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Author: Anne Cassidy

June Afternoon

June Afternoon

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An afternoon walk on the W&OD Trail puts me in the very middle of summer. That ribbon of asphalt is a former railroad line, after all, and is as open and sunny as you would expect it to be, bright and straight. 


The trail is edged by tall grasses, daisies, Queen Anne’s lace and a tangle of other weeds and wildflowers that hang their sweet heads over the paved path. This time of year, it’s honeysuckle-scented, too, and the combination of sound and scent makes me feel like I’m eight years old and wading through the clover-filled empty lot behind us in the old-old house. 


What is it about summer that brings out the kid in us? Is it that when we’re young we practically eat summer up, sucking sour weed, whistling through a blade of grass, rolling down a hill? In summer we’re skin to skin with the natural world, we breathe it in and it becomes part of us. And every summer thereafter we live on that stored fuel. 


George Eliot said, “We could never have loved the earth so well if we had had no childhood in it.” To which I would add “ — and no childhood summers.”  

Reflections on Race

Reflections on Race

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We were given today off to reflect and recharge, a generous gift of time that I (as always) struggle to use as wisely as possible. The day is meant to mark a pause in the tensions that have roiled this country over recent instances of police brutality against African Americans. 

I’ve done some reading to mark the day, but for me race relations are a lived event. Because both the grand-babies I’m waiting to welcome will have brown skin, I think often about the world they will inherit. What kind of prejudices will they fight? What kind of opportunities will they have? Will they be roughed up by police because they happened to be jogging in the “wrong” part of town? 
Suddenly it is not “the other” — it is flesh of my flesh. So whatever I think is no longer a matter of mind only, but also of heart. Which makes me wonder … is this what it will take? Will things truly improve only when most marriages are mixed-race and most families blended? 
I certainly hope not; I certainly hope it happens much, much sooner than that.
Visiting

Visiting

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A late post today, in part because I’ve been mowing and weeding and spending as much time outside as possible. But also because I’ve been visiting.

When I was young, that’s what Sundays were for. We would go to my grandparents’ house after church for a big afternoon meal and then hang out with family, which seemed tedious to me at the time but I’m sure was a boon for my parents.

Conversation was the name of the game. There wasn’t much else going on, and we kids would slip outside as soon as we could and play in the backyard. (I can especially remember trying to clamber up the antenna, a tall, triangular, aluminum ladder-like thing that practically begged to be climbed.)

But I digress. Today’s visits and visitor were especially welcome because of how little social contact I’ve had these last few months. The interactions weren’t that long, but they were long enough to remind me how invigorating it is to chat, trade stories — and while away an hour or two in pleasant company.

Catching Up

Catching Up

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Saturdays are usually for catching up, for buying groceries and running errands, for cleaning the house and doing the laundry. 

Today I’m posting this blog using a new browser, which is a different kind of catching up, the technological kind, one I’m less familiar with and not very good at. The switch is not altogether by choice. It’s been progressively more difficult to write posts using the previous interface, and an older browser wasn’t helping. 

So now there’s a new browser and a new back end for the posting process and … it’s anybody’s guess what this will look like once I press publish. 
Wild Things

Wild Things

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On yesterday’s walk I marveled at the wildflowers — the daisies and clover and honeysuckle — how they hemmed the sidewalk along West Ox where I was huffing and puffing in the late afternoon humidity.

Last night, I fell asleep to a chorus of frog song, as the critters enjoyed a dousing in the thunderstorms that rolled through our area after dark.

Then this morning, Copper and I saw a fox cross the road in front of us. The creature trotted confidently through our neighbor’s yard, turning his head occasionally to stare at us, as if to ask, what are you doing here?

We live in a tame suburb of Washington, D.C. — but we are surrounded by wild things. And yes, they make everything groovy.


(A tip of the hat to the Troggs and their great one-hit wonder.) 

Change of Heart

Change of Heart

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When driving west on Interstate 66 last Monday, I thought about how many times I made that drive, countless trips from Virginia to Kentucky — all the thoughts I had, the fears I was fighting.

In later years, the trips were often in response to a health crisis for Mom or Dad, so I sought distractions wherever I could find them. The scenery out my window was embroidered with worry. But when I looked to the mountains,  I found relief.

It was that way this week, too. All of which is to say how much a change of scene can mean a change of heart.

I Feel the Earth Move

I Feel the Earth Move

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From next door comes the sound of whirring chain saws. The tree guys have been at it for two days, felling a 100-footer with much skill, hard work and fearlessness.  To hang from the very tree you’re taking down — while holding a chain saw — requires a kind of courage I can scarcely imagine.

Meanwhile I sit here with my little computer keyboard, moving words around on a page. Yesterday I listened from inside, alternately opening and closing the window depending upon the state of tree demolition and whether or not I was on the phone.

But today I’m on the deck with a front row seat for the experience. Occasionally, there will be a thud as yet another large limb or chunk of the massive trunk hits the ground. And that’s when … I feel the earth move.

Hidden Blossoms

Hidden Blossoms

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While it’s easy to be captivated by the grand views off the ridges of Shenandoah National Park, one of the prettiest sights I saw yesterday were these pink lady’s slippers. They were tucked behind a stand of (as yet un-bloomed) mountain laurel, as if they were hiding, biding their time. 

Spring is still arriving at 3,000 feet, and many of the trees were still flashing gold at their crowns. Wildflowers we welcomed weeks ago, like buttercups, are in their prime on the slopes.

But no matter the season, the views captivate year-round, whether framed in flaming leaves or spring wildflowers.

One-Day Getaway

One-Day Getaway

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A drive west today, out to the Blue Ridge Mountains, the great ridge that runs down the eastern spine of this country, out to where the sky meets the land.

It’s been a while since I’ve been more than 20 miles away from home. Half a year, I think. And while it is true that one can travel widely without ever leaving home, at least for this wanderer, an occasional glimpse of the world beyond helps maintain sanity.

So a drive west it will be, out to the ridge I took pains to see yesterday on my walk. The Shenandoah — the shaggy old hills that mark the beginning of the rest of the country.

Melody

Melody

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What a day —  family gathering, bright skies, air that feels like no air so lightly does it lie upon the skin, and,  this morning, the picture-perfect docking of the SpaceX Dragon capsule with the International Space Station.

As I conclude another trip around the sun, I think about what lessons, if any, the past year has held. One big one is this — that we choose what to focus on, what to believe. So today I concentrate on the miracle happening above us rather than mess down here below.

As I write these words a breeze stirs the wind chimes. It’s the happy key of D Major. A melody of one year ending and another just begun.