Summer 'tails'

The end of July is in sight. Summer is slipping away from us faster than it came to this dirt road. The road has been strangely silent with the disappearance of our Canadian geese. I understand from some of my more knowledgeable neighbors (at least when it comes to wildlife). That geese will sometimes leave an area when their breeding season has been unsuccessful. And this year our cool, damp spring was particularly damaging to egg layers at least around here. Another neighbor has said that she saw 3 turkey hens but only one chick between them. Usually there will be a dozen or more. On the other hand the black bears have been around several houses on our road. In all the years I have lived here that is unusual. Bears and people don't mix and both sides do like to keep their distance. Well normally we do. There has been one report in VT were a woman who fed the bears (believe me, this is not the smart thing to do), ended up being mauled by one of them. I admit I love the wildlife, turkeys, foxes, bears, the whole group of them but I like them at a distance. It's safer for all involved.
The summer season is a very busy one up here. Us gardeners and all the farmers have to get a lot of work in during a very short season. A few weeks ago my pumpkin plants were just 6 or so inches high. Now they have grown at a steady pace and have made their way to the lawn. Why we have a lawn is beyond me. The gardens just keep closing in on it. There are some pumpkins set along with the squashes. Lots of green tomatoes with the cherry tomatoes just starting to come in. Lettuce, chard and spinach were pretty steady. Broccoli was so-so and is now gone by. Beans (3 different kinds) are coming in at a rampant pace. Turn your back too long and you have more than you will ever know what to do with.
All and all its been a fairly good season. I have put up quite a bit of strawberry/rhubarb (berrybarb) and blueberry/rhubarb (bluebarb) jam. Enough that I can give a few jars away. Of course the hubby went and did the blueberry picking for me, so there are 18 qt. bags of frozen blueberries. You just have to love this time of year. Things are a-poppin'.
Speaking of which, I have this water feature at the edge of our patio. Its really a big 100 gallon Rubbermaid water trough. But I have turned it into a little oasis which my goldfish and water plants spend the summer. I bring my more tropical plants, the jasmine, bougainvillea, bleeding heart vine and elephant ear up from the greenhouse, then put the 6 ft. braided ficus next to it. Surrounded by those plants and my perennials its quite nice. Then a little pump with fountain complete the scene. Every year I purchase a water hyacinth to float in the water. The goldfish just love to nibble on the roots and it helps keep the water reasonably clean as I don't have a filter system. This year something has happened that I have yet to make sense of. There are black baby fish in the water. Anywhere from a 1/2" to 1 1/4" long. Black not gold. I don't know where they came from and its sort of obvious from their sizes that they vary in age. Could they be flying fish? Might they have flown out of the beaver pond or creek and seeing a nice, small, quiet retreat landed in my water trough? It is a mystery. But one that great 'tails' might come from.

Walking with the dog

Max is the last of our dogs. Sort of the middle child in age (now 14) he was never the gentle, laid back type of dog like Gracie or the spoiled child of my hubby dog like Harry. He went along with the pack because that is what he did.
I think he misses his 4 legged siblings. Now he follows me or the hubby around almost constantly, keeping us with eyesight. And he wants to take walks again. 
I try to get out and walk 6 days a week, 2-3 miles at a time. Max stopped taking walks years ago as sore joints, a portly physic and his own set of allergies sidelined him. In his youth he climbed up and down the ditches and banks of this dirt road. Avidly smelling and searching for the creatures that produced the smell (and sometimes finding them). Although a fox terrier he wasn't really very good at hunting but he loved to move. Running and walking in that high prancing step of a terrier 20 feet for every 2 I went. He was amazing to watch. But after awhile going out to do 'his duty', coming down for dinner and the occasional walk to the bottom of the driveway were enough. He preferred to lay on my bed in front of the window and guard the world from the safety and security of the house, much like Harry.
Today I looked behind me and there was my shadow Max. I decided I would be willing to slow down if the ol' boy thought he could make the 2 miles. It might take me longer but that was okay. So Max and I continued on. He made the 2 miles! It was a little slow, not the wild walks of youth but Maxie stopped and sniffed and left behind some remembrances for other animals out there. It was all good.
When we got home he had his treat, drank up some water and laid on the cool tile floor. He's a little stiff but I'll slip him a baby aspirin later to help with the sore joints. I wonder if he know how much he is helping me. Maybe I am helping him. But I know we both miss the rest of the pack. 
I can't imagine what life would be without an animal. Without that special bond. I hope Maxie hangs around till I can make that decision whether or not to add to our pack. Meanwhile, I will walk slower if he wants to come along.
 

Moving on...

In recent weeks I have be involved in the drama of my own life that I hadn't noticed something was missing from this dirt road. Our Canadian geese have left the beaver pond. The pond which is now graced with elderberry's blooming at the spillway and white water lilys floating among the green lily pads is quiet. No longer do the geese take to the air for their morning and evening flights between the pond and Mike's field. I walked by the field today and there was a family to turkeys rooting about in a pile of hay left for the cattle. A flock of redwing blackbirds broke from the tall grass startled as I walked by. The crows noisily 'talked' to each other as they hopped from branch to branch on the trees by the edge of the field. But there were no geese. Not Walker with the bad wing or any of his extended family. No goslings following the mom around, no geese paddling away in the stream. They have moved on. Left for some unknown reason to me. And I am saddened by this.
Unlike suburban or urban areas where geese can be an annoyance or a danger, here they still live freely. Of course we didn't have a huge flock of them, only 6 at most. And they seemed content to have the beaver pond and to have Mike's field. Occasionally when they had goslings you might see a group hurriedly waddling down the road to get from pond to field. They were welcomed guests in the spring when the first flyover came with much joyous noise from them. As if they were letting us know they had returned. I have had them fly low enough over me that I could hear the air rush over their outstretched wings. 
I will miss them. And I hope that maybe next spring they will return. There is just something wonderful about watching the sky in the evening when the sun is turning the clouds gold, pink and red and seeing the outline of this great bird flying gracefully calling to its mate and family saying, 'I am here, follow me, lets go home.'

Changes

Remember that Beatles song 'Changes'? Well the dirt road is changing. No matter how much we would like things to stay the same they are continually changing. 
Logging has come to our road. Not for the first time nor for the last. When we bought our property some 30 years ago a lot of the land surrounding us had been logged. Even now 30 years later you can see where a skidder left its ruts. They are large relentless machines with a job to do, pulling logs out of the woods. Down at the far end of McKusker Rd. which connects to my road is a large logging operation. Even though they are over a mile away I can hear the skidder, the chainsaws and the cherry picker as they do their work. Cutting trees down, pulling the logs out and loading them up to go to a mill somewhere. Double logging trucks hauling out the logs of every size and length.
Then much closer to home is a smaller operation. But with the same results. The woods that I only discovered last year with the original road are to be logged.
But this is life. In the late 1800's there were very few trees on this dirt road. This was farming land. Pastures for sheep and cows, acres of apple trees. Fields to grow corn and vegetables. And maple trees for sugaring. Trees were for cutting down, milling, burning, fence posts. The only trees needed were the ones that could make you money or feed your family. The rest, no matter how magnificent, beautiful or large were impractical. Life was living off the land and the land still has many scars to show how we mistreated it.
Rock walls line either side of the dirt road and wander off deep into the woods marking what use to be the fields and pastures of the families that lived here. Eventually the families left, the stones tumbled off the walls and trees reclaimed the fields and pastures. Sandy soil supports more of the pines while richer soil grows the sugar bush and hardwoods. Its not to say they don't mix but you can tell your soil by what grows in it. Now the trees have matured and the fields and pastures have disappeared. The trees have become the currency of the day. Just like they were 30 years ago, 60 years ago or a hundred years ago. Once again they will support some families.
Its sad but it is what it is.

Is this grief?

When my parents died Dad in 2000 and Mom in 2005 I mourn their passing. The 2 people that had shared my childhood were now gone. Not having sibling growing up there were no other people in the world that knew the story of my have been 'chosen'. Adopted to those uninitiated. But the thing was we had lived apart longer than together. In fact they lived in Florida longer that I lived with them. Taking in to consideration I was adopted when I was 3 and flew the nest at 18, it was a mere 15 years. And as much as I loved my parents we were not close. 
So when Dad died it was a whirlwind of getting down to Florida and helping Mom out. The arrangements had been made years in advance. And although I knew she missed her life partner of some 50+ years my mother did not break down. I left feeling sadden by the fact that I didn't know my father well or my mother. Time had pulled us apart.
When I returned to VT I could almost pretend my Dad was still alive down in Florida. I had never seen his body. So it was a mental exercise in denial. Eventually the pain of loss decreased along with the increase in the reality of his death. I cried but there were no daily reminders for me to see of him. No comfortable chair, no magazine set aside but not read, no toothbrush in the bathroom. Just pictures of happier days.
My mother lived with us for several months before she died. She died in local hospice care. And before that for a brief time she lived in assisted living. Again because of who we were and the short time living at my house there were no reminders. We knew her wishes of cremation and since our small family is far spread and I am not a great believer of wakes or funeral services my mother's passing was noted only by a small group of friends and family. I think she would have wanted it that way. It did take 3 years for me to finally be able to take her ashes to Florida to be put in the small vault with my father's remains. It was at that moment I knew great grief that the two people in the world, that had know and loved me as a child were really gone. I could no longer deny this fact. I couldn't wait to get out of Florida and never go back. Somewhere in the back of my mind they are down there and they are happy. And that is what counts.
You may ask why I bring my parents up. Well it is in connection with the recent death of my dog Gracie. I wasn't 'heartbroken' when my parents died (I do not care for euphemisms concerning death). I missed them greatly and shed many tears and I still miss them but now with a warm fondness. But my heart did not feel like it was breaking nor did I feel grief stricken. I feel these terrible emotions with the death of my dog. 
When I called my parents and told them I had breast cancer I was told I would be alright. No problem, modern science, etc. I don't remember phone calls to see how I was doing or even a card. It's not that they didn't care they just didn't understand. What they didn't understand was my fear. They were in Florida and could see it or feel it. I was 45, they were in their early 80's dealing with the death of friends, family and their own health issues, their own fears.
My dog was with me the whole time. Soaking up my tears, laying in bed with me when I felt like crap, listening to me rant about the unfairness of it all, keeping my secret fears, secret. I shared with her the things I would not share with my husband or children. And life continued on. 
With Gracie I can still see her on my bed, hear her nails clicking on the floor. The house is quiet without her joyous bark on my return home. I feel like there is an empty spot larger than me within me. Max our last dog, is a lovely old boy. But he is not Gracie, in looks or temperament. He is Max. I just miss that damn dog and at some moments it really is a physical pain. You would have had to known her to know her gentle nature and her fierce devotion. She was 'the' dog in my life. And yes I do know it gets better and there  have been a couple of days I have merely gotten misty eyed and not cried. But today is not one of them. I miss her, simply put. And despite all the emotional upheaval caused by having to make the decision that ended her life I would gladly do it again. It was a great 15 years, every last moment, the good and the bad. I just wish it had been a little longer.
So yes this is grief. Hurting from top to bottom. Crying, being okay and crying again. And it lessen with time. But I think once you have been touched by it, it doesn't go away. It always lives with you and makes you more sympathetic to others. It becomes part of who you are.