Saturday Morning Visit

In the morning, I stood in a garden that was a'flutter with butterflies, clipping flowers for an impromptu nosegay bouquet. Lori came out with a tiny glass jar to put it in, and we brought it as a thank you to the lady we were going to interview. The interview will be part of the Living Stories Collective I keep mentioning, but in the meantime, it's been such a privilege to visit folks in this very unusual neighborhood of ours.

To get to this particular house, we drove across a bridge above a creek so empty of its water it was just a dusty pathway between stark walls of rock.

"It used to rain," said the lady we interviewed. "Remember rain?"

I do.

Once a dairy farm, the property we visited is bedecked with sundry buildings...a remodeled bunk house, a rainbow-colored Quonset hut, a party room brimming with curios, decor with a sense of humor...as well as an art studio, a garden, and a comfortable house, not to mention goats, and chickens, and plenty of pigs. I love glimpsing these unusual, off-the-beaten-track places where people quietly live their lives. I love hearing their reminiscences and reflections, observing their love of home and deep connections to the land.

This particular lady pays attention. She used to be a passionate hiker, and we all know how a good walk clears your head and heightens your awareness of place. Nowadays she paints, and when her pictures come out well, she feels she captured a moment.

"Afterwards," she says, "when I look at my picture, I’m back on location. I can feel it. I can feel the heat from the grass, the sun on me, I can feel the bugs...I’m there, where I was when I painted it."

On the walls are flowers rendered immortal in oil on canvas, dirt roads and grassy fields in varying kinds of light, and the curves of luminous green hills. Rained-upon hills. I remember those.

The room is cool and welcoming, and a tall white poodle steals an oatmeal cookie from a plate.

I always feel more grounded after these visits. A bit steadier.