Spring in the Northern Hemisphere. Truth appears in many forms and has stories too. This magnificent woody stem still holding its thorns speaks of the life cycle of roses in my garden. I feel no guilt, because I watered it regularly for many years, and enjoyed many roses from it. New growth below, dead stem and thorns above.

Once upon a time, my young granddaughter used clay to express herself. I taught ceramics a few years ago, and still have kilns, and I know about clay, so we worked together to enable her expressions to become cone 5 glazed ceramic art. Her self-chosen theme animal was Tatanka, including the white spirit Tatanka that she dreamed about from time to time. Tatanka still roams my small ceramic studio through images tacked to walls. I sometimes notice Tatanka rushing at me when I am about to waste time. Thank you, Tatanka.

I chose him, ancient spiritual teachings say. Before my earth-birth, long ago and far away. I chose him. I am happy with my choice. Memories are beginning to appear in my mind so that I can write about him and about me and what happened as we learned how to be.

Certified by County

Costs me forty-four dollars

No weird garbage trucks

Luxuriant yes

Salt and pepper here and there

Absent forever

Early morning pruning along the Weavers’ Path to reduce the chance of human blood leaking from a body part that brushed too close to the blackberries stems rampantly reaching for the sunlight. New thorns are slightly flexible, and will still draw blood if slicing across human skin in passing. The thorns make a remarkably clean gash, much deeper than might be presumed, and blood will out. Keeping the students and residents safe by trimming them back.

Grass? NO Wild growths of Shrubbies, Pokies, and Stickies? YES. I have waited, sometimes with patience sometimes with angst, until the various pupae have been given enough 50-degree weather to make the journey to maturity. If I mow too soon, the pupae might not make the journey leaving them exposed to temperatures too cold for their maturing growth process. This would result in less for the birds to eat, and I do not want hungry birds moping about. I shall enter the shed-with-the-incredibly-loud-shrieking-doors, pull out the mowing tools, and try to remember which ones take straight fuel (imported without the crap the US adds to 2-cycle and 4-cycle fuel) and which ones take moto mix with oil pre-mixed at 50 gas to 1 oil. Then I shall try to avoid wrenching my shoulders and wrists while making the first pull-start. Then I shall loudly and proudly march forward into my jungle to cut, mow, shred, and clip all shrubbies, pokies, and stickies that have reached a height of one inch or more. THIS ACT will truly welcome spring to my courtyard, and after about 3 days of work, will have sweepingly changed the appearance of my leafy domain.

Duststorm? No. Hailstorm? No. Lightning? No. Thunder? No. Rainstorm? No.

A moderate, spring-is-here breeze? Yes 🙂

I relax and breathe calmly. I sometimes slump slightly finding comfortable positions resembling sculpture. I move casually and slowly. I blend in. I do not disrupt life as it flows by. I view the activity around me as an amphitheater full of actors playing parts for my education. The best education from a wide-open, willing, naturally gaping society and all for me.

I was 8 years young and already a smartass mentally, but not physically big enough to be impressive to anyone except myself. Also, I carried the physical image of a “husky” boy, as my grandmother, who was a department store buyer for children’s clothing and shoes, would say. My mother and father had managed to organize a family vacation to the Shenandoah Valley, at a natural lake with cabins for families to rent. The lake was the swimming area for cabin renters, and quite a few families were staying during the warm mid-summer time. Lots of people were out for fun in the water. Dad, my mom, me, my brother, and two sisters were playing in the part of the lake roped off for safe swimming, with the water no more than a couple feet deep. I decided, with the help of an auto-tire innertube, that I could safely float into the deep part, past the rope boundary, although I did not yet know how to swim well. I proceeded to do so, feeling puffed up and brave, and then suddenly I was flipped over into the water, and the innertube was being held away from me by my dad. I spluttered, struggled, flailed, and drank in a lot of water before my dad grabbed me and helped me breathe again. The lesson was quite simple: Do Not go in water over your head unless you can swim well. I was embarrassed, angry, and pouted for the rest of the day. I held onto that anger for several years, and let it go long after my dad had passed on. My family did not talk about things much, or perhaps I could have let go of the anger much sooner. Another lesson: when emotion is involved, talk it out as soon as your mind will let you.