Magic strikes when we least expect it. Or perhaps we only notice the magic when we aren’t looking for it. That happened to me this morning.
It was like peeking through a portal… Ella and I were on our everyday walk around the orchard and fields, enjoying the sounds and smells and even sunshine (for which I am especially thankful this year). A sense of happiness washed over me, like a morning shower or a summer breeze. Suddenly my usual joy at having that quiet time to start the day was even more acute. Everything was just right. I breathed deep, to try and soak it all in and hold the moment in my head.
I don’t know why I got a dose of fairy dust this morning; I’m not sure if it was destined for me or if I was just the lucky soul that happened upon the moment. I’ve been clinging to it all day, the way one tries to remember an old song.
It is said that the time of seasons changing is when our chance at glimpsing more of the universe is most possible. Structures like standing stones and pyramids are said to gather energy and allow for its focus. A few other bloggers I follow have written about similar moments they witnessed or experienced, so maybe the stars are aligned. We did just go through the summer solstice… Maybe zucchinis planted just right, or walking a certain way through the rows of fruit trees can do the same thing.
Whatever it was, I am grateful. I even figured out that old song in the back of my mind, so I thought I’d share it. It’s oddly fitting, too.
This is it. The longest day of the year. It was hit and miss for sunshine here but I managed a few candid shots…
It might not be our usual decadent summer this year, but it was another day above the dirt for me, as the saying goes, and that’s good whatever the weather.
My last post was about the simple joy of the flowers in the garden, and when I stop to smell the flowers, as my mom always encourages, it makes me think of my favourite verse in a poem I studied in high school, “Ode. Imitations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood”.
Then sing, ye birds, sing, sing a joyous song!
And let the young lambs bound
As to the tabor’s sound!
We in thought will join your throng,
Ye that pipe and ye that play,
Ye that through your hearts to-day
Feel the gladness of the May!
What though the radiance which was once so bright
Be now for ever taken from my sight,
Though nothing can bring back the hour
Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower;
We will grieve not, rather find
Strength in what remains behind;
In the primal sympathy
Which having been must ever be;
In the soothing thoughts that spring
Out of human suffering;
In the faith that looks through death,
In years that bring the philosophic mind.
-William Wordsworth (1770-1850)
As a teenager, I loved the rhyme but the meaning of the words didn’t really sink in. For some reason though, it stuck in my head, and as I get older it becomes increasingly poignant.
Perhaps my romantic nature is part of why I became a foodie. The nature of a meal is ephemeral at best, lasting only as long as food is on the table. Capturing the magic of shared company and tastes (in the food and the people) has created the fabric of so many memories for me. That fabric has become the tapestry of my life.
The garden has the same quality, always changing and following the circle of life. It has been a great lesson for me to learn that the faster I cut away the old blooms, the sooner the plants will offer up more in return. (Turning a blind eye only prolongs the sorrow, with dead stalks waving in the wind instead of the vibrant colour of new life.)
Another of my favourite writers is Tom Robbins, a more modern fellow than Mr. Wordsworth, but with the same romantic tendencies. He spoke of childhood too, and how as adults many of us search to maintain that sense of wonder kids know innately.
I’ll close off with a quote from “Still Life with Woodpecker”, one of my most cherished reads of all time.
The romance of new love, the romance of solitude, the romance of objecthood, the romance of ancient pyramids and distant stars are means of making contact with the mystery. When it comes to perpetuating it, however, I got no advice. But I can and will remind you of two of the most important facts I know:
1. Everything is part of it.
2. It’s never too late to have a happy childhood.
― Tom Robbins, Still Life with Woodpecker
If it seems a bit obtuse, I can only recommend you read the book. If it makes sense, well then I hope we come into contact some time so we can share in the magic.
Despite the heat we’ve had that melts butter on the counter, and the flooding that has streams and lakes rising past record levels, there is simple beauty around.
We have sardonically joked that it’s a good year to be poor enough to not afford lakefront property. My garden is well above water. We lost a few big branches from one of our lilac trees last night but that’s all. (They were waterlogged and beaten down by previous hits from ambitious woodpeckers. )
If you’ll pardon the expression, I thought I’d show the cup half full in what for many is a time of tense anticipation or even tragedy.
I hope you can smile at these the way I do. As my mom always says, “it’s important to stop and smell the flowers.” Breathe deep.
TGIF. It’s a full moon tonight and the Farmers Almanac says June is all about roses and strawberries so that’s what it’s called. I like the idea of a moon with a pink tint. Is that like seeing the world through rose coloured glasses, I wonder?
This is also the last weekend I have to sit back and soak in all this beauty and wonder. So, I intend to do just that. I wish you a wonderful weekend, with good food, wine and company. Cheers!