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Author: Anne Cassidy

Circle of Life

Circle of Life

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Yesterday felt more like a weekend with a daughter and two granddaughters here. At a visit to a nearby farm park, I found myself on the merry-go-round with Bernadette (pictured here with her mama a year and a half ago).

Yesterday I was the one holding way too tightly to the rider, too tightly being a relative term, I suppose. Bernadette will be 4 in October, but hold tight I did. And as we made endless rotations to patriotic favorites like “Stars and Stripes forever,” I thought about how many times I took Bernadette’s mother on carousel rides, and how particular she was about her mounts — her favorite being the rainbow pony at the National Mall carousel.

Now Suzanne was standing on the sidelines with her newborn, and I was back on duty. The circle of carousels. The circle of life. 

They Grow Up So Fast

They Grow Up So Fast

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Children do, of course. But so do goslings! I’ve been watching this year’s Lake Anne spring babies toddle into semi-maturity for the last few weeks. A few weeks ago, this pair struggled to follow their mom and dad down to the water, slipping and sliding much of the way.  No helicopter parents these.

By now, the spring babies have grown into gangly teenagers who would rather die than acknowledge their ‘rents. Notice the nonchalant way they graze and lag behind. You can almost imagine them grumbling, “Mom, puhleeeeeze! Don’t you have something else to do?”

Such is life. And such is parenthood … throughout the animal kingdom.

(Top photo: Sally Carter)
Mountain Laurel

Mountain Laurel

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The mountain laurel was blooming, and I had to see it. I remember stumbling on it during the pandemic during a one-day getaway that was the most time I’d spent away from home in months.

Yesterday, well clear of lockdowns and one week further into June, the blossoms were heavy on their glossy green stems. Flowering shrubs lined one section of trail, making a passageway of poesies. 

Walking through it, I felt like those blossoms were blessing me, which I guess, in their own way, they were. 

Protecting Place

Protecting Place

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As I’m drawn further into the life of a town where I don’t officially live, I think about what I owe Reston. Though I can’t swim in its pools or kayak on its lakes, I do walk its trails and enjoy its ambiance without paying its fees.

There’s nothing illegal or immoral about this, but the film I just watched discusses those who enjoy Reston’s amenities without buying into its program. We live less than a mile from Reston but aren’t within its strict property boundaries. Still, I worship at a Reston church, donate staples to a Reston food pantry, and pay the higher, nonresident fee for a Reston yoga class. I’d like to do more. 

As I figure out how to do this, I think about what people owe place, the responsibilities that come with residency. It’s a topic I ponder often, this idea of stewardship, of protecting what is priceless. What can be more precious than hearth, home and habitat? And what can be more natural than wanting to protect them?

Slipping Into History

Slipping Into History

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Today is the 80th anniversary of the Allied landing on the beaches of Normandy. It is also “the moment when D-Day will slip almost entirely from memory into history,” says Garrett M. Graff, author of When the Sea Came Alive: An Oral History of D-Day, a 19-hour audiobook.

My knowledge of World War II is also from oral history — Dad’s stories about the 35 missions he flew in 1944, including air support on D-Day. He always insisted that his efforts were nothing compared with soldiers on the ground. 

“I don’t think the American people appreciate what some of those men did,” he told a newspaper reporter in 2009. “Those guys, they deserve all the honors.” I think Dad was too modest; being crammed into the tail gunner’s seat of a B-17 bomber carried enormous risks and responsibilities. 

Dad was one of the lucky ones. He survived to return, marry, have four children and die peacefully at the age of 90. Like him, most of the boys who stormed the beaches (or flew above them) are now under the ground. As D-Day slips into history, it’s up to us to keep it alive. 

(Dad poses beside a B-17 bomber at his air base in Horham, England in 1944.)

Lovely, Dark and Deep

Lovely, Dark and Deep

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It’s less than three weeks till summer solstice. By 5 a.m. the first birds are singing, and darkness doesn’t fall till almost 9 p.m. At this time of year, light is our constant companion. 

Perhaps that’s why the woods appeal. They are, to quote Robert Frost, “lovely, dark and deep.” Though he described a winter landscape, mine is a summery one: oaks, maples and sycamore in full leaf, the path that winds through them sheltered and shady.

What mysteries lie down these trails? What refreshment will they bring? Will the woods be cooler than the street? These are questions I want to answer — and will. 

Finding Hildasay

Finding Hildasay

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People who know me know I like to read, and sometimes they give me a book they think I’ll like. Finding Hildasay is one of those. It’s the story of a veteran from the United Kingdom who decided to walk the entire UK coastline. 

I’ve walked a few feet of the UK coastline (!), and books about walking are a sub-genre I enjoy, so it’s no wonder that this volume found its way into my hands.

I’m so glad it did. Christian Lewis took off on his journey with £10 to his name. He foraged for food, survived 70-mile-an-hour winds, and never gave up on his quest. Hildasay is the Shetland island where he spent three months during the pandemic lockdown. It was where he finally had the time to reflect upon what he had achieved: the depression he had beaten, the money he had raised for a veterans’ charity, the  sense of purpose he had found.

The book stops mid-journey, so I wondered what was up. Could there be a sequel? Well yes there is. I have a feeling I’ll be reading it soon.

(The coastline of the Orkney Islands, as close to Hildasay as I’ve traveled.)

Busy, Busy

Busy, Busy

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It’s mulching season. Actually, it may be past mulching season, though I suppose it’s still mulching season somewhere, especially if you still have mulch to spread. 

Speaking of that, as I walk through the neighborhood, I spy much mulch. There are piles of it in driveways, waiting to be shoveled and carted to the backyard, and bags of it strategically placed under trees or beside garden beds. 

I’ve decided that having an array of mulch bags deposited around the property is the perfect way to look busy. It’s proof positive that mulching may occur in the future if it hasn’t already. 

When we first moved to this tidy suburban neighborhood, I had a thing about mulch. It seemed the epitome of uptight lawn care. But through the years I’ve come to understand its value: the moisture it keeps in, the weeds it keeps out. If nothing else, it lets neighbors know we care. 

From the Top

From the Top

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It’s the Feast of Corpus Christi, and in Seville, Spain, a procession of statues and icons on floats is — or, given the time difference, already has — snaked its way down the narrow streets of that wondrous city.

I like to think about the places I’ve been, and this is the day I think about Seville, the air scented with orange blossoms, temperatures near scalding (I almost passed out at the Alcazar), the warren of streets around the cathedral. 

We walked to the top of the Giralda, or bell tower, where the city was spread at our feet. It was two years ago. It could have been yesterday.

Best Present Ever!

Best Present Ever!

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Today there’s another little person in the world, my newest grandchild, who just gave me the best birthday present ever: arriving yesterday at 6:30 p.m., just hours before the day I came into the world a few (ahem) years ago.

Who knows what triggers labor. I don’t know the latest research. But I like to think there’s something magical about it. At least two of my three children would have different birthdays if they were of this generation. Doctors don’t let women go two weeks beyond their due dates anymore. 

But this little girl came on her own steam, at her own time. She decided she wanted her own special day. I can’t wait to meet her!