Still Life

This rare (of course!) neurological thing lets me walk and sit just fine but my legs tremor when standing and they demand I lean on something or sit down. At last I know why hour-long exercise classes wore me out, why I leaned on walls at parties. Mom had a more common and disabling tremor; fortunately she didn't live to see mine. I can stand for a while, more with a cane, but then the legs tremble and I widen my stance (this is called "the Frankenstance"), and widen and widen until I either have to start walking or sit down. I carry the cane to show folks I'm not drunk. It does not hurt, nor is it fatal. Neurologist (my first ever! He's really nice!) can only give stupefying anti-seizure drugs. There is almost no research because no public figure has anything resembling this except Germany's former chancellor Angela Merkel.

Well, I never wanted to stand in lines anyway. So I carry a collapsible stool or wheel a handsome, top-of-the-line  folding rollator (a rolling walker with built-in seat) that I have named The Bolt, or carry a featherweight aluminum folding chair I took fishing. On hikes and mushroom hunts I can sit and rest and then keep going. It was news to me, but the act of standing takes big bandwidth in the brain, and one tires easily.

There are some benefits. People are helpful and kind. If I must seat myself at the hardware store while discussing what wrench I need, the clerk will squat so we're face to face. When I unfold the portable stool in the checkout lane people ask why didn't they think of that, or where did I get it because they need one too, and they tell me why. And in the woods today while sitting for a minute I saw a perfect little still life of oak leaves and the side of the acorn cap that looks like the iris of an eye, and one tiny hopeful green February shoot.

Another doctor prescribed physical therapy, and the exercises increased my strength, balance, and standing time. Exercise holds this thing at bay. If it thinks I am an easy mark, it's mistaken.

It's Not January, Unless

Fern vs Ice? No, Fern and Ice together.

.  .  . unless, on a rather temperate January day in the Divine woods, among its cliffs, ravines, craggy dropoffs, brooks and pools, placing myself in unnecessary physical danger, I crawl, sidle and mud-slide toward a vantage point to photograph a frozen waterfall hoping for a photo more eloquent than most. I feel a responsibility because no one else will ever see these moments in rugged eastern Missouri nature unless I photograph and share.

Beneath the ice, fresh water comes to life.

I love this time of year, anticipating spring's potential, so I chose as my theme "signs of spring."Although it's a bit early yet, an optimist will see what she or he wants to see -- and find it.

The New Firebowl

New firebowl

The firebowl I dug and built, obscured with brush and fallen wood, was a disheartening sight because I love a nice fire for myself and guests; it's just fun to watch and poke at while enjoying adult beverages. Unable to clean it up--and I wanted it moved a couple of feet over--without a chainsaw, I hired Patrick to do it, and not only did he dig and build a handsome new bowl out of stone I'd thrown behind the garage, but chopped and stacked all the fallen and mostly rotted wood, and I will burn some as soon as it stops raining and the wind dies down and I rake for quite a radius beyond the firebowl because there's fallen oak leaves an inch thick from autumn. I don't want to catch a spark.

The property could actually use a controlled burn to eliminate briars and brushy understory, but that won't happen. Meanwhile I'd cogitated on the fact that I'll probably be home more often during this administration and entertain more people, and the firebowl is a fine enhancement as well as potentially useful.

Old firebowl

Here are "after" and "before" pictures, with the "after" picture first, because if I put the "before" first nobody would know what it was. The old firebowl was encircled partly with sawn hunks of wood and partly with concrete and stone. Patrick, camera-shy, would not pose with his handiwork.

New firebowl with woodpile

Reasons Not to Rake This

While convalescing I sat out in the sun, on a folding seat on the stoop, and took a nice long look at the work I had to do, like, to properly shove the door open and enter and leave the house: oak leaves, twigs, hickory leaves, acorns, hickory nutshells. I enjoy looking at work I can put off until later, when ALL the leaves have finished falling. Why rake twice? Why rush things? Why not enjoy the riches some people don't have -- trees and autumn leaves around their front stoop? Why not imagine each leaf is a dollar bill?

Welcome Autumn

1. Bedsheets from cotton to flannel.
2. Pajamas from cotton to flannel.
3. Plug in the heated mattress pad.
4. Place and plug in all three space heaters.
5. Arrange for a helper to spend the day helping me "plastic my windows" and doors against drafts. With help and two hair dryers it takes one day. Alone it takes three or four days.
6. Check propane tank fill level. (Done. It's at 45 percent.)
7. Fold and store the tent.
8. Scrub and oil most garden tools; take dull ones for sharpening.
9. Obtain salt block for animals.10. Obtain kitty litter for icy walks.
11. Cram possible mouseholes, mouse thruways, and crannies with steel wool.
12. Diagram and begin to build the outdoor fireplace made of concrete blocks that I saw in Mother Earth News.
13. Accept all invitations to wineries, Oktoberfests, hayrides, day hikes, sausage festivals, haunted houses, church bazaars, feasts, and any other riotous celebratory events, and issue invitations for at least two of my own.

Unfoldings

I look with reverence at plants. Brave things, alone, unfolding out of rock, or between cracks in sidewalks, or in the dark where they live on little love or water. They freely give fruit that's the basis of the food for all living creatures, and flowers that feed all sorts of amazing aerial and terrestrial creatures (a bunny just ate the leaves off my sole surviving baby kale!). In a a miraculous partnership plants trade oxygen for the carbon dioxide breathed out by those of us who are mobile. The finest trees grow greater and more impressive as they age, falling with a mighty crash, totally spent, after a hundred fifty years of patiently waiting for human beings to "get" what trees know and demonstrate and witness: that everything's a miracle and it's enough to be alive, stand still and contemplate it all as the earth turns through starry space...