Happy Trails to Cows

"I could dance with you till the cows come home. Better still, I'll dance with the cows and you come home."  Groucho Marx

In Chatham, Virginia, the county seat of Pittsylvania County, the cows dance home!  They look so happy, well, they look focused, calm and in charge of their path.  Tonight momma cow and her baby were alone in their vigil.  Their gait was a little hurried for cows.  The baby seemed to be double stepping to keep up with momma.  The field stretched out before them like a chenille bedspread, bumpy, yet flat.   Their trip looked long, but they didn't seem to mind. Momma focused on keeping the pace while baby fell in line behind her long tail.  Heads held high, there is no shame in being a cow on a hike for the barn.  I wondered how they know where to go and how long it will take, or do they worry about that?  They're not sniffers like dogs, who can find their way anywhere because they leave a trail of smells.  I know the cows came from the barn in the morning.  On hillsides you can see the trails they forge on their daily trek to and from the barn and their field assignment for the day.  Open land makes it a little harder to discern the trail.  I saw it as a dance.  It seems boring to me to be a cow, so I would want to dance my way back to the barn.  If cows aren't dancing, why do they call dancing "hoofing"!

A Warm Moment in November

When it's November 10 in Pittsylvania County sometimes it's warm.  It's that kind of warm that's not Summer, but not Fall.  It was 67 degrees at the high point of the day.  The sun was shinning and there was little to no breeze.  It was the air that was different.  There was no chill, but also no fire, no burning air that makes it thick and stiffling, causing breath to be labored and skin to sweat.  It was a stillness that we should hold onto like the magic of Christmas or the innocence of easter bunnies.  Working in the garden was like standing still in time.  Using the hoe to weed, pulling up the frost killed tomato vines that were hanging on, ever hopeful their yellow blooms would reach maturity, was not a chore.  No sweat, no glaring sun to make this work a job. Bathed in the sunshine, no need for sunglasses, I think the sun is so low it has formed a new relationship with the Earth.  I feel the time waiting for me to grab one more chance at tending my earth, my land, my provider.  I give the ground my loving hands and it gives me the fruits I need to sustain this body that works the soil.  A circular relationship that is suspended in this moment.  This moment that hangs between Summer and Winter, this moment that must be acknowlegded to exist. .>

The First Frost in Pittsylvania County

Water: solid, liquid and gas.  The first frost makes visible the moisture in the air at 32 degrees or below.  The soft green grasses, clover, lemon balm and other soft green ground growths hold the water crystals and wear them like a sequinned gown.  The cars look fuzzy with the microscopic, solidified water droplets resting gently on all its surfaces.  It seems as though the objects outdoors have grabbed the water in the air and made it their muse, their frock, their decoration of the season, their light and levity, their mink coat of cold, moist vapor.  The water succumbs to a recipe of vapor and oxygen, mixed in a precious concoction of visual acuity unmatched by any art submitted by Earthans.  It is a fragile mixture.  The large star we call the sun shows its warm face and smiles on the frost.  The warmth of that smile melts the heart of the frost and it slowly disappears like the setting evening sun.  Frost:  illusory, magical, flimsy and flouncy, bouncie and buoyant, fleeting and floating.  Frost, the harbinger of winter provides us a dress rehearsal of winter water wonders waiting while winter warms up to cold.   December 21st is more than just a date, it's a promise.

Swirling colors cover the county

There's a place where the roads converge as do the sky and the trees.  Swirling pink and white whisps of clouds stretch across the sky like a Bob Ross painting.  The trees reach up to touch them, but can't quite reach the elusive clusters of moisture and beauty. Green and rust, yellow and red splash across the county like a newly crocheted afghan.  The eye cannot take it all in one glance.  As the road winds around like a Disney World nature ride, eyes find no end to view and vantage points fading into North Carolina.  It is the perfect place to experience the "Carolina blue" sky stretching out over its charges of clouds and colors and changing landscapes.  The road meets its end, the view never does.  So sees the lady who lives and loves in Pittsylvania County, Virginia, a veritable canvass of light and life.

The Swirl of Leaves and Life

     It's a windy Fall in Pittsylvania County.  The more the wind blows the more the leaves, now showing us their true colors, fall from their previously well planted stems. As they fall, they find themselves subject to the whim of the wind.  Those remaining aloft seem to drift upward. Just when it seems they will remain that way endlessly, they suddenly lose the wind and fall to mother earth's waiting arms.
     Tiny leaves swirling against the curb of the parking lot look trapped and hopeless to escape the trap of concrete and cars, wind and whirling.  Each leaf shimmers and shivers alone, yet in concord with the rest.
     When we stop trying to be what we think people want us to be, we show our true colors.  Sometimes we float up high and it is truly exciting and energizing.  Just when we think we will remain aloft, we are dropped down with no wind under our wings.  Little problems can keep us swirling in indecision, feeling alone and trapped,  But, we are not alone.  There are friends and co-workers, church members and family members who will help us remember that we are all swirling around together.  And, when we swirl together, we can shimmer and shine.                    Like the falling leaves, we can drop and know that someone can be there to catch us, if we will just let them. Take a moment and enjoy the beauty of the falling leaves in Pittsylvania County and rest easy on the earth.

The Irony of Grass  4/30/14

The yards in Chatham start greening up the minute the air warms and the sun shines longer each day.  The air is filled with the sound of mowers and blowers and trimmers and spreaders. The flowers bloom with no provocation, and; the trees bud with wild abandon.  

One yard stands out along the block.  A yard that in the past was a haven for broken mowers:  riding, pushing, weeding and blowing.  A yard mowed well by the premiere lawn mower repair person in all of Pittsylvania County, I hear tell.  
When my mower failed us, someone said, "Take it to Junior, he'll fix you up right."  We did.  We all did.  He was a whiz in size 8 shoes.  

And, now, his yard mourns his loss.  His faithful grass keeps coming up even though he's not there to mow it.  Loyal customers ride by the empty shed where he worked his majic, no mowers in waiting, the yard is clear for the grass to grow.  
It's growing and going unmowed, the only yard on the block that is unkempt, uncared for and unmowed.   I see it there alone and abandoned and I feel the irony of it's existence, the sting of loss, the pity for the ones Junior left behind and I wonder about grass.  Does it even care?  No, it's just there because that's where it is.  

It isn't a House and Garden yard, it's just another yard in Pittsylvania County.  

Wild Winter Whirled



Winter whirled around us this month. As Spring drew nigh, the winter winds flew. Snow swirled around Pittylvania County like the rest of the world didn't exist. Rain, then ice, then sleet, then rain, then snow pelted windows, roads, cars and faces relentlessly. It seemed that Spring was here, then all hope was dashed after a day and a half. The snow was back. It looked just like the week before! Snow flew sideways, straight down and up, seemingly all at once. Just like life, it just kept coming at us, harder and more ferosciously as the day wore on. A trip to the store just a mere 3 miles away began on a barely wet road and 30 minutes later, cars were creeping along the totally white road like turtles in a sack race.

The low, building sound of the snow scrapers, one following the other splashed white snow and ice mixed with sand to the sides of the road both clearing and clogging. The roads are clear, the driveways are clogged. What good is a clear road when the driveway is blocked by three feet of dirt, ice and snow?

Work is opening two hours late. So, we'll all bust our guts clearing the driveway to experience a stressful drive to an office that likely will close as soon as we arrive at our assigned destinations? Decisions were made based on personal fortitude. This worker has had fortitude in the past, but that is past. Fortitude is over rated and definitely an attribute which should be designated for the young.

Winter will whirl away and Spring will fling soon enough, or; not soon enough.