I found this in an old cookbook from the Three Rivers Weavers Guild, it is written by K. Alexander from Viroqua:
"The Creator weaves life in myriads of patterns - of worlds and stars and galaxies: of earth and air, fire and water: of people, families, cities and nations; of flowers and birds, kittens and puppies, life and death and love and sorrow.
I weave beauty with fibers of cotton and wool, linen and rayon, colors and textures in intricate design. I weave lullabies and legends into the hearts of my children, dreams and visions into their minds. I weave chicken pot pies and chocolate chip cookies, nourishment for my family; and the cords of love and mutual sharing twine around us and bind us into a unified design.
The weaving is a gift and a process, always changing, always new. One pattern is finished and a new one begins. We do not sorrow that the weaving is done for a new pattern always lies waiting. We look at what is finished and see that it is good, it is complete, and it is time to start anew. What was woven is woven, and what lies ahead beckons. And we weave our lives on the Loom of Life while the song of the weaver of the universe flows through us and all the patterns come together in one vast harmony."
I find this particularly appropriate as we end the old Mayan calendar (on Oct. 28) and begin a new cycle. Let's weave our world with love.
Evergreen
Sunday, October 30, 2011
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Future of entomology could be secure
I’m not a fan of spiders. I know spiders are essential to our environment. I know I’m much bigger than the average spider and I know most spiders don’t hurt people. I still am not a fan of spiders.
Being afraid of spiders is a common thing among girls. I remember children’s stories when I was small and the spider was always the bad guy, sneaking around and scaring children in the woods. Spiders are silent creatures and good at sneaking andpopping out when you least expect them.
There is one person I know who is not afraid of spiders, my four-year-old, budding entomologist granddaughter Wren. Wren revels in anything creepy, crawly, slimy or jumpy. Spiders rank right up there with fairies in Wren’s world. And fairies rank pretty high.
I had the chance to view the world from Wren’s eyes this past weekend when she and my sister Linda came to visit. Our first adventure was taking Wren for a tour of our new farm.
We started in the back yard and proceeded through the woods to the creek, looking for frogs. Our frog hunt presented only one find, a dead frog lying belly up on the creek bed. Most children would shy away from such a stinky, slimy specimen, but not Wren. Wren reverently sniffed the dead frog and touched the smooth skin, then allowed us to give it a final resting place near a rock.
Our next find was a slug, crawling on a leaf in the tall weeds. Wren picked the entire leaf, and carried it and the slug along until we got back to the house. The slug was given a new home in an old pickle jar, along with the leaf.
On Saturday, Wren, Linda and I packed into my car to enjoy the South Shore Pottery Tour. Wren’s first experience on the ferry to Madeline Island seemed fun for her, but there weren’t any creepy things involved. However later that day, Wren found the black cricket which had been living in my car for several days. It took her only a few minutes to catch the cricket and deposit it into an empty water bottle, also with a leaf to feed on. Wren carried her cricket through the rest of the pottery tour.
At home, the slug and the cricket took up residence, each in their own jars, in the kitchen. I’m not sure where the dead bee Wren picked up later ended up and I’m not asking.
My husband came to me that evening and asked, “how long do they need to stay in the house?”
“Until Wren goes home,” I said.
Luckily, we didn’t find any of Wren’s recent favorite spider, the Black and Yellow Garden Spider. She has them near her house and revels in seeing these patterned beauties which can grow to be over an inch long. The most we could come up with were a few Daddy Longlegs, and a small house spider making a web on my hedgehog fruit (which is supposed to repel insects.)
Luckily, Wren took her slug and her cricket home and my kitchen is now bugfree once more. It was probably a better deal for the cricket who would have ultimately died of starvation or heat stroke in my car.
For Wren, entomology isn’t a chosen profession yet. She doesn’t even know the meaning of the word, though we are trying to teach it to her. At present, entomology is more like an obsession for Wren, or a lifestyle. Her house is filled with bug boxes, jars and a dead bug collection. She’s been known to carry dead crickets in her pockets.
Hopefully, entomology is an obsession she will continue to foster as she gets older. I see her studying everything that moves, crawls, or slithers. She is a bright child, and if she continues to enjoy the world of bugs, she may grow up to be an internationally renown expert on these smaller specimens of wildlife.
I would be glad if this happened, because even though I know insects and bugs are an important part of our ecosystems, and need to be cherished and preserved, I still don’t like spiders. So, I’m glad there is someone out there who does, even if she’s only four years old.
Thursday, September 15, 2011
Add a little salsa to your life
Fall is the time of harvest, bringing in the bounty of the summer’s labors. Though the first hints of the chilly weather to come have been felt, I’m still waiting for all my tomatoes to ripen.
This spring, a friend gave me several heirloom varieties she grew in her greenhouse. I planted them in our newly tilled garden and watched as the spring rains nearly drowned the fledgling plants. My heirloom tomatoe plants withered and drooped through most of the summer, until I thought there was no hope. For safety, I planted a few other varieties in a separate bed.
But I’ve found these heirloom tomatoes to be a hardy lot. Perhaps that is why they have survived over the many years it takes to earn the moniker of ‘heirloom.’ My tomatoes decided to grab on to life during August and now have sprouted up to tall plants with green leaves and green tomatoes. Slowly, they are getting the first blush of ripeness. Meanwhile, my other tomatoe plants, who showed better signs of survival through the summer, aren’t any further along.
I examined the heirloom plants and found three slightly orange tomatoes with black and brown lines and spots on them. Not being familiar with the variety, I thought this meant fungus or insect infestation so I picked the less than ripe looking tomatoes to prevent further damage. I took them into the kitchen to see if I could cut off the offending parts. With paring knife in hand, I sliced through a thick skin to find brilliant red inside. These tomatoes were not only ripe, but delicious, with a thick, sweet inside.
They were the inspiration for the first batch of fresh salsa of the season.
I am horse-sitting for a friend who also asked me to water her tomato plants while she is gone.
“Go ahead and take home the ripe ones,” she said.
My salsa recipe is the kind you make up as you go. Whatever tomatoes you have go in and the more varieties, the better the batch. I mixed my heirloom jewels with some small orange tidbits and cherry tomatoes. Romas went under the knife with Better Boys. My favorite addition are the yellow, bell-shaped tomatoes and I was able to find several ripe ones in my garden.
My onions didn’t fare very well this year (probably due to the weeds I didn’t get around to pulling every day), but I was able to find about ten small heads hidden in the weed bed. I added in some yellow and green peppers from the grocery store. My pepper plants are all leaves and no peppers.
The one abundant thing in our garden is summer squash. I had three large, yellow specimens on the counter.
“I wonder what salsa tastes like if you grind up summer squash,” I asked my husband.
I ground and he tasted, finding the squash did not have much taste on its own. We decided it might add texture to the salsa and I needed to do something with the squash so into the bowl it went. Finish up with some cilantro, salt and lemon juice, and stir.
The result was quite colorful with reds, greens, oranges and yellows. The onions, though small, were powerful and the squash added a light crunch. My husband is the taste-tester for salsa and he proclaimed it, “the best batch ever.”
I will take this compliment, even though he says it about every batch of salsa I make. Perhaps it means I’m getting the recipe perfected. Or perhaps he just loves fresh salsa. That’s a good thing because if all the green tomatoes have enough warm weather to ripen before frost ends the garden season, I’ll be making many batches of salsa for the freezer.
This spring, a friend gave me several heirloom varieties she grew in her greenhouse. I planted them in our newly tilled garden and watched as the spring rains nearly drowned the fledgling plants. My heirloom tomatoe plants withered and drooped through most of the summer, until I thought there was no hope. For safety, I planted a few other varieties in a separate bed.
But I’ve found these heirloom tomatoes to be a hardy lot. Perhaps that is why they have survived over the many years it takes to earn the moniker of ‘heirloom.’ My tomatoes decided to grab on to life during August and now have sprouted up to tall plants with green leaves and green tomatoes. Slowly, they are getting the first blush of ripeness. Meanwhile, my other tomatoe plants, who showed better signs of survival through the summer, aren’t any further along.
I examined the heirloom plants and found three slightly orange tomatoes with black and brown lines and spots on them. Not being familiar with the variety, I thought this meant fungus or insect infestation so I picked the less than ripe looking tomatoes to prevent further damage. I took them into the kitchen to see if I could cut off the offending parts. With paring knife in hand, I sliced through a thick skin to find brilliant red inside. These tomatoes were not only ripe, but delicious, with a thick, sweet inside.
They were the inspiration for the first batch of fresh salsa of the season.
I am horse-sitting for a friend who also asked me to water her tomato plants while she is gone.
“Go ahead and take home the ripe ones,” she said.
My salsa recipe is the kind you make up as you go. Whatever tomatoes you have go in and the more varieties, the better the batch. I mixed my heirloom jewels with some small orange tidbits and cherry tomatoes. Romas went under the knife with Better Boys. My favorite addition are the yellow, bell-shaped tomatoes and I was able to find several ripe ones in my garden.
My onions didn’t fare very well this year (probably due to the weeds I didn’t get around to pulling every day), but I was able to find about ten small heads hidden in the weed bed. I added in some yellow and green peppers from the grocery store. My pepper plants are all leaves and no peppers.
The one abundant thing in our garden is summer squash. I had three large, yellow specimens on the counter.
“I wonder what salsa tastes like if you grind up summer squash,” I asked my husband.
I ground and he tasted, finding the squash did not have much taste on its own. We decided it might add texture to the salsa and I needed to do something with the squash so into the bowl it went. Finish up with some cilantro, salt and lemon juice, and stir.
The result was quite colorful with reds, greens, oranges and yellows. The onions, though small, were powerful and the squash added a light crunch. My husband is the taste-tester for salsa and he proclaimed it, “the best batch ever.”
I will take this compliment, even though he says it about every batch of salsa I make. Perhaps it means I’m getting the recipe perfected. Or perhaps he just loves fresh salsa. That’s a good thing because if all the green tomatoes have enough warm weather to ripen before frost ends the garden season, I’ll be making many batches of salsa for the freezer.
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
Art lessons from a four-year-old
My four-year-old granddaughter Wren is not only an amateur entomologist, she’s also an artist. She was doing a painting of an ocean a few weeks ago with acrylic paints. She mixed peachy pink and lavender and exclaimed, “This is the perfect color for the ocean.”
My sister, also an artist, looked at Wren’s concoction and agreed. It was the perfect ocean color.
How a four-year-old could not only know the color of the ocean, but mix that color from two different colors, is amazing to me.
This past weekend, my sister and I went to Grand Marais, Minn. on a camping trip. My sister was taking a pottery class at the Grand Marais Art Colony, and I was taking a three-day class in pastel painting.
It seemed the water theme followed us.
Grand Marais is along Lake Superior, where stunning water meets black rock and green landscapes. We parked our camper in the municipal campground. Getting into town from the campground was a few blocks walk along the lakeshore, then two blocks up the hill to the Art Colony. The walk was beautiful, whether it was in the fog of early morning, the bright sun of afternoon or the calm at dusk.
I had brought along several photographs to work from in my pastel class and chose a picture of five women sitting on Bay View Beach in Washburn. I wanted to explore painting people and the instructor was a former figure and portrait artist.
We began our paintings and my sky turned out quite nice. Next came the deep section of Lake Superior, again not too hard. The middle section was the shallows, with small waves not quite breaking over the sand bottom, which was visible through the water. Getting just the right color for this section proved to be difficult.
In class the next morning, my instructor informed us we were going to learn how to make our own pastel sticks. Pastel sticks are made of pure pigment with a binder. Our task was to crush parts of our pastel sticks, mix with water, then add either white or black pigment with the binder to create new colors. The new pastel was rolled into neat sticks and set in the sun to dry.
When taking a class at the Art Colony, you have access to the studio 24 hours a day. After class was over that afternoon, my sister and I went back to the camper for supper. When I told her about my experience with mixing pastels, she reminded me of Wren’s recipe for the ocean, peachy pink and lavender.
We walked back to the Art Colony, and while my sister threw pots in the clay studio, I went upstairs to work on a new pastel color for my painting. I found a stick of peachy pink and a stick of lavender then wondered what proportions Wren had used in her mixing.
When exercising my adult brain proved unhelpful, I decided to think like a four-year-old. I split each stick in random halves, crushed them, added water and stirred. Comparing the resulting color to the photograph of Lake Superior, I was surprised to find it was the exact color I needed.
I left the stick to dry over night.
Our morning was spent with a plein aire demonstration by the instructor on Artist’s Point. The instructor perched her easel on the rocky shoreline and painted a multi-layered rendition of the outcropping rocks and lake while we sat in the sun watching the changing colors and listening to the tourists watching us.
After lunch, we again gathered in the studio and I was able to try out my new, ocean colored pastel stick on my painting. When I was finished, the instructor said, “I wasn’t sure how you were going to do on that water section, but it looks very good.”
Thank you, Wren, for saving my painting.
Thursday, August 11, 2011
Abundance
I am learning that when you buy a foreclosed, abandoned property, you never really know what you are going to get. We officially moved into our new home last Saturday and I am beginning to discover what we got.
Abundance.
We made our offer on the land in February when snow covered the ground and the earth held its treasures in stillness. We waited and watched. First to be revealed was the abundance of things no one else wanted. Rusted metals, trash, and the remains of old buildings began to surface as the snow melted.
We began to clean up and waited more.
With spring came the abundance of things planted in the past. Peonies, bleeding hearts, lilies and other flowers showed their faces and burst open in radiant color through the season.
Summer grasses began to grow in abundance, warranting a search for a new lawn mower.
Underneath a section of those grasses was a garden plot, long abandoned. A weekend’s worth of tilling brought the garden back to life. With a large garden space, we planted seeds to our hearts content and now we are experiencing another kind of abundance. We have an abundant supply of deer who love to nibble at the contents of our garden. Our fence isn’t high enough yet; the mother and her Bamby are not detered. While the mother savors the bean plants, her youngster is content to ravage my newly planted hostas.
While rummaging through the remains of an out building, I found an abundance of honey bees who have apparently made a hive in a stack of old window screens. Maybe we will have an abundance of honey?
Behind the ramshackle buildings that serve as a garage, we found an arbor of grapes. In the winter, it looked like a tangle of brown vines clinging to old posts. Now, summer has brought us a lush green arbor with an abundance of maturing grape clusters. They are green right now, but when ripe will be a deep purple delight.
The back pasture brought forth delicious wild strawberries and along the hillside behind the grape arbor, raspberries give us a fun evening treat.
To my amazement, four trees in the back yard along the creek bed have brought forth ripe, bright red cherries. The trees are tall and I picked as much as I could from the ground, then resorted to a ladder. To reach the majority of the harvest, I’m going to have to put the ladder in the back of the pick-up truck.
Last night, I was contemplating the abundance of our new home while enjoying the tranquility of dusk in our back yard. I heard a rustling sound in the cherry trees and saw several crows flying away. The rustling continued and I approached with caution. I have heard bears like to climb cherry trees and bend the branches down. I know we have a bear in the area because we found a den dug into the earth in the back of the pasture.
The branches weren’t shaking enough to warrant a bear, unless it was a cub. I sneaked closer and listened. I heard a rustling on the ground near the creek and stopped. Was it the mother bear? Nothing attacked, so I continued.
I was almost under the tree when I spotted the culprit. Clinging to a high branch, hiding behind leaves, was the masked face of a small raccoon. The raccoon held still and I heard the gentle trill of the its mother coming from behind the old out building.
There are enough cherries in our trees to share with the raccoons, who can climb to the highest branches better than I can. I assured the raccoon I was not there to harm it and gave it my blessing before going into the house for the night.
Abundance. It comes in many forms and is all around us when we take time to be still and feel it.
Abundance.
We made our offer on the land in February when snow covered the ground and the earth held its treasures in stillness. We waited and watched. First to be revealed was the abundance of things no one else wanted. Rusted metals, trash, and the remains of old buildings began to surface as the snow melted.
We began to clean up and waited more.
With spring came the abundance of things planted in the past. Peonies, bleeding hearts, lilies and other flowers showed their faces and burst open in radiant color through the season.
Summer grasses began to grow in abundance, warranting a search for a new lawn mower.
Underneath a section of those grasses was a garden plot, long abandoned. A weekend’s worth of tilling brought the garden back to life. With a large garden space, we planted seeds to our hearts content and now we are experiencing another kind of abundance. We have an abundant supply of deer who love to nibble at the contents of our garden. Our fence isn’t high enough yet; the mother and her Bamby are not detered. While the mother savors the bean plants, her youngster is content to ravage my newly planted hostas.
While rummaging through the remains of an out building, I found an abundance of honey bees who have apparently made a hive in a stack of old window screens. Maybe we will have an abundance of honey?
Behind the ramshackle buildings that serve as a garage, we found an arbor of grapes. In the winter, it looked like a tangle of brown vines clinging to old posts. Now, summer has brought us a lush green arbor with an abundance of maturing grape clusters. They are green right now, but when ripe will be a deep purple delight.
The back pasture brought forth delicious wild strawberries and along the hillside behind the grape arbor, raspberries give us a fun evening treat.
To my amazement, four trees in the back yard along the creek bed have brought forth ripe, bright red cherries. The trees are tall and I picked as much as I could from the ground, then resorted to a ladder. To reach the majority of the harvest, I’m going to have to put the ladder in the back of the pick-up truck.
Last night, I was contemplating the abundance of our new home while enjoying the tranquility of dusk in our back yard. I heard a rustling sound in the cherry trees and saw several crows flying away. The rustling continued and I approached with caution. I have heard bears like to climb cherry trees and bend the branches down. I know we have a bear in the area because we found a den dug into the earth in the back of the pasture.
The branches weren’t shaking enough to warrant a bear, unless it was a cub. I sneaked closer and listened. I heard a rustling on the ground near the creek and stopped. Was it the mother bear? Nothing attacked, so I continued.
I was almost under the tree when I spotted the culprit. Clinging to a high branch, hiding behind leaves, was the masked face of a small raccoon. The raccoon held still and I heard the gentle trill of the its mother coming from behind the old out building.
There are enough cherries in our trees to share with the raccoons, who can climb to the highest branches better than I can. I assured the raccoon I was not there to harm it and gave it my blessing before going into the house for the night.
Abundance. It comes in many forms and is all around us when we take time to be still and feel it.
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
Two Sisters Design Team
It started as Two Sisters Landscaping. My sister Linda, who lives in Iowa, came up to visit this past week. I was in the process of transplanting my perennials to our new house and Linda joined in. We dug up hostas and columbines, and a seriously entrenched false indigo, put them in boxes and loaded up the back of the Gator for the three-mile trip.
At the new house, we chose the perfect spots for each plant and lovingly nestled them into their new home. When we were finished landscaping, we went into the house. She hadn’t seen my new house yet and I was eager to hear her ideas for renovations. We began to measure rooms and windows. Two Sisters Landscaping turned into Two Sisters Design Team.
When renovating an old house, Linda is a good person to have on your design team. She has an artist’s eye and years of experience renovating her own homes. She recently purchased an old house in Iowa and did the gut out and rebuildroutine. My talents are confined to pounding in a nail now and then and slapping on a coat of paint. Linda knows her way around the workshop.
My limited measuring talents mean I can’t be trusted to cut a piece of wood to size. Linda can measure to a sixteenth of an inch and use a compound sliding mitresaw to make the cut in one try.
Where I would try to pound a nail into sheetrock and expect it to hold 100 pounds, my sister knows how to find a stud and has the smarts to know when reinforcement is needed. Linda can lay tile, put up drywall, add texture to walls, and install curtain rods that are level. While I thought I was doing good by being able to tear out the old, soiled carpeting, my sister can tear out complete walls and use a sander to refinish wood floors.
I had previously purchased a closet organizer from Menards, only to find out it was designed for sheetrock walls in closets that are square. I have neither, so with measurements in hand;we headed to Menards in Superior. Another talent my sister has is knowing how to navigate in Menards. Whether it was sink stoppers or curtain rod hardware, I pushed the cart while she led the way. We found the perfect drapes for the bedroom, rods for installation, and a carpet remnant the exact size to finish two bedrooms.
Back at the house, I was the ‘here hold this’ and ‘go get me a (fill in the blank tool)’ while Linda was on the ladder installing and on the ground making perfectly measured cuts in the carpet roll.
However, even with my sister at hand, the Two Sisters Design Team got Tom Sawyer-edby my husband.
We were contemplating how to install the perfect curved shower curtain rod on bathroom walls of questionable origin when my husband Paul came in. He looked at the walls, tapped with his fingers and had the look of consternation on his face only a seasoned carpenter can muster.
“This is going to be a tough job,” he said. “Trying to find something behind these walls to attach to is going to be very difficult. We may need to re-inforce behind the wall.”
It sounded like a job that would challenge even my sister. Paul had just finished installing shelves in a kitchen closet and was about to begin painting the interior of the closet.
“I’ll try to find a way to hang this rod if you want to paint the inside of that closet,” he offered.
Seeing hours of work to hang the rod in front of me, I grabbed the chance to spend the time with a paint brush instead. The closet was a tight space, and I didn’t have my painting clothes on, but it sounded much more doable than the enormous job my husband seemed to think the rod was going to be.
I got the painting supplies and had about one wall done when I heard my husband say, “Oh, this wall seems to be some kind of wood. Looks like I can put these screws into it anywhere I want.”
Within five minutes, he had the rod installed and was off on his next adventure.
By the time I finished painting the inside of the closet (picture a space just big enough to barely turn around in with about an inch of head room), I had paint in my hair and on my shoes.
The good news is that while I was ensconced in the paint job no one else wanted, my sister had been busy washing my windows.
After spending the day with my sister, the one-woman contractor, I spent some time watching her fix the cover for the box of her truck. Then I spent the evening helping her weave handles on the Raku pottery she had made and fired in her own kiln.
I know there may be many of you reading this who will want to borrow my multi-talented sister, but she’s mine and you can’t have her. I sent her home with extra perennials, two bags of horse manure, and some nice rocks to put in her garden. And I offered to babysit her aged dog for a week in August. It’s a small price to pay, and hopefully enough incentive to bring her back for another visit, soon.
At the new house, we chose the perfect spots for each plant and lovingly nestled them into their new home. When we were finished landscaping, we went into the house. She hadn’t seen my new house yet and I was eager to hear her ideas for renovations. We began to measure rooms and windows. Two Sisters Landscaping turned into Two Sisters Design Team.
When renovating an old house, Linda is a good person to have on your design team. She has an artist’s eye and years of experience renovating her own homes. She recently purchased an old house in Iowa and did the gut out and rebuildroutine. My talents are confined to pounding in a nail now and then and slapping on a coat of paint. Linda knows her way around the workshop.
My limited measuring talents mean I can’t be trusted to cut a piece of wood to size. Linda can measure to a sixteenth of an inch and use a compound sliding mitresaw to make the cut in one try.
Where I would try to pound a nail into sheetrock and expect it to hold 100 pounds, my sister knows how to find a stud and has the smarts to know when reinforcement is needed. Linda can lay tile, put up drywall, add texture to walls, and install curtain rods that are level. While I thought I was doing good by being able to tear out the old, soiled carpeting, my sister can tear out complete walls and use a sander to refinish wood floors.
I had previously purchased a closet organizer from Menards, only to find out it was designed for sheetrock walls in closets that are square. I have neither, so with measurements in hand;we headed to Menards in Superior. Another talent my sister has is knowing how to navigate in Menards. Whether it was sink stoppers or curtain rod hardware, I pushed the cart while she led the way. We found the perfect drapes for the bedroom, rods for installation, and a carpet remnant the exact size to finish two bedrooms.
Back at the house, I was the ‘here hold this’ and ‘go get me a (fill in the blank tool)’ while Linda was on the ladder installing and on the ground making perfectly measured cuts in the carpet roll.
However, even with my sister at hand, the Two Sisters Design Team got Tom Sawyer-edby my husband.
We were contemplating how to install the perfect curved shower curtain rod on bathroom walls of questionable origin when my husband Paul came in. He looked at the walls, tapped with his fingers and had the look of consternation on his face only a seasoned carpenter can muster.
“This is going to be a tough job,” he said. “Trying to find something behind these walls to attach to is going to be very difficult. We may need to re-inforce behind the wall.”
It sounded like a job that would challenge even my sister. Paul had just finished installing shelves in a kitchen closet and was about to begin painting the interior of the closet.
“I’ll try to find a way to hang this rod if you want to paint the inside of that closet,” he offered.
Seeing hours of work to hang the rod in front of me, I grabbed the chance to spend the time with a paint brush instead. The closet was a tight space, and I didn’t have my painting clothes on, but it sounded much more doable than the enormous job my husband seemed to think the rod was going to be.
I got the painting supplies and had about one wall done when I heard my husband say, “Oh, this wall seems to be some kind of wood. Looks like I can put these screws into it anywhere I want.”
Within five minutes, he had the rod installed and was off on his next adventure.
By the time I finished painting the inside of the closet (picture a space just big enough to barely turn around in with about an inch of head room), I had paint in my hair and on my shoes.
The good news is that while I was ensconced in the paint job no one else wanted, my sister had been busy washing my windows.
After spending the day with my sister, the one-woman contractor, I spent some time watching her fix the cover for the box of her truck. Then I spent the evening helping her weave handles on the Raku pottery she had made and fired in her own kiln.
I know there may be many of you reading this who will want to borrow my multi-talented sister, but she’s mine and you can’t have her. I sent her home with extra perennials, two bags of horse manure, and some nice rocks to put in her garden. And I offered to babysit her aged dog for a week in August. It’s a small price to pay, and hopefully enough incentive to bring her back for another visit, soon.
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
Drop and roll
I lie in the tall grass, wondering how I got there. Oh, that’s right, I fell off a horse.
If you are going to ride horses, you are going to eventually fall off. It is a rule of the horse world. Even the most highly trained, docile mount can spook at an unusual object. Even the most balanced rider can get distracted at an inopportune moment. It will happen.
My goal in life is to be riding a horse when I am 90 years old, so falling off needs to be a less traumatic event for me. To this aim, I decided to study Aikido, a non-violent martial art that also teaches balance and how to fall without getting hurt. I’ve been going to Tim Doyle’s dojo in Cornucopia on Thursday nights for several months now. One of the first things I learned in the class was how to roll.
As a child, rolling was easy. I was more limber then, less afraid of injury and closer to the ground. In Aikido, we start with rolling from a kneeling position, slowly and on a mat. We graduate to rolling from a standing position, then rolling backwards. My forward rolls were clumsy at first, but with practice, I can now roll forward effectively.
Backwards rolling took more time. I found I could roll backwards to one side nicely, but the other side was a mess. An image of flopping jellyfish comes to mind. I learned to roll forwards, then immediately backwards in the same direction to develop the muscle memory, instead of trying to think my way through it.
A few weeks ago, our class was visited by two young men just out of high school. Though it seemed to be their first class, they were natural rollers. Forward, backward, sideways, all in fluid movements. I commented about the age difference to my instructor. He told us a bit of ancient wisdom about Aikido. You don’t get really good at it until you reach age 60. Why? As with many things, it’s not the years you put into the art, it is the art you put into those years. Because Aikido is a non-aggressive form of martial arts, to do it well, you need to conserve your movements and do more with less. It requires concentration and wide-spatial awareness all at the same time. These are abilities that become refined with age. As we get older, we become more interested in conserving our energy, doing things to avoid conflict and knowing how to deal with conflict without getting hurt.
Concentration and spatial awareness, avoiding conflict and dealing with conflict without anger or injury are all traits needed in life with horses. So, back to the fall.
I was riding Eddie bareback. It was the kind of ride not meant to go anywhere, only to spend quality time together. I was mostly a passenger, letting Eddie choose our destination and which patches of grass were the finest for his treat. My job was to flow with his movements, refining my balance and working on patience with non-demanding riding. We had already explored the winter pasture, the driveway and done a couple laps around the arena. Eddie was doing well, and enjoying the outing with me.
We decided to venture into a pasture that hadn’t been used this year. The grass was waist high in places. From on top of Eddie, it reached to my heels. Eddie was sure-footed, traversing ditches and avoiding gopher holes hidden under the verdant pasture bed. Blue sky was beginning to return after a day of cold and rain. The air had the smell of freshness only spring rain and growing grass can produce.
We walked farther into the pasture, nearing the spot where my husband has stacks of wood covered with old metal sheets to keep it dry. While Eddie dipped his head into the grass, I looked ahead and spotted a piece of metal lying partially hidden ahead of us. I remember thinking it would not be a good thing for Eddie to walk on unexpectedly. Just as I had that thought, Eddie looked at the metal, and instantly stepped sideways, as if reading my mind.
They say that when you are about to die, your life flashes before your eyes. It’s about that way with falling off a horse. It only takes about two seconds to fall off, but those two seconds are separated into many minute milliseconds.
I remember the moment when I felt Eddie shift. I remember the moment when I thought I could still save my balance, then the split-second later when I realized I was going to fall.
The good thing was, while I was falling I was thinking, “I have to remember to roll.”
Even though I don’t consider myself very good at Aikido yet, those hours of practice in the dojo paid off. Had I been falling head first, I could have done a forward or backward roll. However, I was falling straight sideways. I hadn’t practiced that one yet. So, I did the next thing we learn in Aikido; I let my body become soft and landed in a balanced way.
The not-so-good thing was, Eddie had stopped spooking and was standing still. I fell so close to him that I hit my side on one of his legs. Ouch. Eddie must not have like it either. He decided to walk back to the barn.
As I lay in the grass, breathing away the pain in my side, I had the most insightful, enlightened thought cross my mind, the kind of thought yogis spend years in meditation trying to achieve.
“I’m really going to get a lot of ticks lying here.”
So, I got up, retrieved my horse, and walked him back to the scary metal. He did circles around me while I stomped on the metal, making scary metal noises. After a few figure eights, Eddie decided to stop and sniff the metal calmly. I got back on and we headed home to the barn.
Other than a bit of stiffness in my side, I am unscathed, thanks to Tim Doyle, Morihei Ueshiba (the founder of Aikido), and Eddie. I ended my horse session by doing some Reiki on my mare’s swollen eye, during which she stepped on my foot.
I think I need to go back to the dojo.
If you are going to ride horses, you are going to eventually fall off. It is a rule of the horse world. Even the most highly trained, docile mount can spook at an unusual object. Even the most balanced rider can get distracted at an inopportune moment. It will happen.
My goal in life is to be riding a horse when I am 90 years old, so falling off needs to be a less traumatic event for me. To this aim, I decided to study Aikido, a non-violent martial art that also teaches balance and how to fall without getting hurt. I’ve been going to Tim Doyle’s dojo in Cornucopia on Thursday nights for several months now. One of the first things I learned in the class was how to roll.
As a child, rolling was easy. I was more limber then, less afraid of injury and closer to the ground. In Aikido, we start with rolling from a kneeling position, slowly and on a mat. We graduate to rolling from a standing position, then rolling backwards. My forward rolls were clumsy at first, but with practice, I can now roll forward effectively.
Backwards rolling took more time. I found I could roll backwards to one side nicely, but the other side was a mess. An image of flopping jellyfish comes to mind. I learned to roll forwards, then immediately backwards in the same direction to develop the muscle memory, instead of trying to think my way through it.
A few weeks ago, our class was visited by two young men just out of high school. Though it seemed to be their first class, they were natural rollers. Forward, backward, sideways, all in fluid movements. I commented about the age difference to my instructor. He told us a bit of ancient wisdom about Aikido. You don’t get really good at it until you reach age 60. Why? As with many things, it’s not the years you put into the art, it is the art you put into those years. Because Aikido is a non-aggressive form of martial arts, to do it well, you need to conserve your movements and do more with less. It requires concentration and wide-spatial awareness all at the same time. These are abilities that become refined with age. As we get older, we become more interested in conserving our energy, doing things to avoid conflict and knowing how to deal with conflict without getting hurt.
Concentration and spatial awareness, avoiding conflict and dealing with conflict without anger or injury are all traits needed in life with horses. So, back to the fall.
I was riding Eddie bareback. It was the kind of ride not meant to go anywhere, only to spend quality time together. I was mostly a passenger, letting Eddie choose our destination and which patches of grass were the finest for his treat. My job was to flow with his movements, refining my balance and working on patience with non-demanding riding. We had already explored the winter pasture, the driveway and done a couple laps around the arena. Eddie was doing well, and enjoying the outing with me.
We decided to venture into a pasture that hadn’t been used this year. The grass was waist high in places. From on top of Eddie, it reached to my heels. Eddie was sure-footed, traversing ditches and avoiding gopher holes hidden under the verdant pasture bed. Blue sky was beginning to return after a day of cold and rain. The air had the smell of freshness only spring rain and growing grass can produce.
We walked farther into the pasture, nearing the spot where my husband has stacks of wood covered with old metal sheets to keep it dry. While Eddie dipped his head into the grass, I looked ahead and spotted a piece of metal lying partially hidden ahead of us. I remember thinking it would not be a good thing for Eddie to walk on unexpectedly. Just as I had that thought, Eddie looked at the metal, and instantly stepped sideways, as if reading my mind.
They say that when you are about to die, your life flashes before your eyes. It’s about that way with falling off a horse. It only takes about two seconds to fall off, but those two seconds are separated into many minute milliseconds.
I remember the moment when I felt Eddie shift. I remember the moment when I thought I could still save my balance, then the split-second later when I realized I was going to fall.
The good thing was, while I was falling I was thinking, “I have to remember to roll.”
Even though I don’t consider myself very good at Aikido yet, those hours of practice in the dojo paid off. Had I been falling head first, I could have done a forward or backward roll. However, I was falling straight sideways. I hadn’t practiced that one yet. So, I did the next thing we learn in Aikido; I let my body become soft and landed in a balanced way.
The not-so-good thing was, Eddie had stopped spooking and was standing still. I fell so close to him that I hit my side on one of his legs. Ouch. Eddie must not have like it either. He decided to walk back to the barn.
As I lay in the grass, breathing away the pain in my side, I had the most insightful, enlightened thought cross my mind, the kind of thought yogis spend years in meditation trying to achieve.
“I’m really going to get a lot of ticks lying here.”
So, I got up, retrieved my horse, and walked him back to the scary metal. He did circles around me while I stomped on the metal, making scary metal noises. After a few figure eights, Eddie decided to stop and sniff the metal calmly. I got back on and we headed home to the barn.
Other than a bit of stiffness in my side, I am unscathed, thanks to Tim Doyle, Morihei Ueshiba (the founder of Aikido), and Eddie. I ended my horse session by doing some Reiki on my mare’s swollen eye, during which she stepped on my foot.
I think I need to go back to the dojo.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
