The buttermilk sky overhead brings to me a sense of calm and contentment. Ever since my mom showed me one, so many decades ago, I’ve probably pointed them out far too many times, making my children’s eyes roll. But the subdued lighting and faint cooling that it brings somehow also reminds me of my summers spent in the deep south of Mississippi. Of course, it’s much more humid there.
After enduring the last few days of an intense May heatwave, today is a welcome change. For three days straight I’ve powered out in the hot sun, finally sorting through the pile of stuff which has sat under a tarp for over three years. I’ve taken each item out to stare at, assess, decide whether it’s trash, recycling, donation, give to someone, or keep and clean it up. The task is not completely finished, but the end is well in sight and that feels really good. And last night’s lovely moon, looming large over the canyon wall, brought tears to my eyes.
This morning, my dog and I took a wander up the canyon. Not a hike or power walk, just more of a meditative leisurely stroll. The bright yellows of the yarrow and deerweed combined with the purples of the nightshade and penstemon made me smile. They helped remind me that, in spite of all there is to do, life itself is worth taking time for. Sometimes—to just be, breathe, and smile. At least for a little while, until the call of chores grows too loud to ignore.
Wednesday was the last park day for my daughter, three-year-old granddaughter, and me while the older two kids are in school. We’ve had a great time swinging, riding the teeter totter, and picnicking. I’ll miss this even though we plan to get back to it in the fall when school starts again. Traditions and rituals, a lot of us look forward to them. As summer approaches new things appear on the horizon. A road trip to the Sierras with a friend, a wedding in Washington, family potlucks and celebrations… I’m looking forward to it all. Carpe diem!
A few days later, we were treated to the spectacular lunar eclipse accompanied with a blood moon. It felt like a special treat (eye candy) as I wandered around the canyon that night enjoying the eerie, mystical light. Somehow, even as many of us were witnessing the same event, we each had our own vantage point with our own perceptions—no two alike. This reminded me that everything actually is that way and it’s probably a good idea to keep this in mind.
A Red-shouldered hawk circles above, piercing the air with its call. The ground squirrel climbs up the prickly pear cactus and gnaws through the tough fibers. Lizards clammer over rocks and pause to perform their pushups while various bird species serenade from the branches, each in their native tongue. The butterflies flit from flower to flower as the drone of bees filters through to my ears… Each carries on with its own unique perspective.
Aah, the country life. I wouldn’t trade it for anything.
Chi Varnado has four recently published books. The Old House in the Country, women’s fiction; and three YA novels in The Dance Centre Presents series. Her memoir, A CANYON TRILOGY: Life Before, During and After the Cedar Fire, and her children’s book, The Tale of Broken Tail, are also available on www.amazon.com. Her collection of essays, Quail Mutterings, can be found on www.chivarnado.com or www.dancecentrepresents.com. You can follow her on Instagram or on www.Facebook.com/dancecentrepresents.