These long dog days of summer are a wonder to behold. They’re not at all about dogs, actually. Instead, the phrase refers to the hottest days of the year, the last months of summer here in the Northern Hemisphere. In reality, it’s a reference to Sirius (the dog star) which is part of the constellation Canis Major (the Greater Dog). It’s the brightest star in the night sky and its literal meaning is “scorching”.

            Anyway, despite the negative connotations throughout the ages, I’ve always thought of it fondly. As a kid, thrilled to finally be on summer vacation, those long dog days of summer stretched out gloriously before me—no school, no regular routine, no worries. It had arrived and life was good.

            I still feel the same way. But now, they’re not nearly long enough. I can’t believe we’re already barreling toward the end of August. It feels like summer has barely begun. And I am so NOT ready for it to be over. It’s going WAY too fast.

            It’s why I’ve made it a priority to go to the beach almost every week, reminding friends and family, whoever might go with me, that summer will be gone before we know it—and then it will be too late! It used to be our very important job, as mothers, to do this for our kids, but now I feel it’s just as important for ourselves. You know, carpe diem, even if we do have to plan it ahead of time.

            As a teenager, I’d ride my bike the eight miles to town to work all morning, training horses and mucking corrals. Then I’d ride back home in the heat of the day, stopping at Palma Farms for a couple of delicious fresh peaches to eat under their shaded overhang. And finally, after making it back home, I’d grab my surf board and dog and we’d head to the neighboring pond down the dirt road where the two of us would take turns swimming and laying out on my long board. I called it the whale. By evening it usually cooled off enough to work my own horse. I remember those days appreciatively, while right now I sit on an old couch on the front porch, writing out this essay by hand—the way it comes best for me.

            Another bonus of these hot days is that my three-year-old Australian shepherd is much calmer than when it’s cooler. I can’t say exactly calm, but certainly slightly more subdued and less hyper. When the temperature gets too much to bear, she splashes around in her little kiddie pool and I dunk my head under an outside faucet and wet my entire head and shirt. Then do it again in another thirty minutes or so. And then again and again… It works, you really ought to try it. We don’t have air conditioning and this is a cheap and healthy alternative for me.

Lately, I’ve been itching for another camping trip—you know, before it gets too cold. I don’t know if I’ll make it or not, but the Eastern Sierras are calling me. Those beautiful jagged peaks, the great Owen’s Valley, crystal-clear lakes and streams, and pine-scented air in the higher elevations. I’m listening, but we’ll see.

And once I finish with this evening’s chores, I think I’ll head down to the creekbed and retire in the hammock to gaze up at those majestic oak branches and contemplate the long dog days of summer while I still can.

Chi Varnado has published six books including fiction, nonfiction and children’s books. They are available on www.amazon.com. Her collection of essays, Quail Mutterings, can be found on www.chivarnado.com or www.dancecentrepresents.com.

           Life gives as life gets. Or is it we give as we get? What does it all even mean anyway? Maybe nothing, perhaps something, or it might not matter at all.

            I came across the words of a Buddhist monk just when I needed to hear them. They went something along the lines of, “You will lose people you love… Pets you love will die… There is nothing you can do to change that. It’s just the way it is.” Tears sprang to my eyes as the passage so deeply resonated with what I was going through. My very good friend of thirty years, Molasses, was worsening by the hour, unable to stand squarely on her four beautiful legs. Legs that had carried us both for so many miles over mountains, through gullies, across meadows, into streams… Her strong bay body exuded the scent of sagebrush from her decades of roaming loose in the canyon. My heart and gut wrenched.

            I just wanted to run away, but from what? You can’t really ever get away from yourself. All I could do was to live through it, be with her, and try to make the best decisions I could. I love her so much—and now I miss her immensely. The heartache is as real as it gets. I’ve been used to glancing over in the direction of the field multiple times a day, looking for her. And I still do, except with a one-second delayed shock when I remember she’s gone. Never again.

            For the two weeks before Mo’s passing, we spent the hottest days so far this summer finally hauling everything out of the storage barn to sort, donate, recycle, throw away, or decide to keep. Our hope is that when we die, the kids won’t have quite as much junk to deal with. We acquired a lot of it (tools, letters, old furniture, pictures…) when my dad passed away in 2008. The barn also contained wedding paraphernalia from both our daughters’ weddings which we hosted here in the canyon. And, of course, the basic things that families tend to accumulate over time. This kind of purging feels good. A lightening of life’s physical load. The Swedish refer to this practice as death cleaning, beginning shortly after passing middle age, in order to organize and declutter the home before you die to lessen the burden for your loved ones after you’ve passed.  

            For us, the Cedar Fire of 2003, coming only months after my mom’s passing, provided the maximum cleanse. Still reeling from the huge loss of the woman who was both my mother and friend, the fire ravaged through the canyon we call home, taking with it our house and outbuildings. It also destroyed our other family dwellings back here as well—five houses in all.

            I suppose death can be looked at as a sort of purging as well. After all, they’re gone. But it doesn’t have the same after-feeling as getting rid of stuff. The fire taught me to not get as attached to things. You know, here today gone tomorrow. It’s not really all that important. I’ve never been one to have the slightest interest in ‘keeping up with the Joneses’ or wearing the latest fashions. Heck, I don’t even know what’s in or what’s out. And I really couldn’t care less.

            What I do care about are my relationships with friends and family, trying to live in peace and harmony with our surroundings, and making choices in life that don’t harm our community or the natural world. Life on all levels is precious to me. Who am I to pretend to lord over our plant and animal neighbors?

            But what I think we all need to purge—and to purge ruthlessly—is our steadfast and hasty judgements. I could gaze for long periods of time into my horse’s eyes. She had the kindest eyes. It was as if I could look through those windows right into her soul. A benevolent one. She was a natural ‘lead mare’ who took her position gracefully, never bullying. The way natural leaders are. What an honorable spirit she had.

            One conscientious purge I try to do once or twice a year is a cleanse, eating only fresh fruits and vegetables with no seasonings or sauces. Those nine days can be a bit of a challenge, but at least I’m eating actual real food. This practice provides a bit of a reset of my digestive system. During this experience I take more time than usual for artistic endeavors, insightful reading, and breathing in the present moments, which help bring about a deeper sort of cleanse.

            The whole purging thing involves so many different levels. Of course, the death of a friend or family member isn’t exactly what we consider “purging”, however they both involve the act of “letting go”. Sometimes voluntarily, other times solely as a way to survive.

            It’s hard to let go, it takes effort. Do we get too attached? Should we not? But to love deeply also requires us to let go—both in allowing the other to be their own person as well as when we move on, either from a death or the end of a relationship. Staying in touch with the nature of our relationships with ourselves and others requires vigilance, I believe. Arriving fully at the table of life rewards us with all that life has to offer. For better or worse—this is what we get.

Chi Varnado has published six books including fiction, nonfiction and children’s books. They are available on www.amazon.com. Her collection of essays, Quail Mutterings, can be found on www.chivarnado.com or www.dancecentrepresents.com.  

         Who am I? Who are you? And who are we? What do we really know? Not much, I’m afraid. We’re so influenced by all the “noise” around us that we have to tune out some of it just to survive. And especially in order to find our own true north. However, it’s certainly easier said than done.

            We each have a vision about what our own true north might or should be and perhaps some of us have no idea and may be trying to find it. But, it’s not a stagnant thing—sometimes it can be a slippery slope, sometimes an expanding vista. In other words, I don’t think it’s set in stone. For much of my life, I seem to have laid some wide parameters here and there, but have mostly stumbled into the various paths my life has followed. And for that, I feel extremely grateful.

           Being raised in an unconventional family might have allowed me to be more open to non-conformist ideas. I followed my heart in pursuit of a degree in dance despite being pressured to proceed into the math and science realm. Teaching creative movement in an alternative, back-to-the-land, family-oriented environment opened me up to the possibility of being a mother myself.

            The general direction of my true north has remained steadfast in the way it’s rooted me to a rural, natural lifestyle. In fact, it’s so much a part of me that I’ve had recurring nightmares in which I have chosen something else, and I wake abruptly in a panic and a deep remorse stays with me for some time. Even though I only dreamed it.

            How many of us remain on good terms with absolutely every single person we’ve ever met? If we’re being totally honest here, then none of us have. It’s probably not possible, considering misunderstandings, foul moods, peer pressure… But I’m afraid that most of our separations have roots far deeper. These are the issues where we have choices in the way we handle them, lest we fall into a group mentality in lieu of acting within our own unique true north.

            What goes up must come down. I’ve looked at life from both sides now. The law of opposites can both attract and repel. Yin and yang. Mostly we get caught up in one side or the other and shut out any conflicting information. We humans tend to act like herd animals and snuggle deeper and deeper into our own tribe’s slogans. So much so that we can spout off without truly understanding what we are saying. It’s natural to want to belong to something bigger than just ourselves. This might actually be an instinct for self-preservation. Also, it’s much easier to not have to think through every single facet of life. But this way of living could lead to our collective demise, because sometimes instinct can lead to extinction.

            Consider the frog placed into room-temperature water and slowly, but surely, getting cooked to death in boiling water. This can occur so gradually that it doesn’t recognize what’s happening. I think we’re a lot like that when it comes to our desire for a sense of belonging. We end up putting on blinders and ear plugs in order to steer clear of that other side. Unfortunately, this has seemed to envelop us as individuals as well as our society and the whole world at large.

            The ‘group think” problem has taken over. Everybody thinks the same so nobody thinks at all. But sometimes you just have to stand there and figure out what’s really going on. As the summer solstice draws near perhaps this would be a good opportunity to do so. What better time than the longest day of the year, which gives us ample time to do some serious soul searching while we contemplate our own true north? That’s my plan, anyway—maybe I’ll just stand there and try to figure out what’s really going on.

Chi Varnado has published six books including fiction, nonfiction and children’s books. They are available on www.amazon.com. Her collection of essays, Quail Mutterings, can be found on www.chivarnado.com or www.dancecentrepresents.com.