As Mars finally turns to go direct, see Laura Bruno’s post —
— I arrive home after my trip to the Great Bear National Lakeshore to find that neighbor Rebecca had already cut down the dead mimosa tree (this tree species apparently died all over town, due to cold winter? along with all the butterfly bushes).
The mimosa, which we had planted maybe eight years ago, had graced the north edge of my screened in front porch and was now lying prone in my front yard. A stab through the heart.
Yes, after nearly three months going retrograde, burrowing down into our innermost interstices, flushing to the surface all our fears and hopes and despair — will the world ever change? will the human race transform during through this critical window of time in this early 21st century? — Mars action now commences.
Take the mimosa, for example, for the past month we had been watching and waiting and wondering. Would this light filled, beautiful tree that grows so fast and produces such feminine lacy flowers renew its annual spring resurgence? Would we finally see budding buds? We know it buds late. But is it later than usual? Or is it dead.
Another harsh lesson in inpermanence.
But what nature gives, and takes away, also proceeds in the human realm. These five days felt like old family reunions with mostly women, whom I had never met in the flesh, but with whom I felt instantly utterly at home. And then, once again, twice, I had to leave. More stabs through the heart. More impermanence.
— Allow the stabs.
Allow the stabs
to open the heart
further, wider, deeper. —
First, a family photo with some sisters of about the same “great” age, at what the Great Old Broads for Wilderness call a “broadband,” this one in Northern Michigan.
And, on the way home, wonderful visits with fellow blogger Laura Bruno — and her husband David, and, early this morning over breakfast at his B&B, Jerry — in Goshen, Indiana.( The “Broads” would honor both these fine men with the title “Bro.”)
Stories to follow tomorrow. This afternoon, I’ve been called into the GANG garden by Rebecca, who tells me that the neighborhood Plant Share Saturday morning brought in lots of neighbors, as did the garden work party that afternoon. So good to know that my physical presence is not necessary! I can breathe a sigh of relief.
Here’s a teaser for tomorrow’s photo essay. An early spring overlook at the Great Bear, a truly glorious place, with vistas that rival any in the west. Big surprise for this western mountain chauvinist!