The Pasture 

by Robert Frost

I'm going out to clean the pasture spring;

I'll only stop to rake the leaves away

(And wait to watch the water clear, I may):

I shan't be gone long. -- You come too.

I'm going out to fetch the little calf

That's standing by the mother. It's so young,

It totters when she licks it with her tongue.

I shan't be gone long. -- You come too.

One of the most naive and foolish tendencies I have is to invite others on adventures they don't have any interest in embarking on.  I think for a moment, "hey. . . this is grand! Everyone should taste, see, read, do, hear, or experience (etc.) this or that particularly wonderful thing that I come across in my life studies.  

Sharing our perspective with others is a rather common human desire, although it's usually translated into something more to the effect of "Me! Me! Look how great I am!"  And thus we can more fully understand the popularity of social network websites.  I believe we can find even shinier treasures.  While we're in the social zone, why is it such a popular trend to constantly compare ourselves to each other to the effect of making each other completely miserable and bleakly uninspired?  Freedom from this is a cozy bit of personal bliss.  

Excitement for life, however, is truly a rare bit of beautiful light. Those that have it, don't need my thumbs up on anything they do.  They are happy because they know real goodness, outside of the mass opinion.  

I killed many flies this past summer, as you can imagine since we live in the country.  Once, during this season of slaughter, I thought to myself what a waste of life to kill so much! If I were in a dark, lonely, and dreary cell, I would love that fly for the spark of life within it's little hairy body.  I would love it for the opportunity to imagine its perspective, even through the compound eyes. "Oh, to be a fly on the wall. . ." Or, even better, to be the simple fly that inspires me to appreciate life and all of its brilliantly tailored lessons.

"I shan't be gone long. You come to?" 

 

 

Chickens and Dirt

 I Enjoy Seeing Chickens on the Fence

I like it because it defies the idea that a chicken is a feathery ball of fear. 

She could flutter forward into the pasture and face adventures unknown.  

Or backwards into the yard. Maybe she'll sit right there as long as she pleases.  It's really a matter of agency, and not being driven by fear.  Truly, if my hen was driven by fear, there is only one place she could go. . .back to the coop.

It seems like whatever I learn and/or face in life, it probably leads me to pick from similar available options:  Forward, backward, retreat, or wait on it.

 A Little Dirt Never Hurt

There is no shortage of dirt around our place.  This means there is a also a great deal of washing that goes on.  It's such good fun to teach a young child that it's alright to get dirty--in fact sometimes we can't get good work done without plunging right in it.  This is when I like to say, "Don't worry about it, I will help you get cleaned up when we're finished." Reminds me of Someone else I know and love with all my heart.

 September 24, 2013 

Wakey, Wakey, Eggs and Blog

Repeatedly Rediscovering the Long, Lost Blog

1:37pm

In our house, we have a tradition in the afternoon.  I’m told that it is also practiced in many other cultures; and perhaps I’ve experienced this first hand when I found myself disappointed in a small town in Spain while looking for an afternoon snack.  

We like to have what we call. . . a siesta.  

I thought today that I don’t always feel like sleeping during this period of time that is so important to the evening contentedness of very young children.  I remembered an old blog that I started years ago. . . why not write a thing or two?  It doesn’t have to be long, in fact I thought that maybe I could do short entries that are the haiku-version of journal  blogging.  We’ll just have to see.