Second Chance

I haven't seen Chance in a few weeks, not since he stuck his head out of a hole wiggled his tongue then retreated. Pat assumed that I had killed him when I shoveled dirt and rock into the hole he appeared from during the first sighting. Chance still hasn't shown himself, but there's a possibility that Chance might in fact be a she, and she might have given birth.

Pat called me on his cell phone while standing on the side yard filling the cistern. He said to come out right away. Said he wanted to show me something. "Should I bring the gun or the camera", I asked. He said, "the camera if you want". Later, I thought it prudent not to ask ever again but to just bring both.

Once outside, Pat lifted a large rock that lay a few feet from the cistern exposing a foot-long baby snake. Funny how that sounds. In most areas a foot-long snake would be full grown, but here they're just getting started.

We, or I should say Pat, determined that it was in fact a bull snake. And since the proximity of the baby was within 15 feet of where we last saw Chance, we assumed Chance was its mother.

I suppose Chance could still have died; snakes give birth and move on. They don't have anything to do with the offspring once they hit the ground. But in either case the legend lives on in Second Chance. And so it is.

Dancing Grass, Flat Light

I enjoyed a phenomenal light show last night at dusk and again this morning upon rising. Last night the sky reflected bright red as the sun dropped behind Square Butte while the mountains to the south were painted pink and purple. Truly "purple mountain's majesty" above the fruited plain? I suppose one could call the plain fruited at this time of the year when the grasses and wild flowers are in full bloom. Heavy high clouds moved in as the sun sank low enough to shine between the clouds and the horizon creating a type of light that looks and feels surreal. It's light that I see once in a while at dusk or at dawn that creates an odd feeling--a sort of flatness--if that makes any sense. It's as if space has been reduced to two dimensions. It's very weird, and I like the feeling, although it only lasts a few minutes.

This morning the grasses beyond the fence danced and waved as the storm approached behind the driving wind. It's hard to describe how the tall grasses dance and wave, it's as if a giant invisible hand playfully sweeps across the meadows and fields causing the grasses to yield to its touch as the sun glistens off the dew creating a colorful shimmery illusion. The line, "amber waves of grain" falls flat as an accurate description. There is so much more going on that defies words. The prairie is alive on more levels than I can perceive with my five senses. I suspect that I am feeling that aliveness, but have yet not found a way to put my perception into words. For now let me say, "and so it is". And as my senses sharpen, MORE will come into focus. I look forward with anticipation.

The World is Round

Two weeks today, that's how old the kittens are. They're alert with eyes wide open. There were a few days where they had one eye open, then the other, then one and a half, but now both are fully functioning, and blue, which I understand is the color of all kittens' eyes. The mother, Puff, has gorgeous jade green eyes and I'm hoping the kittens end up with green also.Each day they appear more and more alert and eager to explore the kennel. I managed to increase the size of the box panels inside the kennel just in time. The frisky one has a date with destiny, he, or it I should say since it's impossible to tell, seems bent on finding out what lies beyond the mound of fleece it was born in. It skooches and skooches its Gumby-like legs up and almost over but not quite. Once on top, it looks wide-eyed around seemingly amazed that there is a world beyond the known. Probably the same look Magellan had on his face when he realized the world was round. I have a feeling that once these kittens find their legs there will be no stopping them. I think sooner rather than later we need to devise a plan for introducing the kittens to the dogs. The mother cat doesn't get along with the girls, but we're hoping we have better results with the kittens; although, it's possible that Cali will kill anything she can fit into her mouth. So far she's two for two with the gophers. Maybe I'll hold off naming them for a while.

The White Dress Shirt

Back in the 60's and 70's when I was growing up in a suburb of Philadelphia, my father had a white collar job at the local steel mill. Once a week during the summer months he would come home from work, remove his tie, sit down to dinner, then head outside to mow the lawn. Even though I had five brothers all equally capable of mowing the lawn, my father felt as though it was his job to take care of his property. And he also held the belief that if you wanted something done right you had to do it yourself. But that's beside the point. The point was that he mowed the lawn in a white dress shirt--granted he unbuttoned the top button and rolled up the sleeves, but under no circumstances did he ever leave the house with the shirt untucked--not even to mow the lawn. I don't think any one of us thought it peculiar until the neighbors began talking and snickering. We just shrugged it off as another of dad's quirks, and he had many.

Now fast forward 40 years or so, I hear Pat's car pull up as he heads home from work this evening. He brings his coffee cup inside, drops it in the sink, removes his tie, sits down to dinner, then heads outside with his shotgun in hand to mow down a few gophers. I froze as I gazed out the kitchen window seeing my husband outside with a shotgun in hand wearing a white dress shirt with the top button undone.



Am I making too much of this or did I marry my father?

I Wonder

Before heading home from work last night, Pat stopped by a friend's place to help out with a sick horse, then filled the water tank on the back of his pickup. By the time he reached our driveway, it was past 8:30, still an hour and a half before the sunset. Just a few yards up from the mailbox, a rattler stretched out across the gravel seeking warmth from the encroaching cool night air. His fateful mistake realized all too late as Pat approached driving a 3/4 ton truck with a full (400 gallon) tank of water in the bed. Not sure if he actually hit the snake, he backed up and drove over him again before continuing on.

Several minutes later, our neighbor, Brooke, paid homage herself by driving over the now fatally injured snake, then backing up and hitting him again.

I can't help but wonder as I watch this drama unfold--is the snake really that resilient? Has he survived for thousands of years because he's made of krypton? I'm wondering if we give him too much credit or if we just plain don't like to see the slithering reptile so we commit overkill in the name of safety. It seems we are not satisfied unless or until it no longer resembles a snake, but could pass as anything unfortunate enough to cross our path. For now, I wonder, and so it is.

The Mind of a Dog

There is a storm approaching from the south. It's already raining along the Front as far east as the Missouri River--approximately 3 miles from my perch at the dining room window. Most of the mountain storms travel in an easterly direction nourishing the foothills and river valley then turn south sparing the parched prairie. Not today, however, we can expect severe thunderstorms throughout the day.

While the prairie receives a noisy drink, the dogs quiver with anxiety. They will quake with fear as the thunderheads crash. Luna, our 5-year-old springer spaniel, used to hide in the basement of our other house. Here she has no such luxury--this little farmhouse sits on a crawlspace--leaving Luna feeling frightened and exposed. Lately, I've found her crouched next to the toilet in the mudroom. This (usually) fearless dog who runs with thundering horses, mixes it up with the barn cat (and always ends up bleeding), chases skunks and antelope, and eats all things dead and decaying, cowers like a whipped pup at the first clap of thunder. It's mystifying how she discriminates that which is dangerous from that which is fun. Oh, to spend a day in the mind of a dog! Once again, all is well.

Summer Solstice

The calendar along with the radio announced that today is the first day of summer; however, it looks and feels rather like the first day of spring. I'm not sure if we've been spoiled with an entire decade of el nino's that ended in 2009, but this year "2010" feels VERY different. Perhaps this phenomenon signals a segue into the age of Aquarius or the shift of the ages, as I recently heard it called. All I do know is what I feel, and something strange is blowing in the wind.

Today is the longest day of 2010. From this day forward the sun will set earlier and earlier, and rise later and later. The sun will rise at a point further southeast each morning, and set at a point further southwest each evening--traveling a shorter and shorter distance across the sky with each advancing day.

We now have an unobstructed 360 degree view. So tracking the sun, moon, stars, seasons, and weather seems natural. I now understand how astrology as well as mythology might have begun--the sky beckons your attention and teases your imagination. Simply by looking up we have the equivalent of a large screen projection. Points of light move across the night sky in consistent arrangements; the sun and moon rise and set following predictable patterns. Also revealed on a clear night--satellites, shooting stars, the milky way, and occasionally the northern lights.

Welcome back, summer. We look forward to enjoying the gift of light. All is well.

All Is Well

The kittens, barely 72 hours old, have grown measurably and have become more defined in their markings and behavior. Each morning as soon as I enter the barn, Puff greets me with a big howdy "meow". At least that's what I prefer to think she's saying. For all I know it could mean, "get me the heck outta here". As soon as the kennel door is open, she gingerly steps over the fuzzy bundles leaving them behind whining and fussing. There is no better place than on my lap nuzzling my neck and receiving a well-deserved belly rub; although I happily take note that she keeps one eye on the ever moving lump of fleece, concerned if the "frisky one" finds his way to the open air. She allows me to tuck him back inside, then encourages my hand back to her.

The nighttime temperatures have dipped into the low 40's each night since their arrival. I've been concerned about keeping mother and kittens warm enough. While I know Puff's body and milk warms the babies, I'm vigilant about keeping enough fleece available for Puff. At my final check-in each night, I tuck Puff into a secure nest of blankets pulled up and around her body. She looks out briefly as I turn to leave then pulls her head back into the warm alcove snug and safe from the descending cold and damp night air.

A cold front moved in about an hour before the kittens arrived bringing thunder, lightning and torrential rains, and now almost three days later the rain lets up only intermittently. The ground is sodden, mushrooms have sprung up across the prairie and I detected the croaking sound of toads this morning--all very weird for this high-plains desert. I'm not so certain that global warming accurately describes the phenomenon we are now reporting across the world; but rather, nature's reclaiming, or climate shifting toward greater well-being might better serve our understanding. I have come to the realization that this ball we call Earth and home is much more than rock, water, and dirt. It is a living, conscious organism playing host to all who come along for the ride.

I have also come to understand that life forms interconnected patterns among and across species--patterns that interact on a vibrational level--whether we are conscious of it or not--we contribute to the health, well-being, and expansion of this thing we call LIFE. But, I digress, more about all of that later.

For now, I am blissfully happy to know that three brand new beings are flourishing under the big, albeit cloudy, sky of this corner of the world. I await the day the sun shines once again and Puff introduces her kittens to the wide open prairie. All is well, as it should be.

Special Delivery

On Tuesday afternoon Puff our barn cat also known as the widow on Almosta Road proved my hunch about her was correct . She had seen me outside planting a few flowers and as customary came over and planted herself by my side. This time, however, something was different. She appeared especially agitated rubbing up against my legs, arms, and even the shovel. Usually she's content to sit by and watch--happy enough to be in my company. Since she insisted on staying in my way, I put down the shovel and walked toward the barn knowing she would follow.

Once in the barn she began pacing back and forth finally jumping up on a shelf about 6 feet off the ground. Thinking that she might be ready to have her kittens I scooped her up off the shelf and coaxed her into the awaiting kennel.

Almost immediately she was lying down on her side on the pile of fleece blankets panting and groaning--occasionally licking her bottom. I started to get up from my kneeling position, but she protested loudly, so I dug in for the long haul, which, as it turned out, wasn't very long at all.

Within an hour, Puff was the confused mother of 3 small, wet, squealing, almost kitten-like creatures. Although she performed like a well-rehearsed pro, I'm sure she had no idea what had just happened. She kept looking at me as if to say, "What the frick?" Thankfully, Puff's instincts were well intact and fully functioning. The kittens were promptly cleaned, dried, tucked in and fed. Then Puff looked at me again as if to say, "How long do I have to stay here?"

I left her to tend to the kittens while I prepared dinner. Afterwards, I returned, opened the kennel, and was greeted by a very enthusiastic Puff who wanted nothing more than to sit on my lap and receive a well-deserved belly rub to which I was more than happy to accommodate.

When I awoke this morning I had no idea we were about to receive such a special delivery. But special it was indeed, our sweet little Puff became a mother. The lonely widow on Almosta Road has brought three little rays of sunshine to our corner of the prairie. As always, all is well!

In The Moment

Spring is finally taking hold of the prairie; weeds and gophers flourish under the big sky. Mowing, spraying, and shooting take up most of the day. Haven't seen a rattler so far, not a live one anyway.

I was away attending a wedding in Colorado last weekend. It felt good to walk around without thinking about running into a snake. That is, until I ran into a snake. It was a small black garter snake slithering along the path between the Bears Inn Bed and Breakfast and the Bistro Restaurant next door. Oh well! I'm beginning to think that the snake might be my power animal. I'll have to look more closely at that possibility. At the moment, anyway, the idea of rattle snakes doesn't send shivers up my spine like it used to. I feel I'm beginning to make peace with the reality that we share common ground. Speaking of common ground, I haven't seen Chance since our encounter weeks ago. I wonder if I smothered him by filling his hole with stones and dirt. I assumed he could push his way out when he was ready. I almost feel bad that he might be dead. From everything I've heard he's actually a "good snake"--maybe I should have named him Oxymoron.

The wedding! Well, it was very wonderful. Pete, my nephew, and Jenn held their ceremony outside witnessed by an intimate group of family and close friends. My brother, Gary, and sister-in-law, Pat, rented a house on the grounds where the wedding was held and were host and hostess to a weekend of parties, afterparties, and barbecues. Everyone was welcomed, and everyone felt welcome. Pat's mantra for the weekend, "stay in the moment", worked like a charm. She and Gary appeared relaxed and engaged--having fun and creating memories.

I'm feeling especially grateful to be a member of my family. All is well, as it should be.