Last Thursday, a casket came up the hill. On a trailer, pulled by a chugging old tractor, which usually carries manure, or hay. This time as it rolled down, hugged tight by wooden wings, it held the spirit of a dear old neighbor, who went to sleep forever. The morning of the funeral it rained and rained as Mother Earth wept for all the mothers before us and now, below us. It was in the fleeting moments as the tractor bounced down the rocky hill that I felt the weight of the last time - of being - anywhere. Down she went, down the hill, down the road, down into the ground at the bottom of the valley. - Cheryl M.
The above poem is a true story. Just as I had opened my email on a Thursday afternoon and clicked on a Substack from
, we had only just begun to listen to his latest instrumental music, ironically named - through the tall grass - and then a tractor we know all so well (owned by the son-in-law and daughter of our 83-year old neighbor) was coming up the hill, pulling a trailer, complete with a coffin in the back.It was a touching moment as we realized all at once what was taking place before our watering eyes. The music was a kind and soulful touch to the otherwise surreal event.
I mean, how often does a tractor drive up your steep hill with an empty casket in the back? Probably just this once, and never again. But there is one gentleman who lives even higher up than us…
See, we live on a very short, and quite steep, dead end street. There are seven houses. Two of them were already uninhabited, now there are three empty nests. Which leaves six residents in total. Half of that is us our small family. So the story goes…
As much as this post is about death, it is also about life, and rebirth. After all, it is spring! Or almost spring?! It seems that winter is still clutching onto visions of snow and frost for the next few days, please pray for the fruit on the trees!
In times of uncertainty, it is always wise to return to nature.
And so we are, walking barefoot when the weather allows - which it always does, remembering moments not so long ago when we were barefoot in the snow. Now we are stepping into wet grass so tall that it’s better to wear shorts than pants.
You might have heard of No Mow May by now. If not, here is what is looks like in our yard. Sure, it’s a little messy, a tad unkempt, but you wouldn’t believe the insect traffic on a sunny day.
Even in the rain the bumblebees are buzzing left and right, particularly enjoying the blossoms of the white dead nettle (Lamium album).
Have you seen, or heard, many insects in nature lately?
In essence, the purpose of No Mow May is to let the wildflowers grow.
It’s the first step in rewilding your lawn or garden.
It’s also one of the firsts steps in rewilding yourself. So that you may find beauty in the “chaos” of nature. So that you may notice the way spent dandelion blossoms hold onto many droplets of water. Or how the sheep sorrel begins to soar over the spreading mass of heal all and individual stems of cleavers.
The best part of all, is that not mowing doesn’t take much on your part.
Just patience to let nature do her thing, while you go about the day doing yours. It’s not forever, it’s just for a month, or as long as you (or your neighbors) can stand the wild jungle that nature longs to be.
As for the journal prompt of the day:
In what ways will I rewild my garden this spring? In what ways will I rewild myself?
Spring moves quickly in terms of flowers and the height of grass, yet in other ways it also takes time to mature. The green cherries on the trees are now the size of small peas, but with the frost this morning, and the frost forecast for tomorrow, it may be a give-or-take situation. I’m rooting for the little fruits at this time of year, and for the walnuts that are currently flowering. They’ve had more than their share of cold damage in recent years.
Nevertheless, life goes on, with or without fruit, with or without neighbors.
On and on it goes, towards a beautiful future - if you believe it to be so.
With gratitude,
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