub my short fingernails against the translucent blisters on my arm for a while.

I knew it was wrong, but I couldn't resist.

It all started a couple of weeks ago when I was pulling poison ivy out of some areas I was afraid people might traverse at the nature center where I work.

I wore gloves, but didn't don long sleeves (too hot in July!).  A leaf gently grazed my arm.  It wasn't broken, so I dismissed the chance touch.

A small rash appeared on my neck, then another on my right arm, followed by second on my left.

Today fantasies involving the use sand paper or steel wool on these itchy patches began dancing through my head.  What harm could a fingernail do?  Just a little scratching here and there.

Ahh.. It felt better as I continued to rub, but I couldn't keep going.  It wasn’t right. 

Now the itchy sensation is creeping back, inviting me to keep scratching.  I must stop for the night. 

Do you know how to stop the itch?

After midnight

July 8, 2011

Darkness shrouds the neighborhood as silence rests beneath a blanket next to an open window.  It is a northerly summer with a few spikes in the temperature, intermittent mosquitoes, and stubborn tomatoes.  Lettuce loses its sweetness as it prepares to bolt (flower) while beets emerge from the soil to show the tops of their brilliant magenta roots.  It has been a dry and quiet week.  

Memorial Day weekend

Great Angelica is emerging in the wetlands, like a dramatic actress performing on the wetland stage, she slowly unfurls her giant leaves from a stem that could dwarf the trunk of a sapling.  Marsh marigolds are going to seed leaving only the memory of their sunny yellow flowers as their leaves reach higher to gather more sunlight above the lowly stream.  

A mother red-winged blackbird flees from her nest as I approach to admire her young – at this point just three green eggs dappled with brown streaks that resemble bits of grass.  She sounds an alarm at this intrusion attracting others to her aid. I depart. 

A ribbon of water has spilled from the pond into its normal channel washing out part of the trail and leaving wet mud interspersed with puddles in its wake.  The paved trail is being undermined by the water as the trail builders miscalculated the power of the seasonal stream and what many drops of water can do when they unite.  It is spring – cold dampness interspersed with sun and occasional temperature spikes which bring out mosquitoes and hasten wasps to begin new colonies. 

Ez asked how many months there are in spring, and I told him three – March, April, and May, but the weather has been oscillating between winter, spring, and summer for the last month.  There is no hurry for summer with its prairie heat, mosquitoes, and ticks.  We find two toads on our walk tonight, as an occasional mosquito buzzes about our ankles.  It is nearly summer.  School will be out in another week and half – it would have been sooner if not for snow days, but there are no unplanned days off that are not added to the end of the year -- the state sees to that.

It is Memorial Day weekend, a time to remember those who have passed away and become one with the earth (which we will all enrich someday with our used up bodies).  I will be in my garden.

May Day

It has finally dried out this weekend and felt like spring. Bluegrass, dandelions, asparagus, and tiny pea plants are emerging.  Children are playing baseball and soccer, riding scooters and bikes, and wanting to stay up past bedtime to greet the night.  It is the beginning of the last full month of school.

Like migrating songbirds, schoolchildren continue their migration from home to school and back, eager to explore more verdant places when the final bell rings. 

On Friday, I saw a yellow-rumped warbler, a blue-gray flycatcher, and a ruby-crowned kinglet, as well as an expanding population of sunny marsh marigolds at the nature center.  A few fluffy yellow goslings are in the pond in the TW neighborhood north of the center.  I love spring!

3/1/11 A day of contrasts

As the sun rose higher above the horizon, glassy ice reminiscent of Sunday’s misty rain glistened on the trees in our neighborhood.  I walked down the road to the mailbox and felt the wind biting my face as if to remind me it was really winter.  To the north of the house, snow lay undisturbed, while to the south it had completely disappeared. 

Work greedily gobbled up the day like Cookie Monster consuming a batch of freshly baked cookies.  It was nearly sunset when I went outdoors again, but this time the wind was not biting, but caressing.  Welcoming me to come outside, I obeyed and looked to the fading blue sky through the cottonwood trees beside the pond.  A racquet of chatter from the tops of these silent giants drew my attention.   The red-winged blackbirds had returned, and not just a few, but at least one hundred, cackling with glee as they boastfully flashed their red shoulders and yellow wing bars.  The clouds became pink, as if to give one last bit of color to 

Wanted: People to read this blog..

2/27/11

Feeling disheartened that no one had become a “follower” of this blog, I abandoned ship for a while, hoping that my absence might change things.  It hasn’t. 

I’m still here, washing clothes, shoveling snow at the church this weekend (in place of my son Lee who usually does it), keeping track of an elderly parent two states away (who refuses to move closer), and trying not to feel the stress of being the constantly mashed middle of a pb& j sandwich.

I’m not sharing this to garnish your pity (no need for that!), but rather to explain my absence. 

Valentine’s Day 2011

Spring is in the air, as temperatures rise into the 40s.  Blue skies and sunshine seduce the conservative northerner to lose the long johns for a day and don a sweatshirt for a while. 

The sun rises earlier, hastening the dormant to greet a new day and shake off the vestiges of a winter that held every living thing in its dull, gray fingers since November.  The melting snow reveals scattered bits of tan grass, a matted layer of leaves covering the garden, and a single green bud rising above the debris.

The warm weather is supposed to remain all week.  Is it the start of spring or just a welcome intermission?  We shall see..

A hint of spring

2/13/11

Drip, drip, drip.  Temperatures in the mid-30s left water dripping everywhere and dirty snow lining puddle-covered roads.  It felt like spring, as a robin appeared in a tree beside the trail puffing out its robust orange breast in defiance to the snow.  A downy woodpecker hopped up and down a tree, gathering food where it could, while a group of smaller birds (probably sparrows) congregated in a distant shrub. 

The pesky squirrel that sits on our bird feeder finally broke off the lid and scattered sunflower seed everywhere.   (Big pig!)

Blue sky with mare’s tail-like cirrus clouds and a caressing breeze made it a lovely day before Valentine’s Day -- the perfect day to be in nature and in love with the handiwork of a great Creator on His/Her day.

Blizzard and beyond

2/2/11

If you’re keeping track of the news, you’ll find that we had a blizzard.  In a 24-hour period, our community was covered with 19” of suffocating snow.  When I woke up and looked outside, all I could say was “wow.”  Our neighbor, Donald beat Scott outside with his snowblower (as if there were a contest) and headed straight to our other neighbors’ house to give a welcome hand.  Our other neighbors, a couple of senior citizens, are hearty northerners who can share stories of the blizzard of ’67 and the snowfall of ’79, and use their own little snowblower to move the snow when the drifts are not so high.  They are grateful when their neighbors show them the reverence that should be associated with their years. 

Like the great oaks in the woods at the top of the hill, the Bentleys have stood as quiet sentinels, watching the community change, and protecting its integrity through their own example, growing in strength, and imparting their example to others.

2/3/11

Today the roads were clear enough to travel, but schools were closed (again) due to severely cold temperatures (-10 deg F).  Lee and Ez burrowed into the snow to create hiding places away from the chill.

2/4/11

Schools remained closed in some areas, because it was not possible for children to safely walk on the sidewalks.  The temperatures were “warmer” (around 20 deg F), but far from toasty. 

To live in the cold, dark, snowy place I call home, one must be willing to accept the present, while living for the promises of the future.  It is a place where winter takes no prisoners, but demands participation – a place to celebrate the fact that you have survived another blizzard and will see more snow before you die.

The way northerners see snow..

1/31/11

This evening’s biting wind chill makes the mid-20’s temperature feel like the teens. 

Homes take on the appearance of forts as a war rages in from the Plains.  Native northerners show no signs of concern.  They dare to live here in winter, their town snowplows on the ready. 

They don’t “batten down the hatches” like their southern counterparts who rush to acquire shovels, salt, and melting solvents.  No, they laugh in the face of winter.

Resting beneath flannel and wool blankets with visions of snowshoes and cross-country skis dancing in their heads, they sleep in cold rooms, with only the tip of a nose peeking above the quilts and comforters.

They have waited for the blizzards that have scurried off to the east coast for the last two years, snowfalls that threaten the lives of the frail and strengthen the backs of the young. 

Children have dreamt of snow days, while adults have felt mixed emotions of joy and dread associated with the magic and beauty of an excessive smattering of heavenly white precipitation.

Snow means employment and overtime, plowing, shoveling, and snowblowing, early in the morning, and later in the day.  Taking care of your driveway, parking place, and walkways, and those of your elderly neighbor, as well as the neighbor who is out of town, or home with the flu. 

Snowfall is an experience that brings people in the same neighborhood closer together, while distancing others.  It makes everyone a child for a day or two. 

Weekend wanders

1/30/11

I’ve missed writing to you the past few days, but kept busy with every day life – work, family, home, and the rare opportunity to socialize.  

For someone who is partial to nature, the idea of socializing outside of the woods can be daunting. 

On Friday night, I was out of the woods, but in a dark room with my husband Scott and a few hundred people I didn’t know. It was a kickoff party for a new business one of my employers was starting.

I wanted to meet everyone, but Scott, a self-confessed gnome, found a spot from which he didn’t vitiate all night, and I didn’t want to leave him alone.  He told me later that he was fine and that I could have mingled more, but I guess I just felt more comfortable with the buddy system of the wilderness. 

People are so different, yet so much the same, clustering in groups with those they know, occasionally breaking off from one group to light upon another -- smiling, laughing, searching for humanity -- connecting to something they share or feel they may be missing.  It was a good evening to reflect and listen, as a lady from the office shared her dreams of writing a book, and her husband shared vignettes of their life in many places.

On Saturday, I was working again – this time facilitating a birthday party for a first grader named Faith, a little girl who wanted to take her friends outdoors for a party in the woods. 

We had a campfire (in the snow), a scavenger hunt, and enough sugar to choke a horse.  

For one girl at the party, it was the first time she had ever grilled anything over a campfire and she was thrilled!  Can you imagine a 7-year-old who’d never cooked out?!  I was happy that she was able to attend. 

The rest of the children seemed to have the most fun running through the woods and pelting me -- the only adult willing to play and the biggest target in sight -- with snowballs.  I struck back, with small snowballs I’d made using the borderline-mushy snow from the last snowstorm.

At the end of the afternoon, Faith left smiling, as her friends said it was the best party they had ever attended.  (I couldn’t help but agree.) 

Now, it’s Sunday, and I’m cleaning the house and catching up with you.  I should go outside for a walk, but the sidewalks are icy and the roads are getting slick as the temperatures are dropping for the day.  Even the chickadees have disappeared from the bird feeder to find shelter for the night, as the greedy squirrel curls up in his leafy nest.

It’s supposed to snow tomorrow and I hope it does.  We really need this white blanket from the sky to protect and water the plants in the garden, add the entertainment alternatives of skiing and snowshoeing, and paint the landscape with beauty that makes the drab scenery of winter into a magical land of crystal and light.

Contemplating Peter

1/25/11

The sky is a clean canvas surrounded by dry paintbrush-like trees.  It's another winter day in a midwestern American town.  Cars fly along the road going north and south with people who seem impervious to the day and the wonders it may hold.

Another red-tailed hawk is visible in a smaller tree along this busy thoroughfare.  My thoughts wander back to a conversation at the gym where I spoke to a woman about The Tale of Peter Rabbit.  The woman I spoke with could not remember the details, so I shared how Beatrix Potter had skillfully written about the adventures of bunny who disobeyed conventional wisdom and trod in the forbidden garden of Farmer McGregor to enjoy carrots and other desirable treats while his siblings obeyed their mother.  In the end, Peter was put to bed with chamomile tea while his siblings received berries.

Was Peter like Adam and Eve, a defiant, headstrong character destined to destroy himself, or was he an independent soul, a risk taker who would go all out for an adrenalin-charged life on the edge?  I liked to think the second case, as I began to liken my career to the life of Peter Rabbit.

Contemplating a career change that would take me from working outdoors or writing about nature to working indoors and dealing with people, I wondered what Peter would do.  I imagined he would continue to push the envelope and be innovative, not compromising his adventure, but taking what he learned from the garden to other aspects of his life.

Would I be able to follow this daring fictitious role model onto the pages of my own best seller, inspiring others, and making the world a better place?  It was time to get to work and find out..

A weekend at work, followed by a misty Monday

1/22/11

This weekend I worked.  But this was not a bad thing.  In the field of outdoor recreation, it's pretty standard to work evenings, weekends, and holidays.  These are the times when people can recreate.

On Saturday, I led a Dutch oven cooking program and burned the cobbler with the help of a couple of world champion Dutch oven chefs.  Did you know that there were "world champion" Dutch oven chefs?  I was in awe of these women, the equipment they toted, and the enthusiasm they brought to this January afternoon gathering of strangers.  They had heard that someone was going to lead a Dutch oven cooking program and showed up to join the fun.

Everyone who participated in the brief outdoor cooking program got a warm bowl of peach cobbler and a smoky outfit to enjoy until the next laundry day.

1/23/11

The weather was warmer today (in the high 20s), so Ez dragged me outside to listen to the birds.  He was so excited, he could hardly contain himself.  "Come outside and listen," he insisted, as he tugged at my hand, demanding that I immediately follow.

I would be away on Sunday afternoon, just as I had been on Saturday, but working for another employer, doing the same thing.. getting people outside, burning yet another cobbler, and smelling of the smoke I had showered off the night before.

It would be a great afternoon, as my students rolled down the snow-covered hill by the pond like a grassy knoll in spring, their faces turning the color of blushing apples.  Newly fallen snow crystals glistened with rainbows, while bright sun cleansed the sky of dreary clouds.

Trees stopped shivering for a moment, as fluffy birds sang with joy.  My heart joined the chorus.

1/24/11

Mist froze on the trees leaving frost worthy of pictures, as fog enveloped the landscape around the pond.  Chain saws cut through the silence as a company contracted by the county cut trees along the road to keep them off power lines.  For hours, workers cut and shredded limbs, making a landscape that would be conducive to these above-ground links to civilization.

I wished things could be different, but knew with the high water table in the area that it would probably be impractical to bury the cables, so the power company was doing the only other thing it could do (for now) to keep the lights on.

Down the road, a red-tailed hawk sat in a small tree unfazed by the four lanes of traffic beside his meadow.  Why should I be bothered by a power line?

Sharing thoughts from the beginning of the year until now..

1/1/11 

I have been thinking about blogging for a while, but what would I write about?

Who would read it? 

Well, here goes..  Today is the first day of a new decade – a time to get going on resolutions (like being more patient with my children, de-cluttering my desk, and spending more time doing the things I love). 

I was the first one up, and decided to go for a walk.  The temperature had reached an unheard of high near 60 deg F yesterday, but I knew today would be different.  It was now a more seasonal 18 deg F and the furnace had already turned on, as a continuous wind howled around the house.  I donned layers of long johns and wool, then headed out.  It was the first day of the year, and not a time to sit around.

As I walked I wondered what I write about.  I’d made a commitment to write to you about things that inspire wonder and awe, but what was so wonderful about a cold, cloudy day?  As I continued to walk, I noticed the leaves. 

All of the snow had melted and the leaves on the ground were exposed.  Some merrily danced in the streets, clattering like so many feet at a New Year’s Eve party.  Others were beaten down by the snow and ice, stuck to the ground preparing to decay.  They had given into the discouragement of the elements.  

The pin oaks held their leaves and shivered in the wind, creating something of a sizzling sound.  They looked cold wearing their leaves, but held them stubbornly nonetheless.  Silhouettes in the landscape, locust, maple, tulip, and linden trees stood like so many models waiting for their new line of spring apparel to come in.

The pines seemed most at home, as the wind gracefully whooshed through their boughs.   I wished I could feel as comfortable.  The more I walked, the more comfortable I became, until I arrived home. 

1/2/11

Sunday – church.  Today one of my Sunday School students asked if I was paid to teach Sunday School.  “No,” I smiled and tried to bring our conversation back to God.

“Who discovered God?” she continued.  “I don’t know,” I said dumbfounded by such an astute question from a third grader.  Class was certainly not going the way I had planned, but I was interested in where the conversation would go, so my students and I kept thinking and questioning. 

The hour passed quickly, and the class found some resolution in the fact that everyone had experienced good things that they couldn’t explain, good things they that hadn’t done anything to earn or receive, but that had been bestowed on them by something greater than themselves. 

I left church wondering what would happen the rest of the day, the next day, or in the week ahead to prove that something divine was afoot.

The rest of today, I was scurrying about like a mouse processing piles of paper – writing thank you notes for holiday gifts, paying bills for my family, sending letters that should have gone out for the holidays at the beginning of January, and wondering if I could get everything done before I took off to visit loved ones abroad.

I would not be in church next week, but was certain that God would be with me, my class, and the mouse-like meadow vole that had left its footprints in the snow outside my office.

1/3/11

My friend Lena invited me to watch her receive her U.S. citizenship naturalization  papers.  It had taken ten years since she had arrived from Mexico, but now she was taking an oath to become an American. 

She along with people from 40 other countries, family, and friends waited for an hour to participate in a 30-minute ceremony which would change their lives.  The saw a video highlighting the accomplishments of other immigrants, listened to President Barach Obama deliver a videotaped speech extolling their importance as American citizens, and sung The Star-Spangled Banner.  Some of the immigrants sung along with “God Bless the USA” while others listened.  Everyone who wanted to receive his or her naturalization papers was required to say an oath indicating that they would care for the country that would be caring for them, willingly laying down the lives , if necessary to protect it.  This was not The Pledge of Allegiance, but a commitment to active citizenship –- a powerful connection to the land and its people too often taken for granted.

Segregated from friends and family on one side of the room, these soon-to-be- naturalized American citizens were a colorful array of faces filled with joy and hope for the future.  Each one proudly took turns posing in front of the American flag both before and after the ceremony, as they were now American and this was the symbol of their home, a place they had vowed to embrace and protect. 

Dispersing like grains of sand, everyone who entered moved on.  Lena and I got on the train to head back to our jobs and the every day life that whirled around them, like so many Americans, hopeful that today we could make a difference doing what we were meant to do in our own little spheres of influence.

1/5/11           

I left the US to visit family in China.  I wanted to take you on the trip (via cyberspace), but my husband Scott was worried about the laptop (our one and only portable leash) getting lost in the fray, and my family in China said that I might have limited (if any access) to the blog.

“It’s not like you’re taking a trip to Wisconsin,” said Scott.

I’ve never been outside of North America, so this is a real stretch.  27 hours with two planes and a transfer.  It doesn’t seem too bad, at first, but I lose track of time.  I didn’t get to pick up my watch before I left town, so I have no idea what time it is. A friend accompanying me on the trip from LA to Shanghai shares her watch with the hours from the western time zone.  The times and dates are changing as we pass the international date line somewhere in the ocean.

I am not going to Wisconsin.  The trip is too long and the seats in economy class are too close.  I wonder how other long-legged people are maintaining their sanity.  My petite friend offers to let me out of the imprisoning window seat.  I eagerly accept the invitation to become liberated in the aisle, pacing like a caged tiger, and wondering how many people think I’m crazy.

It is early evening when we arrive in Shanghai, I slept on the plane, but still cannot keep my eyes open during the 2 hour car ride to my family’s home.  My sister keeps jabbing me in the abdomen with her elbow to keep me awake.  She apologizes, but says I need to stay awake.

The city never ends.  High rises and lights stretch in all directions until we arrive at my family’s apartment two hours from Shanghai.

1/6/11 – 1/14/10

I wrote over 40 pages in a hard-covered journal about the journey to China.   I still need to write more.  Going to China is NOT a trip. 

1/14/11 

I came home.  Another long flight, layover, and transfer, but this time, I was home.

1/15/11

As I was doing some laundry, Ez asked me to come quickly to the back window.  He, Scott, and Lee were watching a Cooper’s hawk fly toward the yard of a distant neighbor and nab a little bird.  I missed it : (

That Cooper’s hawk likes bird feeders, as it is a source of fast food for him (or her). 

We once had a sparrow that flew into our window as it was trying to fly away from the hawk.  Looking dead, the sparrow remained motionless for quite a while, waiting for the predator to pass.  I put it in a small basket lined with a towel and called rehabilitators for advice.   Within a short time, the bird got up and flew back to join its friends who at had also managed to survive the attack.  This time the prey had prevailed!

I ramble, but the nature in my day is not over because I was headed to scout camp.  The children, adults, and I find deer and rabbit tracks in the snow, a robin’s nest, and a tree deer have used to rub the velvet covering from their antlers.

I am running on adrenalin from the trip and can readily stay up late  (without a cup of coffee or a can of Coke) with the other parents to play UNO while the kids are sleeping.

1/16/11

Ugh.  I feel like a truck rolled over my body.  I will have to write another day. 

Sorry : (

1/17/11

I’m feeling better, but don’t go to sleep until 12:30 pm.  It snowed in the morning followed by freezing rain in the afternoon.

1/18/11

Back to work and writing.   No snow day here.  The roads are clear and the animals are hungry.  The bird feeder is completely void of food. 

1/19/11

Today Lee watched hawk-like birds soar above the school parking lot during music class.  

He told another kid in the class, who just looked at him like he was from another planet.  

Birds?  Please?!  

(I wish I could have been there.  I wanted to know what kind of birds they were and what they were doing at hanging out above the parking lot of a suburban school.)  He did not know what he saw, but he was excited.  More Cooper's hawks, or were they red-tailed hawks, crows, or falcons?  It didn't matter, here was a kid who was excited about birds -- did it get any better than that?

1/20/11

I am finally posting this blog.  The weather is cold (in the 20's F), but it is expected to be colder tomorrow (in the teens).  There are plenty of tracks in the snow -- deer, dog, squirrel, human -- but few birds.  They are hiding in the thicket.  I am hiding, too, burrowing into my work like a meadow vole in a snow tunnel, and looking forward to the comfort of a warm blanket for the night.