My soul feels nurtured, my ailments begin to heal and my heart sings of belonging when I sit on my front porch. The neighbourhood is often quiet of traffic or people during certain times of the day which I feel are solely mine. If I sit long enough in one of my favourite places, I can hear and witness all manners of creatures. The chilly prairie breezes carry the sounds before the arrival of four tiny Canadian Geese, freshly out of the nest in a nearby bog, fly in a sloppy V towards me. Their honks are wobbly and tinny compared to those of their parents. I watch them until they are swallowed up by the gray blobs of clouds that threaten rain but can not follow through, due to the sun stealing moments in between spaces. For an instant the sun shines through again and showcases two gophers across from me whistling at each other and chasing in a flurry of tails and frolicking hops. My flowers and birdseed await bumbling bees and tiny birds of flight. I wait silently, hoping they will be found.
The first bee that buzzes to the flowers by my side, after what feels like hours, is plump already. That is a good sign. I smile quietly as I watch it take what needs to be taken. Half an hour later the first brave Chickadee sticks it's beak into the bird feeder before quickly flying away.
The wind pushes more clouds over the sun. For a moment I close my eyes and feel the sun trying to shine it's warmth through. The slight arctic chill in the breeze whips my hair and I suddenly notice that chirping has been silenced. My eyes open to green slanted eyes staring back. The black cat with white paws stalks over our front yard rocks. It assesses me, decides that today it does not want to come over for a pat or a treat, and gingerly hops over our front fence and into the field to see if it can eat more gophers. We see it often on the hunt and it's plump belly showcases it's successes.
I love this space. I can hear crickets chirp from the marsh a few metres away in the evening. I see varying species of birds nest down into the bullrushes. Sometimes at night I can hear the coyotes salute the full moon. On a snowy winter's night, we witnessed a Moose, antlers curvy and majestic, walk down the street, away from our home. I wished to follow. Instead I watched, starry eyed at how magickal normal life can be.
Deer have also pranced into the field and into our vision on quiet summer nights. Snowy owls have hooted their song and skunks have taken up residence nearby. On our back deck we heard rummaging one night, to see the cute little form of a black and white skunk. Shielded from a possible spray inside, we had the joy of watching the adorable creature for an hour. Luckily, it moved onward, but these kind of moments make me infinitely thankful for where I find myself at home in.
This HOME of BEING feels like John Stamos'* smile. Who can resist that warmth of feeling? If I find a person who can not abide him, then I wonder if some of their innocent sense of being is lost. On days where the world feels too much, I sit on my deck and I am reminded that the richest beauty is often in the simplest things. I still have the freedom to sit outside and soak up all that is. The tulips are popping up, as we finally are seeing green in our northern land of snow and ice. It's a short, precious season.
My husband recently remarked, "We have ten trees in our front yard alone. That is more than our whole street has." (Actually our surrounding ten homes have a total of two trees.) I asked him if it would be considered socially inappropriate to offer to buy, plant and take care of for the first season, one tree per neighbour. He said it probably would, which baffled me. They could choose the spot, but he said such things are not really accepted as offers in neighbours. This made me infinitely sad. I love my trees and would gladly help my neighbourhood cultivate more for the birds to roost, the caterpillars and ants to climb, and the wind to rustle.
One of the greatest beauties to give the world is to plant a tree or some flowers. All one really needs is the ground and some good intentions, a bit of water and caring time. Yet, the riotous colours of flowers feeding the outer ecosystem seem to be be generally undervalued. Luckily nature has a way. It's favourite way seems to be the hearty heavy hitter of the herb/flower world; Dandelions. Yet, there is a spray solely for it. Isn't it that the way we sometimes go? We forget that things planted can offer more than a sunny bright patch of beauty, but also herbal healing teas, nurturing presence and the first important food for bees. Instead we spray for the hopes of a perfectly manicured grass patch that soaks more water than it should, and does not feed the ecosystem as much as a bunch of diverse weeds, herbs, flowers, shrubs and trees would.
My heart awakens in the elements of nature. While I am not an outdoor sports gal at all, I am one with the cultivated, yet still wild within itself, nature surrounding me. When the sun comes out from a cloud in it's full warmth and the breeze enhances the scents of wild roses, I am transported back to my grandmothers home as a child. She cultivated gorgeous gardens stocked with wild flowers and purposefully planted schemes of the imagination. I would be sent outside to play, but my favourite thing to do was walk around and around from the front yard to the back. I would touch the stone wall on the side of the house and smell the yellow buttercups. The grand ship sitting in the neighbours yard was close enough to touch, and lent a Peter Pan type energy to my imaginative world. I would talk to the flowers believing that little sprites were listening. I would gather pine cones to make a circle under the large conifers. If I sat down on the soft patches of grass, my eyes would eventually find the clothesline full of linens flapping in the breeze. The light laundry smell warming in the sun would fill me with peace. All was right in the world when I was at Grandma's house. I did not realize until my thirties, that I had the gardening bug in me as well. I thought it was just my husband's interests, but it turns out I was connected from a wee babe.
I belong to the big skies where hours upon hours stretch out with full possibilities. In a short span of time the sky can change from foggy gray to patches of azure to pink ocean depths or to a world enveloped in silvery flakes.From season to season, the skies continue to inspire, enhance and remind me, both of how large I am in my world, and how very small. A blanket of stars is often the last sight I see in my window before I sleep. Upon waking it's the brilliance of drastic changes and possibilities reflected in the sky. The symbols of freedom, heritage and passionate, ever changing spirits.
The skies hold hope, steady inspiration within every changing circumstances, and wild freedom. Looking into the stars, following the moon path, gazing into afternoon sun clouds, or being enveloped by a heaven full of fluffy flakes steals breath from the lungs and pumps it back into the heart. From dusk to dawn, inspiration arrives simply by walking to my window and looking out over open fields and stretching skies. As Owl City croons so aptly, "Pour me a heavy dose of atmosphere..."
An hour flew by when my husband and I snuggled on our front porch mattress, basking in the sun. My head was nestled on his chest and it reminded me of a song we used to listen to all the time, so I put it on repeat, as the soothing gait of McGraw filled the hush of a sunny afternoon. "Creek goes rippling by, I've been barefooting all day with my baby, Brown leaves have started falling, Leading the way, I like it best just like this, Doing nothing all the way, So let's lay down in the tall grass, Dreaming away,And all I wanna do is let it be and be with you, and watch the wind blow by, And all I wanna see is you and me go on forever, like the clear blue sky, Slowly, there's only, you and I, And all I want to do is watch the wind blow by."- Tm Mcgraw
One of my favourite pastimes and dates with my guy, is to drive in the backroads of the country. We find nooks that are ours alone to spend time how we please. We have found little ponds with cattle grazing, a buffalo farm nearby, and dips of almost impassable off roads filled with rocks and shrubs. There are no hidden cameras, GPS often does not work, and we are alone with nature.
Nature is how, besides my relationships and inside my home, I find meaning in the hardest of times. My pain is often lessened by sitting for a few hours outside in the sunshine. Petrichor soothes as droplets hit the window pane. At night, if I am having a light attack of pain, I will make my way out to marvel at the stars, and hope to catch a glimpse of the wolf in the moon. I feel the protection along with the wildness. Nature is full of contrasts and paradoxes...just like me. It's deeply flawed and absolutely horrid at times, and YET it can be so breathlessly beautiful with raw intensity that one has to catch a breath. It is full of extremes. No climate suits my persona more. I love it and hate it at times when it can also be a source of pain. The beauty is a raw, real sort of haunting that reaches deep and latches it's roots down into the system of life. The inspiration rises from the dirt just like the Rockies rise from tumbled trees. The depressing aspects are wiped clean like the winds forming the HooDoos. I love these wild spaces . It’s the fairytale full of peril and majesty. It’s the garden where life began to teem with thriving beauty. It’s the simple cottage cultivated for comfort in the unpredictable landscapes of life. It’s a loving grandmas home where the freedom to roam is not only safe but rife with the spirit of wonderland. “You can learn a lot of things from the flowers... all in the golden afternoon.” It’s my place in this world yet also anyone else’s who cares to choose it- that individual collective seems to sum up the most sacred within all.
*If you like John Stamos- his new show Big Shot on Disney Plus- is becoming a family favourite of ours.
