....critters

Yogis,
It all began with a box turtle…..

The type with yellow markings that I often kept hostage in a box when I was young. My pet, if only for a weekend. Providing a lid filled with water and leafy greens while their pointy nails and heavy bodies made them anything but quiet.

Someone posted they had seen one. I will look when I get home! Quickly forgetting all about turtles I began weeding, only to find I am being watched by one. As a family we always call them Myrtle. This time I left her free and watched the different ways she buried herself in pine needles.

Early the next morning something caught my eye at the far end of our porch. A bird? Nope. A small raccoon who evidently had climbed up to snatch sparrow eggs from the birdhouse but couldn’t quite figure out how to get down. Some coaxing and an offer of a broom scared him enough to risk the slide down the downspout.

Shortly after I ran past a wild turkey. What the heck? I have never seen a wild turkey in our neighborhood. Standing alone in my neighbor’s yard eating something in the grass. Not a care in the world. Huh.

Later Phoebe is barking at the car and climbing into the wheel well. Uh, oh…. We pop the hood to see what was going on and the raccoon was just as surprised to see us as we were him. Yikes! He nestled in deeper so I called animal control and soon he was out and finally headed back to the woods.

I read a book on frogs to the kindergartener I tutor. I told him I find them in my garden. Of course, that afternoon I almost stepped on one. Telling these stories in class I commented that I could feel a snake would be soon. Next morning reaching under grasses to remove chickweed, I scare a snake, and therefore me. He slithered in further and I decided I was good on the weeds.

Earthworms, first butterfly, the carpenter bee who guards.

There are so many things I love about spring! One is reconnecting with all the critters.

I missed you all,
SARAH

....rocks

Yogis,
His five-year-old grandson was with him for the day. Adorable and bursting with little boy energy. I asked what his grandson likes to do and he told me he was always trying to bring rocks in the house.

‘That’s great!’ I exclaimed. Not the answer he expected……

It’s that time of year again when we shift clothing. Down coat moves to spring jacket. Thick  jeans begin to transition to cuter lightweight pants. Inevitably during this time my hand will enter a pocket and bump into a rock. Pulling it out I often remember exactly where I picked it up. It sat waiting in the closet for months to be rediscovered. Rocks are patient.

I have rocks everywhere!

Some on my altar. A few on kitchen counters. On a shelf in my closet, on end tables and on many window ledges. Even on the dining room table. All of them rocks that one day caught my eye, ended up in a pocket and then found their place in my home. Rocks make a home more grounded.

I’m talking everyday rocks here. Not crystals…..although I have plenty of those as well. Rocks found on the beach, in the woods and along streets across many years. There are so many kinds! And if you have a couple in your pocket they make a pretty clicking sound when you roll them about. Rocks are long lasting.

I have inside and outside rocks. The ones I place in the garden are used as a focal point. A change of texture from the softness of plants. They are also fantastic holders of garden tools and when big enough are a great perch for me to rest and admire my work. Rocks are dependable and sturdy.

I photograph rocks. A lot.

Imagine my delight when I learned a new fact. There are many reasons I love otters, but did you know that they have a pocket in their skin? They use it to keep food while diving, but also their favorite rock. A special rock used for opening shellfish. Rocks are helpful.

Rocks carry many qualities I want to instill in my life.

Do you have a favorite rock?

Rocks are quiet and still,
SARAH

....the birds & the bees, and a goose

Yogis,
I’ve seen many geese in my life, yet I can’t say I have really gotten to know any. I admit I’m a bit afraid. When a goose is not happy, they let you know.

I have several memories of being confronted and I was always the one who backed down. The way they hiss and charge with wings wide is not to be taken lightly. One even bit my young son’s butt one spring day.

Yet last weekend I felt closer to geese.

It began with spotting a goose sitting on what we determined to be a nest, feet from the door of our friend’s house. A circular mound of pine needles, leaves and feathers against the trunk of a holly tree at the lake’s edge. An ideal spot. Dad floating feet away.

As she stood to turn, we saw the eggs. She threw things out of the nest. Pulled in new needles and re-fluffed the area. A gentle roll of the eggs. Housekeeping. Attentive mother.

She then lifted her back tail, curved her wings back and placed her wide warm belly down on the eggs, rocking from side to side until she was firmly nestled deep in the nest. A cool breeze blew overhead.

We read she will sit on the eggs for at least 28 days, leaving only occasionally for food, water and to bathe. The father rarely sits on the eggs. Yet we witnessed how he takes his role as protector quite seriously.

We checked on them all weekend. Once I found that neither were at the nest and I couldn’t see the eggs. We ventured out to get closer. I saw them first….mom and dad taking off from upstream, bee-lining toward us with much to say. ‘Run’ I yelled as old memories returned.

We realized she buries the eggs beneath feathers when she ventures out….but never takes her eyes off them. And as dawn broke, she was sleeping soundly with her head under her wing while Dad stood tall a foot away.

I realized how the qualities of attentiveness, nurturing and protection are innate. In all of us. Even a goose. But where do they come from? What is the source?

Always amazed,
SARAH