QUAIL MUTTERINGS #39. Isn’t February Too Early For Spring? (February 6, 2016)

Posted on March 7, 2016 by Chi

What? Who says it’s Spring? The birds do! That’s who. Every morning the canyon wrens are singing merrily all around the house. Their melodic, descending trills provide the sound track of a new day dawning. The house finches dart back and forth between their numerous nests in the nooks and crannies of our log cabin and the budding bushes in the yard. I’ve noticed that the squirrels have also decided that winter is over and clamber up and down the granite boulders and in and out of holes in the ground. Life is good.
The other morning Kent and I drove up the hill to get a better view of the planetary alignment, only visible in the night sky shortly before dawn. We got out of the car and stared up at the sky. I stood in awe of how miniscule we really are. These five planets, perfectly aligned, are so far away, but yet are some of our closest neighbors. We are only one of so many planets. The differences and difficulties that we have here, with each other and with different global communities, seem absurd. Don’t they? None of that really matters in the big scheme of things. Gazing upward from the east toward the west there they shimmered. Mercury was the least visible being the closest to the horizon. Venus, a big bright beacon. Saturn. Mars, emitting a reddish hue. And Jupiter, the closest to setting but still hours away. We returned to the morning cacophony surrounding our front porch.
Only last week we had that big winter storm with the crazy winds that knocked out our power for eight hours. I dug out candles, lighting them in groups to provide more light in needed areas. Luckily, I’d made soup the day before and there were enough leftovers to heat on the stove for dinner. A quick open and close of the refrigerator was all that was needed to remove the pot. Not a good idea to let out that ever-so-valuable frigidness necessary to keep our food edible. Then we moved the candles to the living room where a fire burned in the fireplace emitting a soft glow which added to the limited light available. There’s nothing like a power outage to help us put on the brakes and take the time for relaxed conversation. I welcomed and relished the resulting magical ambiance.
A day later, work on our rock tiny house resumed. The building is evolving, taking on a persona of its own. Whereas most construction follows a set of plans and dictated schedules this thing suggests we stop and ponder. That’s fine with me. It’s one of my favorite things to do. It’s also the reason why I’ve changed my mind, more than once, over the desired end product. It’s gone from being just a simple bathroom/kitchenette to adding a small bedroom on the side. The whole thing is less than two-hundred square feet and occupies the site, and one of the rock walls, of my grandmother’s previous abode. The one that the Cedar Fire took away. Now more rock scavenging is needed. We scour the mountainsides for more of “my beauties” as I call them. A friend who’s doing the construction probably worries that I’ll change my mind again, but I am trying to work with each phase that it has progressed to. Sometimes it’s as if the canyon itself is providing the instructions.
These recent evenings, on my nightly excursions outside to whisper my gratitude, I’m enraptured by the eclectic symphony coming from down the creek, toward the pond further down the valley. The bullfrogs’ rhythmic bass, the toads’ melodic counterpoint and the crickets’ steady pulse provide the backdrop for a lone Poorwill singing further up the ridge. I can also hear a Great Horned Owl and a Western Screech-Owl on opposite walls of the canyon. The boulders shine magically in the moonlight and I am, once again, filled with reverence for all this life around me and my place in it.
Tomorrow will dawn a new day in which the Dance Centre will rehearse for our upcoming story ballet: A Star Studded Tea Party. It’s not a traditional tale, but one that is evolving. Similar to the way that the tiny house has come along. Between the advanced dancers and me collaborating together, it’s grown into a birthday party for Alice (in Wonderland). The Cheshire cat, the white rabbit, and the mad hatter all show up. And, of course, the big bad wolf. Why not, right? If you’d like to check out our twisty tale then come on over to the Performing Arts Center at Olive Peirce Middle School at 6:30 PM on April 15th. Don’t worry. The date’s easy to remember. It’s tax day!

Chi Varnado is a contributing writer for The San Diego Reader. Her 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. Chi directs the Ramona Dance Centre. Her collection of essays, Quail Mutterings, can be found on www.chivarnado.com.

QUAIL MUTTERINGS #2: Chorus of the Frogs – January 9, 2011 (One year ago)

Posted on January 18, 2012 by chivarnado

QUAIL MUTTERINGS #2: Chorus of the Frogs – January 9, 2011

(One year ago)

I lay here in bed at 3:30 AM listening to the beautiful chorus of frogs. My window is cracked open allowing the sounds of the symphony playing down at the creek to drift into my consciousness. Normally I’d probably miss out on this Overture de Croak, but I have a nasty head cold which is keeping me awake. I suppose I shouldn’t complain. It’s probably been close to a year since I’ve had one. Everyone around seems to have had several since I have so I guess it was my turn.

We’re so fortunate to have had such an abundance of rain recently, enough so the creek was running even in December. This was a local record since I’ve been around. We’ve had over sixteen-and-a-half inches of rain this fall, in just a couple of months. In fact, we had over ten inches in two weeks! The run-off has keptKentand me busy digging trenches to keep the dirt road from washing out. Aah, the pleasures of country living.

The road leading into our place is more than a half mile long. The first part of the street, nearest Mussey Grade, is better maintained. There are a couple folks with hearts of gold who enjoy playing on their tractors. As one progresses further into the canyon there are fewer of us and the bulk of the maintenance falls onto those willing to roll up our sleeves and do the work – by hand, with shovels. By the way, there are only a couple of us. And then, once in the canyon, there’s just us, with more real, unpaid work than we can handle already. We just have to pick and choose the jobs that are screaming the loudest or the ones that are threatening to ruin some project we’ve already sunk our blood, sweat and tears into.

On the occasion when outsiders come in to fix something for us, or simply to visit, one thing usually registers in their minds. And this is that they have somehow stumbled back into perhaps the 1930’s, a time when things took longer to accomplish, with a lot more planning and time investment necessary. Everything seems more difficult here. There are no paved roads and the dirt lane is narrow and canopied by old oak trees making deliveries with large trucks practically impossible. The landscape is steep and unyielding with rocks and boulders literally everywhere. Everything we do here requires a hike – not like walking onMt.Woodson’s paved road orIronMountain’s wide trail. This is more goat terrain.

Our washing machine is out on the side porch and the clothes line accessible only by a hike up the hill. The garden, where we pick our dinner, is up the mountain even farther. We turn our two horses loose during the day so they can forage for themselves while munching down the fire hazard. If they don’t come home by supper time we have to walk back into the canyon to fetch them. The goats and chickens, as well as the horses during the night, are a traipse over to our west side. Keeping enough firewood cut, split and collected is a time consuming and fitness insuring activity.

In other words, ours is not a life of convenience. Nor is it exactly ‘simple’ or ‘slower’. But these days we know that a simple life is usually more difficult and a slower pace probably entails more physical labor. Not always, but it’s funny – the choice of words in our language. It’s not to say that our lifestyle is not rewarding. It most definitely is.

The other night as I went to bed – with my window open a little, of course – I heard a porwil’s three-syllable call. It’s one of the most comforting sounds I know. A barn owl screeched a couple times in the distance. And yes, the chorus of frogs. Have you ever noticed how deafeningly loud and robust they can be and then instantly quiet? It’s almost as if they are all aware of a single music conductor waving his wand to play and then sharply cutting them off. And then luring them on again, one section of the orchestra at a time, building to a crescendo and then falling away again: all night long. What perseverance and passion. The ebb and flow of the symphony parallels our lives. If we slow down and listen, we might, perhaps, become more in tune with our own surroundings, our community, and the world that we live in. We’re each a single instrument – important in our own right. But together, as part of the orchestra, we can do wonderful things.

Until next time, may your life be full and blessed as you take the time to enjoy your walk or sit in the garden. Don’t miss the symphony!

Chi Varnado is a contributing writer for The San Diego Reader. Her memoir, A CANYON TRILOGY: Life Before, During and After the Cedar Fire, is available on www.amazon.com. The Tale of Broken Tail, her children’s book, should be coming out this spring and she is currently working on a novel set in her father’s Mississippi homeland. Chi directs The Dance Centre of Ramona. Her collection of essays, Quail Mutterings, will appear on Ramonapatch.com every month or so. Please visit www.thedancecentreoframona.com & www.chivarnado.com.