Tag: trees

If a Tree Falls in the Middle of a Waterfall, Does It Make a Sound?

a tree in bloom over a waterfall

View from my Studio Window, Before

She buds.
She blooms.
Over the course of ten days, she comes into her full glory. Every day I sit looking out my studio window, mesmerized at the splendor of her branches gracefully sheltering the spot my log once called home.

Today, as I eat a pack of crackers and call it lunch, I listen to Clarissa Pinkola Estes tell the story of her trumpet vine and how its raucous blooming annoyed the neighbor man. One spring he harrumphed over and asked her to cut it down. “I can’t do that,” she told him. “It’s an old vine. And beautiful.” One day she arrives home to find that the neighbor man has cut the vine down to the ground. And on her side of the fence, mind you. Once the initial wave of grief passed, she digs up the vine, plants the roots, and in a short while, the vine is growing again.

blooming tree lays across waterfall

blooming tree over waterfall

 

broken tree

 

I cover my mouth in horror of the neighbor destroying the trumpet vine, pick up another cracker,  and look back out at my tree of graceful blooms . . . to find it laying in the water. Tracing it back with my eyes, i see where the tree trunk snapped, the blooming limbs landing in the falls. Once again I cover my mouth in horror and disbelief.

Later, while I am on a business call, The Engineer and Mother  go out, cut off a few small branches, smash the ends, dip them in a root-activating powder, and plant them in soil. The trumpet vine grew back, so I’m hopeful these will begin to sprout, too. Maybe in a few years, I’ll sit mesmerized under the beautiful blooms framing the waterfall (I’m on my 17th day of yoga, so I might be able to get down and back up by then – it could happen.) I’ll spread out a quilt and picnic under the gloriously blooming tree, telling her the story of her grandmother who once thrilled my eyes and salved my broken, grieving heart with her beauty.

Spring Dance

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My favorite tree in the whole wide world got all dressed up for me.

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She dances divinely.

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She even self-corsages.

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I just can’t take my eyes off her.

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She’s worth every sneeze

the sringimg eyes

The runny nose.

 

 

 

 

 

 

no words, all walk

Walkingwednesday

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Walkingwednesday4

Walkingwednesday5

[ ::: ]

Jeanne Hewell-Chambers walked 95,453 steps last week (which translates into 43.21 miles). It would’ve been more, but last week the mountain was covered with snow and ice, and her boots were apparently made for walking only in shopping malls, so she slid more than she stepped. She bought herself a new pair of shoes yesterday, though: waterproof hiking shoes. So there.

The Engineer and The Artist Walk

Rock

Every morning we walk up the falls together, and when we come to the fork in the road, he goes left to walk down to the lake, and I go to the right right to walk up the Way Big Hill. This morning he invited me to join him, and I did – reluctantly. While The Engineer likes walking downhill first (says it warms and loosens him up), I prefer to get the hard stuff out of the way first, then go downhill all the way home. He starts hard and finishes easy. I prefer starting hard and finishing easy.

He listens to music while he walks, I enjoy the sounds of my own thoughts, and the music of the falls. This morning I had three impossibly good ideas (or just impossible, depending on who you ask).

He carries a weight in each hand, and for the life of me I don’t know why, but I always like to have my hands free and uncommitted. Ready.

Then there’s this: I like to stop and take photos. Enough said.

Feather

Purpleflowers

Tree2

Tree1

The Engineer and The Artist: Trees

“We need to take some trees down before they fall on the house,” he says.
As he points to this:

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and this:

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and this:

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I see this:

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and this:

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and this:

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And yet again, we look at the same thing
differently.

[ :: ]

Jeanne Hewell-Chambers (who some declare got thunked up side the head one too many times as a child)
is still getting used to her husband (the retired engineer)
being home 24/7.

one fine day

Fallleaveshangingon1

Fallleavesthathangon6

i’ve often wondered why some leaves hold on, refusing to let go of their branch, their tree. they clack in the wind, like teeth chattering or cleaning chalkboard erasers or ridding the bottom of shoes of debris from a long walk in the woods.

my birthday comes in 3 days. it’s a big birthday, and i’m making a list. noting things that won’t let go of me, things i’ve long vowed i’d do One Day. i add them to the list because One Day is here.

130

She draws:

5 130 1 erased

Then I stitch:

130a

Mix red and blue, you get purple. (This is not a political statement, by the way.) In horticultural circles, purple is called “blue” or “horticultural blue”. In World War II, the Japanese used a secret code called the Purple Code. They didn’t know till after the fact that Allied cryptographers had broken the code. Purple auras represent a love of ritual and ceremony. In the Star Trek universe, Klingons had purple blood. Once upon a time, purple was reserved for royalty. In liturgical terms, purple is the color of Advent, a season of looking forward, of anticipating. In this project, purple represents Nancy’s favorite color.

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There’s no purple, that’s true, but driving through these mountains we now call home is like driving through a box of crayons

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through a painter’s palette

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through a basket of fabric scraps.

~~~~~~~~~

She is my developmentally disabled sister-in-law, Nancy,
and I am Jeanne, the woman who flat-out loves her.
Go here to start at the beginning.

thoughts from this morning’s walk

sometimes i imagine
that if i could just find me a hole to tuck myself away in, like here:

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or here:

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or maybe even here:

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with an adorable (if overweight) herding dog

to lead me (sometimes called “creative herding”)

off the road and to Just The Right Spot

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perhaps beside a quiet creek

that leads to who knows (or cares, for that matter) where

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i might just commit a fall bloom.

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