odds

While I was out running on my favorite trail this morning I found a four leaf clover.  I was running up a long hill and at the top I stopped to take in the view (and catch my breath).  I guess I looked down, and there it was.  This is the second four leaf clover I have found in two weeks and the third since June.  I find them often -- always have, though I am never intentionally looking for them.  They just seem to jump out at me.   

What are the odds of finding a four leaf clover?  Informal research suggests that the ratio of four leaf clover to three leaf clover is approximately 1:10,000.  So what are the odds of finding three in less than two months?  Why do they reveal themselves to me with a frequency that even I would not bet on?

A few weeks ago, while we were running errands in preparation for our trip out west, Will called out from the back seat of the car, “Mom, I found a quarter and guess what state it is ... South Dakota.”  The next morning I was clearing some clutter from the top of my dresser and I picked up two quarters.  I don’t know what made me look at them but I did turn them over and don’t you know they were Montana and Wyoming.  These were the three major western states we planned to explore.  

I am divided in my appraisal of these events because they happen often in my life.  The pragmatist in me dismisses them as interesting coincidence -- but my inner mystic lives for this.  I save fortunes from cookies and tape horoscopes to the refrigerator.  I am always looking for the connection I have with each person I meet.  I want to believe that there are no accidents -- that every event is connected and carries weight and meaning, potential and bearing.  And I do.  So much of my life has unfolded as a result of these strange “coincidences.”

If I went out looking for four leaf clovers I know that I would quickly grow frustrated and bored and likely give up, but there must be something within us that is always subconsciously seeking and finding.  Serendipity, by its very nature can neither be summoned, nor forced.  Instead it requires a sort of attentive wandering.  There is much to distract and it’s easy to miss the signs.  I wonder about luck but I think that the luck in finding the clover is not in what its possession may yield so much as it is in being able to see it as you move through the field.  

Some photos from South Dakota, Montana and Wyoming...

navigating by sky

We must have always looked to the sky to find our way.








The sun rises in the east and sets in the west -- the earth rotates on its axis under a map of moon and stars that guide all travelers who understand the code -- explorers, sailors ... birds.  You could easily say I was led here by the sky.  Led by and drawn to.





The July full moon, by the way, is know as the Thunder Moon, or the Buck Moon, for when the new antlers of buck deer begin to grow from their foreheads.



Thanks S, for this last photo.

Boys of Summer

Sometimes things are just as they should be...

Thanks GP for doing all the things that a boy will think of when he remembers his tenth summer.  (too bad I didn't get a go-cart photo)  Love you.

the people we meet along the way

 I have not slept within these walls for more than a few days and I am missing it.

Loading up for a more local adventure, not quite the backyard -- just a little bit south.  

I am anticipating: 

leisure

wooded trails

open water

sunrises

sunsets

moonrises

going to bed smelling like a campfire

waking up covered in dew

solitude

companionship

I made a new friend this morning and I am looking forward to meeting her in person tomorrow.  As we chatted on the phone, it wasn't long before we figured out that we aren't very far removed from each other.  There is no such thing as a stranger and every meeting is an occasion full of energy and potential.  Excited!

Where I'm from...

...we are fully wrapped in summer's embrace.



Everywhere there is evidence that we are back in the sun's favor.  The air is hot and thick enough to carry the aroma of the fields -- grassy, herbal, floral.  A friend who has long ago moved to the dry west said recently that she deeply missed the humidity she took for granted all her life, and indeed as I returned from my latest trip to the west, I was bowled over by the smell of cut grass as we rolled through Illinios.

Driving from one end of this county to the other is always a profound experience.  There is so much to look at and I am surprised by how "big" it is here.  My destination is a farm operated by one of my student's parents.  I've been getting messages for days that the blueberries are coming on and picking is not something that can be put off for too long.  I can't imaginge how berry picking may have fallen from fashion.  I remember many days wading through dewy grass,  waving away buzzing flies with berry stained fingers ... and then pies, jelly, sauce over homemade ice cream.



We are met in the driveway by a benevolent and most lazy dog who wanders out from beneath the porch to dismiss us without so much as an "arf."  Then a sister and my student appear from the house followed by a young boy who, with only a "come on," quickly disappears with my own berry picking "troops."  No matter, the three of us who remain wander out past gardens and quickly come upon bushes and bushes, loaded with fat blueberries the size of my thumb.  We begin to pick and soon there are just two of us, the sister, gone without a word or trace.  My student and I continue picking and chatting about things like summer, 4H projects, babysitting, berrypicking and so on, until we have filled an entire gallon milk container that has been handily modified to serve this purpose.  We head back to the porch and as she weighs the berries, I spy a carton containing quart ball jars full of maple syrup that I remember they made last winter.  A fine example of product placement.



On the road home, we drive past fields, farmhouses and barns.  I think of other roads and the people who live down them, the things they do -- their work and play.  My companion in the back seat claims that he is more of a city person and I try not to feel sad, especially since though I've lived on farms and "in the country," I believe at his age, I may have said the same thing.



When I get to my kitchen I open up my bag of blueberries.  Warmth radiates from them.  They taste sweet and spicy and of the sun.  In my future:  Blueberrry Marmalade, Blueberry Sauce, Blueberry BBQ and, of course, Blueberry Pancakes.

I've never...

but the hills of Iowa make me wish that I could.




Here's what I wrote about Iowa:

"6/19/2011 -- I've never been to Iowa before.  It's like driving through a diorama -- I feel like I am driving a little toy car through a patchwork of corn and grass -- the seams of each field stitched together by rows of trees.  Tiny farm houses dot the landscape and clouds hang from above, suspended like puffs of cotton.  I think if I look hard enough, I will see the filament from which they've been strung."  I later wondered about the size of a pair of hands that might have wrought this.

I am always surprised that, in spite of the name, the Great Plains are far from flat.  They undulate for hundreds of miles -- miles where the mind is free to roam over the hills and wonder.

I could not possibly drive through Iowa without playing this song over and over in my mind.  As I write this, it continues to roll.  Here is what Dar has to say about "Iowa":

"...this came out of a vocal exercise ... and then I put the words to it after driving through Iowa and finding the landscape was so rolling and beautiful, like a vocal exercise."  (I could not love her more -- and try as I might, this video will not embed.  Please click the link below to view Ms. Williams perform for a group of middle schoolers.)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ajKW3X9WtPE&feature=related

Spiders

While I was here ...



... the spiders began to make themselves comfortable in my house.  I am secretely pleased that spiders feel welcome here and consider this as I walk through this house after my absence.  I snag their faint webs across the fronts of my legs and notice that they have spent productive hours in remote corners where the shriveled shells of flies, etc. remain.  We can share this house.  They have spent more time here lately.

I took up this project knowing that I would be away as soon as it began -- that I was leaving was the catylsyt.  I wanted a place to collect the bits and pieces of what I am finding and to wonder what it is to be on a journey and to be at home -- to be wandering ... to be at a destination.