There are six alder trees

Month unknown 1994

I have started to read "Faith in a Seed" by Henry David Thoreau and it set me thinking about nature, trees in particular.  After several years of little summer rain, water usage was greatly restricted.  As a result, I watered as little as possible, to such an extent in fact, I secretly feared we might lose some, or perhaps all of our native greenery.  To my amazement, last spring, every single plant, shrub and tree greened up.

True, they did not appear as robust as years past and I noticed in particular that the group of alders around our park bench was not lush with leaves.  Still, they had survived, but even in August, when I gazed upward through was is normally a canopy of lush green leaves, I could see patches of blue sky.  I suspected this was the way it would be forever more.

After last year's sorrow for the alders I took joy in the leaves that woefully hung to the ends of their spindly branches, bravely providing whatever shade they could.  All the trees on the whole did not appear healthy. Indeed they seemed to be struggling for survival.  Once watering was no longer restricted I tried to provide adequate moisture for them.  In particular, I watched the six alders closely, fearful we would have to cut a few, or perhaps all of them down. Then, this year, 1994, it happened, I saw God's hand at work.  New branches began to appear along the trunks of the trees, close to the old branches.  True, they are small, some barely noticeable, but, nonetheless, the trees have begun to heal themselves.  It is as though some inner healing had to happen first, before any visual proof could be seen that the trees would indeed survive. 

With happy heart I walked the yard inspecting other shrubs and trees.  For the first time I SAW THE HEALING AT WORK. I COULD ALSO SEE THE TRUE EXTENT OF THE DAMAGE THE DROUGHT HAD DONE.  Especially in the shrubs.  Parts of them had died, and the parts that hadn't struggled for survival in the same way humans do against death.  It brings me great hope for the future to see each shrub (with a determination I will never understand) send out new shoots from underground, healthy and resolved to propagate their species.  However, it is the alders that have affected me the most because I truly thought they were going to die.  With every passing week I watch their new branches grow, slowly, sleepily extending outward, filling in the empty abandoned spots.  Is it their purpose to eventually take the place of the old and sickly branches?  I don't know and only time will tell.  Till then I'll simply enjoy these little miracles. 

I have a new admiration for the Creator and the secrets He is willing to share.  It reminds me of a pompous request I asked Him long ago.  I prayed, "Lord, let my faith be so, that I could move a tree from here to there."  He laughed.  I felt great remorse for having asked and quite chided in his laughter.  Then, He said, "You'll never move a tree from here to there, but I have given you an even greater gift.  Can't you see how I have let you grow them well, and in great abundance?"  Indeed He has, but He continues to be the Master. It is His handiwork that saved my alders from the drought.  I only continue to tend.  I thank Him every day for the gift to grow His trees.

So, there I was.

Sitting on my park bench.  Crocheting.

Zorro is doing his bounding around the yard, sniffing, greeting neighbors on their afternoon constitutionals and otherwise entertaining himself.

Suddenly, something is amiss.  I heard metallic 'ping', and the wooden slats beneath my butt feel insecure. What the heck?  Oh, I know THIS  can't be good.  I'm almost afraid to move.

Peculiar isn't it, when you know there's an unexpected 'something' looming that is going to disrupt you lazy, hazy late spring afternoon?

Shoot.

But stand up I do, and I can see through the wooden slats, the metal brace holding the slats into place is hanging loose.  Crap!  Sigh.  Since neighborhood ladies come to visit, I know I'm going to have to repair this before somebody sits on this bench and plops all the way down to the ground.

So, I get down onto the ground and scrunch myself under the bench, like a mechanic trying to get under a car and have a 'look-see' around.  To my dismay, I discover, the screw that held the metal brace to the wooden slat had rusted 'clean away'.  While the accompanying one, was simply...gone.  "Oh, my."  This is definitely not good.

It's late in the afternoon, I thought I was done with my chores and I hate, hate, hate unexpected occurrences like this.  I know I've got to take care of this immediately.  I trudge to the house, cursing under my breath. Yes, I know that doesn't help, it never does.

I've got the rusted screw in my hand, I'm surprised how short and stubby it is, and I'm amazed that it ever did any good at all holding the brace into place.  I take my trusty tool box off the shelf, and begin to scrounge around in the miscellaneous screws section.  (Where have they come from in the first place?)  I manage to find one that's just a gauge fatter, a bit longer and hope I can find one more to match. Hallelujah, I do.

I grab one of the Phillips screwdrivers from the bottom section of my tool box and
go confront my demon. I scrunch myself under the bench once more. This is going to be tricky.  I'm on my back and somehow I'm going to have to press the metal strap, wooden strap together, while trying to screw the new screw into place at the same time.  What I really needed was another pair of hands.

After dropping the screw into the grass a couple of times, and having to start over, I got a system going, and before long the new screw was neatly, tightly in place.  Now, for the second screw.  (Honestly, sometimes I'm such a dummy.)  Wouldn't you think, I'd have taken the second screw with me when I went under the bench?  Oh, no...not me.  I had put it on the table sitting next to the park bench.  As a result, I had to extricate myself from under the bench to get the screw, then scrunch myself under the bench one more time.

After I had secured the second screw into place I decide (like a good mechanic) to have a good look around, and discover another screw is missing.  DANG IT.

What's a body to do!  Why of course, what any good body would.  I climb out from under the bench, stomp into the house, look for and find another screw and stomp back out and under the bench.  This time Zorro decided he wanted to help.  There he is, one foot on my chest, his moist pink nose right next to mine.  Of course he's not happy till his nose leaves sweat streaks across the right lens of my glasses. Once he decides I can't play, I'm able to put the third screw into place.

By now, I've worked up a bit of a sweat, and have lost interest in wanting to enjoy a 'sit in the sun'; I tuck the screwdriver in my armpit, put my crocheting into my yarn bag, grab my water bottle and huff and puff myself back into the house.  Zorro hot on my heels.

As I'm putting my tool box away, I'm contemplating this job is not really over.  Since the park benches are so old, I'm thinking that over the summer I'm going to be making several more trips under them.  I'm also thinking I'm thankful I've got such a wide variety of screws in my tool box.  (Where the heck have they come from in the first place?)

September 2000

When I first thought about putting this nature book together, it seemed to be a simple enough project, beginning and ending with edible plants.  However, once it got underway, it took on a life of its own.  I found myself engulfed in an overwhelmingly, delightful, adventure into nature I never would have believed possible.

Inspired by Henry David Thoreau, I chose to mimic his directions, looking carefully at things I generally took for granted, seeing as though I were looking through his eyes.  Instead of a tree, I now wanted to examine each leave, dissect each fruit, and discover new things about each and every object.

When Thoreau wrote, "A man receives only what he is ready to receive, whether physically or intellectually, or morally...we hear and apprehend only what we already HALF KNOW...every man thus TRACKS HIMSELF THROUGH LIFE in all his hearing and reading and observation and traveling.  His observations make a chain.  The phenomenon or fact that cannot in anywise be linked with the rest which he has observed, he does not observe."  (Quote from Faith in the Seed Henry David Thoreau).

I now wanted to become his observer, and somehow carry on his work 150 years later.  Had things changed?  Had things stayed the same?  Had we learned anything at all, or were we still on a path to self-destruction?  I felt an obligation to find out.

June 8, 2014

I hope you will join me, as I occasional write about my observations.  There will be ponderings, surprises, hand drawn illustrations, and dried specimens pictured as well.  Our adventure will begin this week.

Know what I hate?

For starters, getting old.  Man, had I known how ugly it was going to be, I'd have had uplifts, tummy tucks, pushes and pulls, and l-o-o-o-n-g leisurely vacations in exotic places so that every time I looked in the mirror I see somebody that looks 40 instead of (OMG I can't even bring myself to write it down).

Normally I don't look directly at myself when I look in the mirror.  If I'm brushing my teeth I concentrate on looking at them.  If I'm brushing my hair, I concentrate on that.  New eyebrows, eyebrows;  Mascara, what is left of my eye lashes.  Do I ever glance lower than my first and original chin....ARE YOU KIDDING ME. I haven't looked beyond there for a long time.   Makes me shudder just thinking about that...also makes me feel a little nauseated.

So, this morning I made a terrible mistake.

Me:  "Frankie, how do you think I look?"
Frankie:  "It's seven o'clock in the morning, how the heck do you think you look?"
Me:  "I'm serious.  Do I look my age?"
Frankie:  "Baaaaaaaaa, hhhhhhhhaaaaaaaaa, haaaaaaaaaaaa!"
Me:  "Stop that!"

Frankie seems to have taken great delight in my question.  She does not seem to know I'm in crisis here.  I need a confidence booster.  Instead I've got Frankie practically rolling on the floor.  I stand there in silence, arms akimbo waiting for her giggles to subside.

Frankie: (Holding herself tightly.) "Oh you made my sides hurt, you are so funny.  Of course you look your age.  You're going bald, have several chins, wrinkles, and rolls and bumps in places nobody should have."
Me: (More dejected than when this conversation started.) "Really? You're joshin' with me right?"

This brought on a second fit of laughter.  Frankie dragged me to the full length mirror on the wall, behind the door of my office.  She tried to force me to look.  The last time I did this was when my beige suit arrived that I wore to my grandson's wedding.  If you remember that incident, you will recall I looked exactly like an uncooked turkey, ready to be shoved into an oven for a several hour roast.

I swear I have not looked into that mirror since, and I certainly did not intend to now.  I squeezed my eyes tightly shut and refused to look at my refection.  Let's just say Frankie and I engaged in a bit of a tussle.  I managed to escape her grasp.

I felt like Jonah, who found himself at the 'bottom of the mountains', wrapped in seaweed.  Just let me drown.  I slumped onto the sofa to sulk.

Frankie:  "I'm sorry, is there any comfort that I look just like you?"
Me:  "No, go away."

Frankie turned on the television, beginning to click through channels.  She stopped at a commercial for one of those adult panties.

Frankie:  "How old does she look?"
I shrug my shoulders.

CLICK, new channel, new commercial, two old women are discussing whether they should purchase additional insurance.

Frankie: "And, them?"

CLICK, new channel, new commercial, women discuss yogurt that will clear out your bowels, if you eat the stuff twice a day.

Frankie:  "And, them?"

Me:  (Still dejected)  "What's your point?"
Frankie:  "All these ladies have been fixed up to look great.  They've been pampered, made-up, coiffured, fashion-plated to 'not' look their age.  Think about how they look at seven o'clock in the morning, just getting out of bed?  They look just like you.  Every one of them, probably has lumps and bumps just like you.  They probably have thinning hair, and a couple of chins, too.  Who knows what the magic of Hollywood can do."
Me:  So, you're saying?"
Frankie:  "Quit being so hard on yourself, maybe if you just looked at yourself in the mirror, toe to head, head to toe you would see you're not as bad looking as you think.  Come on, let's give it a go."

We walk back to the mirror.  I can't do this, I really, r-e-a-l-l-y don't want to do this. Frankie gives me a good shake.  Slowly I open one eye...then the other...I look only into them in the mirror.  Then, I take in a deep breath and look.

AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.  Oh the horror! Oh the humanity! OMG!

Never again, never....ever...ever again.

Did I mention, I hate getting old?

Oh, and the full length mirror, it's going to be going, going, GONE.

Eating humble pie.

Okay, Frankie pulled me aside yesterday, as did a few others, pointing out that my blog was rather unkind to the homeless, the illegal aliens, and freeloaders.  And I'm sorry I lumped what seemed to some folks all the homeless and illegal aliens into an all rotten barrel of apples.  As for the freeloaders who have corrupted and taken advantage of the Federal and State Government agencies designed for help the down trodden...well, I'm still not sorry for any of them.

Anyway, to the homeless who are mentally challenged, physically or emotionally unable to hold a job and have no family to help support them, I do understand they need our help and we should at the very least provide some sort of shelter for them. The same holds true for some of the illegal aliens who have come here to provide a better life for their families, and who work (off the books, for cash) doing jobs most folk find to 'beneath them and tedious' to want to do, and are living like I do, just trying to make ends meet the best we can.  I'm good with them, we should at the very least provide shelter for them and their families.  It's my wish they would be able to be here legally, and perhaps, some day they will.

After all Lady Liberty standing in the New York harbor, clearly welcomes all.

"Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"
"The New Colossus" is a sonnet by American poet Emma Lazarus 

I still like to believe we would never turn those homeless, tempest-tost away from our golden door. However, I also (sadly believe) the world has changed drastically since that sonnet was written, and in this era there is a group of people who I call the 'professional homeless, and illegal aliens' and of course those ever present freeloaders who have taken advantage of our 'good nature' and have run amok with federal and state funds they are not entitled to, and have not just bent but broken our welfare system.  It was to these folks I vented my anger at yesterday.

And, if indeed, the facility I wrote about yesterday is made into a place of comfort for the downtrodden, let's make sure it is for those who legitimately need the help. That's all I ask.  But, and this is important...I also still want the following to apply:

1.  Whatever monthly government subsidies you receive, 95% will go to support the facility, taking the burden off the tax payers to pay staff salaries.
2.  There will be no smoking, alcoholic beverages or drugs allowed on the premises. Use of them will be cause for immediate expulsion from the facility.
3.  You will work, in the kitchen, in the maintenance of the building, in keeping the grounds in immaculate condition.
4.  You will commit to random drug testing.
5.  You will surrender your animals to qualified shelters so they can spend the remainder of their years in loving, caring homes.
6.  You will endeavor to reconnect with family.
7.  You will look for permanent employment...McDonald's is better than nothing.
8.  You will shower, shave, shampoo, wear clean clothes daily.
(Readers: Feel free to add to this list.)

Yes, if you follow the rules, you will be entitled to participate in whatever this new facility is going to be called. But, also remember, this is not a free ride, it is your opportunity to turn your life around, through hard work and dedication.  America used to be all about the stories of the guy who pulled himself up by his own boot straps.  I still love those kinds of stories.  

There you have it...I'm eating humble pie.  I hope you all accept my apology for my outrageous rant yesterday.  Sigh.  Frankie said  "Get over it."

Sc-rrr-aaape, shuffle, dddd-rrrr-ag.

Screeeeech, push, sc-rrr-aaappp-eee,  ddddddrag, pull.

Okay, I try not to do this, but now that I've dragged my soap box out of its dark corner,

here I go again.

Many years ago, it was thought our community needed a new jail, and lo, the powers that be made that happen.  Oh, it was (is) a fine, beautiful, state of the art, building.  It has everything...except the money to operate it.  So, it was that after a community Open House, it has remained...empty...not one single person has been incarcerated there.  It's as bright and shiny new today as it was when it was built. The only thing operating there is maintenance, especially the plumbing.

Occasionally, some local television news program will do a short 'update' on the facility.  Yes, there they stand microphone in hand, talking about what the local government's next 'bright idea' is to turn this facility into something useful. They are at it again.  NOW THEY WANT TO TURN IT INTO A FACILITY FOR THE HOMELESS.

ARE YOU KIDDING ME!

Yes, they are now saying with modest funding (LOL), this facility can be remodeled into a wonderful place for the homeless to stay/live.  Safe.  Warm.  Secure.  I'm sure these remodeling funds will eventually climb into millions, which, EVENTUALLY I'm sure we tax payers will pay for.

Here's the thing.  I'm sick and tired of supplying 'freebees' for the homeless.  Here I am, hanging on to the ledge of middle class living by my fingernails trying to survive on a limited income, while the homeless, (illegal aliens, and a heck of a lot of free-loaders) seem to be better off than I.

And, yes, I know this sounds like a lot of sour grapes, and it is.  Frankly, I'm seriously p***ed off.  I'm barely managing to keep a roof over my head, pay my bills, buy groceries, afford health care and my medications, without ever getting so much as a pat on the back or a 'well done'.  Again, while the homeless, (illegal aliens, and a heck of a lot of free-loaders) seem to be better off than I.

My question is, what will happen to this beautiful facility after, let's say, a year? Hmmm, scratch that, let's say six months after the homeless have taken it over?  I suspect it will be like the public park a few years back when they took over one of our beautiful parks for a month and COMPLETELY RUINED IT.  Which, once they vacated it, the city, with tax payer money...(don't kid yourselves...no matter what they say, it is tax payers money that pays for the government..not the government's 'budget')...had to pay goodness knows how much to repair the damage.

Come on, I feel there are many other options for this facility, especially if tax dollars are going to be used to help maintain, fund, and otherwise keep it running.  How about a re-hab center for returning vets, good use of tax dollars don't you think?  Or a shelter for battered women, their/or at risk children.  Maybe, a care facility for senior citizens when a family member needs a rest from months or years of caring for their elderly parent/parents.  How about an alternate education and/or training in a trade facility for young adults who can't afford to go to college.  I would much rather my tax dollars go to these kinds of endeavors, wouldn't you?  

However, if you must...if you feel...this facility absolutely needs to go to the homeless, (illegal aliens, and free loaders), let's make sure there are some very strict rules in order to qualify for shelter.

1.  Whatever monthly government subsidies you receive, 95% will go to support the facility, taking the burden off the tax payers to pay staff salaries.
2.  There will be no smoking, alcoholic beverages or drugs allowed on the premises. Use of them will be cause for immediate expulsion from the facility.
3.  You will work, in the kitchen, in the maintenance of the building, in keeping the grounds in immaculate condition.
4.  You will commit to random drug testing.
5.  You will surrender your animals to qualified shelters so they can spend the remainder of their years in loving, caring homes.
6.  You will endeavor to reconnect with family.
7.  You will look for permanent employment...McDonald's is better than nothing.
8.  You will shower, shave, shampoo, wear clean clothes daily.
(Readers: Feel free to add to this list.)

You know what?  If restrictions like those above are required, not one single homeless, (illegal alien, or free loader) will stop by or show up.  Know why? Because, not a one of them wants to be responsible for their own actions.  Heaven forbid they should have to give, give, give.  For them it is all about get, get, get.

And, there you have it.  I'm going to put my soap box back into its corner.  Thanks for letting me get this off my chest.  Me thinks I should probably be ready for stray bullets and rock throwing.  Sigh.


Sc-rrr-aaape, shuffle, dddd-rrrr-ag, screeeeech, push, sc-rrr-aaappp-eee,  ddddddrag, pull.

So often, we look, but do not see.

Quite some time ago, I went through what I called my "Henry David Thoreau Period".  I was fascinated with his nature writings has how thorough and intimate they were.  And, I couldn't help but wonder what he would think about nature today, with species having gone extinct, and others on 'endangered' lists.  At that time, I thought he would probably be appalled at how badly we were treating our environment.

It was then I began to think in earnest about my own environment, and how my very own neighborhood had changed drastically since we moved here in the early '70s.  I had learned from long time residents that the exact spot where my home sits was once a marsh area, that was, through each season filled with wild flowers, frogs, chipmunks, salamanders, California quail, opossums and raccoon.

At the time we arrived and took up residence, the street was not paved, we would get together and collect money to fill the pot holes every couple of years.  There were no street lights, and when it got dark...it really got dark.  You could see the milky way, and the sound of frogs would lull us to sleep.  It was amazing. Even thought the freeway was close by, around ten o'clock each evening, the traffic lessened, and you were not even aware the fast paced thoroughfare was there.

But, over time, the street was paved, more houses were build, trees came down, wildlife habitat dwindled. The frogs were gone, as were the chipmunks, the opossums, and the quail.  A lot of the wild flowers and the tiny red salamanders disappeared as well.  Streetlights appeared, the starry sky disappeared.  Traffic increased, as did the noise of the freeway. We could hear the noise twenty four hours a day.  It sounds like the constant flow of waves rolling into the shore.

So it was the words of Thoreau stunned me.  I wanted to imitate him, I wanted to leave a legacy for my children and my children's children and I began to walk my 'nature path', to a world to discovery.  I knew I was looking, but not seeing and was bound and determined to learn to see, and learn about my environment.  My quest lasted for almost three years.  I filled six journals, drew pictures, collected specimens, researched just about everything with which I came in contact. I filled binders with leaves, flowers, seeds, and bird feathers.  I sensed Thoreau would have been proud of me.

This weekend, I was doing a little garden trimming, and a ladybug landed in my hair, then I saw tiny acorns starting to grow along the branches of my oak tree, dozens of forget my not seeds clung to my clothes.  It was then it occurred to me (again) the magic of nature.  How, seeds move around, how plants seem to (magically) appear in places I haven't planted them and I thought perhaps my blog might be a good place to share what I learned as I mimicked my favorite long ago naturalist.  As a result, I think from time to time I just might write a Rambling Old Woman's nature tidbit with you.  Perhaps I might even intrigue you enough that you will venture into your neighborhood, and not just look but see what's there...before it disappears forever.

Hey, this just might be fun...I hope.