QUAIL MUTTERINGS #46. What The #$@*? (June 2017)

Posted on June 20, 2017 by chivarnado

Who, what, when, where, why and how did we get our country, the world and mother earth into such a mess? What the #&%*? I’m sorry. I just can’t go there right now. So instead, I’m going to try my best to focus on my own little neck of the woods and attempt to stay as positive as I can. There is A LOT to be positive about here. Still.

Right now I’m rereading Walden, taking a trip down memory lane, back to simplicity, serenity and integrity. As a teen, before ever reading Thoreau or any Zen Buddhist writings, I felt this way. I may not have been able to put it into words, I still can’t really, but it’s what resonated deep inside me and continues to do so. However, words are far too limiting to describe what really matters. We can only hint at or allude to what’s really important. Or what’s actually real. Or not.

I’ve been observing this beautiful juvenile Red-tail Hawk for the past month or so. He’s as big as his parents, but they continue to bring him food. He cries off and on all day long; a very distinctive call, one I became familiar with while obsessed, for months, with a pair of fledglings several years ago. Almost daily, I walk up the canyon with my monocular and find him perched on some boulder or in a tree along the canyon walls. I love him. From following the others around before, I became more adept at being able to know where to look even if he isn’t calling. It’s a special privilege to be able to catch a glimpse into their world and be allowed to live alongside them.

Going back to Thoreau, this spring I got to visit his old stomping grounds: Concord and Walden Pond. It was March and a thin layer of ice topped the southern portion of this large pond and snow lined the path along that side. A cold breeze blew across the water and I drew a scarf over my nose. Sunlight glittered off the rippling, mirrored surface and small waves lapped at the opposite sandy shore. Nestled amongst the pines was the site where Thoreau’s small abode had been. In another area, a replica of the structure he’d built for himself allowed one to go inside and experience the economy of size and necessities. There was just enough room for a cot, a small writing table and chair, and a wood-burning stove. It was all he needed. Actually, it’s all any of us really need.

Closer to home, after a winter of unusual amounts of rain, our ponds are now full. Wildlife abounds in the continued green of almost-summer, uncharacteristic for this time of year. Spectacular super blooms decorate our spring and I look out at the bright yellow river of Seep Monkeyflowers growing where the creek ran less than a month ago. Stunning. Little Western Toads hop through the tangle of wildflowers sprouting across the creekbed. House Finches, Canyon and House Wrens use the nooks and crannies of our log cabin walls as their condominiums adding grasses and weeds for interior comfort. Daytime choruses serenade us and fill the canyon with voices of many species of birds, too numerous to list. The Western Toads up the canyon, bullfrogs from the pond down the canyon, and owls combine for the nightly symphony. Our windows remain open so we don’t miss anything.

The ravens have returned to the area out by the horses and goats to lay claim to their rightful territory. Back when our beautiful donkey was still around they used to stand on her rump and peck out the wooly hair beneath, which had not been shed yet for the summer. She seemed to appreciate the massage and they, for their labors, took the fur to line their nests. Nothing like the barter system. You scratch my itch and I’ll scratch yours.

I go outside to sit on the porch toting my apple with almond butter, a delicious snack by-the-way, and watch dozens of baby squirrels play on the rocks. They snap their tails back and forth and run away from each other as if playing tag. Lizards sun themselves nearby, lazily aware of probably everything. Aahh, to appear so unconcerned, but be, nonetheless, aware. I find myself taking lessons from them. Studying the Zen of lizards. I decide to practice more, keeping in mind some words of Buddhist wisdom.

I vow to develop understanding

in order to live peacefully

with people, animals, plants, and minerals.

And

I vow to develop my compassion

in order to protect the lives

of people, animals, plants, and minerals.

I wish you all happy wanderings, peaceful meditations and productive contemplations.

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.

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QUAIL MUTTERINGS #45. To Each and Every One (February 2017)

Posted on June 20, 2017 by chivarnado

The creeks are running, wildflowers are beginning to bloom, frogs perform their nightly symphony, and the birds are already courting. The essence of spring is hovering all around, teasing us, as another big rainstorm threatens. Nature is a powerful force, one which is most beneficial to all when we work with it rather than against it.

We are so fortunate for all the caring individuals who’ve continued to spend so much of their time and effort to ensure that large swaths of our natural environment are set aside for preservation. Without the forests we couldn’t breathe. When a species goes extinct there’s no getting it back and we shouldn’t pretend to know the consequences of that. Everything on earth is interconnected in ways that our poor, miniscule brains cannot even fathom. And to pretend to know what we cannot possibly understand can create catastrophic and torturous results. Life is too precious to let short-sightedness guide us.

I was fortunate, last summer, to visit Costa Rica and stay for a week in my cousin’s house. In order to get there we had to put the car in four-wheel-drive to make it up the side of the mountain on their two mile long dirt road. Howler monkeys screamed all around us and toucans perched in nearby trees. The surrounding jungle had its own fantastic and unfamiliar sounds. We kayaked through muddy waters and watched spider monkeys clamor out on the branches above us. Sloths were difficult to spot since they slept high in the trees, remaining very still. Iguanas crawled everywhere and brightly colored, poisonous lizards attempted to camouflage themselves on leaves and rocks. As protected habitat, much of this natural world remains.

Having the freedom to travel to other countries is indeed important. It allows us to experience how others live. Otherwise, we can lead ourselves to believe that our own perspective is the one true vision. What feels like fact actually turns out to be opinion. But we can be so easily swayed by someone who sounds more sure of himself than we are. I was substituting at the local high school last week and overheard a group of boys talking about our changing immigration policies. One of them said, “Only the bad ones are being deported, not the good ones. It’ll be alright.”

I was horrified. But, being a lowly sub and having the charge of thirty or so boisterous teenagers, I didn’t step in. Maintaining some form of control and having a list of things to accomplish that hour, didn’t give me much time to spare. I now wonder what I could have said that would have made a difference. I might have asked, “So, who makes the decision regarding the good ones versus bad ones? You? Me?” Our opinions might vastly differ.

I’ve already noticed a shift in how some people view us women. We have come a long way in regards to personal freedoms including the right to vote, own land, wear pants, and make our own decisions about reproducing. Can’t we all, as a caring and supposedly big-brained species, take a step back and look at the broad view? I think we must in order to stop pointing fingers and getting into the “us versus them” mentality. It’s a no-win situation.

We all want a choice. What to eat, how to live, who to marry or not, how to raise our children… We are all created equal. We’re all immigrants in one way or another. We all want our civil liberties and social justices. Let’s take care of one another and not judge someone just because they may seem different. Instead of contributing to the polarization of people, why not embrace each other and work together in order to help our entire planet survive in as healthy a state as possible – for our children and grandchildren, ad infinitum? I think it’s a worthy goal. Don’t you?

Peace is elusive

Flitting as moths to the light

Searching to find

Chasing to catch

It will certainly escape us

Unless we just be it.

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QUAIL MUTTERINGS #43. The Ants Go Marching (December 2016)

Posted on December 16, 2016 by chivarnado

QUAIL MUTTERINGS #43. The Ants Go Marching (December 2016)

I think we humans are a lot like ants. Like them, we all spend an awful lot of time moving stuff from one place to another. In fact, this activity seems to occupy most of our waking hours. Mail is sorted into various piles or the recycling bin. Food gets pulled out of the refrigerator or cupboards and combined into meals. The act of shopping transports items from the store to home to the appropriate storage areas. On a different scale, yard work just moves bigger things. We rake leaves into mini mountains and cart them somewhere else. No longer needed or wanted items are carried off to pawn them onto someone else or donate to a charity. Remodel, add-on, spruce it up. As a lot, we big-brained, bipedal, opposable thumbed primates are not satisfied unless we are shifting stuff around.
When we travel we take our stuff with us. At least the things we think we might need. Earlier this month Kent and I went to Florida for ten days. And yes, we took our fair share of stuff with us. Being cheap, and frugal, we each only took one small, free, carry-on suitcase and a backpack. It’s enough. In fact, I’m sure we could whittle it down even more, but we don’t travel enough to not have to reinvent the wheel every time we pack. It doesn’t seem to matter if the getaway is a month, a week, or a few days. We each still pack the same small suitcase and backpack. Like the ants, we are creatures of habit.
Neither of us had ever been to Florida before. Kent was interested in running in the USATF National Club Cross Country Championships and had, by the way, talked me into racing there also. Unfortunately, I had a migraine that day and therefore did not run. His team ran quite well with the older men placing second for their seventy and up age division. That weekend was at the tail-end of our trip.
The first weekend we visited Key West, a beautiful tropical island located at the most southerly tip of the United States. The lush green landscape was not as bug-infested as I expected. Yes, I had toted a semi-natural bug spray all the way from California, but had used very little of it. Our son-in-law’s parents own a house there and we were fortunate to spend a couple of days with them. One morning, we ran a few miles barefoot in the deep sand on the beach since we couldn’t find any long dirt roads. Perhaps this is due to the development of marsh areas into people-friendly, non-muddy spaces. I was not interested in running on any more pavement.
Our next stop was the Everglades where we took a small boat and explored the mangroves getting up close and personal with alligators, crabs and tropical flora. A highlight was watching a mother alligator doze in the sun, half in the swamp water and half out. She was surrounded by a dozen or so squeaking little baby alligators who were swimming or crawling on the bank. When we were boating around the Ten Thousand Island area dolphins played in the craft’s wake, following us for several miles.
Cruising along the interstate, heading northward in our little rental car, I was again reminded how much like ants we really are. At least they all seem to follow a similar path. While we humans travel along all scattered-like, when viewed from an airplane, we appear to be marching along the well-worn ant highways.
A stop in Gainesville to visit my aunt was our next destination. It felt good to visit. I suppose it was the last time I’ll ever see her. The impermanence of everything strikes me every so often and pulls me down. Then it’s time to resume ant-like activity. Get up. Take an apple from the refrigerator and eat it with almond butter. Go outside and move firewood from one of the heaps in the yard and pile it on the front porch. Keep marching!

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. Her collection of essays, Quail Mutterings, can be found on www.chivarnado.com.