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Author: Anne Cassidy

Absorption

Absorption

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Mornings have changed since Metro began its Safetrack program. (Safetrack could also be called Slowtrack, or, more appropriately, Slowtrain.) I rush to leave the house in time to get a parking place at a lot that fills completely before 6:30 a.m.

It’s not a peaceful way to start the day, but it is what it is.

And so I begin to see this work space, overhead-lit and open as it is, as an oasis of calm. There are the windows pouring light into the room, and there is the fact that until about 8:12 the overheads remain off. There are the small, clattery sounds of other people arriving, getting settled, making coffee. And there is, most of all, the work.

When it’s interesting (as it often is here), the calm continues as the day wears on. Because there’s nothing so quieting as absorption.

Trees, Today

Trees, Today

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We have plunged through the humidity and come out on the other side. A morning cool as the underside of a pillow. Trees etched clearly against the sky.

I’m learning on the job now something I must have learned before but understand better — how much carbon trees absorb, the boon they are to our atmosphere. So when I look at them I see not just trunk and leaf, but a busy factory.

On a sultry day it’s harder to believe what they do for us, the air heavy with earthly exhale. But on a morning like this I can feel their power, their cleansing power. It’s not scientific, of course. It’s only metaphor. But it makes me a believer just the same.

Field of Weeds

Field of Weeds

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As part of the backyard beautification project, there is new grass coming up in a spot once covered by gangly forsythia bushes. This should not be a surprise since the area was seeded twice, but it’s remarkable to me.

That soil used to pushing up weeds is actually producing grass is not just miraculous but also slightly funny. The grass looks like the interloper.

Years ago a neighbor killed his entire lawn with Roundup and started over. At the time I thought this was excessive, a typical example of suburban overkill (pardon the pun).

Now I think he may have been onto something.

Whether this is due to lawn change, my change or climate change is anybody’s guess. But one thing is certain. Soon that grassy section will be full of weeds like the rest of the lawn. It’s only a matter of time.

(Copper at play on the weedy lawn.)

Coming Clean

Coming Clean

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Saturday in the garden: more weeding and mulching. I dug up an especially obnoxious patch of weeds that looked a little like daisies except for the tall, shaggy stem and ugly leaves. Tenacious little devils, their roots were broad and deep.

The Japanese stilt grass had already done an end run around the flower bed so I attacked that too. That led me over to the newly shorn areas of the yard, where there were still sticks to pick up and move out.

By late afternoon my hands were filthy. The fine Virginia clay soil was under my nails and ground into my palms. I thought I might have brushed up against poison ivy, too. So on top of the dirt I could see was the urushiol oil I couldn’t.

So I took the Lava soap and had at it. Scrubbed my arms and legs and hands. Used the nail brush and a loofah to scrub away the most ground-in grime.

After 10 minutes I was getting there, and after 10 minutes more, I began to feel really clean.

You hear a lot these days about eating clean — choosing healthy, non-processed foods. Or about being clean — freeing ourselves of addictions or harmful practices.

With all due respect to these interpretations, after a long day in the garden nothing quite compares with the soap-and-water original.

Indecisive Day

Indecisive Day

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I had no sooner lugged the rocking chair out to the deck when the sprinkles began. Not enough to drive me inside except for the delicate piece of machinery on my lap. But there was a delicate piece of machinery on my lap, so in I came, along with laptop and rocking chair.

Now, of course, the rain has stopped, though the air feels heavy and humid. 

It’s looking like an indecisive day. Will I do housework or brain work? My own stuff or work-work? Will I walk or row? Be efficient or lazy?

Maybe I’ll do a little of each, a bit of all.

On an indecisive day, that’s only to be expected.

New Favorite Walk

New Favorite Walk

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I’d spotted a little street the other day on my way home from the Four Mile Run Trail. It promised shade and walkability, so I decided to explore it yesterday.

I checked a map before heading out and noticed curved streets, a park and a neighborhood named Aurora Hills. That was all the encouragement it took.

 Heading west on 23rd Street I found what seemed to be the area’s old commercial center, where you might drop off dry-cleaning or get breakfast in a diner. A few blocks later I passed churches and shade trees and homes that looked like what you’d find on a small town Main Street.

I turned left on South Ives, meandered over to Hayes, 26th and eventually Fort Scott. There was a steep climb up to a park, where I turned around and headed back the way I’d come.

A wonderful neighborhood, with houses tucked up into the hillside, steep approaches and a serene ambiance. I could have been a million miles from Crystal City. But 15 minutes later I was right back in it.

I’ve just discovered my new favorite walk.

Accessory to the Crime

Accessory to the Crime

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Walking before dawn. The road is empty and cool, and the birds are chirping like mad. All the familiar ones — robins, cardinals and jays — plus one or two I don’t recognize. And then the crows, of course.

Crows have been on my mind since I read an article about one over the weekend. Canuck the crow was caught stealing a knife from a crime scene. Chased by a police officer for about 20 feet, the bird finally dropped the weapon. Turns out, he’s a known thief, though this is the first time he’s meddled in a crime scene.

Canuck fell out of his nest as a hatchling and bonded to the human who nursed him back to health. Although he’s wild, he stays as close to his rescuer as possible, doesn’t fly far from the man’s neighborhood and goes for rides perched on the wiper blade of his car. There are videos, magazine articles, even a Facebook page for Canuck.

“You’re always talking about crows, Mom,” said my resident millennial when I shared this story with her. I reminded her that crows use sticks as tools and mourn their dead. She was not impressed.

But I know in time I can bring her around. This is the cat-loving daughter now completely gaga over Copper the dog. She understands the joy of animal companions, what they bring to our lives.

(Photo: CBCNews.com)

Another Year

Another Year

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My dear friend Kay celebrates her birthday on January 2. I always feel for her, since her special day comes when everyone goes back to work after the holidays.

Today I’m in a similar boat. May 31, always the afterthought day when I was a kid, the day after Memorial Day, is in exactly the same spot this year — with the added ballast of being a back-to-work-after-a-long-weekend day, too.

But this is fine. A stealth birthday is what I’m after (though mentioning it in a  blog post can hardly be called “stealth”).  Maybe Father Time will be too busy driving home from Ocean City to slap another year on me.

Even if he does, though, I won’t complain. It is, after all, another year to embrace.

Double Memorial

Double Memorial

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Some of us remember that this year the national holiday falls on the real Memorial Day, May 30.

But the double I’m thinking of is at Camp Nelson, the veteran’s cemetery nestled in the rolling hills half an hour south of Lexington. There Mom and Dad lie together. A hero’s grave.

I commute now through Arlington Cemetery, and I look up from my newspaper when we briefly come above ground there. I see the orderly stones, the tidiness of death at a military burial ground.

Life is so messy — but life is what we remember. And the least tidy lives we remember most. The passions and the excesses and the outbursts and the love. These can never be contained in measured plots and structured rows. 

And on this double Memorial Day I’m feeling doubly this way.

New Dawn

New Dawn

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When it comes to life lessons, climbing roses have a few. Their growth pattern is out and up. They thrive on training. They are tender and delicate, but can take care of themselves. (Don’t believe me? Just try getting a few of their thorns embedded in your thumb!)

They wait until spring is well underway before venturing out. And when they arrive, it’s in splendid style.

I’m admiring them today, in full flower. I worry, of course, that the weekend heat and Monday’s rain will do them in, shorten their already short lifespan. But even in that, they are illustrative.

Enjoy us now, they tell me. Don’t worry about tomorrow.

See what I mean?



(The New Dawn climbing rose in all its glory.)