2014 was a well spring of creativity.
So, in order to share, I’m publishing my art, some short stories, a few essays and the cartoons on creektreat.
If you enjoy an essay or a story, please consider planting an acorn. All money goes to keeping creektreat online.
Thanks. And big love.
Summer is alive with transition. We push our fingers into wet warming soil, carefully dropping tiny seeds. Watch as the first early summer shoots rise from the ground. Wait with anticipation as we tend with trepidation, fearing hail, marauders, weeding, supporting, watering, feeding. And, finally, late summer we reap. Grateful for the bounty bestowed.
The rhythm of the season, like the pacing of feet or a song of words, a steady progression yet filled with hesitation, tumbling, skipping, harmonics.
i have just come in from a walk around creek’s 6 acres. no one is about. a gusting wind pushes from the south. mmm. south south west perhaps.
tonight the wind will turn to the north west and the hot summer weather will end. tomorrow I will wake to early fall. as it should be. it is the middle of september.
heavy metal cloud scuds across a light grey sky. in an hour it will be black. but for now. now I walk amongst the trees I have tended. the fields I have mown, planted, harvested. down the lane I have laid. scraped. blown. dragged. dug down and built up.
the farmer was by. we talked. he mowed my front field. and rolled the grass into round bales. bales the size of old volkswagons. he left me two. i hadn’t even noticed as I traced my way on my sunshine filled morning shop. i spot them as I come back again.
I’m sitting in a chair in the shade of an apple tree and thinkin’ some on a piece of plastic trim for the chalet siding that doesn’t fit, dang, when my musings are interrupted by two nefarious beasties.
The first beastie is a turkey. Two nights ago the turkey was roosting in said apple tree. when I came out of the studio to go to bed in the chalet I startled him and he burst into flight. I was neither shaken nor stirred. It was just another cherished moment of off grid life.
Today, whilst I muse, the turkey has crept up behind me, five feet away. No. More like 10 or 12 feet away. He’s making that chirping sound. Just a simple one note, not 1/5th of a second long. An inquiry. Hey. Hey. In human translation talk. Maybe look, look. Here, here. I don’t know.
As we finished our meal the men, mostly neighborhood friends, had exhausted talk of our new cars, the money we were making, the stock market rally, when my wife interrupted our bullshit session with the command to listen to what this hunched thing perched near the end of the table had to say.
She would find these creatures. Often poor, usually odiferous, to drag to our parties in the hope that their presence would provide some glamour to her reputation for cultivating an artistic temperament. Typically they were writers, unpublished, or artists, unshown. Dreary things.
While this blog is about my experiences with life and nature this essay Back to Nature by George Monbiot on the bbc website sees the world that I see. Speaks with lovely words and pictures. Reminds us that rebirth is not just possible, but that we can all contribute.
It’s a true testament to the humanity that lives within all of us. A wonderful read.