You are currently browsing the daily archive for May 9th, 2009.
I am in awe when the wild things, both animals and I suppose humans, dare to make themselves known in a city. Even in Alaska, when bear, moose, porcupines, or skunks saunter through the downtown area, I stand in awe. I mean how different a city is to their country way of life.
This morning I awoke to the sounds of wild turkey calls, lots of them. I drifted in and out of sleep as every time I flipped over, I found another comfy place to slumber. Finally, those turkeys called loud enough and long enough that they actually called me out of my nice warm and cozy bed to peer out the living room window. And there they were, marching two by two up the road. I would say they were a sight for sore eyes or that their beauty was astounding but that would not be truthful. Wild turkeys are not exactly beautiful to my eyes but they are certainly an entity onto themselves. Wild turkeys most definitely seem brave and maybe even a little entitled. When cars don’t give way to them on the road, they call out as if to say, ‘how dare you? move out of our way! don’t you know that we’re Wild Turkeys?”
The day was filled with wild turkey calls and the road in front of our cottage was transformed into Wild Turkey Lane, as they continued to march along at various intervals throughout the day. I am not sure where they were headed ~ perhaps there was a Wild Turkey Wedding taking place nearby, or a funeral, or graduation ceremony. Maybe a Wild Turkey Fair. Whatever the event, I am glad that the wild made themselves known today. This City Woman’s spirit soaked up a little bit of their wildness and that was a good thing.
Learning to like a place takes time. For me, a good deal of time it would seem. Yesterday I took a step toward appreciating where I am, the third or fourth step in this diresction that I have taken in the past almost eight months. Like I said, I take my time.
We have a lemon tree in our drive way. Not smack dab in the middle of the drive way. No. A tree by the silvered-over-time wood fence at the end of the drive way. For some reason the leaves of this lemon tree stay mostly yellow, as if it’s not getting enough nourishment or maybe getting too much. Anemic. But there are lemons. Always. or so it seems to this woman who hails from the north.
Earlier this week, the doorbell rang and when I opened the front door, there stood my partner in crime with his arms and hands laden with lemons. These lemons lounged about on the kitchen counter for two days. Meanwhile, the lemons weren’t exactly just lollygagging around. No. They spent their time calling out to me. Softly at first ~ “come pick us up, inhale our heavenly lemony scent.” But then their calls grew more insistent ~ “come on lady, we came in here to make some lemonade, get the lead out.” Finally, they started talking what amounted to lemon smack talk ~ “so a little squeezing must be too hard for you huh, Lady? Why didn’t you just let us rot on the ground, stay on our tree? We don’t want you coming near us anyway. Keep your paws to yourself. We’re just chillin’ here in your cluttered kitchen.”
So it was that yesterday, I flung down the book I was reading, jumped up from the eggplant colored velvet loveseat on which I’d been stretched out, enjoying the sun pouring through my south facing window, to answer the lemon’s call. It was a first for me, making fresh squeezed lemonade using lemons from my own driveway.
In the middle of making this batch of lemonade, I stopped, and sent up a prayer of gratitude to the heavens above for that moment in time of contentment and appreciation, for the lemon tree, the lemons, my hands, my rented cottage. My life. A lesson learned, again, of place and appreciation.
