Tag Archives: Rapunzel

QUAIL MUTTERINGS #15. A Sense of Story – April 27, 2012

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QUAIL MUTTERINGS #15.  A Sense of Story – April 27, 2012

 

 

            “Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair.” These are the words which the young maiden, locked away in her tall tower, hears when someone wants to come visit her. This is also the world in which I’m living these days as our dance studio’s production of this story nears.

As I wander through the canyon these days the weeds, like Rapunzel’s hair, are growing long and thick. And like the witch in the story I, too, am enjoying the beauty of all the young growth while dreading the work that this beauty requires. She, too, ends up whacking off Rapunzel’s long hair just as we have to weed whack around our house.

Aren’t fairy tales wonderful? I love the way they can take the mundane and magically transform it into something amazing, or at least entertaining. If only we would, in our daily life, look at things in a different light and perhaps enjoy them more fully. It’s constant, isn’t it, seeing or hearing, assessing, and then jumping to conclusions? I’m trying to practice pulling away from what I’m thinking at the time and allow other factors to come into play. The results are sometimes surprising.

For example, it rained a couple of times this week after a lot of us probably hoped that our last weed whacking might have done it for the year. Yeah, darn it, we’ll have to do it again. But if I steer my train of thought to another direction, I realize that these rains have brought the possibility of new growth: more grass for my horses to eat (lower feed bill), a longer and greener spring, a little more runoff for the reservoirs and our water supply… Now the pros seem to outweigh the cons and that feels better.

Every morning, through my open window, I wake to the beautiful symphony of bird songs, especially prolific this time of year. I can hear the Mourning Doves, Black Phoebes, House Finches, and the Canyon Wrens with their descending whistle calls. And at night, if I’m lucky, a pair of Poorwills talk to each other across the canyon. We can see and hear lots of bird activity and it feels so peaceful to us. But this must be a very stressful time of year for them, flying to and fro for nesting materials, finding mates, and taking care of their young – the endless search for food.

As I head up the trail this morning I scan the usual places: the eucalyptus which held last year’s huge nest, the tip of Hawk Rock, the tops of the oak trees on the south ridge… And, oh yes, “There you are, my fine buteo friend.” One of last year’s Red-tail Hawks is perched up at the very top branch of the tall eucalyptus tree near our log cabin. I’m always thrilled to see him.

My dog, Job, and I continue our climb up to the Saddle, the lower swing of the mountain connecting the north and south ridges. The morning is spectacular. The dewdrops everywhere are glistening, thanks to last night’s drizzle, and this morning’s soft, clouded light is interspersed with shards of sunlight dancing through. Four Ravens are carrying on around the highest peak flying in and out of the fog which is beginning to lift off. There are still a few lilacs offering their last remaining blossoms to the wind while the sage and chamise are in full bloom.

Job and I summit the Saddle and start down the other side to sit on a rock outcropping. I cross my legs to settle into a delicious meditation, as well as take in the visual splendor, and Job sits next to me. I hear wild turkeys in the valley below and the creek running toward its destination, San Vicente Lake. Job cocks his head and I turn to listen and hear a bobcat in the distance. Its unmistakable “whisper bark” is welcome to my ears.

The huge purple mountains in the distance are shrouded in various shades of grey clouds. I’ve heard that Cuyamaca means “in the clouds” in the indigenous language. This is one of the most magnificent sights I know of, gazing out over the layers of mountains with the clouds hovering across them. These are the same ridges that I watched the Cedar Fire burn over on that unforgettable night. But now, the view feels gloriously vast and wild. Not much evidence of human kind up here.

Just before we head back down, while I’m standing at the Saddle, the sun bursts through the clouds. I feel a wave of gratitude wash over me and I remember a poster I had hanging in the old house. It read, “The sun shines through even the darkest clouds.” The words were printed over a scene not too different from the one I’m witnessing right now.

Walking back down the trail gives me time to reflect on the things I’d seen or heard: the Ravens, the Red-tail Hawk, the bobcat, wild Turkeys… I had been caught up in my own world and, until now, hadn’t thought about all the different livelihoods going on in that same moment. Who was the bobcat calling? What were the ravens carrying on about? How many wild turkeys were there down in that foggy valley? There must be a million and one stories going on simultaneously.

We call our little farm Gnome Wood, in honor of all those little invisible beings, at least to us, whoever they may be, that co-inhabit the canyon. Each being has her own tale to tell, her own take on something we’re all experiencing. Oh, the stories they could tell.

 

This spring’s story of Rapunzel will come alive in ballet form (and tumbling and hip hop) to be presented by The Ramona Dance Centre onFriday May 11, 2012 at6:30 PM. The concert will be held in the PAW atRamonaHigh School. Tickets are $5 each or $20 per family. Come enjoy the story!

QUAIL MUTTERINGS #13: Three Walks (January 21, 2012)

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QUAIL MUTTERINGS #13.  Three Walks (January 21, 2012)

 

            We’re already three weeks into the new year! Can you believe it? 2011 seemed to have disappeared in record time leaving me feeling a little at a loss. Sure, we all tend to agree that each year appears to fly by quicker than the previous one, but it’s one thing to just talk about it and quite another to allow yourself to feel it. It can be a bit unsettling. The only remedy I know of, even if only temporary at best, is to go out for a walk. Not a power walk or a run, but more of a stroll. So that’s what I did. Three times this week. I sandwiched these jaunts between work, tax preparations and a variety of other time consuming, stress producing activities.

On Tuesday morning, after my morning exercises but before teaching the afternoon ballet classes, I wandered across the dry creek and the green sloping field across the dirt road and headed Northish. I stepped over an old, dead tree trunk that had fallen down the week before. I’d been throwing out hay for the horses and goats at the time and heard the crash of the branches breaking, but didn’t know exactly where it had come from.

When I got over to the upper field the green grass carpet sparkled. Each blade of grass was tipped with a dewdrop. Yes indeed, I thought, the fairies have been here. I remembered the lines from A Midsummer Night’s Dream, when I’d played the part of the fairy at Coronado Playhouse.

“…And I serve the Fairy Queen

To dew her orbs upon the green.

The cowslips tall her pensioners be.

In their gold coats spots you see;

Those be rubies, fairy favours;

In those freckles live their savours.

I must go seek some dewdrops here,

And hang a pearl in every cowslip’s ear…”

I lingered by the old Model-A truck frame, enchanted by the beautiful sea of diamonds, catching the early morning’s rays of sunlight before the wash of warmth coming over the ridge would alter their form. It felt magical for the moment.

On Wednesday morning I decided not to go for a run, but to take a walk instead. This time my dog, Job, and I headed back into the canyon. Brrr was it cold! Jack Frost had come to visit that night and turned the whole creekbed into a winter wonderland. Everything was coated white. The bushes, the grass, the sticks lying on the ground… All was frozen. It was a dazzling display of a winter’s kiss.

Further up the dirt road I passed another old Model-A. Icicles hung from the back bumper like stalactites. Far more perfect and appealing to my eyes than the strands of icicle lights hung everywhere during the Christmas season. They’re nice too, but really, there’s no competition.

Job followed his nose as we started up the mountain. He stays with me pretty well, but he likes a little freedom too. We walked through The Pretty Place, a small meadow with a creek running through it that sprouts thousands of delicate wildflowers in the spring. We’ve called it that since I was a kid. Just up from there I noticed the wild violets coming up. It’s only January and I don’t recall them so early before. The lilacs are even starting to bloom.

Once up top, at The Saddle, I was finally in the sun. It felt wonderful after being in the shade of the mountain all the way up. I looked across at the lovely blue-colored Cuyamacas in the distance and heard the water running, far below, in the Kimball Valley Creek. This water often comes fromLakeSoutherland on its way to San Vicente Lake.

I turned around to head back down the hill and paused to let the sun’s warmth sink into my back. This is nature’s therapy at work. I didn’t want to leave. After a few minutes, I nodded to my dog and we began our descent. With each step I noticed the muted crackle of the half-frozen twigs breaking beneath my feet. It was a familiar, somehow comforting sound of being in the moment, in the countryside, enjoying being alone on top of the mountain.

My third walk of the week was on Thursday with my oldest daughter, Jessie, who’s visiting fromChinawhere she teaches English at a university inLianyungang. It’s terrific that the Chinese New Year is almost two months long! At least her vacation is. She’s spending a couple days here with us, every so often, to get her dose of country air. She says the pollution there in the big cities is just awful. We walked briskly down the dirt road and then up a hill. This increased heart rates and forced us to breathe deeply and enjoy the views.

As I write this our son, Chance, is taking the Greyhound Bus back up to ChicoStateafter a long break between semesters. Soon, I’ll need to start picking out music and choreographing for the studio’s spring production of Rapunzel. Somehow the magic of this week’s walks: the ‘fairies’ dewdrops and Jack Frost’s visit, have helped inspire my readiness for the creative tasks that lay waiting for me in this new year. I now hope to ponder and wonder more, and watch, without trying to plan so much. It sounds worthwhile, anyway. Doesn’t it?