QUAIL MUTTERINGS #29. Just Another Sunday (June 6, 2014)

Posted on June 12, 2014 by Chi

QUAIL MUTTERINGS #29. Just Another Sunday (June 6, 2014)

I find it interesting how we, as well as other mammals, tend to find comfort in routine. As much as we complain about the “same old, same old,” we crave it as much as we admonish it. It’s simply human nature. This is what Sundays have become for Kent and me. And for the most part, we get excited and look forward to our Sundays.

We still rise early, just like any other day of the week, but we usually get to stay home – all day long. This, in and of itself, is worthwhile and enjoyable. We also allow ourselves, independently, to take a break from our usual routines of exercising and running first thing in the morning. I look forward to this mini-vacation. This little bit of difference, in a fairly scheduled, task-oriented week, is just the ticket I need to spruce up my attitude.

Last Sunday morning while working upstairs I glanced out the window and saw a deer standing at the top of the side driveway. On the way downstairs I snagged our son, Chance, and he followed me to the kitchen. Kent was out at the washing machine so I quietly opened the door and pointed out the mule deer which was still there. The three of us stood out on the porch watching for quite some time. I spoke calmly telling her how beautiful she was. “I hope you stay up here in this end of the canyon where it’s safer for you, and where there’s water.” She kept an eye on us, but seemed unafraid.

Then she began walking toward us! Halfway down the hill she stopped to nibble on some dry grass as I again muttered sweet nothings in her direction. A few minutes passed and she moved closer. And then closer still. Another mouthful of grass. Her big dark ears projecting out from her delicate brown face perked, listening to my voice. Our Lady of the Valley rounded the turn in the driveway and gracefully walked down the steep decline behind the trees.

The three of us moved slowly to the front porch as she parked herself at our galvanized cattle trough/homemade fountain for a long drink of water. She didn’t appear to be in any hurry at all. When her thirst was satiated she moseyed across the dirt road to the meadow before heading over to the creekbed and up the bank, continuing on with her Sunday morning stroll. She made our day. What a treat. The rest of my afternoon progressed a little slower and a bit more consciously, thanks to her.

Of course, we had to get on with our usual Sunday chores: picking greens and other ripe goodies from the gardens, watering, mucking corrals, dusting the horses and dog with diatomaceous earth, chopping poison oak, fixing things… These activities make up our Sunday rituals. Without Sundays, our weeks would more than likely bump into each other and cause stress and other unforeseen collisions. At least with Sundays providing a buffer, we have a better chance to cope with life’s buildup of tension during the week.

It’s also, ALL ABOUT DINNER. I begin early, usually preparing something we picked that day, to be ready by 6:00 PM. On Sunday evenings we look forward to our KPBS shows including Doc Martin, Ballykiss Angel, or Larkrise to Candleford… Six o’clock is awfully early to have all our chores done and dinner ready, but it’s part of our Sunday ritual that we’ve come to enjoy. So much so that we fiercely protect it by usually turning down the occasional invitation that might interfere with one of our favorite times of the week.

A couple days later, after being gone at work all day, I came home and took a walk to check-up on the various projects I have going on in the canyon. I noticed split-hoof tracks along the same path as the deer had traversed on Sunday. Vehicles had come and gone in the interim so I knew they were fresh footprints. Perhaps our Lady of the Valley also has her own ritual of meandering to the fountain for a drink, walking across the dirt road to the meadow, and then over to the creekbed and up the bank. I guess we all take comfort in routine. But I think in order to continue enjoying the regularity of our lives we have to vary things just often enough to spice it up a bit. So here’s to your own ‘Just another Sunday,’ on whatever day of the week or hour of the day it might fall.

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.