First Fall

I'm winding down on the first year in my cottage.

My own home,
my oasis,
my shelter,
my blissful place,
colorful,
old but new,
peaceful,
happy,
secure,
mine.

What an incredible year it has been, from stringing up the first Christmas lights to watching the leaves fall off the maple tree.

And the dogwoods, the dogwoods, sweet Goddess, the exquisite dogwoods.

I shook heavy wet snow off the branches,
feeling like a little girl dancing in the snow showers.

I marveled at the huge white blossoms,
stars of velvet outside my windows.

I tenderly watered all through the hot summer,
soaking their feet,
creating a little wetland oasis.

I sat on my rocker on the front porch,
sheltered by green,
breathing the lacy softness
into my body,
peaceful.

And now, the beginning of the long rest,
storing energy,
making dreams for the
winter's memory.

Wistful,
sad,
yearning
promises of
more
to come,
colorful fantasies,
otherworldly,
hints of
fairyland.

Peace

Wanderings...

It's great to have out of town guests because then I remember how interesting things are right in my own back yard.

We wandered around the Empire Mine grounds.  The gardens are in full flower, butterfly bushes taller than me bursting with gorgeous colors of pinks and purples, huge marguerite daisies, old roses of every shape and color, campion rose (lychnis), and many others.

It's strange and sort of disturbing to think of the lovely gracious life the mine owners lived while right below their feet men and mules toiled in the dark for bright gold.

Here I am sitting on a man skip, thinking how it would be to actually be going down into the shaft.  Evidently they've built a side tunnel from the main shaft, which may eventually be open for tours.

I don't know, it's not Knott's Berry Farm or Disneyland.  Even a few feet down into the shaft it gets cooler and more humid, hard to breathe, it's scary.

We spent a bit of time talking to the Blacksmith's apprentices and coveting the beautiful old anvils.  They were saying that when the mine closed down in the 50's it was just abandoned and not a state owned park until 1975.  During that time it was vandalized and looted for treasures but once the state took over people began to bring things back knowing they would be taken care of, love it!  Some of those same kids are now lovingly taking care of the mine and it's fascinating history.

This is my backyard.

Peace

North Star Growers Market

Last weekend we had snow, this weekend it's 80 degrees and rising.

I loaded up with flowers, artisan bread, sugar peas and kale, free range eggs and dried fruit from the valley fruit growers.

The North Star house is a beautiful place.

Tonight the fountain is burbling away in my back yard.  I've had the doors and windows open almost all day and "oh my gosh" a bug or two has gotten in, oh well.  A couple of nights ago I heard a coyote pack singing way out in the mine property.  This is the best season, ripe with promises of hot days, cool nights, plenty of water to play in, baskets full of fresh produce to eat and preserve, garden projects, decks to build, plants to plant and lots of fun to experience.

Life is good.

Three and a half glorious months in California.  Which is the most time I've actually lived here since 1987, the year we left San Franciso with baby Grant in tow and moved to Minneapolis.  So 23 years now, wow, hard to do when you only feel 30 something.

I've spent a lot of time alone, well, me and the dogs, but they don't talk much.  Dandy and Bode and I have walked a gazillion miles through trails covered in pine needles and up and down steep town streets lined with well loved miner's cabins and Victorian era frou-frou.  We've stood on massive piles of crushed rock left over from gold mining days.  I've spent a fair amount of time with my sister, though not as much as I'd have liked to spend.  I've spent some time with my Dad and sMom, again not as much as I'd have liked.  But it wasn't that "vacation" mode visiting, where you hurry from one activity to the next and never really get to talk.  I love to see my family doing the everyday things in their lives, running errands, trying to decide what to have for dinner, bickering with each other, sitting outside on a sunny day watching the dogs play, working in the barn, going to a not very good play and standing in front of masses of roses deciding just which bunch would make her the happiest. (Note to self - forget the flowers, buy more wine.)

I love these people, none of us are easy to live with, all of us are worth the trouble.  Now I have five more sleeps until I head back to the Midwest and I miss them already.  I doubt I can live away from them happily ever again and I find it interesting that I learn this so late in my life. I've always been the independent wanderer and I'm proud that I was able to make a life so far from home.  It's true that after an event like a heart attack you do some serious soul searching.  "If my time is short, where do I really want to spend it and with whom?" And while my time has not been shortened I still feel like I need to look carefully at what remains.

Mostly I just want to say thank you.  I'll send a generic THANKS out to the skies for life and family and friends and classic movies, teardrop trailers and dreams.  Because I haven't had dreams for a long time and suddenly there they are and it's good.