Thought Merge

Okay my funky brain says don't do it. Don't do what you did last time. Freaky. But I'm not up to the battle of figuring out how to separate my duds and humdingers (I leave that to you 8) and because this is my "From the Trail" posting, I'm going to throw caution to the wind, let the thoughts collide and then go breathe in the fresh Spring air, find me a piece of moss, cause you know, "I like it mmmmossy", and hit the trail. You can click out now, I wouldn't blame you 'atall.

I watched this talk by Sir Ken Robinson on TED titled "Bring on the learning Revolution". I love his endearing British accent and wit, but most importantly, his poignant message. That our fast food approach model of education is impoverishing our spirits much like the way fast food is depleting our bodies.

It was inspiring and made my brain go whirly whirly, but in a good way. For some time now, I have pontificated, as I am prone to do, on the broken educational system in our country. I have suggested on a number of occasions that we dismantle and build anew. Want to make someone go all googly eyed? Just say that. Works every time. The thought gives folks a brain freeze. That's crazy, how dare I even suggest we try to change our most precious and fiercely protected American educational system. Because it's broke folks. If we could but dare to disenthrall ourselves with what is, we just might save ourselves. But, I fear if we don't dare to disenthrall ourselves we risk going down with a sinking ship.

It was inspiring to hear what I've been thinking for years now. Sir Ken Robinson suggests that the present industrial model of education of our children has squelched their potential, where as a more organic agricultural approach provides a healthier foundation rich in resources to nurture are young seeds, our children, to their fullest potential. Perhaps it's my own observations from "agrowin' things" but I can't help but dream of the wondrous benefits that are possible for our children and our future.

I gleaned words from Abraham Lincolns speech quoted by Sir Robinson to share with you here because I was struck by how fitting and motivating it was then and can be now in our present distress.

********

The dogmas of the quiet past are inadequate to the stormy present. The occasion is piled high with difficulty and we must rise with the occasion.

As our case is new, so we must think anew and act anew. We must disenthrall ourselves and then we shall save our country.

Abraham Lincoln's Address

Second Annual Assembly of Congress

December 1862

Trail Log 4.9.11

"Everyday, everywhere, our children spread their dreams beneath our feet,

And we should tread softly." Sir Ken Robinson, PhD.

Trillium

As promised from "Desperately Seeking" the first lovely Trillum of the season. Delicate and bright among the dark earthy browns of the forest floor. It's leaves enlarging with maturity and it's once brilliant white petals casting a mottled purple hue as it fades with Spring;

The delicate and unassuming Trillium holds fondness for me with it's legend of the three distinct petals representing the Father, Son and Holy Spirit, the Holy Trinity. It's whiteness the representation of Divine Purity and Holiness. A celebration of that first Easter, Christ's sacrifice, our redemption. Beautiful.

Oh, and I was baptized in the light, finally yesterday, a patch of blue. So may I hear a collective ahhhh from all you Pac Northwesterners. There will be sun!

Trail Log 4.1.11

(no foolin')

Scourge

I asked the question "Can there be too much green?" in this blog entry last summer. And I also answered it with a resounding "Yes there can!" I creatively try to compensate our fir needle shaded situation with gardens surrounding our little cottage in the woods thereby satisfying my longing for color in a sea of green.

Don't get me wrong. I deeply love the woods we call home and appreciate every green needle, shoot, bud and spore but without a bit of color it does get a bit overwhelming.

And it can make one susceptible to the wiles of the devil. Like in the case of Scot's broom commonly called Scotch broom or bloom, the scourge of the Pacific Northwest.

Here's an example: There's ol' beady eyed Jack if you can notice him on the trail on a winters jaunt surrounded by stiff pointy Scotch Broom. In summer this will be a swath of brilliant yellow. A burst of color in an otherwise sea of green. It would be a delight for my soul if not for the fact that I force myself not to enjoy it. Not to be fooled, whittled or bushwacked, because it's evil I tell you.

On hot summer afternoons you can hear the ripe and blackened pods of Scotch Broom pop like popcorn. Shooting it's minions far and wide in claiming more territory for it's Empire. It's a Goliath whose arsenal of seeds can live up to eighty years in the soil displacing native species at will.

This scourge of the countryside is a pioneer plant brought here by settlers long ago as an ornamental. It's an extremely hardy and invasive non-native species that has adapted well. It gains dominance by using it's attractive sunny blooms in seducing those of us living in the greenest of green environments to letting it hang out awhile. And before you know it, it's advanced because you're smitten by it's devilish charm. Evil scourge!

Okay that sounds harsh, but I've been told by aged homesteaders in these parts that this invader is pert near 100% creosote, and if ever sparked would burn hotter than Hades. It gives me the creeps seeing it snuggled up all cozy to the tree line so innocent and purty like. I see it's horns!

It's been 25 years since we first began our battle to eradicate Scotch broom from our property. Just yesterday I plucked new shoots growing along our drive. It's clear this mighty Philistine will continue to wage war long after were gone. I just hope some young ruddy Davids will come up the ranks by then.

Trail log 3.12.11

Tracking Joe

Come with me on the trail. It's Friday, and I got notions swimming around in my noggin I just gotta share.

When I ramble my wooded hills sometimes there is snow. And I am amazed by the evidence snow reveals about the other creatures who share the trail. Deer and rabbits, coyotes and possum, bobcat and porcupine. And those that make me glad I carry a pistol, black bear and cougar.

They'll appear and I can track them awhile and wonder what they were up to before I lose their sign and their tracks disappear completely back into the wooded darkness.

On this day when I started out I knew that Joe and his pony had passed through. There was no mistaking the hoof prints. Intuitively like an ol' hound dog after raccoon my tracking instincts ramped into high gear as I followed the same path. Except my nose wasn't on the ground so you can scratch that image. But my beady eye dingo Jack's was. And I watched him closely for more hints in tracking horse and rider.

I concluded that this pony was shod like Joe's pony usually is. There were dog tracks too running alongside weaving in and out of the pony tracks. Just one set, one dog, probably Joe's pup Mike.

Are we having fun yet? Oh c'mon, we're almost there.

I knew I wouldn't see Joe that day you know why? Because Jack revels in sniffing fresh hoof tracks taking in the delicious scents of a neighboring barn and pasture. And he wasn't doing that this time. These tracks were probably yesterday's with their fresh smells hidden in the frozen earth.

Every few steps I found frozen hoof popcicles. The snow freezes instantly to the cold steel horse shoes and then packs until it either pops out on it's own or causes discomfort and interferes with the pony's gait forcing cowboy Joe to dismount frequently to assist in popping the hunk of ice out of the hoof.

Enough of that behavior as my booty reveals would pert near make a sweet little ride turn sour.

I know that Joe's pony is a bay colored quarterhorse with fine agile legs and hooves. I didn't know until then that one of his hooves fits nicely into my cottage woman sized hand.

I think it's a rear hoof too. I made that conclusion after playing around with my collection of frozen hoof popcicles.

And then that's where I bid the mob g'day.

Their tracks diverted up this little trail to the left into the woods instead of forward down a very snowy decline. I can only guess that Joe and pony had their fill of icy hooves and called it a day. And so must I.

G'day.

California Dreamin'

All the leaves are brown, and the skies are grey.......
California dreamin' on such a winters day.
Mama's and the Papas

1965-1968

My dreamin' will be reality when my plane lands in Sacramento next Thursday at noon. I was thinking of this on the trail today humming this tune as the rain dripped from my raingear. There will be lots to do before I leave for a short respite. If I had a hired hand, I could blog all the way up until I lock the door. But no, It's up to me to get my you know what together, and take care of business around the place before leaving. So I won't be blathering into the blogoshpere for one whole week! Egads! Oh my virtual world feels like it's crashing.

So In case of a crash let me send out one last thought of non epic proportions.

A little something from a great little blog The Feminist Farmers Wife:

"There's nothing the years and gravity will have taken from me
that I need to have back again."

Ponderings from the trail.

Hillbilly Love

Young love. First love. It's powerful stuff. The drama and passion of young love is so profound that the afflicted are compelled by forces (nearly beyond their control it seems) to forever immortalize it on , well, stone, or wood, or in the case of some hillbilly youth,

STEEL.

A steel entry gate on a logging road to be exact.

Oh yes, she really loved Cody. I remember.






And maybe Kyle too. But I don't recollect him.

J? Well J had it all goin' on for B.



But then, young love is fickle, hot then cold, and often times unrequited.

The frustration similarly proclaimed and permanently inscribed.






And when the boiling kettle of affection has been reduced to a slow simmer and eventually turns cool.






A poet is born.

A Question

A rhetorical question:

Isn't there just a little bit of ground hog in each of us? You know, the way winter makes you feel like you've been underground, all wrapped up in your woolies hibernating.

And you can't wait to pop your head up mid-season in hopes that there will sun. And if there is, you turn your noggin up towards the sun's rays, squint your eyes and go mmmmmmm......

But wait, is that my shadow? 6 more dadgum weeks of winter?






So what, who cares. I'm diggin' the moment.

Greetings from the trail.

Life With Eddies

Russell Creek is one of my favorite places to pause on the trail.

In Summer it has a relaxing bubbly sound as it meanders along with quiet little eddies formed here and there.

Now in Winter, it is loudly rushing onward and time is brief for any loose forest debris that has a mind to linger in those eddies.

Eddies, they are everywhere, all around us.

In the ocean...


arial view of gulf stream
(google images)


And even in the clouds



(google images)

And we need those eddies in life too. A necessary respite, even if briefly, to pause, reflect, and be refreshed for what lies ahead in our journey.

Because it would be on deaf ears to desperately cry out for Russell Creek or time to pause in it's passage for it is adamant to rush on.

Musings from the trail.

First Impressions

I don't know what to think about first impressions. I think folk can easily be misjudged by those standards. Is it the one who stands out in speech, manner and dress that would be deemed worthy company? Or the less impressive one, the one you barely noticed?

The thing about the one you barely noticed....

They make you look closer, deeper, like a treasure waiting to be found. And if you don't pay attention, you may miss out entirely.

That person may be the one who truly motivates and inspires you as they share about their life.

Like the times they toed in and dug their way through tough obstacles in life. And how those times taught them and made them the person they are today.

That person is probably completely unaware they slipped up on making a good first impression.

But they might be just the one that makes your life richer.

From The Trail.

Ticks

My foe, the Western Black-legged tick.

Ticks, they are the no good lazy sons-a-guns who like to hitch a ride when I hike the hills. I have unwittingly given a ride to three known strangers in the past number of years. The stubborn no-gooders will not un-hitch off my back without assistance.

A friend, a relative, and a doctor have helped rid me of ticks. And never, ever has the prescribed method of removing a tick successfully dislodged one's swollen body without leaving behind it's ugly little head. The Doc says not to worry, my body will eventually expel the foreign body fragment on it's own.

But, eeeeeewwww.... I hate that.

And all the while I carry this remnant of a tick, I worry about the dreaded Lymes Disease. Fortunately my Doc has prescribed me a magic bullet to be used in the event symptoms present themselves, the most common, a radiating rash around the bite area. The bullet, the antibiotic Doxycycline. Just one bullet, that's all it takes, in my cupboard, in case of emergency. Got it.

From the trail.

From The Trail

The Circadian Rhythm.

Beware it's mesmerizing beat. I'm marching to it's drum these days. It has a catchy, groovy kind of tune that's hard to resist. But oh do I try to resist, really I do. But it's powerful stuff folks.

Let me explain it to you this way. If I were a sunflower. I would awaken to the rising sun and then oscillate towards it's setting, nod my little head, and wait for it to rise again tomorrow, repeat.



Wikipedia states that the Circadian Rhythm "is a roughly 24 hr. cycle in the biochemical, physiological or behavioural processes of living entities on Earth." (this would explain the cocktail hour).

The Circadian Rhythms are built in and self-sustained. They adjust to the environment by external cues called zeitgebers, the primary one which is daylight.

See, I'm not crazy, the zeitgebers are out to get me!