Objects may be closer than they appear

It was a beautiful Spring day. The beach was soft in the April light and too cold for students from a nearby college to shed much more than their cares. We had come from Germany via Oregon (-20 to 50 and back while we visited) and the sun and the beach were wonderous. Our first purchase was shovels and pails for master class worthy sand castle building. In the picture Issac is perched on a quickly crumbling fortress. A smile lights his face. Justine is off to the side, digging away.

During the three years we lived along the Bay of Gaeta about a third (or more) of that time was spent at the beach. The summers were long, some days we arrived as the sun was rising, staying until lunch, or if we brought lunch until midafternoon. We lived close and carried everything we needed in two beach bags: towels, toys, sunscreen and two light umbrellas. Beach attire was swim suits, shorts and T-shirts. Sunscreen was slathered on at home and then again after the first dip in the water, T-shirts and hats went back on around 9:00; there were plenty of breaks under the umbrellas. If we went home for lunch there was a total beach wash off. Sometimes we went back to the beach in the late afternoon and watched fishermen row back in, or couples taking a light walk after riposo (Italian siesta) before heading back to work for a few hours. Afternoons we rarely swam, but walked and searched for shells and good driftwood. Or launched a boat that had been worked on for weeks: a box with bottles and tape, lots and lots of tape.

 

 Was this paradise? It was one.

 

 

A pause

There's been a dull blank spot looming in the area. It's the time of year, the way the sun comes up and stops sort of skirts around the trees and then goes down. Or disappears. Just this last few days before Solstice sets things back the other way. Sets things right. So on that note here is the elusive Tufted Titmouse. I love its eyes. The little cap is jaunty and the gray is exactly right. 

Looking up

The geese held the Moon for ransom this morning and even once they'd gone on to their lakes and ponds the Moon stayed, settling into the blue when it should have been hiding. It even became shapeshifter as we worked through the morning once too close and then suddenly a dime against the Sun's weight. Eventually it tired and crept off to bed, weary of a sky that offered no cover, no clouds, no early dusk.

 

Playtime

 

During fourth and fifth grade, when I wasn’t playing horses or tetherball or, occasionally, Four Square, I was involved in a very detailed and elaborate game with friends (Audrey, Dawn and Teresa?). We were a weird family of weirdness. I think our last name was Go-Go or something like that; all our first names rhymed with our last. Our home was the jungle gym. This was in Enterprise, Oregon where I attended two years of school after we moved back from the Southwest and before we moved to Joseph. The fact that this particular game went on through two school years and only existed at recess fascinates me now that I think about it. We had situations that arose, we had relatives visit, the occasional classmate who joined us and then left. We traveled extensively, so that our house became a castle or hotel or rocky outcropping somewhere. I believe we were interchangeably dogs and cats as pets were needed.

                                 *   

Audrey and I were good friends. She lived on Alder Slope with her grandparents, parents and two older sisters. They had goats and chickens, a couple of ancient horses and property littered with old cars and machinery. My favorite was an old DUKW boat that somehow had ended up in Wallowa County. In the winter we played through the woods and built snow forts along ditch banks, sledded down their driveway and when we got too cold went in and warmed up with hot chocolate made with goat milk. Then we’d gather all the various dolls in the house and create new worlds. When Audrey’s sisters would play this would sometimes take a dark turn as Ken inevitably was arrested for indecent exposure and went to jail. Sometimes Audrey’s chihuahua, Cookie, was the jailer and was allowed to chew Ken’s leg. After each arrest, Barbie moved on; off to see the world or build a rocket or organize a school. Something that said the one male doll is not really needed for anything here.

What made me think about this was an opinion piece today in the New York Times “Learning from ‘Leaf Town’”.  It made me hope that more children are creating these intricate worlds, using their play to make something better or subvert the norm, somewhere where imagination can just wander. 

*Picture from Insh.World

Pining again

Cutting the pine
 
It is as if a ribcage has lost a lung.
The body and the world note an absence.
The cavity empty of song;
the sudden change in breathing.
The birds fly by, their muscle memory
shifting up, or down, didn’t I land here
yesterday? The squirrel in his endless
accounting has lodged a complaint
sitting in front of the house loudly
scolding. Beside the stump, where sawdust
and bark are scattered, the partner tree stands
awkwardly. Like a long-wed companion
who doesn’t know what to do,
with an un-held hand.

Google Earth image June 2013

 

The tree on the right is the one that was cut, I thought I took a picture, but I can't find it. Even in this picture from 2013 you can see the vines all the way up. And the giant print of the stump and vine. Vines like elephant toenails. 

 

Don't pine for me

Cardinal, Sparrow, Blue Jay, Carolina Wren, Carolina Chickadee, Dark Eyed Junco, House Finch, Tufted Titmouse, Downy Woodpecker, Red-bellied Woodpecker, Northern Mockingbird, Robin and Dove. 

They arrive before dawn, in the cold, and work on the seeds I spill as I take the birdfeeders in at night. And then they gather in greater number as I put the feeders back out as the sun rises. One suet feeder and one of seed on each side of the house. Then I sprinkle sunflower seed and peanuts. Back inside I like to listen for the Blue Jays; the peanuts go fast.

Today the tree guys came to take down the dead pine. I was sorry to see it go but worried how it might fall, our roof, or our neighbor's, too great a target. This crew was here at the beginning of the pandemic to trim another tree in the backyard. I like their work I like that they are from this area and that they come in and chop and clean and joke among themselves as they work. The tree that was lost was one of the two pines in the front yard that had ivy to the top. It took a lot of years for this parasite to take over these trees, some of the old vines were four inches in diameter. We’ve successfully stopped the ivy. Jerry did the bulk of the cutting around the trunk and I patrolled the ground all year and have seen no new growth. But we lost one of the trees. Both trees were filled with vines, now dead, and the birds loved the trees. After the tree guys left birds zipped around in the empty space, and we went out and brushed sawdust off what is left of the trunk. Maybe tomorrow I’ll try to count rings or take paper and crayon and do a rubbing. As we were coming home from our walk, I noted how the tree still standing looked lonely, kind of bare on one side where it had had a partner for so many years. I’m trying to think what kind of flowers to plant next year to help a tree in mourning.

Be safe, be kind, hug a tree.

One small thing

The Sun Magazine arrived yesterday and this poem stayed on the kitchen counter all day. As I went back and forth throughout the house I stopped and read it, again and again. I've looked for more work by Cordaro and found her debut here in The Apple Valley Review.