What We Need Is Here

Dog Days - Picnic

These are the sultriest days of summertime. We've been calling these last long, hot, humid days the "dog days" since ancient Roman times apparently, when Sirius (the dog star) would rise just before sunrise. While this is no longer the case, the name persists. I think about it whenever I see our dog Rudy collapsed on his side panting, his tongue lolling. I feel like he looks. 

It is also the time of the vegetable drought here in north central Florida - not a lot of choices at the market with the heat, rain and resulting pests and fungii taking their toll. But I do love most of what we have growing now, and a lot of it is quite good for a picnic - as long as that picnic is near a body of water. 

My ideal picnic fare for these Dog Days:

• Boiled peanuts - I always see them advertised as "Hot Boiled Peanuts!" but I really prefer them cold in the summer. 
• Watermelon - of course.
• Muscadine grapes - Oh, yeah, they are BACK!
• Locally-made hummus (Wards or Citizens Co-op) on locally-baked bread (Uppercrust or Flour Pot).
• A little piece of adult chocolate for dessert.  

Throw it all in a laundry basket with a tablecloth and GO. Soon we will be complaining about the cold. 

{Some of my tribe at beautiful Blue Springs, about 20 miles away - Anna's photo}

Five Things Friday

A weekly gratitude list:

1. Beautiful springs so close by. 72 degree water is the perfect remedy for 98 degree heat.
2. Riley checking on Charlotte every five minutes while she is in her nesting spot next to the fire escape. How gently he carries the egg inside. 
3. Last of the spring sunflowers blooming long after its sisters have bitten the dust. 
4. Indian Cuisine - the best Indian food in town, maybe in America.
5. Uncles and nephew. The beat goes on.

{photo: Poe Springs, looking out toward the river}

Wild things

It's time to start cleaning up some of the remnants of the spring vegetable garden, and today I started dismantling the bean poles. As I began untangling the vines from the first one, I noticed a mockingbird on one of the parking lot signs, squawking furiously. When I started removing the poles, it buzzed by close enough to make me look up and wonder - and that's when I noticed the little nest atop the second bean pole. 

I crouched and waited and watched, and soon three little heads were bobbing around, mouths wide-open and pointed skyward. What a precious sight. Riley and I had just watched this adorable video last week when he was here, and I can't wait till he returns to see the real thing. The garden dismantling can wait.

I am amazed at the resilience of wildlife in the city - that hawks build nests on light poles, that racoons and possums feed on compost piles (and garbage cans with loose lids), that all sorts of birds and insects visit our garden regularly. I'm grateful for preserves like Paynes Prairie and San Felasco Hammock that strive to provide habitat for animals that can't adapt to the city - bobcats, fox, deer, turkey, rabbits, and our own herd of buffalo and wild horses (Paynes Prairie). It is such a delight to experience wild life so close to home. But I think I now know where are our blueberries are going...

Sabbath - Remove your sandals from your feet

"Resting on the Sabbath" has been one of my favorite new year's resolutions. It implies so many good things: recognizing limits and boundaries, focusing during the other six days so it is more likely to allow yourself the rest, realizing that the world goes on even without your organizing and manipulating - and actually, intentionally resting. 

I'm alone this weekend and virtually responsibility-free today, so I got out of bed when I felt like it, made myself some pancakes, then left the dishes in the sink while I headed off to Kanapaha Gardens (again) before it got too warm. I had not been to Kanapaha in probably a decade before I went last fall on the advice of a friend. I was having a difficult time with some things, and she suggested walking the labyrinth. I had gotten there when they opened, and the crisp air and dew-damp paths reminded me of an ayurvedic healing principal I had come across around that time - to arise early and walk barefoot in the morning dew. So far I've gone once each month this year, and taking off my shoes has become a habit when I get to the azalea and camellia gardens. Walking quietly through the shady, leaf- and petal-strewn paths, in the birdsong and silence, I thought of the line from Hebrew scripture: "Remove your sandals from your feet, for the place on which you are standing is holy ground." 

Walking quietly through all the paths of the garden took about two hours and I preferred it to the official labyrinth on a weekend morning when the garden has more than a few visitors. I happened to be listening to a podcast about contemplative prayer where the interviewee, Jim Finley, a former monk and student of Thomas Merton's, described the Christian slant on attending to the breath during meditation.  "Breathing in God," he called it, "who is in the air and every created thing, including you." I could believe that almost, even with my existential questions and apparently permanent uncertainty about the matter.  

As my walk progressed into late morning, more and more people were on the path, most heading to a wedding that was taking place at one of the gazebos. I felt a friendly, kind of churchy atmosphere when the bell tolls and the procession gathers in the vestibule. Children and old people carried gifts and cards, oohing and awwing over the beauty and majesty of the venue. "Wherever two or more are gatherered..."

Later I walked down a short little path to I hadn't gone down before, toward a bench alongside a tiny, shaded pond, surrounded by deep green fern. A plaque indicated that the site was dedicated to Jess Ferguson, who died when he was 18 and read "Sit with me a while and enjoy the beauty of the universe." I knew Jess; he was the brother of one of my daughter's best friends. I did sit on the bench, and I thought of him and his family whom I've always admired, and of other families who have lost children and other loved ones. The gardens are peppered with similar memorials - to a 98-year old woman whose "love of flowers made the world a more beautiful place," to a bench honoring parents who had passed away, and others. What a lovely way to remember someone and remind others not to forget the ones that were once here and are still, somehow, present to us - the "communion of saints." 

I just love Kanapaha with its cultivated gardens abutting magnificent Florida wildness, where Monet-like waterlilies hide alligators, and a comically phallic "Devil's tongue" sprouts next to an idyllic woodland path. I love the mix of people who come to witness these miracles, to make vows and memorials, to walk quietly and attentively. I hope I will keep "keeping the Sabbath," learning to pause and see holy ground in one place or another. 

San Felasco Hammock

This is one of my favorite places in the world. Once a few years ago I hiked its 5.6 mile yellow loop every single day for a summer, and another year I took photos of the different wildflowers each month. It has undergone some changes over the years I have hiked it -  weathered some serious treefall due to hurricanes, survived a massive pine beetle infestation, and endured numerous prescribed burns - but it feels like home to me. It's large and wooded enough that I rarely see someone else on the trails, but so familiar that I never fear getting lost in the woods (a problem for me during the early years...). The perfect place to restore. 

Beside my favorite yellow trail, there is a 4.8 blue trail that shares a trailhead, and a much shorter .9 trail near the parking lot. It's unusual not to see wild animals along the trial, especially if you go in the early morning - deer, wild turkey, armadillos, the occasional feral pig. Once my son and I, arriving at dawn, heard a god-awful screech and saw a bobcat attacking a turkey. It's a wild place with a long history - Timucuan "Indians" followed by Franciscan monastics, and once the crossroads of a tiny town now gone. The name "San Felasco" came about because of a mispronunciation of "San Francisco." 

San Felasco belongs to me - and to you. It's a state park and one of the places most of us don't mind our tax dollars supporting. It's hard to believe this park, and many others, were almost put on the chopping block recently. I'm sure it would make for a lovely new housing development or Walmart (although all those trees would be a bother). Thank goodness that's been averted for now. 

Kanapaha Botanical Gardens

I finally made it last Sunday, on a beautiful cool, clear morning. While Kanapaha is on the other side of town, a good seven miles from our house, it's worth the occasional drive out. There's nothing else exactly like it in Gainesville. 

A couple years ago, when I was in Paris, I was so impressed with how many lovely parks there were. On every street corner, there were quiet, green spaces with benches surrounded by flowers and artfully placed trees and shrubs. They weren't natural areas and were cafefully tended by gardeners, but they were full of birds and butterflies - and people. It was so interesting to see folks just sitting on benches - bookless, newspaperless (knitting-less), enjoying little break from city life in these created spaces. Kanapaha is that kind of place - a large, Florida version, with the vines and ferns and mosses happy in our humid climate.

But that wildness is blended with more formal areas carefully planted with both native and exotic plants. Paths through the azalea-camellia garden open out into the  meadow of the arboretum, where another winding path leads to a butterfly garden.

You can walk along a sinkhole through natural woods toward the largest herb garden in the south - next to an extensive bamboo garden. Most of the paths are paved and very walkable for all ages, and all ages were out on Sunday morning - from little children chasing butterflies and feeding huge goldfish, to an older couple pointing out the lovely Spanish moss (they weren't from these parts obviously). 

It's like our own version of the Bois de Vincennes, sans chateau. What a wonderful place to "stroll" on a Sunday morning.

Our dot on the map

Gainesville is located in the heart of North Central Florida. Equidistant from both coasts and the Georgia border, our inland climate creates an environment hospitable to the flora and fauna of the Deep South – moss-draped live oaks, flowering dogwood, and possums.  It’s also home to the tropical plants and animals of the typical Florida postcards – palm trees, egrets, and, of course, alligators.

I live downtown, and yet it’s only a short bike ride to “the prairie,” where I can spot an alligator within twenty minutes of leaving  home. La Chua trail runs through the site of a seventeenth century Spanish cattle ranch by the same name. Wild horses, descended from that time, still roam freely.  Before the Spanish, the Potano, a branch of the Timucua people lived here.  In 2000, a drought revealed over fifty ancient canoes in nearby Newnan’s Lake – most between three and five thousand years old.

To read the rest, go to Orion Magazine online. You can add your place!  

To the Bat House, Riley!

_{Ben, Mary, Joe, and squirmy Riley waiting for the bat show} 

We have picnicked twice at the UF Bat House during the last month, and I plan to do it again soon. What a show! And the weather is just perfect for picnics right now. We brought along a laundry basket full of cheese, tomatoes, bread, oranges, strawberries, and fancy lemonade, and our table on the lakeside was front row seating. 

The bats emerge slowly at first, right at dusk - 10 or 15 at first, which seems like a lot of bats. Then they start really streaming out, a swirl of gray against the blue sky as they zig and zag after mosquitoes. A hawk waiting for the bats to emerge held 4-year old Riley's attention as much as the sixty thousand (really, 60,000!) bats did. 

While we waited for the bats, we enjoyed people-watching. Lots of families, students, and international folks enjoying the student gardens and beautiful Lake Alice.  As the sun sank, their attention was drawn to the bat house, and when the bats began emerging, everyone applauded. Quite a show.

You can see a video of the nightly flight of the bats here. But if you're in town, you really should go see for yourself. 

Our Springs

This is where we live! So beautiful... Local photographer John Moran, does a great job of reminding us of the natural beauty of our place - and the loss we face. I remember the first time I saw the Ichetucknee Springs; my father took us on a cold winter morning so we could see the steam rising from its 72 degree waters. I also remember floating down the river toward the spring on tire tubes with my grandparents... and taking my children when they were babies in waterwings. How I would like this tradition to continue - for my own grandchildren, and for all the living things that depend on it. 

Speaking for Florida's Springs from John Moran on Vimeo.

Get Out the Map

I'm gonna clear my head; I'm gonna drink the sun

the saddest sight my eyes can see

is that big ball of orange sinking slowly down the trees

sitting in a broken circle while you rest upon my knee

this perfect moment will soon be leaving me...

Indigo Girls: "Get Out the Map"

John was truly inspired when he suggested we ride out on the Hawthorne Trail this morning to see what we could see. February really is my favorite month I think. Year after year I'm amazed by the sunny, blue skies, cool-ish days, the fly-through of robins and sandhill cranes. There's still cold and rain, but, oh, these days seem about perfect to me, how ever many February has to offer us. 

We can pick up the Hawthorne Rail Trail less than a mile from our house - on Depot Road, just south of the GRU Kelley Plant. It's paved all the way and winds through the old, industrial part of town (where the train used to come through) to beautiful Boulware Springs and beyond. We got off our bikes at La Chua trail and walked the mile and a half footpath alongside hundreds of alligators sunning themselves. Our walk was accompanied by the thrumming of leopard frogs so loud at times that we thought it might be the echo of a helicopter flying in the distance. Accompanying that background noise was the warbling of sandhill cranes overhead (such a sweet sound to North Floridians) as they gather to head back north - and the occasional squeak of baby alligators. It's another world out there just a few miles from downtown. 

We get so caught up in all the goings-on in our house, home, and immediate downtown neighborhood, we sometimes forget to wonder at the natural beauty just down the street. Although it's not exactly fasting, we're going to make appreciating some of the hiking and biking trails right outside our door part of our Lenten "discipline."  

Those of you who know us personally, know that my son Ben finished up cancer treatment a couple years ago. This week we had one of those scares post-cancer families and loved ones go through every once in a while. Ben had had some troubling symptoms over the last week or so, and his oncologists felt concerned enough to test him for relapse and some other lesser but still serious issues. Everything came up negative! He rode his bike to the beach this morning in celebration (75 miles, yes). So our happiness and wonder is tied up in that as well. Beautiful. Beautiful.