Cat in the sky

So I’ve been working on building a cob shed (check out Dancing with Mud Blog for more) and just installed a clear plastic roof temporarily.  It wasn’t 10 minutes after I was done that “Tom”, one of our outdoor cats began walking out on the roof.  My initial emotion was a bit of frustration as I hadn’t designed the roof for cats to walk on, just to shed water, and frankly I never considered a cat would even try being it is clear and has some give, I just figured no animal in their right mind would voluntarily step out onto it. 

Very quickly I became fascinated.  I had never before had such a perspective and it was a bit strange and exciting to see life from an angle I had never even considered. 

I have often wondered what it would be like if all the trees were suddenly turned upside down, and what we saw above ground was stuffed in the ground, and the roots were sticking out above ground… what a strange and exciting perspective that would be!

This was kind of like that for me.  What if we could watch all sorts of animals move from underneath like this?  Imagine how that would change our experiences in tracking!  Maybe this is how Grandmother Turtle sees us.     

There was just something incredibly beautiful and intriguing watching him in this way.  He didn’t tarry long, just wanted to experience it I guess.  There are several other cats and after two days no other cat has tried, only Tom.  He is the smallest and lightest and maybe instinctively knows he isn’t too heavy.   

Today I found him curled up in pocket of plastic draped underneath the main roof.  How he discovered this I do not know, but he seemed quite content.  Once again animals capturing my imagination in a clever and thought provoking manner.... gratitude.  

The chorus on the water

So I went fishing a few days ago.  It was that pre-dusk time, and the chorus of peepers was phenomenal.   I was standing on the dam of a small lake, and all the frogs were at the far end in the shallows.  Being that the lake is nestled between two hills, and there is a hill directly behind it as well, the sound was funneled directly at me.  In fact it was as if I was standing in the open end of a giant tin can and thousands of frogs were deep inside.  The sound literally enveloped me and there were times when I tilted my head just right and felt completely surrounded by the chorus.  The resounding frogs are only part of the story.

It was a very still evening, not a twitch of breeze.  I was fascinated by the concentric rings that emanated from my fishing bobber each time I cast.  I was trying to watch the rings expand as far as I could, watching how they became increasingly difficult to see as they expanded towards the bank.  Then I went into wide-angle vision (see description below), and picked up the reflections of the trees and sky upon the water and realized the water was not still at all!   I picked up multitudes of very delicate but distinct ridges of water crisscrossing the reflections in very intricate patterns, as if they were the very edges of expanding concentric rings coming from all directions.  Bounce back rings from the bank caused by my bobber?  It seems there were way to many of them, which is really the only way I noticed them… their sheer volume.  The ever-slight breezes that I couldn’t even detect on my skin?  Possibly.  I continued fishing (which it was in this case, because it certainly had no resemblance whatsoever to “catching”) without much more thought.  I just enjoyed being in the audience as the frogs performed at the far end of this natural amphitheater, the water itself seeming to be in concert with the performers.

Today I began thinking about sound and how it travels in percussive waves until it hits our eardrums.  It dawned on me, the proverbial light bulb.   Were those tiny ridges of water that I noticed caused by the percussive waves of the frog’s singing as their voice traveled out in all directions reflecting off the surface of the lake?  Or even across the surface for the frogs partially submerged at the water’s edge?  Could even my foot stomp on the shore produce minute rings that travel out across the water, undetected by all but the most trained observer?  Does not the same thing occur then in the air?

Water once again, teaching us, showing us the inner workings of our natural world… gratitude.         

Wide-angle vision:  The opposite of “tunnel vision”.   

Stand still keeping your head straight in front of you.  Now put your arms straight out in front of you and wiggle your fingers.  Now without moving your head, keeping your eyes directly in front, begin to spread your outstretched arms apart, continuing to wiggle your fingers.  Notice the wiggling.  Continue to spread your arms as far out the sides as you can while still observing your wiggling fingers.  You are now in wide-angle vision!  AKA: splatter-vision.   

It is a technique where you eyes are not focused on anything in particular, but out-focus a bit, observing everything from the peripheral of your vision in.  Awareness of your entire surroundings becomes heightened.  This is how most animals see most of the time, because even the slightest motion anywhere in your vision becomes noticeable, you are then able to focus in on the motion to determine if it might be “lunch”, or might be looking at you for it’s “lunch”.        

A leaf, some snow, a few ice-cyles and time

Timing. Nature travels through time at it’s own pace. Sure there are natural rhythms and patterns that have been followed since time immortal, but there is also randomness, a uniqueness that presents itself from time to time.

Take this leaf for instance. I was walking through the woods yesterday, not long after a significant snowfall of upwards of 8-10 inches, and stopped to contemplate this leaf. I was drawn to it. It was a stark contrast against the white glare that otherwise dominated the forest floor. I was intrigued. Why now? All of its companions were laying 8 inches below, buried, many already succumbing to the inevitable decay. Yet here was this leaf that had hung dearly to its limb, steadfast through months of rain, a pounding from a winter storm, and waited until after most of the snow had fallen to pop loose and float to the ground, to rest gently atop the snow. Random and beautiful.

Having observed many similarly shaped leaves falling through the air during the fall, I was again intrigued by how it landed. A leaf falls unwilled, showing front, showing back, no intentions other than to be a falling leaf, poetry in motion. Yet the laws of aerodynamics do take over, and I’ve noticed that most leaves that have a slight curl in them such as this one tend to sink “tines up”, wobbling and occasionally spinning, but otherwise maintaining a posture of least resistance. In other words, they will always fall with the opening of the bowl facing up unless acted upon by another force. Yet this leaf landed tines down, against the laws of physics. Did a wind blow across the ground here at just the right moment? Perhaps the leaf landed elsewhere and was blown upside down to stick here? What does it even matter?.

Take these ice-cycles for instance. Have you ever actually seen one form? They take the right conditions. They take time. We would struggle to observe the process, yet we are amazed at the result. A water droplet that has traveled through the expanse of time is now frozen in front of me. What causes the ridges to form? What causes the bubbles trapped inside? You see, every ice-cycle is a bit random and unique. They form different lengths, thicknesses, and patterns. Yet for all their amazing intricacies and distinctive character, there are destined to disappear. What takes days to form, can dissolve in an hour. Why bother.

As humans we often try to apply meaning to our observations. We attempt to understand the timing of events in our life and make sense of the why. More often than not the whys cannot be answered, and our need for answers causes us angst. To contemplate the leaf’s journey provides entertainment, yet to simply marvel at its place in time as I walk by provides real joy. To contemplate how a single water droplet adds to an ice-cycle provides intrigue, yet to marvel at its beauty right now provides true wonderment.

Sometimes, that is enough.

By nature, nature itself has no intentions to teach, reveal, guide, or clarify. It simply is. Yet it does all of these things and more through not doing any of it. This is the great paradox.

More pictures

Grandfather Oak

The trees are our teachers. Consider just a few of their lessons;

• The flexible bend in the storms and rarely break.
• To reach for the stars, requires nourishment from the earth.
• The environment can affect life, and life can affect environment.

I have woods in back of my house and there is a tree up on a hill that has fallen. I had seen it before put paid little attention. Recently I went to rediscover this tree and was amazed at it’s size, once I really began to see it. This incredible Oak tree may very well be the largest tree I have ever seen. Even lying on its side doesn't detract from its majesty.

I wonder how old it is, and what had caused it finally topple after all these years. I wondered how long ago it had fallen, and how long would it take to be fully recycled back into the earth. I was intrigued by the fact that there were precious few roots on the bottom, and it even seemed to lack the typical “hole and ball” effect I have seen with other downed trees. Yet in its upright days it must have dominated this area. Truthfully, in its horizontal days, it’s still dominating the area.  I wondered at the birds and animals that had sat in its branches, and I wonder at the birds and animals that still use it’s branches.  It isn't dead and gone, its still very much alive.  It exists in a different form perhaps, but the spirit of this tree and tree itself will live here in this spot long after any obvious signs of its presence now are gone.

You see my neighbor views it as a resource to eventually be cut up and used. True that is a value in downed trees that I can appreciate.  But this grandfather is a treasure, best left to take its natural course without human intervention. He has observed more than we can ever dream, and deserves to reciprocate those lessons back to the earth.

The trees are our teachers. Perhaps their greatest lesson lies in simply observing all and grasping at nothing, realizing the only inevitable is change, and simply to be where you are, right now, is enough.