JourneyLeaf: Life a Page at a Time

Ginkgo

I have a soft spot for ginkgo trees.  They are planted throughout the downtown area of my home town and are often at the height of their autumn color just when all other trees are fading fast.  And they remind me of my dad.  He also loved ginkgoes and planted several in our yard when I was growing up.  He told me that ginkgoes were thought to be extinct, a tree known only from leaves left behind in the fossil record.  Then one day a Jesuit priest in central China discovered that some of them were still alive.  "Imagine if you saw a dinosaur!  That's almost how it was."  All the ginkgo trees in America are descended from ginkgoes taken from that area of China.  

     My dad was a scientist -- an invertebrate paleontologist to be exact, comparing the fossilized tracks, traces, and burrows of small creatures from the ancient seas with ones from modern oceans.  But he loved all nature and often took us on walks in the woods.  Sometimes he would stop for a moment, his eyes falling on something that pleased him but that didn't register as remarkable to me.  A moment or two would pass by and then he would explain that this wild bush had a remarkable number of berries or that a particular tree was unusual in this area or simply had a very pleasing shape.  He was a great tour guide to nature and it is one of the many, many things I miss about him.  From him I learned how to plant a tree, where to find blackberries, and the names of the common seashells on the Georgia coast.  

    I'm so thankful I had my father through my twenty-first year, but I can't help but wonder how much more I would have learned if I'd had him longer in my life as an adult.  When cancer finally got him, it was just when I was learning that his quiet demeanor meant he was observing and considering not just trees or clouds but also people, politics, and the world at large.  I know a lot of folks who spout off about this or that.  Dad wasn't much of a spouter.  But if you asked his opinion, he'd thoughtfully pin together what he'd read and observed in a way that was often startlingly well-formed and nonjudgemental.  There's so much I now wish I could ask and discuss.  Yet even if I only had him a relatively short time, I'm so thankful he was my father.

 

 

 

Dad and Me
(I'm 9 months old.)

 

Dad, Autumn 1991

 

When I took the photo above, my father already knew his cancer was terminal and moving fast.  He died peacefully three months later and the world quietly lost a man of great gentleness and integrity who was wide awake to life.  

Thanksgiving Afternoon

We had a cozy Thanksgiving meal with family, heading home in the afternoon so Eli could catch his nap.  

 

I watched through the car windows as the rain clouds of the past few days played hide n' seek with delicious late afternoon sunshine.  As soon as we reached home, sweet Brian stayed with Eli so I could pull on boots and head out with my camera...

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I am thankful for the day.  I had slow, relaxed time with my guys as well as extended family.  But I also had solo time to be creative, get out in the fresh air, and hear my own thoughts.  It's all about balance.  Every time I look down at the floorboards of my car and see the pasture mud that flaked off my boots, I have to smile regardless of the mess.

Have Yourself a Merry Little Bedroom

One rainy morning last week we were wandering around a store looking at holiday decorations.  Eli was enthralled by the lights, so I told him he could pick out one of the small sets to decorate his bedroom for the holidays.  Talk about "tiny tots with their eyes all aglow"!  Without hesitation, he chose green lights and carried the box in a bear hug all around the store.

There wasn't much installation involved -- just Papa draping them over Eli's book shelf.  But Eli loves them and often talks about "my ights."

 

After nap, sometimes Eli and I flop down on his bedroom floor to watch his lights.  We'll talk or sing "Jingle Bells."  Or just lie there side by side in the soft light.  If truth be told, I was hoping he'd pick a multicolored set.  That's what I grew up with and they seem so cheery.  But Little Guy was on to something.  The green glow is very peaceful.

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Rock City's Enchanted Garden of Lights

Silent Saturday -- Nov. 26, 2011

Chard

Swiss chard.  Humble garden greens.  They're lumpy and bumpy enough to seem a little toad-like, if truth be told.  But that's the front.  

 

When you stand behind the leaves while the morning sun is shining through, they become abstract art, layered shadows on fairy cloth, glowing stained glass windows...

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

So what was Little Guy doing while Mama was wandering in the vegetable beds at Loma Vista Farm snapping photos?  Trying his best to call all the farmhands to breakfast...

 

 

 

A mess of greens with your morning coffee, anyone?

Thanksgiving 2011

Happy Thanksgiving to one and all!

 

I'm deeply thankful for another happy year with my guys!

2011  (Snoozing on the way home from Thanksgiving at Uncle Mike's)

 

2010

 

 

2009

Kiddo Burrito

Sometimes you just gotta roll your kid in a big fuzzy blanket and then squish 'em.  And don't forget the smooches.

How to Watch a Sunset

From The Art of Doing Nothing
Veronique Vienne (NY:  Clarkson Potter, 1998.)

"Doers that we are, we can't help but feel that the sun is like us -- a busy celestial body running circles around the Earth.  This false impression is a tenacious one, but we can resist it.  The next time you watch a sunset, sit tight.  Experience the Earth's majestic rotation.  Here is how to do it.

1.  Before dusk, face the sun as it nears the horizon.  Notice how you assume that it is sinking.  Remind yourself that this downward motion is an optical illusion.

2.  Drive an imaginary stake through the sun and pin it to the sky.  Make sure it doesn't budge.

3.  Now watch the horizon climb gradually toward the sun.  Imagine the ground shifting under your feet.

4.  Give in to the feeling that the Earth is tilting backward in slow motion.

5.  As the sun disappears, visualize your side of the planet rolling quietly into the twilight.

6.  Congratulations.  In the last ten minutes, you've done a ten-thousand-miles-per-hour backward somersault into the night."

 

 

 

November Lantern Walk

We love Eli's Waldorf preschool with its peaceful setting, old-fashioned fun, and long-standing traditions based in the seasons.  For November's longer nights and harvest time, Eli's teacher organized a lantern walk.  Like jack o' lanterns at Halloween, harvest lanterns fashioned from root vegetables are a European tradition centuries-old.

 

Everyone from the preschool (current families but some alumni too) met up at a park on the outskirts of town late Saturday afternoon.  There was mulled cider warmed on a camp stove as well as cornmeal-pumpkin-walnut bread.  It was cloudy, so the light slowly dwindled while everybody got busy with their beet or turnip.  Slice off the top, and then use a mellon baller to hollow out the inside...

 

Eli picked a chioggia beet.  This heirloom vegetable has white flesh marked with concentric pink circles, reminding me of cheery Christmas peppermints.  

 

 

 

The goal is to scoop out enough of the root that a tealight candle fits inside.  You also want to scrape the sides thin enough that they become translucent and then lightly carve designs on the outside.  The final step is to use a wooden skewer to push a string handle through the rim of the lantern in several places.  Three or more holes keeps the lantern from tipping.

 

I put a star, a leaf, some wavy river lines, and a crescent moon on Eli's lantern.

 

 

As darkness fell, we gathered in a circle to appreciate each other's lanterns.

 

Then we set out walking in a procession, singing autumn folk songs as we went.  The park has towering eucalyptus trees, so we moved through spicy air.  The night chill and the overcast gloom under the old trees just made the lanterns seem that much more glowy.  

 

Eli's teacher taught the folk songs to the kids but also recorded them for the parents.  I practiced the songs quite a bit, so I imagine this time of year will conjure them up for many seasons to come.  I'll share two...

"Down with darkness, up with light
Each of us is one small light.
But together we shine bright.
Go away deepest darkest night!
Go away, give way to light!"

"I go with my little lantern
And my little lantern with me.
Above the stars are shining
And shining below are we.
My light shines bright, all through the night,
A-dingel, a-dangel, a-dong." 

 

Such a beautiful, magical ritual to enjoy the peacefulness of late autumn!  I plan to create an annual November lantern walk for friends and family once we get home to Georgia. 

Silent Saturday -- Nov. 19, 2011