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

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.

 

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 #17. The Buzzards are Back (August 1, 2012)

QUAIL MUTTERINGS #17.  The Buzzards are Back (August 1, 2012)

 

            During the hot summer months my usual hikes up the mountain turn more into walks down the road. The trails are now covered by weeds and brush obscuring the resident rattlesnakes. This year hasn’t seemed too bad yet, I’ve only seen three so far, but I’d rather be safe than sorry and opt for the path a little more traveled – at least for now.

As I write this though, my nineteen-year-old son, Chance, is walking back down the dirt road. He’s been trimming the trail leading to the Saddle with long-handled pruning sheers and a folding saw. He tells me that he saw three deer this morning. The first he came across earlier during his run and then later there were two fawns up at the Saddle. He’d heard a noise and jumped up onto a boulder to observe them. They just looked at him, since he was holding still, before heading up toward the 2,200 foot peak. He said that their ears looked overly large compared to their small heads.

The image reminded me of our visit to the town ofNarainJapanwhere the deer seemed to outnumber the people in the streets surrounding the large, central park. We had gone to visit our oldest daughter, Jessie, while she was an exchange student studying Japanese.

These days I prefer to start out walking in the early mornings before the sun peeks over the ridge. Dawn has always been my favorite time of day. When I let myself sleep in and don’t go outside until the sun is already shining I miss the exciting awakenings in the canyon. The song birds begin their joyful melodies pre-dawn, about the time the Poorwill ceases its nighttime call. The Red-tail Hawks have already flown from their sleeping perches and are circling high above. The rabbits are hopping about finding tasty morsels under the bushes and young squirrels are cavorting over the boulders.

Mussey Grade Roaddead ends into a gate overlooking San Vicente Lake. To me, walking or riding a bike down the old winding cement road feels like being on vacation. It strikes me sometimes how this paradise lays practically in my own backyard. The only downside is that the more difficult part of the walk, or ride, is on the way home – huffing and puffing at the end of the exercise instead of near the beginning when I’m fresher and have more energy. But as they say, “It’s all good.”

The Mussey Grade creek is still running – a little more than a trickle. That’s pretty good considering how late in the year it is and how little rainfall we’ve gotten. I chuckled happily to myself when I peered down through the grass and noticed the sparkling water below on last Sunday’s walk. A neighbor had joined me that morning, forgoing her usual late slumber, grateful for the incentive to exercise.

This area known as Fernbrook had also been called Buzzard Gulch in the past. During all my years growing up here, and on into my thirties, dozens of big, beautiful vultures nested in the eucalyptus grove down our dirt road. My dad used to “Caw… Caw…” at them when he was outside working in the yard. He seemed to have a real affinity with them. I’d forgotten about that, but was later reminded when I noticed our eucalyptus tree full of them one morning shortly after Dad returned home from open-heart surgery.

Does this mean he’s gonna die? I thought. Or are they his protectors? Well, I guess they were the latter.

By then most of the vultures had vanished. Now, decades later, they’ve come back. In the mornings they can be seen atop telephone poles sunning their outstretched wings and surveying their domain below. In the evenings these shrouded sentinels can be spotted dominating entire eucalyptus trees. They are back! And I love them! When driving by I roll down my window to talk to them. “Hello, beautiful! You guys are gorgeous!” I don’t even care what the neighbors think.

These Turkey Vultures have lots of wrinkly, red skin all over their heads and necks. Sometimes they can be so ugly that they’re beautiful. I find them to be tremendously awesome beings. They live off of everybody else’s discarded waste and make do.

Recently my daughter, Kali, convinced me to go get a pedicure with her. I reluctantly agreed deciding that having someone else massage and decorate my toes once every couple of years or so might not be too bad. I selected a color that could blend in with the shade of dirt that I tended to walk around in. But she informed me that it was “Not my color.” She stated matter-of-factly that I should “Do red.” At last, a burgundy nail polish was agreed upon.

For the next week, every time I happened to glance downward I was taken aback. My sympathetic nervous system informed me that my toes were bleeding! Each time my brain had to re-adjust to the “painted toenails.” And then I would think of the buzzards with their floppy, red skin hanging off their heads encrusted with all the disgusting trash and dead things that they eat. Somehow, I’ll bet that this is not an image that most women see when they look down at their recently pedicured feet.

Anyway, we seem to be having a fairly mild summer, although it hasn’t been very consistent. We run the gamut through dry, humid, hot, warm, cooler, nice breeze, no breeze… But I really do appreciate these long days of summer. So many more activities and fun can be packed in and enjoyed. When I was a kid summer was my favorite time of year. Probably because there was no school. And I could swim in the pond. Perhaps things haven’t changed all that much. I still enjoy many of the same things I did half a century ago.

 

 

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

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 canyo