This blog contains 1000 posts. Posting to Blogger with such a large archive has become unwieldy. Also, your blogista, who is sewing a kesa, is not writing much at present. She has ceased adding new posts. Still-active links are here.

Thursday, October 22, 2015

Almost nothing

While the garden mostly fallows, I have been broadening out my activities a bit. There are many new poems at Collected Poems and some new observations at Journal of a Zenista, but these are sit-down activities.

The main effort has been to walk more, for which there are a lot of attractive opportunities close by. Every day, of course, there is walking the dog, and sometimes I take him with me to places that interest us both;





he is game, but getting older fast. I'm beginning to need to go more places than he can, and so I offer him a treat and he must wait, anguished, for me to return. It's hard for him, these separations, but the immense joy he displays at my return is some compensation, I trust.

The longest drive I permit myself for these jaunts is to the place where my parents' ashes rest. For that, and other journeys closer by, I look for someone to go with me, as my bones, like Toto's are becoming brittle.




Only twelve miles from here there is a National Recreation Trail. Following a stream closely through old growth stands, it provides whatever length journey one wishes, simply by turning around at an agreed-upon time and doubling back. Views are as fresh coming as going.




On this last hike, five wooden bridges, one of which was a simple log with the top side adzed flat, added contemplative opportunities rife with the symbolism of transition. "Taking nothing but pictures, leaving nothing but footprints," we arrived, passed through and among, and were gone, with almost nothing remaining behind to indicate we were ever here.

Sunday, October 11, 2015

Pumping on the treadle

Time to make some holiday cards. A bit of green ink on the ink disk and some pumping on the treadle to distribute it on the rollers.


Lock up the chase.


Run the job.


Come back when the ink is dry on the paper and bag up the products. I did four designs.


Outside, a few sprinkles. Not nearly enough, but appreciated.


Tuesday, October 06, 2015

Waiting for rain

All of us are waiting for rain. A friend's well has gone dry and we are being careful of our water from ours. Here is a tiny fall garden consisting of a few marigolds and beet greens.


On the night of the full moon, I stepped out and looked for the eclipse. The moon was rising already almost at totality, so it took me time to locate it. I dutifully snapped at it with the little cheap camera, and got no result (such as it was) until late in the show:


But it was certainly a show worth watching. I felt thousands of years old, or even millions, witnessing this. 

There was a similar eclipse in May of 1975. I watched that one with many people of my own age, on a farm that had no electricity, not long after my first arrival alone in Oregon. We drank Oly and Rainier and stood around a fire and chatted and howled and danced, and I spent the night in a tipi. None of my four children is as young as I was then.


I'm getting off the farm more, now that the orchard is done and the garden, or most of it, is in fallow. Much of the time is spent hiking nearby trails, of which there are plenty, with the little dog. He can only go so far at his age.

But that's true for me too.


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