The Crows...

The Alfred Hitchcock crows fly in every evening at dusk to roost in the cypress trees that are scattered about town. There are so many sitting on the telephone wires that you cannot see where one ends and the other begins. They darken the sky with their beating wings and their cries can be heard predicting catastrophies and screaming their good-nights to each other. You can see them swarming in on the tide of the skies, wind surfers every one. The smaller birds vie for space on the wires, in the trees, on rooftops, and even in the streets, but the crows are evidently the kings of the sky.

But wait. What is that in the topmost part of that pine tree? Is that a hawk? It sits there, regal on its throne, daring the crows to pretend they are in control. The crows know he is an unwelcomed guest in their drama. They beat their wings, herald their war cries, and begin to bombard this royal king of the skies. The crows are angry. How dare this young upstart try to take over their territory? Yet there he sits. Unperturbed by the crows attacks. For he knows. He knows that he has but to extend those massive wings, flex those sharp, hooked claws, and he will be dining on Ol' King Cole's pie, with four-and-twenty blackbirds as supper.

I watch this opera unfold as I am out for my evening walk. I afford myself a silent grin, knowing the birds are frustrated at the hawk's Rhett Butler attitude. He just doesn't give a damn.

I want to be that hawk. When the crows in my life are crowding me, drowning out my silence, attacking me with their boldness... I want to sit quietly upon my perch, knowing that I can bake King Cole's pie any damn time I want.

Love Letters

I get love letters from my husband. They are beautiful and make me smile. They are the words he speaks at home and he whispers when we are alone, but to see them in print makes them, somehow, more tangible... For those moments when I forget, or when I am lost in the heat of an argument and wonder what in the world I am doing here... I open my saved letters and re-read the words of devotion, of love, of committment, of joy, of gratitude... and I remember why it is I married this man.

Smoke Across the Plains...

As I sit here in my office, I am watching thick black smoke billowing across the plains. "Controlled burns" they call them. A purging of underbrush to prevent out-of-control fires later on in the hot, dry months. There is much preparation for these burns. Weather is checked, wind plays a factor, experienced fighters are prepared to set, watch, and control the blaze. Stand-by emergency crews are on notice just in case something shifts. Reassessment takes place on a minute-by-minute basis. The moment that the weather changes, the wind shifts, or it seems that the crew is no longer able to handle it, the fire is extinguished, regardless of the status of completion of the task.

And it makes me think about the application of this theory to my every-day life. What overgrown ideas, beliefs, and unnecessary thoughts crowd my existence? What thick, knotted underbrush chokes me and creates a hazard for those times my life is in a hot, dry spell? What controlled burning do I need to do now to prevent the out-of-control burns later on? Am I truly prepared to begin the controlled burn? It isn't enough that I set fire to what crowds out joy in my life, I must first be prepared. I must remain diligent and on the ready. Then, and only then, can I begin to remove that which threatens my future.

Am I ready? I think so. As I begin to meditate on my own existence, to explore what I believe, to expose the lies that I have been taught, to change my perceptions and thoughts and understanding, I stand at the ready to begin this controlled burn.

And for once, I am looking forward to the summer of my life, not worrying about destruction from the underbrush that has long since been cleared away in the autumn of my existence.

Fall in Monterey

I know I know... Californians don't really know what it is like to experience the seasons. East Coasters laugh in our faces when we say, "Fall is here!" Or, "It's going to be a cold winter!" But we do experience the seasons in our own special California way.

Fall is here in Monterey. You can tell. The gophers in the lawn are risking the danger of little children's stomping feet to come out of the cooling ground and bask in the sunshine. The birds are busy finding a place to nest for the winter that is approaching. Even the bees have grown sluggish in their efforts to terrorize the school children during their lunch hour. The trees that are not evergreens are turning an odd shade of, what is that, red? Orange? Every so often, as I am driving through a forest of pine trees, a brilliant flash of color will catch my eye and I discover a small maple tree, valiantly blooming all of the colors in the red spector. It is as if that little tree is defying the rules of Monterey by being different than all of tall cyprus trees that surround it.

The weather has a peculiar fall feel to it. Clear blue skies will give away to creeping fog over the prairie behind our buildings. It comes upon us as a surprise. One moment we are complaining of heat, wondering who turned on the heater, and the next we are trying to find each other in the soupy fog that has come from nowhere. When clouds do gather in the sky, it is a good chance that you will get a cleansing rain. It is oddly deceptive though. I wake up to raindrops and put on my California version of heavy weather gear... turtleneck sweater, stockings, jeans, boots, and a scarf, only to step outside to mild temperatures. It is almost as if a tropical rain has fallen on our sleepy little coastal town.

I was driving through the prairie that sits behind our buildings yesterday and saw the oddest looking birds forraging in the fields. Upon closer inspection, I concluded that they were turkeys. Funny. I've never actually SEEN a live turkey in the wild before. Come to think of it, I'm not sure I've ever seen a LIVE turkey anywhere. I was pretty sure they existed because I was cooking and eating on every Thanksgiving, but still... to see them blissfully wandering free in the fields was a treat. I wonder if they appreciate their freedom? I wonder if they know it is turkey-hunting season around here? Shhh... I won't tell them if you won't.

Of course, one cannot mention Fall in Monterey without discussing the colds and flus that abound. I blame it on the wacky weather patterns. Either I am dressed too warmly or not warmly enough. The drastic change in temperature between my office (overheated) and the outdoors (crisp and cool) makes for a delightful breeding ground for germs. That, and the gift of sharing that my little school children seem to have mastered. A jar of santitized wipes sits on my desk and I have become obsessed with wiping down every touched surface in an effort to kill the germs that have targeted me for invasion. It is an on-going battle.

Fall is here in Monterey. It is evident. Pumpkins sit on my desk, waiting to be carved. Discussions have turned to Thanksgiving Dinner and who is going where and what should we cook this year? Last night, it was decided that we would be non-traditional in our house. Rack of Lamb is the dinner we have selected. I have a feeling that the spirit of Fall will take over and turkey will win again. As it does every year.

All in all, despite the mildness of our California seasons, it is evident that Fall has come to Monterey. And I, for one, am going to enjoy every minute of it!

My Secret Garden

We are beginning a sustainable garden at Peninsula Adventist School (www.peninsulaadventist.org). The stakes have been put down, the boxes are in place (why do they look like coffins?) and vines, plants, and even a lemon tree is waiting to be planted. I am excited about this garden.... it promises to be a place where I can dig in the dirt, watch things grow, harvest my own tomatoes, and enjoy the fruits of my labor.

And to think, I don't even like tomatoes.

Maybe I'll eat my own... we'll see.

A Little Bird

A little yellow bird flew in my door today. He skitted about, looking for a place to land. I am not sure which one of us was more startled to see the other. But curiosity overcame fear and he flew right to the windowsill above my desk. He found a place to sit and sing for a spell. Then, as quickly as he darted in, he dashed out.

He knew where the door was all the time.

The View Is Worth It

We went for a hike Friday afternoon with nine kids. A nice trail through Pt. Lobos state park, completely equipped with dust, fallen trees, and oh yes... poison oak. Between admonishing the kids not to touch ANYTHING and dealing with the dusty trail - we discovered a beautiful way to spend a day in the woods. At the top of the trail, where you can go left or right, we chose the left. It took us down a trail with steep steps that wrecked havoc on old bones. At the very end of the trail, there were wooden steps that were even steeper, but at the bottom? Ahhh, what lay at the bottom of those steps made the risk and the pain and the sweat worthwhile. There before us was a beautiful private beach... the water so clear you could see the fish swimming on the floor of the ocean. A blue heron was standing on a kelp bed, looking for all the world like he was St. Peter trying to walk on water. We played tag with the waves (why do I always lose that game?) and enjoyed the warmth of the autumn sun and the beauty of the Big Sur curves to the south. Soon, it was time to head back up those precarious steps, back up the hill, back over the dusty trail, through the poison oak (or is it ivy? I can never tell) and back to civilization.

As we passed a couple huffing and puffing up the trail, I said to them, "the view is worth it."

And I meant it....

Facinating Nature

There are two little birds outside my office window. Both are fighting for the rights to torture the cricket that is limping about in circles between them. Each bird is intent on getting the cricket, but their attention is divided between the task at hand and keeping an eye out for the competition. Soon, the cricket is forgotten as they begin their squabble over who has the right of way. The cricket hops into the bushes to nurse his wounds or to die, but the birds have been distracted enough to lose sight of what it is they were there for in the first place. As they continue to squawk at each other, feathers ruffled, here comes the neighbor's cat... intent with a single purpose - no distractions allowed. He is on a mission to catch his morning snack. Should it be the sparrow or the larger mocking bird? At the last minute, both birds stop their fussing long enough to see the danger that is lurking behind the tree. Damn that tail, it gave him away. The only salvation for the birds is their ability to fly. And the cricket is dead, the birds are still hungry, and the cat, well - the cat has decided to take advantage of the morning sun and has stopped to clean himself.

Outside my door

Outside my door there are two birds vying for prime nesting space. I wonder if they realize the door is open and there is all sorts of warm nooks and crannies in here? They amuse me.