By: EarlB, 1:23 AM GMT on May 01, 2007
When I put the first trail into the woods last winter to make it easy
to move serendipitously gained firewood from woods to woodshed, I had
no idea that one thing leading to another, with trail expansion and
improvement, would lead to a so much more intimate relationship with the
world so close around me. Trail-building was a job put off as secondary
to what "needed" doing.
I'm not a "indoor" person, I'd sooner be outside working or playing than
anything else. I travel. I travel with my eyes, ears and heart open.
Everywhere I go, I try to go with senses open to the new, the unique, the
wonder of all. I suppose my attitude stems from my grandfather telling me
that "everyone has a story". He'd talk to anyone. I'll talk to anyone.
Everyone does have a story. But what does this have to do with the trails?
I was walking along the trail and came upon one of our local orchids, a lady's
slipper. But, not one, not two, a whole raft of them. It has been 20 years since
last seeing them, let alone so many of them.
I've walked along the trail twenty or more times, and mowed it clean three
or four times. And this day it was new again. Another story, of old friends
A tree, a trail, a need to listen to the story, a need to follow the trail
of my heart. My reward came in the form of these jewels, my wealth untold.
Updated: 1:33 AM GMT on May 01, 2007
By: EarlB, 12:49 AM GMT on April 18, 2007
It was a gift from a friend that inspired this entry. It was an unanticipated
gift for only a modest bit of help. Maybe the gift was for being there just
when help was needed, but it was an unexpected gift. As I thought about how nice of a
gesture the gift-giving was, I realized that the surprise of it made the gift extra
This is the time of the year for surprise. Two weeks ago we had (and most of us enjoyed)
a late-season snow. For my part, snow is always a treat for the senses; sight,
sound, smell, touch, and, for lovers of "snow creme", even taste. For those of us
living in warmer climes, snow is a gift, a rare gift. If you were lucky enough
to be out and walking, out and wandering and wondering amidst the freshly painted
landscape, it was truly a visual feast. I can't talk about winters and snow like my
northern friends, but these memories will keep me until our next chance at winter so many
months from now.
Then, only two weeks later, to see the first blossoms of apples. The earlier blooms of
peaches suffered as a result of the late snow, but the apples escaped the ice
and snow, staying clamped tightly through those few days of cold. They showed the
slimmest slip of pink up until today's grand opening: two weeks after snow
weighed on the branches, the branches now floated with new color.
Look around, this IS the season of surprise, from the small treats to the most
obvious of changes. If our eyes are open, if our ears can hear, if we really
smell the wind, we will be a part of the great surprise of springtime, rather than
just observers of it. We will blossom. We will be the wonder of still sleeping eyes.
And, why this gift? Because we were there just when help was needed.
Updated: 1:13 AM GMT on April 18, 2007