All of these things are true, except that I'm a rural homesteader, not an urban one. The other day, when I met the drunk in the ravine, she was dressed in fashionable slacks, a nice sweater, some killer sunglasses and a fair amount of bling. I, on the other hand, was dressed in flannel-lined overalls, an old t-shirt, and I don't think I'd combed my hair, much less put on any make-up that particular day. I'm sure I looked like somebody's inbred country cousin. She was probably figuring she'd be hearing banjo music any moment. As far as today goes, I keep dodging in and out of the house as little breaks in the rain happen to install drip lines on the cottonwood trees I planted last week. It's just not home unless there's the lovely strand of cottonwood trees somewhere on your property, in my opinion. These trees are the grand-trees of some I planted in the first home I owned (I pulled striplings off those, which grew into trees at our new house, then pulled striplings off them before we moved last spring, which I'm hoping will grow here). To say I'm sentimental about them is an understatement. I'm hoping with regular water and a few months of winter dormancy they will roar to life in spring and start growing. And THAT is what I do.
I was outside cutting some roses at about 3 pm yesterday when I heard the sound of an engine racing, followed by some scraping, bumping sounds. I looked across the yard just in time to see a Toyota Prius flying across our neighbors' yard and then bumping down an undeveloped easement between our property and theirs. At first I thought it was teenagers, testing the limits of their car to see if they could make it to the bottom of the hollow and back up the other side, and my second thought was that this was a Prius, and that no one in their right mind would do that. Once the car came to a stop at the bottom of the hollow, I ran over to make sure no one had been seriously injured. A lone driver, a woman about my age, got out of the car and introduced herself. She was completely unflustered, which flustered me, but she was unhurt and said she was just going to call her husband if she was unable to drive back out the way she'd careened in. She attempted to turn the car around (that's when I snapped this pic) but without 4WD could not do much more than spin her wheels in the dirt and brush. So while she waited for her husband, we stood around and chatted, and that was when I smelled the alcohol on her breath. She explained she'd been at a canasta party at the Newcomer's Club, which was being hosted by a resident up the street, and had not been paying attention when she missed the turn and went off-road down the canyon. And it was here I faced my dilemma of whether to let her and her husband solve the problem or involve the CHP. Eventually I opted to call CHP and let them take down an accident report, in case our neighbors' property had been damaged in any way. I also did not like the thought of them successfully getting her car back on the road and her driving home, as she lived about 30 miles away and had, after all, been drinking. I figured the CHP could better ascertain her sobriety than I could. Living in wine country, we see buzzed driving all the time, although not usually in our specific neighborhood. There's no question that wine tasting is to this area what slot machines are to Vegas -- a ubiquitous, regular part of life. And I can imagine how tempting it would be to attend an afternoon event and, without a designated driver in tow, give in to the temptation to kick back and have a couple of glasses of vino. But a few minutes after I called the CHP (and was feeling guilty about it) a young mother and her two kids walked up the road to see what was happening. It turned out her 10 year-old son had been just off the street when the woman blew by him, and said she was traveling at a high rate of speed. And I realized that this boy would have been in danger had he actually been in the street, instead of off to the side of the road. And then I felt less guilty about calling the incident in. Because whether you are a resident or a tourist, and whether you fit a profile of what we normally think of as a buzzed driver, if you hit the road after any significant amount of wine tasting, you're breaking the law and endangering your friends and neighbors. And if you're serving up that wine tasting, even if it's in the comfort of your home, you still have a responsibility to not allow buzzed people to hit the road after your little soiree. There will thankfully be no permanent grief caused by this little incident; no one was injured (except the Prius, which got towed away) and in time the tire tracks and scrape marks down the hill will grow over. But it was a powerful lesson for our household that the designated driver rule is always a good one, whether you're 21 or 51, especially here in wine country, where the good reds flow and you can't throw a rock without hitting a wine tasting party of some sort or other.
Tonight I have a full belly and am sitting in a warm house. I will take a hot bath later on and then go to sleep in a soft bed. These are all things which are far too easy to take for granted. And, as the season of Thanksgiving approaches, I want to remember to feel grateful for all of them. They are simple, they are relatively inexpensive, and yet they mean so much.
About a week ago I left a voicemail with a local nature conservancy, offering to become a volunteer. This afternoon they called me back, and I was thrilled to speak to the woman in the office, and excited to hear about the many opportunities they have for those who want to help. This conservancy covers an area where I spent many happy hours over the last 20 years. Sometimes, it was just a day trip, and other times, I'd come for longer. I walked the ocean bluffs with my son and my mother, and later on,with my new husband and stepkids. Over the years, we've brought friends along and shown them the magic of the place. Being there has always provided me joy, solace, peace, hope and comfort, and the idea of giving something back to it, helping keep it great and even make it better, makes me so happy. On Saturday I will go and help scatter native grass seeds in areas where it is sparse. And I will see what else lies in store for me as I get more involved. The one thing I know is that it is important to BE involved. As I was brought out of the place we lived into this paradise, I realize how important it is to give back, as a way of saying thanks to God and as a way of keeping it beautiful and vital for generations to come. You can throw money at causes like this, and that is, of course, appropriate, because some preservation can only happen when dollars get spent. But if you have the time, it's also important to give that as well. For years I had young children at home and couldn't commit to much, due to their needs and schedules, but at this point in my life, I can. As much as it makes me sad sometimes that my kids have grown and gone on with their lives, knowing I can still contribute something important for the greater good makes me happy. Today, I am thankful for being able to do that. And I'm excited about Saturday.
Sometimes I wonder how many negative experiences we draw to us due to our own negative mindset. Last night I was a little ticked at my husband because he decided to go to a work dinner at the last minute and didn't make sure I knew about it. This morning the auger stuck on our new pellet stove. This pellet stove has had issues. One time the mode light blinked for no reason (I unplugged it, then plugged it back in and it went away), another time it burned so hot the smoke detectors came on, and now it's blinking a code that tells me the auger is not feeding pellets into the stove. Obviously, I'm going to report whats going on to the guy who sold it to us, but I am going to try and un-stick the auger myself before I talk to him. It's going to be well below freezing this weekend and I'd like some heat that doesn't come from the expensive, propane-burning furnace. Did we get a lemon of a pellet stove, or is life just handing out a few lemons in general to see if I make lemonade, or just put on my scrunchy sour face and pass on the sourness?
The days when I come in the house mid-afternoon, hot and sweaty from working outside, and feel desperately ready for a warm shower are the best ones. These days my time is spent between reading an incredible book on Kabbalah and performing chores and manual labor around the house. It's all about balance, isn't it? Feed your spirit, feed your body. Become enlightened, think about it while you muck out the chicken coop. I believe this is the natural balance of things, and that if the whole world ran like this it would be a better place. Perhaps that was the idea behind the Kibbutz -- the farms in Israel so many of my friends sojourned to work on in the '70's and '80's. Most went to make a pilgrimage to their ancestral lands and practice their Hebrew. But for many of them, their time working the land in The Holy Land was disappointing, because it was a mostly secular task. Or nationalistic. One friend was handed an Uzi on his first day in the field and told how to shoot in the direction of the hills where grenades were regularly launched from. One has to defend oneself, it's true, but if its spiritual growth you're seeking, shooting at people probably doesn't help advance your understanding much. But up here on our little hill, I can read the words of the sage rabbis and then go outside and prune a fruit tree or muck some chicken poop while I think about it. It's a good way to really absorb what you're reading, and think about how it applies to your own life. The buddhists have a phrase which sums it up nicely: Before enlightenment, chop wood and carry water. After enlightenment, chop wood and carry water. That says it perfectly.
