In case you couldn’t tell, things are really busy here.

Just three days from now, F.’s Ph.D. defense will take place.  Now, I’m not the one preparing for the defense (thank goodness), but I am taking up the slack for F. in the many areas of life he’s had to ignore in order to sustain a single-minded focus on this extremely important task.  After all, it’s not every day that you present the culmination of six years of effort in your chosen field — and all in less than three hours.

So it’s a busy time.

Not to mention that it’s spring planting time, and yes, I’m working in the garden every chance I get because F. got a post-doc at the University that will take us all the way through the growing season!

Wonderful news, no?

I had already decided to go ahead with the garden before we got the news.  The possibility of a wasted season seemed more painful to me than having to leave the bounty and beauty behind in full swing.

Besides, I’d already seen bees, butterflies, and birds returning to my virtually empty garden so early and in such numbers, almost as if they were confident, after only a couple of years, that the now-dormant landscape would soon be filled to overflowing with sustenance and opportunity.  How could I disappoint them?

But since I lingered over the decision so long, I’m getting a late start on clearing the beds, weeding, adding compost, starting seedlings, transplanting, and all the rest of it.  The weather has generally not been cooperative, either, with lots of rainstorms that keep me from working in my soil for days afterward (too much experience now of the disaster that results from disturbing waterlogged red clay).

So busy is the word of the day.

Also, I’m still tutoring, and M. is absolutely blossoming now, growing daily in an appreciation for her own mind and capabilities.  Something *clicked* in the last two months, and her progress has been astonishing.  In the most recent quarterly report, she was placed on the A/B honor roll for the first time in her life, and her joy knew no bounds.  I feel privileged to be a part of her intellectual awakening.

I’ve recently become aware of just how much need there is in this community, how very many are subject to the twin disadvantages of ignorance and poverty.  Of course, now I’m covetously eyeing the area’s population of imported senior citizens.  So many well-educated retirees choose to come here to enjoy the natural beauty and outdoor sports the region affords, and in my daydream vision, at least, hordes of them are signing up to personally tutor a local youngster who needs that one-on-one attention and guidance to thrive in school — and in life.

For now, it’s just a kernel of an idea, a glint in my eye.  I’ll let you know if anything comes of it.

Other ideas are doing more than glinting in my eye, which is one reason blogging has become difficult.  I’m writing, and I find it difficult — even daunting sometimes — to switch back and forth between the longer essay format and the short and much more informal blog format.  I’ve scrapped more than a few blog drafts over the last six weeks, until I finally decided to recognize my limitations.

An occasional post is all I’ll be able to manage for now, and I probably won’t have time to visit other blogs regularly or even respond to comments as I usually do.  I feel guilty about that part.  But still, I want to keep blogging — in a way that’s manageable given current circumstances.  That may mean posts with more images and fewer words, for instance.

A big thank you to all of you who are still checking in, still looking and reading, and especially to those of you who’ve sent me thoughtful messages over the past six weeks.  I’m touched that you keep me in your thoughts and that you’ve enjoyed The Enchanted Earth enough in the past to want it to keep going.  I hope I’ll be able to bring it back to full strength one day soon.

Meanwhile, I wish you the joy of spring, wherever you are, in whatever season.

Namasté, y’all.

Print PDF

This spot of enchanted forest is the new view from my back door — once the tree-cutting crews came through to make a right of way for a power line.  I was really upset about the losses at first, but now I am starting to see that the beauty is still there.  Sometimes I’m even able to appreciate the gaping hole in our forest, noticing, for instance, how I can appreciate the sunset for much longer now that there is nothing impeding the view.

Usually not.  But sometimes I manage it.

Anyway, I’ve had more than the usual opportunity recently to observe the views here.  I’ve been limited to whatever I can see from inside the house for the past several days.  My illness, which I’d imagined as nearly finished, completely wiped me out last week.  I’m still pretty weak.

And then, the very day the flu took a turn for the worse, my computer died.  Well, it turns out it’s only the screen that’s died, and luckily for me, F. is very handy with computers.  Still, it was rotten timing.

Basically I was on standby for a while there, in all senses of the word.

Coming back from standby, though, you suddenly appreciate your everyday, normal life so much more.  Just stepping outside to greet autumn in full swing is a delight.

What a privilege it is to revel in the crunch of pine needles underfoot, to breathe in and be able to smell the neighbor’s woodsmoke, the scent of pine sap in my cat’s thick, black fur, to have a fat rust-colored leaf brush my hair as it spirals down to join its fellows.  What a wonder, to look up into a golden tent and hear the wren’s concert live from the crooked branch.

What a miracle, to be able to walk into the amber and scarlet and blue tapestry that I’ve only been able to glimpse from the bedroom window for so long.  It really is like having a wall-hanging spring to life, three-dimensional, all of a sudden.  The effect reminds me of the scene in Voyage of the Dawn Treader, when the painting of the title ship is suddenly moving, her sails creaking, her crew at work on deck, through a sea whose waves soon spring up to drench the children observing all this in the bedroom where the artwork hangs.

The only response I seem capable of at this moment is deep gratitude.  I take so much for granted.

Including my connection to you.  I’m thankful you’re here, and I want you to know how touched I was to receive all those get-well wishes.  Y’all are lovely.

I’ll probably take a few more days to recover properly and then try to return to a more regular posting schedule.  Until then, here’s wishing you an awareness of the wonderful details of your everyday, normal life that you usually take for granted.  May you take joy in your life as it is now!

Namasté, y’all.

Print PDF

We are together for a very short time, so it makes sense to live in harmony, in unconditional friendship.

~ Bokar Rinpoche

Please consider this my thank you note to all of you, for reading, and commenting, and sending me messages, and telling me your stories, and writing your beautiful blog posts, and just shining and shining and spreading joy out into the world.

It means so much to me, and I don’t tell you often enough how grateful I am.

I’m still amazed that I get to do this, that we are able to share like this, that we’re so privileged to connect with each other across the miles, every day, whenever we find time.  An ocean might separate us… or only the Georgia/South Carolina border.  Whatever separates us from each other, though, is forgotten in this virtual space, where kindred spirits find no barriers.

And I want to extend a special thank you to one of my readers today.

To Lynn, who has a beautiful, optimistic blog definitely worth your click (hint, hint), and who was my first steady commenter.  Oh, I’d had drop-ins before, but no one stuck around — probably because I hadn’t yet figured out that it would be a good idea to respond to those comments or to go visit commenters’ blogs and try to return the love.  I was a wet-behind-the-ears blogger when Lynn started coming to read what I wrote, and she has been such a sunny and loyal and encouraging presence ever since.  She even networked on my behalf before I’d figured out the rudimentary blog etiquette, bringing me to the attention of another blog friend (Talon) who means so much to me now.  It’s hard to imagine my blogging journey without Lynn’s presence.

So, Lynn, thank you, my friend, and namasté.

To all of you who bring your own special something to the conversation here at the blog, I appreciate every single word.

And to all of you who read and look at the photos and continue to come back for more, thank you for being an important part of my journey here.  I don’t ever forget that you are here, following along with me, and your silent presence is a comfort and an encouragement for me.

Every time I sit down to write, you are all with me.  At least, it feels that way.

Namasté, y’all.

Want more magical moments?

Subscribe!

Print PDF