Daisies and Lupines

When we built our cottage on the Cape, David wanted a paved driveway in a loop to practice motorcycle turns. In the middle of the loop was left a single tree and a pile of dirt. Being the dedicated non-gardener that I am, I threw a bag of Vermont wildflower seeds in there and called it good.

Much to my surprise and delight, the following spring brought the daisies and lupines pictured above. I don’t remember ever seeing them together before, and their exuberant purple and white made me laugh. Every June, they return with more and more enthusiasm.

Growing up in Maine, both of these flowers were part of my childhood. One year when I was 6 or 7 years old, I wandered off one day to explore the woods and fields behind our house in Hampden. I was alone (perfectly normal for children in the 60s in Maine), and poking along one of my favorite paths came out of the trees into a field entirely covered in daisies. I remember being overcome with joy, taking in their triumphant march down to the river. The following year, I went back when the daisies showed their happy faces around our house, but the field had been plowed under and planted with hay, and my disappointment was as deep as had been my delight the previous spring.

Lupines are like magic blue and pink firecrackers poking into the sky. Picking them is useless; they don’t last in water. They flourish where they are, and to enjoy them we have to move ourselves to their homes, not bring them into ours.

No one has planted hay in our circular driveway, so now I get to see the daisies and lupines together every spring. They are like old and trusted friends.

My first ever solo motorcycle trip to Vermont felt a little bit like exploring the woods when I was young. It was a little scary, and exhilarating. Not all of it was pleasant – I still don’t like highway riding, even though I am able to do it well enough.

When I got to Stowe, I connected with the old friends with whom I’ve worked on the balloon meet for so many years. My two days there held the customary laughter, productivity and rejuvenating fellowship. This being my last year (see Changing Direction, March 5, 2011), time with these people took on a new poignancy. Yes, we will continue to be friends, to stay in touch, to keep up, but it won’t be the same. I was freshly reminded how much I love them all, how dear they are, how part of me.

Riding home, the worst part of the trip came first, Interstate 89 and its miles and miles and miles and miles of construction. I definitely do not have the confidence to go the customary 5 to 10 mph over the speed limit on corrugated pavement, as the car drivers often do. So on the one-lane bits, with no place to pull over, lines formed behind me. Frustration, embarrassment, stress… and deep breaths and reminders to look out at the beautiful mountains through which I was riding… that’s how the first 70 miles of my trip fell out.

At the end of the longest stretch of road work, I emerged back onto regular pavement as the road curved around a steep hill. At the end of the curve, just as I was back up to speed, a brilliant patch of daisies and lupines burst into view on the side of the road.

They felt like old friends – always there when you expect them, and a happy surprise when you don’t expect them at all, but need them the most.

Welcome Home

The intoxicating joy of life in New Zealand kept me refreshed for most of the 38+ hours it took to get back to Maine, although energy flagged when we got to Bangor shortly before midnight. While David was stressing about getting possum tails and toys through Customs, and about making connections in LAX, I was simply blissing out on the beauty and gift of the trip.

But arrive we did, to weather that seemed the more bitter for our having been in the tropics. When I first found the car, I was tickled to death that it had so little snow on it. We got to work with shovels and scrapers and broom, and had it dug out in a quarter hour. Thanks to the power of German engineering, it started right up. Woo Hoo!

As it turned out, we would have been better off with more snow! It had rained heavily on top of the earlier dumping, and under the car was nothing but glare ice. Cat litter, help from parking lot guys, and many coaxing words would not move it. Can you say, frostbite? A quick call to AAA was in order. I nearly cried when the dispatcher told me it would be 45 minutes or more, and that I'd darned well better have my picture identification ready.

Just a half hour later, as the delightful driver finished his work, I started digging through my purse with frozen fingers, asking him, "ok, so you need my photo i.d. now?"

"I see you," he said, "that's enough."

Those words made me laugh with happiness for so many reasons, all having to do with the journey taken and the one begun.

This morning's email brought a message from Mom that Aunt Marilyn died while we were gone. She must have been about 147 years old, and was failing for some time, but when young, she was quite a powerhouse. The timing of her passage brought home to me the wonder of this trip, and of all the other crazy things I do. I am healthy, I have an adventurous spirit, and the ability to go where curiosity and passion take me. And while those gifts remain in my hands, I will treasure and honor them by using them to the fullest. "Someday" for me is right now.

On the way home, one of those annoying mandatory flight safety videos showed Richard Branson talking about how airplanes can't take off going downwind. They need a headwind before they can fly: "What you push against lifts you up." So Cyclone Wilma, the knife-edge switchbacks with no guardrails, the crosswinds in the plains, the Gulch of Death, the freezing sheet pouring rain, the challenges of a rookie riding with a talented team of motorcyclists... all those things, lifted me up.

Happy to be home, can't wait to go again. 

Grateful Heart

It's a New Day

Yesterday's errands had me out on the road in some of the worst conditions I've seen in years -- blowing snow, falling hard, slippery surfaces, all viewed from the safe, warm driver's seat of my sturdy SUV. I do love German engineering, but would have preferred to love it from the warmth of my kitchen just then! Snow in the yard was over the dog's shoulders, and she bravely plowed a path to her preferred spot before racing back in (after digging out the dog door, covered with blowing snow moments after she left it).

What a difference a day makes! This morning's cold coastal sunrise dazzled a fresh white world with sparkles and bright shadows.

My first look out the bedroom window this morning yielded a wonderful architectural construction, the perfect angled wall of snow on the porch rail. The corner was as sharp as if constructed by my favorite carpenter, which, I guess, it was.

Clyde, the gargoyle who guards our front porch, wasn't impressed. His new white cloak did nothing to enhance his fierce aspect.

And the rose bush out front burst bravely through her blanket of white, explaining that today's diamonds sparkling from her snowy cover will be shamed by those given to her by morning's dew in June.

I love hunkering down days like yesterday, and I love rebirth days like today. Life is so full of joy, it's hard to hold it all!