Early morning at Kirkridge. Woodpecker is thumping away at a tree – birds chirping. Patches of fog drift across the valley below. Who can sleep? I listen to the sounds – the trill of frogs. Even the grass seems to sing. Solitude is lost among this nature. I am not usually an early morning person […]
It is the season of Peace on Earth, Goodwill Towards Men but I don’t see any peace on earth or goodwill from men. I see war and poverty, famine, homelessness and agony. I see hatred. Why all the violence? I was born into war and it has been war ever since. In high school, we […]
It’s an October morning and the light is soft through the patches of blue that appear between the blanket of cloud. PeeWee, the orange and white, steps lightly up onto the step and leans against the screen door, not a meow escaping his lips. I put out his bowl of wet food, return for the […]
Birds beckon to me in winter. I yearn to hear the geese honking as they sail overhead. I want to see the cranes dancing in the cornfield stubble. I must travel straight roads to reach them.
What do you think of when you hear the word travel? Jetting off to a foreign country or some exotic tropical location? Most people would answer that way. But not me. When I think of travel I immediately picture myself driving down the road with the windows open, the breeze flowing through my hair, the radio blasting.
It occurred to me that if Carl suddenly had a fatal heart attack we would careen off the trail, shooting out over space, and then plummet all the way down the 2000 foot height. It didn’t help my confidence any when Carl told me that all of his land contains steep hills except for one acre. I yearned for that flat one acre.
I see him creeping across the yard, his eyes fixated forward, and body tense. What is he up to? I call to him. There is no response. He is intent upon his adventure. Then I hear it. “Chink, chink, chink.” Oh, no it’s a bird.
I decided to do a neighborhood survey to record every bird, bug and beastie that I saw in my neighborhood. Naturally I started with the resident raccoon and recorded 22 separate species. Each time I see a new one, I write it down. I don’t know the names of all of them.
One of the postcards shows an assortment of boats and two wooden towers with long slides attached. These were electric hoists or cranes that lifted fish from the holds of the boats and deposited them on spillways where they were loaded onto trucks to be taken to market. Yes, proof that Morro Bay really was a “quaint little fishing village.”