My friend Dana was there, and she gave me this button from a website that’s been encouraging folks to do daily journals. She gave me the button because she knew that this is an effort I’ve been thinking about doing again in order to expand my creative frontiers. (I did something similar when I turned sixty, blogging every day for a year.)
We got into this conversation about how the daily routine of planned creativity sparked all sorts of good things for both of us.
Now let’s segue a bit here. I’m also reading a book called Crow Planet. It is, in part, about becoming a naturalist. I’ve long had an idea, inspired by the book PrairyErth by William Least Heat Moon, about choosing just one part of our land, and studying everything on it for a whole year. Two books pointing me in the same direction. Hmmm, seems like this is where I want to go.
Well, since Irene wiped our slate clean in August 2011, and the land which we have loved for so long is different in all ways, I think this is the opportunity I’ve been waiting for. I’m going to study what we call Goldie’s Park, in minute detail, to see how it recovers from Irene.
So I’ve started. Today. No time like the present.
Before Irene, the six acres of riverside we own upstream from our house was covered with wild leeks (ramps to some) and ostrich ferns, the ferns best-known as fiddleheads.
The leeks were always first out of the ground, their graceful leaves coming up as soon as the ground was thawed. Now, most of them are buried under three feet of heavy silt, and we will not see them again.
But the silt is cracked in many places, deep cracks that go down to the level where the we used to walk. And here and there, between the cracks, the leeks persist in coming up. Like the ones in this photograph.
Aren’t they amazing?