gratitude

Magical Day – ND #63

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Barred Owl – Photo: Lehigh Valley Zoo (lvzoo.org)

Magical Day

Between us, Karl and I experienced quite the magical day today. We’re both feeling a bit ‘blissed out’ by it all, to be honest. It’s not that there was any heavy lifting involved. I think sometimes it’s just a matter of expanding our awareness enough to drink it in that can leave us needing to just power down and be still.

Karl began his day with a gorgeous Red Fox crossing in front of his car and then trotting confidently across a field. I wasn’t with him, but it was almost the first thing out of his mouth when he arrived home. He kept marveling at the creature’s robust health and the stunning color and condition of its coat.

Fox can signify a variety of messages, from family matters to creativity to using camouflage to keep oneself and one’s family safe and out of harm’s way. Karl’s trip happened to be all about family and the beauty of the Fox felt like a wonderful omen. His trip ended up being especially loving and sweet.

On his way home, he spotted an enormous Bald Eagle perched in a tree overhanging a road near our house. While we both know they’ve made a powerful resurgence in the area over the years, we never seem to lose our sense of excitement and awe when visited by Eagle.

Recently, most of my sightings have been along the Tohickon or the Lenape Sipu, and almost always when I’ve been alone. (Although I did see two just last Sunday when taking a walk with my friend along the Delaware!) I can’t tell you how often I’ve seen a crestfallen look sweep across Karl’s face when I recount seeing an Eagle.

So it was especially meaningful to have Bald Eagle visit Karl today. He finally felt like he was part of the club. And best of all, the raptor was scoping out potential quarry on a branch close enough to Karl that its markings were unmistakable. A powerful gift from Spirit.

Eagle – Photo: L. Weikel

My Magic

I’d already experienced an afternoon that reinforced for me how unbelievably lucky I am to do what I do. Maybe it’s more accurate to say ‘to witness what I do.’ Because really – I just create the space and watch things unfold. Anyway, it’s hard to describe, which is why I tend to dance around it most of the time, or not even bring it up at all.

Anyway, I knew I needed to walk after the session I had. I needed to ground myself; I needed to make sure I was back in my body. By the time we set out darkness had fallen. The constellations were stunning in spite of the brilliance of the half moon above.

Just short of a mile into our walk, I turned around to untangle myself from Brutus’s leash when a meteor suddenly streaked through the sky, right to left. It was surprisingly low on the horizon and large – burning a brilliant yellow with an outline of crimson. And it crossed the sky slowly (for a meteor) – it wasn’t some little blip. While I yelped out to Karl when I saw it, my gasp and garbled, “Look! Oh! WOW!” didn’t sink in quickly enough for him to see it.

There was something special going on in the cosmos tonight. Like I said, the constellations seemed especially vibrant and obvious. And by that I mean, the patterns seemed emphasized somehow. The sky was filled with stars, as usual, and often I just drink them all in with my eyes wide as possible. But tonight felt different.

Our Shared Magic

Finally, another mile into our walk the call of a Barred Owl echoed through the woods to our left. I could hardly contain my excitement. I don’t remember ever hearing a Barred Owl up here in our environs. The first time I’d ever heard one (and then heard several) was a few years ago in the Smoky Mountains of North Carolina.

I stopped dead in my tracks. “Did you hear that?” I whispered.

Of course he had. It was the only sound in this silent February night. The “Who cooks for youoooooooo” call of the owl was coming from the same vicinity the coyotes had been howling a few nights ago. There must be a lot of action down there along that part of the creek.

The Barred Owl hooted another several times (one of which you can hear, above) giving me a chance to record it on my phone. It’s almost as if it knew when I had because as soon as I was satisfied, it went silent. I can’t explain why, but this encounter, too, felt…different. Magical, if you will.

(T+63)

Puppies Extraordinaire – ND #35

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Staying Warm and Plotting Strategy – Photo: L. Weikel

Puppies Extraordinaire

Karl and I managed to take a brisk walk in this afternoon. Thank goodness we got it in before the sun set! I don’t think the temperature managed to reach 20 degrees today, but I know for sure it dropped as soon as it got dark – and I see it’s 14 degrees out right now. But the two I really want to give a shout out to are Pacha and Brutus. They are puppies extraordinaire.

We couldn’t ask for better companions. They jauntily trot along with us no matter how cold it is. While I do think they might balk if we asked them to walk in unplowed snowfall (umm, who wouldn’t?), they reliably overcome their inevitable initial misgivings each and every day.

Yes, they adopt hangdog expressions and their body language broadcasts long, plaintive, “Noooooooo!”s when we suit them up with their harnesses and coats. But who can blame them? Almost inevitably, we’re waking them from cozy cuddling and snuggly slumber. It’s a harsh transition, I’ll admit. It is for us, too, to be honest.

Frozen Ground

The freezing temperatures have a big impact on our ability to blow off steam. And let me tell you, five month old puppies build up a lot of steam. (And yes, the chewing – oh my – probably warrants a whole post on its own.) Before the ground froze, we were still able to take a break and get outside in the late morning to play with toys. (I’m a sucker for ‘fetch’ – I’m in it for the long haul as long as they keep bringing it back to me!) But that joyful activity lost some of its appeal when they realized just how much it hurts to skid across the grass when the ground underneath no longer ‘gives.’ It only took a few yelps to squash their enthusiasm.

Which brings me back to the necessity of our walks, even if they are on the chilly side.

I’m pretty sure Sheila and Spartacus charged these pups with the sacred responsibility of keeping us moving. Or maybe it’s Karl who encourages them to be such great walkers. They sometimes conspire with one of his emissaries…

Definitely Plotting – Photo: L. Weikel

One thing all four of us agree on: it’s utterly delicious (and absolutely indulgent) to come home from a walk in the crisp winter air and snuggle in front of a fire. We’re incredibly fortunate and I’m so grateful for our lives together.

(T+35)

Smiling – ND #9

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DECEMBER Tug-o-war & Visitor – Photo: L. Weikel

Smiling

Even though I feel pressed for time this evening since there’s no way I’m going to get this published by 1:00 a.m., I know it’s a feeling I need to let go. And the reason I need to let it go is because I have to tell you how much I’m smiling inside. Even though this may not get sent out at the requisite witching hour, I’m grateful that I’m writing it at all.

I’m finding it hard to articulate what I mean. Let me back up a little.

This afternoon I was playing with Pacha and Brutus, all three of us drinking in the unbelievably mild weather. It had to have been in the mid-60s today, and darn close to hitting 70.

One of our favorite games is a rudimentary form of fetch, wherein I chuck a squeaker dog toy dressed up to look like an animal as far as I can toward our little barn and they run pell-mell after it. Most of the time they chase and tackle each other, ripping the toy out of each other’s mouths, and eventually bring it back to me for another toss. There’s a lot of taunting and teasing that goes on as well. And then there’s the inevitable tug-o’-war, since the toy has floppy legs that lend themselves to puppies digging in their heels and refusing to unclench their jaws.

An Unexpected Sighting

I’d tossed the squeaker creature approximately 358 times, when they stopped halfway back to me and engaged in an epic battle of tug-o’-war. I don’t know what got into them, but neither was yielding. When I started walking toward them to yank it from both of them (would I do that?!), I saw something completely unexpected: the brilliant head of a dandelion peeking out at me from amongst the piles of leaves and assorted other remnants of autumn detritus.

Trained from my 1111 Devotion experience, I had my phone in the pouch of my sweatshirt, the ready to snap a photo at a moment’s notice. As can be seen from the photo above, not only did I capture the resilience of our December Dandelion, I also managed to get a shot of the ongoing battle that was ensuing.

Back to My Gratitude

All of which leads me back to what I was so inartfully trying to articulate at the beginning of this post. Yeah, I’m posting late, so now this won’t get into my readers’ email inboxes until Saturday. But in the grand scheme of things, and remembering how sad I was feeling two weeks ago (when I was in the midst of my posting hiatus), there’s a smile beaming out from my heart center.

Who’d have thought I’d find a dandelion blooming in the midst of our lawn on December 16th? And why in the world would it make me…smile?

While the long-term implications of this (not to mention the devastating tornadoes and storms of last week and yesterday in the South and Midwest) might indicate the deeply troubling reality of accelerating climate change, the simultaneous beauty and worry generated by this sunny countenance is more meaningful because I can share it with you.

When I saw that dandelion and ‘had’ to take a photo of it, all I could think about was sharing it with you. It’s odd! We’re five days or so from the solstice and the shortest day of the year! And the fact that I was walking on the grass in bare feet was weird too. (In more ways then one, I know.)

But what mattered to me was the prospect of sharing it with all of you. In other words, I’m grateful we’ve renewed this invisible but meaningful connection. The fact that you’re ‘out there’ and we’re sharing these moments matters to me. You make me smile.

11 Mourning Doves also decided to hang out with us – Photo: L. Weikel

(T+9)

Grim Discovery – Day 983

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Closeup of Northern Ring-necked Snake – Photo: L. Weikel

Grim Discovery

I made a grim discovery on our walk today. Sadly, the snake pictured above suffered an untimely demise. Given its injuries, even though it was discovered on the road, I have to wonder if it was shaken to death by a dog or perhaps even more likely snagged by the claws of a raptor and then dropped. If hit by a car, I suspect it would’ve been much more smooshed.

As it was, I was shocked to see its bright orange underbelly. Before this evening, I’d never seen a snake with this coloring. Its top was such a uniformly beautiful charcoal gray color, it reminded me of a seamless suit of armor.

It wasn’t until I picked it up to take it to the side of the road that I noticed the ring around its neck. It was so pretty and distinctive – this single ring of pale orange at the base of its head, blending with and complementing the definitively bolder tangerine of its underbelly.

I’d already taken a photo of the slight little serpent when I discovered it. I wanted to document its striking coloring. But then I took a few more snaps of its distinctive markings before curling it up in the grass on the berm of the road. I made an offering of a few strands of my hair as a gesture of respect for its life.

PA Herp Identification

Once again, the wonderful site known as Pennsylvania Herp Identification (or PA Herps for short) came to my aid in identifying this beautiful creature. It’s a Northern Ring-necked Snake. They’re apparently ubiquitous throughout Pennsylvania, but in all my 62 years, I’ve never seen one before tonight.

It’s funny – in looking at the photos of other Northern Ring-necks on the PA Herp site, I wasn’t at all surprised to see many photos of people gently holding the slender creatures in their hands. I was surprised to feel a similar inclination when I picked it up off the road. Yes, I know, it was already dead. But I felt a distinct sense of gentleness from it.

It was still very supple when I discovered it, too – which made me sad to realize it had probably died only minutes before we discovered it. Its sweet little face wasn’t the least bit scary or intimidating. I felt a real sense of loss.

Grim Discovery – Photo: L. Weikel

Snake’s Message

As I’ve written a bazillion times a simple and obvious intuitive interpretation of such a discovery might be that change is afoot. Snake often shows up when we’re being encouraged to undergo some type of transformation; perhaps a major opportunity to let go of who we’ve been (our outer identity or ‘skin’) and grow into a whole new iteration of ourselves.

Had this Northern Ring-necked Snake been a venomous serpent, I might have pondered whether I was supposed to transmute some poisonous thought, idea, attitude, or belief within or about myself or my circumstances. But that’s not what this felt like.

To be honest, until I started writing this post tonight I never even considered that it might be bringing me a message. (I know; hard to believe. But it’s true.) I was more focused upon simply identifying its beautiful self and sharing my discovery.

Full Moon On Friday

But now that I think about it, I’m willing to honor this creature’s life by interpreting its death, and my discovery of it, as a message to me in my own life. As we approach this full moon on Friday, it might serve me well to take a little time to contemplate what I want to shed in order to move forward in my life. The orange underbelly could be a hint that it has to do with creative endeavors. Perhaps the ring around its neck might represent something (a belief? an attitude?) that’s been keeping me captive. Not poisoned – just…limited. It’s possible.

While shedding is often a task undertaken as we approach a new moon, it feels right to consider what has reached its fullest expression in my life and can now be let go. We’re always in a state of flux; a state of beginning, becoming, or shedding.

It’s sad when any creature meets with an early or untimely demise. I hope on some level that treating this Being with respect and expressing gratitude for its appearance in my life somehow added to the balance of all things.

(T-128)

Used to Be – Day 874

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Easter Eve Sunset – Photo: L. Weikel

Used to Be

I’m sure it’s the pandemic talking, but I realized something today that sort of took me aback. I actually heard myself saying, “Easter used to be one of my favorite holidays.”

“Used to be.” Hmm.

It’s not just Easter, either. Karl and I didn’t even put up a tree this past Christmas. If you’d have asked me ten years ago if I could imagine ever spending Christmas without a tree, I wouldn’t have hesitated a single moment. Of course we’d always have a tree.

Guess not.

Don’t get me wrong. I still love Easter. And Christmas. And of course New Year’s – bringing us the opportunity to start fresh. Then starting the cycle all over again is Thanksgiving  – always a joy given the sentiment of appreciating all the blessings in one’s life. There’s also something to be said for gratitude being the primary focus of that holiday.

It just seems like sometimes we forget to really and truly look around at the people in our lives and feel in our bones how much their presence means to us. Which I guess is why things have been feeling a lot different lately.

Maybe it’s that I took a stroll down memory lane today and sort of sustained a gut punch when I realized just how profoundly our holidays have changed over the years – in ways I don’t think I could’ve expected.

The Rest of the Year

The holidays we celebrate May through October just seem to pass by. What I enjoy most are the astronomical observances – the ‘pagan’ holidays, if you will: summer solstice, fall equinox. I think I probably enjoy Christmas and Easter because of their connection to winter solstice and spring equinox.

Nah. Along with New Year’s, Easter is a time of rebirth and in many ways issues a clarion call for a bursting forth of new energy and growth. It’s also almost always near my birthday. So of course I like Easter. Or I used to.

Tonight’s sunset was classic early April. Stunning and simple. The chill in the air providing just the right nip to keep the peepers sleepy and the buds on the flowers holding back their burst of energy until unleashing it tomorrow in a cascade of brilliance and color – because it’s going to warm up again. Not into the 70s, perhaps, but enough to coax some breakthroughs.

Wishes

Here’s hoping this Easter season (or Passover or whatever tradition you celebrate) brings you hope and a sense of promise at the prospect of new beginnings.

It seems that for many people there’s a lot more reason for hope and optimism this year than there was last year at this time. I’ll take that.

And who knows? Maybe next year The Rabbit will visit again. It’s a possibility.

(T-237)

Kiffel Christmas – Day 775

Posted on by Lisa Weikel 4 Comments
Partial Plate of Kiffels – Photo: L. Weikel

Kiffel Christmas

Yuletide 2020 will forever be remembered as Kiffel Christmas. I know, I know. I wrote about my intention to bake kiffels how many days ago? Eleven?

Well, I’m relieved to report that I’ve finally managed to get those babies baked. Today – of all days. And given the length of time it ended up taking me to roll out those little balls, fill them, and bake them, I realize the unconscious wisdom I exercised in saving the endeavor for a day when I basically had no other obligations.

In my defense, I rolled the dough into little balls and had them resting in the refrigerator, contemplating their destiny a good four days or so ago. It was finding the time and dedication to completing the task that took some juggling.

Of course, because I commandeered the oven for this long-slog of a task, we decided to wait a day to roast our yuletide turkey. I have to admit, I’m looking forward to our last wave of turkey sandwiches for the year. We only roast two turkeys a year: one for Thanksgiving and one for Christmas. Hence we only indulge in turkey sandwiches twice a year as well.

Eye Roll

I have to say, I’m rolling my eyes at the fact that I’ve obviously ceded access to my keyboard to my gastric senses. But they’re primal. I’m incredibly grateful for the roof over my head, the heat emanating from our fireplace, and the comfort in my tummy.

I guess I’m especially appreciative of our good fortune right now. I’m acutely aware of the blessing it is to be able to bake kiffels, roast a turkey, and contemplate having enough leftovers to feed ourselves for a week (and even share some, to boot).

My heart goes out to the millions of people who are facing staggering hardships right now. Sickness, hunger, sadness and fear – and perhaps worst of all, the dark jaws of hopelessness. There’s nothing I can say or do or write that will ease their burdens. And it almost feels obscene for me to engage in the banter I do.

Love and Gratitude

But all I know is that the overriding feelings I want to convey today are love and gratitude. Love for the people and opportunities that fill my life. Love for the efforts of so many in my world to make a difference in people’s lives. Love and appreciation for the smiles and kindness I see in the eyes and on the faces of so many, even though I know for a fact their hearts are heavy with burdens.

There’s so much goodness in the world.

We may be pushed in the next several days and weeks especially to buy into the proposition that we can’t trust anyone who doesn’t look like or think exactly the way we do. We may be exhorted to think the worst of everyone we encounter.

It’s in times like these that we need to focus on those smallest of blessing around us. A cookie baked by a neighbor. The warmth of our blankets and the softness of our socks. The kindness and respect shown by people we don’t even know when they stand more than six feet away from us and wear a mask – the twinkle of a smile still visible in their eyes – just because they care about you as much as they care about themselves.

We need to focus on the littlest things right now because they are, in truth, gigantic and life-affirming.

Be well, my friends. Sending you all a virtual kiffel and a hug.

(T-336)

ICYMI – Day 532

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Old fashioned radio – Photo: pinterest.com

ICYMI

It’s funny – this is one of two acronyms that have grown in usage over the past several years that seem to stop me in my tracks. When I see ICYMI (which stands for ‘in case you missed it’), I always have to pause and make a conscious effort to say the full phrase to myself. For whatever reason, this acronym just doesn’t trigger instant recognition in my brain.

Neither does NSFW. Which is particularly ironic, if you know me very well on a personal level, since I tend to speak in NSFW language about NSFW subjects probably far too often. (That’s ‘not safe for work,’ Karl.) (He’s as bad as I am about these acronyms; trust me.)

OK, so now that we have that sorted (hmm, is OK one, too? maybe not), I want to let you know the reason why I titled this post the way I did.

KYW, Of Course

My ‘unexpected opportunity!’ My 30 seconds of fame, dear readers! Good heavens, I’ve only been writing about it for days. In fact, I’m sure you were wondering if it would ever air – or if I was just stringing you along. Because yes, including tonight, I managed to eke out three whole posts dedicated to an interview that seemed to go by in the wink of an eye. But at least tonight’s post includes a link to the actual broadcasted clip!

I have to say, being a person who does not routinely (read ‘ever’) get interviewed on tv or radio, I was pretty stoked when I hopped in my car this morning for my weekly run to buy our organic milk during the old people’s hour. (That sentence horrifies me. But sadly, it’s accurate.) The stoking factor was that it only took seven minutes or so from when I got in the car and turned on the radio for the segment to come on!

Then, having bopped in and out of the store in jig time, I got home all excited to have heard it, whereupon Karl turned the radio on here in the house. Sure enough, another version of the segment  – one that was a scootch longer, even! – aired within a couple of minutes.

Gratitude

I want to thank Kim Glovas for seeking me out for the interview. It was a privilege to be asked to share my thoughts on what our global experience of this pandemic might be instigating within and revealing to us, not only personally but on a much larger scale as well.

There are some of you out there who may smile when you read the paragraph above. Yeah. Life’s a hoot.

I also send out big hugs to each of you who so kindly expressed enthusiasm when I first wrote about the interview last week. While it’s always great to have unexpected opportunities arrive in our lives, it’s waaaaay more fun to share those bright spots with others.

So again, ICYMI, here it is. As always, thanks for reading. And thanks for listening!

Tigger – unimpressed with my shenanigans – Photo: L. Weikel

(T-579)

Holding My Breath (Again) – Day 511

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Image (Facebook) – Credit Unkown

Holding My Breath (Again)

As I sit here trying to think of something to write this evening, I keep dismissing each idea that pops into my head.  Nope. Not that. Nope. Not that, either. I annoy myself as I nix each thought. Until I realize: I’m holding my breath.

Literally and figuratively.

So I write that as the working title to my post and I realize with the force of a whack upside the head that this awful freaking virus is all about our breath. It’s all about breath and breathing. Or not being able to take one or enjoy doing it anymore.

I make a point to take a deep breath – if only to notice it, relish it, be grateful for it.

Momentous Week

Why am I holding my breath? Because I, too, feel this week will bring shock and sadness to so many of us. To any and all of us who are paying attention.

And it will only be the beginning.

We thought we were witnessing the beginning recently? No. We weren’t. We were just watching the opening credits.

Now is when the rough stuff really starts unfolding, when the images we see playing out before us slam into the vision of reality that we insist on pretending we see. This is when we find out whether the center can hold – on whether our centers can hold. This is when we are faced with the consequences of our choices and the choices of others.

We’re In This Together

Because, yet again, we’re in this together. The dire predictions for New York City are probably going to start manifesting this week. But the real shock is going to come when it happens elsewhere.

Everyone expects NYC to get slammed. Many who are intimidated by the intensity and startling diversity of NYC look at NYC in smug judgment. But what about other cities that are not quite as diverse? Rural areas? Our small towns and villages where people think they’re immune to the consequences of policies enacted in Washington D. C.? Something tells me they’re in for a terrible surprise.

So…yeah. I’m holding my breath. I don’t want the dire predictions to play out. And I wish we didn’t have to live through such cataclysm in order to force us to change our ways.

But as long as we insist on thinking we’re special or it won’t happen to us we perpetuate the spread of this misery.

There is a solution. There is a lesson. It’s the realization on the most profound of levels (from the seemingly insignificant to the obviously momentous) that we’re really and truly all connected. We are all related. And we need to start acting like it, from the ground up. I’m holding my breath (again) – for all of us.

Mitakuye Oyasin.

Creek along Red Hill – Photo: L. Weikel

(T-600)

Christmas Lights – Day 507

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Christmas Lights in April (2020) – Photo: L.Weikel

Christmas Lights

I walked outside this evening and was entranced by the exquisite clarity of the night sky. A cool breeze wrapped around me, but I noticed that it wasn’t harboring a cold edge. Rather, it was refreshing and soothing; it almost seemed happy to see me outside, looking up, drinking in the brilliance of the half moon above me. The stars seemed unusually bright and twinkly.

The wind sighed in the massive boughs of the pines across the road.

I don’t know what it was about this evening that felt so different. But it did. And it does.

I went outside for the express purpose of taking a photo of our smattering of Christmas lights which we never took down and recently decided to reignite for a bit. Obviously, my purpose in venturing outside to take a photo of the lights was to share them with you.

Giving and Receiving

There’s probably something to that – a connection between my desire to share the simple pleasure of colorful lights decorating the darkness and the unexpected blessing of feeling seen and greeted, dazzled even, by the totality of the Earth, wind, sky, moon, and stars.

The entire experience has left me near tears. Perhaps just more of those weird feelings. Or perhaps its something else. Something bigger.

It feels bigger. The stillness feels bigger. The precious interconnection between everything – all of us – feels more acute to me.

My Intention

The point of tonight’s post was simply to share the joy it gave Karl and me to turn our Christmas lights back on and bring some color and whimsy to the darkness.

Don’t get me wrong. I love the night; I love darkness, especially when our eyes adjust and we realize it’s not dark at all.

But right now it feels like we could all use a little reminder. It’s funny. The lights we strung outside this past Christmas season were not traditional Christmas colors at all. And lighting up the night right now, they seem particularly appropriate: orange, green, blue and red. What an odd conglomeration. Brilliant colors nevertheless – illuminating the night.

And if I hadn’t chosen to write this post tonight and wanted to include a photo of our Christmas lights, I never would have experienced the embrace of Nature I received.

So…thank you.

(T-604)

 

Banging the Drum – Day 490

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High Rocks State Park (14 March 2020) – Photo: L. Weikel

Banging the Drum

If you’ve been reading this blog for any extended period of time, you’ve probably caught on to the fact that I love taking walks. I’ve written about how vitally important walking in nature is to my life, including the profound impact it’s had on my marriage. And now I’m banging the drum about walking even more as we all do our best to develop new coping strategies.

Gratitude

I’m feeling grateful for the weather this past week, as it was nice enough for us to walk every single day. This turned out to be exceedingly important to my mental health, as crises on the national and global stages, such as the spread of the Coronavirus, to personal issues looming large with clients and friends seemed to erupt every day.

The perspective and pleasure afforded by simply being in nature and physically moving forward reliably helped me sort out my thoughts and feelings about all sorts of matters – even things I didn’t realize were weighing on me.

Karl and I have remarked a number of times to each other already how lucky it is that this pandemic didn’t land on us in November. With the closing of all the schools and the admonition to engage in social distancing, it just seems like having to endure all of that while being cooped up in our homes would have been even far more difficult. (And believe me, I’m not thinking or saying any of this is going to be easy.)

What in the World?

So you can imagine my utter distress when I encountered this sign yesterday at High Rocks State Park. I’d also received notification via text message that Lake Nockamixon State Park was closing as well. You can check out exactly what this closure means here, and also see which parks are affected. You can also use it to keep an eye on whether they will extend the closures beyond the next two weeks or include other parks as the situation unfolds.

While I can understand closing the administration buildings and rest rooms at these parks, I am puzzled over why they are closing the parking lots. Reading the link above, it does sound as though the trails themselves remain accessible, so hopefully they’ll go easy on enforcing the parking.

It simply doesn’t make sense to me that we would be restricting residents’ ability to get outside in the fresh air and walk, hike, bike, explore nature, go birding, learn about plants, and maybe even brush up on some survival skills, especially when the schools across the state are all closed for at least two weeks!

It Does a Body Good

Here’s an interesting article I came across today. While it’s not technically about walking or being out in nature in a recreational capacity (which seems to me would be even more beneficial), it does discuss some fascinating research and conclusions from studying the 1918 Spanish flu.

And if you’re questioning why the entire country seems to be implementing more and more draconian measures to help stem the spread of this virus, such as closing restaurants, bars, schools, and pretty much everything except food stores and pharmacies, here’s an article that explains the reasoning.

All in all, it will be much better for all of us (but especially our hospitals, which may soon get walloped by unprecedented numbers of people showing up all at once) if we can stem the exponential growth now. Every single day we wait to implement these measures increases the risks for all of us. So I guess the best thing we can hope for is to look back on the very weird times we’re going to endure and say, “It didn’t get as bad as it could have.”

Because that will mean these drastic measures worked.

Stay calm, stay centered, find something to be grateful for every day, and if you can – get outside and listen to those peepers!

Daffodils in mid-March – Photo: L. Weikel

(T-621)