power source

sunrise:  6:18

I am en route to my nest, empty of children, but full of a loving husband happily awaiting my return. Not a bad deal.

N and I moved all of her things into her first house last night at Middlebury. She is sharing it with two other senior girls, but it is a full sized home: basement, garage, three stories, dishwasher, back yard and all. Yet it is still “student housing,” so they have a built in cleaning service and regular dorm supplies. That’s what you get when you are lucky enough to pick #1 in the rooming lottery.











This morning was one of my favorite kinds of sunrise walks. I didn’t know where to go or what I would find, so it was a little journey of discovery. From my mother-in-law’s condominium in New Hampshire, where I spent last night, there is a grassy trail that leads out to Route 10.
 

There are a lot of hills around, and very tall trees, so a view of the sun was a challenge. I did finally begin to see the sky’s illuminated display of morning cloud, but I was frustrated by power lines. Damn these annoying power lines, thought I.

There I was with my camera and phone, all charged up with electricity, about to return to a home lit by electric lights to work on my electronic computer. We are thoroughly bound to our power sources, so when I first looked with disdain upon this sub-station, sending out dozens of fat cables to utility poles, I had to stop and rethink my stance. We all choose to tap into our sources of generated power; they are the founders of the life we lead.

On the other hand, look at this little green brier.

A seed found its way into some small supply of soil or nutrient on the top of this wooden pylon at the roadside. Although it may be just a few yards from the massive configuration of electric power generation, its power source is far more subtle. Sun, soil, air, and it tenaciously claims life.

A trail wound uninvitingly around the base of the sub-station, and I decided to follow it. There I entered a forest sanctuary along mink brook that has the same beauty as the Adirondack region I just came from, or so many natural places all over the northeast. Misty waterway, ducks, scolding red squirrels tossing pine cones at me (or at least it seemed that way), and the rising sun, the power source for everything my eyes could see in this place, gradually stretching its rays down into the small ravine where I walked.

Today my first view of the sun itself was its reflection off the misty waters of mink brook.

Now there is the ultimate power source. More dominant than any electronic generator station, more powerful than any feeble human attempt at imitation. And certainly, we are far more dependent upon that power source than any other. In fact, humans have been known to survive without any other, for long periods of time.

And it is quite superior in aesthetic presentation.

Where do we look for our source of power? Just something to think about.

rituals

sunrise:  6:25


The temperature at lunchtime yesterday was 30 degrees colder than the day before at the same hour. That’s fine with me – I love the cooling air. Now the rain this morning is a welcome guest. It is still a beautiful place, in any weather, though I hope it clears up before the big annual softball game in the club field this afternoon.

N and I took a 9 mile walk around the whole lake yesterday with my cousin, with whom we’re sharing a camp (the Adirondack term for anything from rustic four wall shell to a grand log home, if it’s where you go on the weekends). It has become an occasional ritual in the last decade or so, when I come for a visit up here. Lots of forest, moss, lake and pond views, and some long stretches of dirt road, all to mark the circumference of a beloved property.

Another ritual is an unavoidable and less attractive one, though it has its whimsical note. It is cleaning up after various rodent intruders in the kitchen.

Breads, fruits, and many other edibles are fair game for many mammalian species up here. First they ate through the English muffin package, then we found a previously saran wrapped loaf of fresh bread scratched and nibbled and strewn almost into oblivion, right in the middle of the kitchen table. The critter really went to town on that loaf of bread.

So we set a hav-a-hart trap and caught him- a very bold and curious chipmunk, who actually turned to look you in the eye when you went over to the cage. My cousin released him about a mile away, which is likely a futile exercise. We’ll be gone soon anyway, and the food supply will dry up. They’ll have to return to nature’s bounty, rather than bounty from Shaheen’s grocery store.

*****

This family cemetery in the woods is one of my favorite places to walk to. My sister the minister led a memorial service here for our uncle last week, which I missed. I heard it was quite lovely, with 100 people or so in attendance. It is a deeply peaceful and contemplative place.

watery wisdom

sunrise:  6:24

Hooray! I had to pull the blankets up this morning – the weather has shifted at last. The water’s surface, however, is still very warm from the long stretch of heat. As I paddled over the lake, I was alternately bathed in the cool air from the sky and the warm air off the water. I am flooded with the natural intoxication that is so often inherent in the world outdoors, when you allow yourself full immersion.

Even at well over 200 sunrise outings, I continue to be surprised. I paddled upwind with my back to the east for about 15 minutes today, then turned around and watched the eastern sky for the sun’s appearance. With the obstruction of hill and cloudbank, the sun may not be visible for 10-20 minutes after official rising, so I waited, drifting along.

After a long period of waiting for the sun to find its way around hill and cloudbank, I glanced behind me – and saw where the real show of the day was happening. The sun wasn’t high enough to reach me, but it was high enough to light up the western clouds with rosy highlights.

Lesson of the day: You may be patiently waiting for something to happen with intense focus, while you miss something unexpected and wonderful somewhere else. Be vigilant, but don’t forget to look around.

*************
I love this medium of water right outside my door. It enables chance encounters of a unique sort. An hour before the sun set last night I went for a swim along the shoreline and stopped to chat with a distant relative, also in the water to cool down in the evening. Then I continued on my way.

This morning, on my way home, I happened upon my brother-in-law with his fishing gear, getting ready to go out and catch breakfast. I paddled over to say hello across the rippled surface.







I have mentioned before that water is considered by many to be a spiritual realm. I feel it to be true. I feel it when I am in the water, when I am on the water, when I commune with people over water.

Lesson number two: When you feel a need to tap into greater depths, water may be your facilitator.

nice recovery

sunrise:  6:23

After a series of minor disasters that threatened to thwart my dawn outing, I enjoyed a lovely paddle on my favorite Adirondack lake.  At least - the photos tell me that it was lovely.  I only got to enjoy a fuzzy version of it first hand, since my opening act of the day was to dive into the glassy waters with my glasses on.

Still feeling coated with the dust of the road, grimy from the 10 hour trip that we had completed at 12:30am, I decided I needed a swim before I did anything else.  It was the first time that I have been aquatically immersed under the light of pre-dawn.  It is sublimely beautiful to stand chest deep in water under the rising light of day.  My appreciation of the spiritual experience was cut short, however, when I realized what I had done.  My source of sight was somewhere on the lake bottom.

I didn't want to miss the sunrise, however, so I carried on, lack of vision notwithstanding.  As I rushed to haul out the kayak in my state of lost glasses anxiety, I dropped my cell phone, which tumbled into the shallow water on the shore.

On another day, I might have decided to read the warning signs and quickly get back into bed before I could do any more damage.  But I persevered.

In spite of all, it was still an early start to the day.  I shoved off onto the still waters.

Without sharp vision to dominate my sensory world, I concentrated on the sounds of a distant loon, the desultory cry of an indecisive crow, the periodic splash of leaping fish, diving upwards for breakfast.  I wonder if any of the fish dove upwards with their glasses on by mistake.

The air is cool, but sultry with humidity and warm enough to be comfortable in a wet bathing suit out on the water.  It was soft air, a subtle caress over the skin.  It was so still that it was air I could barely feel, except when I picked up the paddle and pulled through it for a while.  I almost hated to move.  My paddling felt like a rude intrusion upon the serenity of air and water, but then I would stop and sit still for a while, and everything recovered to its former somnolent state.

It is nearly impossible not to be moved by this place, this setting, these suspended moments in time while floating quietly on the water.

.......

........

no glasses, no cell phone, no matter...at least for this moment, which matters quite a lot.

(by the way -- I found the glasses, quietly awaiting retrieval amidst the minnows.  phone looks okay.  all is well)

orange juice with pulp

sunrise:  5:59

I suppose that the term "horseplay" evolved in the day when everyone had horses around for transportation and labor.  I don't know about horses, but I know dogplay.  Guster and Clara were feeling feisty during the cooler relief of morning.

Today I will drive with N to the Adirondacks for a few days before I drop her off at school in Vermont.  Happily, we're staying north where it is only hot as hell.  Down in the northeastern cities it is almost unbearable. Can't wait for the weather to break this weekend.

It's a good thing that I'm going back on the road today.  I am ridiculous.
Yesterday I went to the grocery store.  My darling T has a few particular tastes in food that she drilled into me over the years.  No pulp in the orange juice, no seeds in the bread.  J and I both like high pulp juice and heavily seeded bread, so I put them into my cart. 

Suddenly there were tears in my eyes.  But I pulled it together.  I wouldn't want to make a scene in public, especially when my only explanation would be:  "I BOUGHT ORANGE JUICE WITH PULP!"

************

If only my camera could reproduce the vivid red of this sunball.  It is the third sunrise in a row with a perfect, bright crimson orb that rises in quiet grandeur - two over the sea, one over my back field.  Must have something to do with the heat and humidity?

passed but not forgotten

sunrise: 6:05, or so

No walk in a field today. Instead, an eastward drive under a hushed gray dawn, following the undulating ribbon of southern Maine’s Interstate 95. Pockets of mist gather in the depressions along the roadside, and curl around the lower branches of dark trees, standing sentry in the dim light.

J and I watched the sun come up over the bay as we drove through Portland, on our way home after a rather epic 48 hour journey.

No camera today – only a highway shot with a camera phone. Word images will have to do.

We are still wearing the clothes we put on yesterday morning for the funeral. It hit close to 100 degrees in Boston and New Haven yesterday, and almost that high even in Maine. At 6am, once again, it is already hot.

After the funeral service yesterday we returned to T’s dormitory in Boston for a final goodbye, then we made a visit to the shiva reception before taking leave of our friend’s grieving family, then back to Boston for a dinner with members of J’s college singing group. This was the first of their group of 14 members of the senior class to die, and 11 were able to come for the funeral.

From that third profoundly moving gathering and departure, we drove 2 hours to New Haven to see our son. When we arrived he was finishing the first weekly dinner of the year with his college singing group.

Weirdly, poignantly, it is the same group that our departed friend sang with for three years. These young men were in the midst of honoring our friend with song as we arrived, and we were brought into the fold of song and embracing.

Two hours later, after unloading S’s stuff, swapping cars, and hanging out for a while in the relative cool of a courtyard, we left somewhere after midnight to get home to our daughter back in Maine. She leaves with me for her last year of college tomorrow.

Sometimes, even after only a few hours’ fitful sleep in a passenger seat, one can come awake with a sense of total clarity as the sun makes its grand entrance over the horizon. The heart, the mind, overflow with data processing.

At Yale, where J and I and two of our kids were/are undergraduates, there is an acapella singing community that is their equivalent of a fraternity/sorority system. There are many undergraduate groups from which 13 or 14 rising senior men are selected to be the Whiffenpoofs in their senior year. J tried out for the Whiffenpoofs in our junior spring, when I was abroad in Switzerland.

This was back in the dark ages of communications. I walked a mile into the city center of Lausanne, where the post office had banks of international pay phones. I called J and got the news that he had made it -- exultant and bleary-headed after an all night celebration.

That group of young men forged a lifetime bond in the ensuing year – traveling thousands of miles all over the country and all over the world, singing on Saturday Night Live, on Japanese television, in embassies and schools and venues large and small.

What I realized yesterday more than ever before is that I forged a lifetime bond with that group as well. I saw them rehearse during their first summer retreat and perform throughout the year.  The next summer, I traveled to hear them sing in Greece. They sang at our wedding, and the weddings of several other group members. We have gathered periodically with our growing families, all of whom have become a part of this musical brotherhood.

I realized that one can love not only individual people; one can love an entity as well – a group that is made of many people who form something greater than the sum of their parts. I dearly love the Whiffenpoofs of 1982.

So. I have turned 50. My children have all fledged, and our nest in empty. And that larger than life college group that has meant so much to the history that my husband and I share, has lost its first link to the past. A lot to process in 4 days.

There is a line in “the Whiffenpoof Song,” written about 100 years ago, that goes like this (Louis was the owner of the bar where they often sang):

We will serenade our Louis,

While life and voice shall last

Then we’ll pass and be forgotten with the rest.

Forgotten by future generations of young college boys, perhaps. By those of us who were there, however, for whom “the magic of their singing cast its spell,” there will be no forgetting. Ever.