Thanksgiving

The meat birds are happy in their new digs. Playful, fat and full feathered, they are now about twenty one days away from the freezer. That's farm life!
I took a walk through the old flood plains early Sunday afternoon. The weather, unseasonably warm, provided me with a chance to walk an area that few now visit. These many trails and cart roads we once traversed freely. They are now closed by barricades made of steel or stone and are only accessible on foot or by bicycle. In winter there are many miles of snowmobile trails that crisscross the area. Many of these roads, closed by decree and that now go nowhere offered a place to hunt, fish and a hidden place where you could go necking with your sweetheart. In the last few decades these enjoyable places of beauty and solitude became dumping grounds for demolition, tires and items that no one wanted to pay a disposal fee for.

But not all was lost. There remains a haunting beauty evident in an area where once 1930's automobiles rumbled over the cobble-esque roads. The Hurricane of 1938 changed forever the role of this parcel of Northern Massachusetts land converting it back to a place abundant with deer, fox, beaver and herons, cranes and water fowl.

On this warm November day I was surprised by the seeming lack of wildlife. A mile east lies crow hill yet, no crows, no birds at all. No squirrel, no Osprey, Owl or Blue Jay. It was all very quiet. I found it very puzzling, and sad.













My return to TaoSpring reawakened my joy as I sat with the girls; had a call for eggs and we picked out a tree and tagged for the season. A cute, slightly off kilter tree that will adorn our home with the smell and color of evergreen celebrating the continuation of life even in the darkest and coldest of days. Life is short and fleeting. The landscape of memory calls for us to move forward. Mourn not for what was; Love well, do good and act kindly today. These acts and intention are deciduous and add smell and color to our lives. In contrast, life, as empty and as puzzling and as sad as the barricaded dumping ground proved to be on Thanksgiving week, I give thanks and ask of the heavens for grace:
I am blessed.