every day is a good day
We can breathe again. Over the weekend cold fronts rolled through off the Pacific and pushed our smoke out of the valley. Gentle rains washed the air. Just in time for a satisfying equinox. With more rain in the forecast, we should be over with smokey skies this year.
The grapes are ripe. Every day until they are gone I can pick a bowl and give the chickens a treat. Chickens love fruit. A bowl of grapes makes for a happy day for them.
There are no words to describe the sadness we feel. Smoke fills the skies and the lungs of all. On the 11th, the Chuckanut Mountains were smothered with smoke. Usually verdant, forested slopes above green fields, shrouded by a ghastly, choking veil. The smoke lingers today. It’s difficult to be outdoors.
We drove down to Vancouver, Washington, yesterday for a wedding. To drive for hours and hours through smoke leaves you numb. Rains to clear the skies and wash away our sorrows can’t come soon enough. The fires are burning a long way from us, but for how long? With each passing year they get closer and more intense. I wonder how long we have until we are incinerated too.
It never occurred to me that I would find serenity watching ducks. Meditation exercises ask you to sit calmly, close your eyes, and clear your mind of thoughts. Watching ducks swimming, especially if they are caring for ducklings, is just as effective for clearing your mind of thoughts. Dare I call it Duck Serenity?
This morning’s thick fog is almost gone. All summer we have enjoyed the bluest of skies. The past few days, smoke from the fires in California has seeped into the skies. It’s not the acrid smoke we’ve had in summers past. The smoke is high aloft. Not something we can smell. The skies are still blue, only a muted blue.
Pema Chödrön in her Start Where You Are writes:
We already have everything we need. There is no need for self-improvement. All these trips that we lay on ourselves – the heavy-duty fearing that we’re bad and hoping that we’re good, the identities that we so dearly cling to, the rage, the jealousy and the addictions of all kinds – never touch our basic wealth. They are like clouds that temporarily block the sun. But all the time our warmth and brilliance are right here. This is who we really are. We are one blink of an eye away from being fully awake.
Watching ducks care for ducklings has a way of snapping you out of your delusions. Of awakening you. Of opening your heart. Of clearing your mind of all those cobwebs. Of letting you start afresh.
Therapists charge anywhere from $60 to $400 and up for a session. That buys a lot of duck feed. Spending time with swimming ducks may leave you more content and peaceful and less penniless than blabbing away for an hour with a therapist. Duck serenity comes at a much lower cost.
Along Friday Creek Road, a flower stand popped up this summer. I bicycle past it whenever I go get coffee beans. The garden next to the flower stand is a paradise of flowers. An hour long bicycle ride also works wonders and clears your mind too.
The four ducklings are growing fast. Ducklings often make a whistling sound. They’ll whistle when they are afraid or excited. They come whistling for breakfast.
The sweet annie is up and getting ready to bloom. This plant has such a lovely scent, every part of it. It’s a sweet, soft mix of clove, cinnamon, nutmeg, and other spices. The leaves are delicate and dance in the slightest of breezes.
The chart above is from Artemisia annua Wikipedia entry. It lists the phenolics discovered in this fragrant herb. One of them, Rhamnetin, is an O-methylated flavonol that can be isolated from cloves. It’s like this one plant is a drug store all of its own.
Three days ago the sky was a cobalt blue with wispy clouds. Today’s sky is definitely fall like. Thick, grey clouds accompanied with gusty winds. Summer is coming to an end.
The two hens who decided to join forces and raise a brood together are fun to watch. Every hen raises her chicks slightly differently. But this is the first time I’ve had two hens pair up from the get go. When they were sitting on the clutch they were on top of each other.
Each day they go out together with their chicks, who happily float from one mother to the other. The two hens are never far apart. At night they squeeze into the same nest with all the little ones tucked underneath them.
They could be the start of a movement among hens. Why do it alone? It’s easier raising a brood with another.
