In what has been described by many as a "soul-crushing week" in the United States, I'm trying my damnest to focus on the blessings and gifts in my life.
One of the finest gifts of friendship in my life has been that with the writer and deep thinker, Terry Tempest Williams. In the years since I first discovered her books, I have absorbed so much of her wisdom. My own aging, I hope, has brought on my own wisdom, through pain and joy and sorrow and mistakes, and that wisdom includes embracing the cycle of seasons here on the northern plains and simplifying my life inasmuch as is possible.
I'm also deeply committed to learning something new every day. It is my hope that in the upcoming year or so, I can learn the creation of mosaics from my friend Molly McLain. Every day I can listen online or to Prairie Public Radio and choose carefully what I watch on television or read, to achieve that goal of enlightenment.
In the afternoon sunshine of Saturday, we walked over to a friend's house, for treats and delightful conversation. Our path took us by one of the best trees in our Highland Acres neighborhood.
As I write this, I'm munching on a homemade apricot kolache baked by our friend Tasha Carvell, who sent home with us. Yummy!
I strive to pay attention to the tiny joys in life, such as the perfect red oak leaf I found on my front patio yesterday. Rather than feel frustrated that I will have to pick up all of these fallen leaves, I try to see the beauty in the leaf and approach these leaves as a substance that will enrich our soil and protect our strawberries and garlic from the upcoming harsh winter.
In another example of finding a silver lining, earlier this week I dropped and lost an earring and could not find it anywhere on the floor or bed. As a last resort, this morning I tore that room apart and completely cleaned it, on hands and knees. I did not find the earring and had given up, but looked in one last place and there it was. It was a trifle, but a triumph nonetheless and the room is now clean for the winter.
Yesterday, I attended the North Dakota Yoga Conference, learning new things from masters, a blessing. I told Jim he'd be surprised by how many people in ND have a yoga business.
The rooms bustled with people (yes, mostly women) who were eager to deepen their practices. My friend Debi experienced a wonderful epiphany at a session we attended together, Yoga Nidra and she generously shared those insights with me after the class.
I've also incorporated essential oils into my daily routine. Although we open wide our windows during the temperate months and live in the glory of fresh air in our house, there are many months in which the windows must be closed (although we have many large windows which we have left uncovered in order to bath the interior in light year-round). Now that autumn has arrived, in our bedroom, I use an infuser and apply three fragrant oils that enhance sleep: lavender, geranium, and sweet marjoram.
Another scent I find essential to my being is sage. Other than short times in Okinawa, Memphis, and Nashville, I've always lived west of the 100th meridian. I am a western woman through and through, hence the sage.
In my landscaping of our yard, I have striven to create beauty for every stage of the year. It has taken years to achieve this goal, helped by the fact that I started with a good palette, a large and private backyard bordered by mature trees.
Today, the firewood is stacked, the kindling box is full, the garlic is planted, and a hard frost is in the forecast. Jim brought in the last of the Bell peppers and these are now in brown paper bags for a final ripening.
In the night sky this week, the harvest moon has been bright. Jim has been busy in the kitchen today making eleven pints of salsa, from my sister Beckie's recipe, with the last of the tomatoes and jalapenos. I took Lizzie for an afternoon walk through the coulee and while she went swimming, I stood completely still and watched a flock of the sandhill cranes migrating over the Missouri River valley, the first I've seen this fall. I did not move until the flock had disappeared on the horizon, into the blue. From the book Words for Birds "Crane is an English word derived from the bird's cry, which has its origins in the root for "calling" or "crying out." The sandhill crane is grus canadensis. Grus refers to the bird's call and canadensis is a Latinism for "of Canada".
The coup de grace for the day will be my homemade apple crisp.
Rather than bemoaning that summer is over, I try to focus on all of the projects I will be able to tackle inside during the winter. Bring it on!
I've also incorporated essential oils into my daily routine. Although we open wide our windows during the temperate months and live in the glory of fresh air in our house, there are many months in which the windows must be closed (although we have many large windows which we have left uncovered in order to bath the interior in light year-round). Now that autumn has arrived, in our bedroom, I use an infuser and apply three fragrant oils that enhance sleep: lavender, geranium, and sweet marjoram.
Another scent I find essential to my being is sage. Other than short times in Okinawa, Memphis, and Nashville, I've always lived west of the 100th meridian. I am a western woman through and through, hence the sage.
In my landscaping of our yard, I have striven to create beauty for every stage of the year. It has taken years to achieve this goal, helped by the fact that I started with a good palette, a large and private backyard bordered by mature trees.
Today, the firewood is stacked, the kindling box is full, the garlic is planted, and a hard frost is in the forecast. Jim brought in the last of the Bell peppers and these are now in brown paper bags for a final ripening.
In the night sky this week, the harvest moon has been bright. Jim has been busy in the kitchen today making eleven pints of salsa, from my sister Beckie's recipe, with the last of the tomatoes and jalapenos. I took Lizzie for an afternoon walk through the coulee and while she went swimming, I stood completely still and watched a flock of the sandhill cranes migrating over the Missouri River valley, the first I've seen this fall. I did not move until the flock had disappeared on the horizon, into the blue. From the book Words for Birds "Crane is an English word derived from the bird's cry, which has its origins in the root for "calling" or "crying out." The sandhill crane is grus canadensis. Grus refers to the bird's call and canadensis is a Latinism for "of Canada".
The coup de grace for the day will be my homemade apple crisp.
Rather than bemoaning that summer is over, I try to focus on all of the projects I will be able to tackle inside during the winter. Bring it on!
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