When is the rain coming? Soon, I hope. None in the foreseeable forecast though. Singular blades of grass have pushed up through the soil, thanks to the downpour that came weeks ago. But now, as dry as everything is, I’m afraid the tender young greens will just wilt and die. There goes the food supply for the local wildlife. I feel like I should do a rain dance and chant powerful pleadings to the powers that be. Or go sit on a rock and silently meditate – becoming open for ways that I might be of service to this plight.
I miss last year’s walks through the soggy creekbed. Wading through running water with grandkids in rubber boots. Watching leaves float down the current, pretending they’re boats. Witnessing the horses splay their front legs and reach down to drink from the cool, fresh spring. And then, in the evening, listening to the symphony of frogs from the pond further down the canyon.
Ribet ribet
please it, please it
may the heavens open
and bring replenishment.
May we do no harm
In the way we farm.
And not consume more
than we’re really made for.
Pass it around
everything we’ve found.
Help those in need
instead of filling our greed.
Expand our minds
and share our rides
both far and near
for all are dear.
Yeah, yeah – corny, I know. But I couldn’t help it. Sometimes I just gotta go with the flow – the stream of consciousness – if the stream of water is not available.
The nights have been chilly however. That’s why our yard looks like “White-trash America” with the car hoods up. This practice can save us literally hundreds of dollars. You see, the little wild critters – like rats, mice and squirrels – love nice warm, cozy spaces which a sheltered engine can provide. At least, by lifting the bonnets at night, we lessen the comfort of these dwellings and hopefully prevent expensive chewed-through wires and shorted-out connections. And now that the days are unseasonably warm, we lift the hoods each morning to deter the confused birds from building nests in there during the dead of winter. Yes, this is southern California. But really – it’s a little unnerving, don’t you think?
And vine-ripened tomatoes? In February? What’s that about? Yup, we’ve got that going on in our garden right now. Pretty spooky, huh?
What can each of us do to make a difference and help preserve what we still have? Mother Earth is a beautiful place. It’s where we call home and it’s all we have. Let’s nurture and do our best to sustain her. Each one of us can truly make a difference. And then it becomes the ripple effect. Just like in water.
Chi Varnado’s memoir, A CANYON TRILOGY: Life Before, During and After the Cedar Fire and her children’s book, The Tale of Broken Tail are available on www.amazon.com. Her collection of essays, Quail Mutterings, can be found on www.chivarnado.com. You can follow us on www.Facebook.com/gnomewoodcanyon.
