Summer/Fall Reading List

I've been reading young adult series this summer. There's something nice about reading a series--after figuring out which one you want to read, you don't have to deliberate about the next book until you're finished with the entire series. There's less thought involved, which can be a boon in the summer.

This spring I read (again) all of my Robin McKinley books. They aren't exactly a series, but they all take place in marvelous other worlds. I highly recommend any and all of them! She's a fantastic author, and her ability to create Other Worlds is remarkable. I read:

The Blue Sword

The Hero and the Crown

Beauty: A Retelling of Beauty and the Beast

Spindle's End

Deerskin

A Knot in the Grain (short stories)

The Door in the Wall (short stories)

Water: Tales of Elemental Spirits (short stories by RMK and her husband, the fantasy writer Peter Dickinson)

Fire: Tales of Elemental Spirits (more short stories by RMK and PD)

Then I decided to read L.M. Montgomery's "Emily" books. I've read them before, but only once, and I didn't remember them very well. Emily inspires me. Looking at the brief bio of L.M. Montgomery's life, I believe that she put much of her experience as a budding authoress into the Emily books. Emily wrote--and wrote--and wrote. And then she started submitting her writing. And, after a great deal of persistence, rejection, and doubts, she began to become successful. The path is quite clearly laid out: hard work, writing writing writing, and putting one's work out into the world. Unfortunately, I haven't done much of any of those lately . . . so. I must allow Emily to continue to inspire me.

Emily of New Moon

Emily's Quest

Emily Climbs

And, most recently, I have read the six books of Ursula LeGuin's Earthsea Trilogy. I love trilogies that end up being non-trilogies because the characters or the world or the story continues in the author's mind . . . and then, delightfully, in ours. The first three books, A Wizard of Earthsea, The Tombs of Atuan, and The Farthest Shore, were all written in a similar tone and style, and are excellent. The Farthest Shore, with its long sea voyage to distant islands, reminds me a great deal of C.S. Lewis's The Voyage of the Dawn Treader. Well-written as the first three books are, however, it is the final three that are sticking with me. These were written some years later, after Ms. LeGuin had recognized some missing pieces in her original trilogy. Tehanu is beautifully written, and, beyond that, it is a marvelously, refreshingly feminist book. Some of the lines made me shiver. READ IT. Read them all. The fifth book, Tales from Earthsea, is a series of short stories from various points in Earthsea's history; the last story bridges the gap between Tehanu and the final (as yet!) book, The Other Wind.  Ms. LeGuin turns Earthsea upside-down in this last book, in a brilliant and inspiring way.  The final chapter held so many profound and powerful insights I'm still mulling them over in my mind, still glimpsing the brightness of the images that flooded my inner eye as I read it.  I love books that turn their worlds--and, by extension, my world--upside-down.  If you're in need of something new and refreshing, read this series!

Now that it's fall, I've been delving into new books, ones that are, perhaps, a little heavier.  I read three of Geraldine Brooks' novels:  March, Year of Wonders, and People of the Book.  All excellent, all thought-provoking, all historical fiction, from Civil War America to a plague village in England in 1665 to the modern day (with glimpses of medieval Spain and WWII-era Bosnia).

Another new author this fall has been Mary Doria Russell; I've read The Sparrow and Children of God (which picks up where The Sparrow leaves off), and if you want additional world-shaking reads, these are for you.  The story is fascinating--think life on other planets, the questions of faith that this raises, the life of a Jesuit priest and his friends:  fantastic.  Both of them were books I couldn't put down.

Most recently I went to the library and checked out three books by Jane Goodall.  There was an excellent article in the latest National Geographic in honor of her 50th anniversary of going to Gombe, Tanzania, to begin her research on chimpanzees, and it made me curious to learn more.  So I've just started Through A Window: My Thirty Years with the Chimpanzees of Gombe, and I'm looking forward to reading Reason for Hope: A Spiritual Journey and Hope for Animals and Their World: How Endangered Species Are Being Rescued from the Brink.

I need to read about some hope, especially with the elections coming up with support for a few too many Tea Party candidates.  I listen to some of the blatantly false things that too many Americans believe (that there is no scientific evidence for climate change/Obama is a Muslim/Obama is a socialist/Republicans want small government, etc.).

???

Seriously, have people lost their ability to think critically and search out multiple information sources for at least an attempt at a balanced viewpoint?  Then again, thinking for one's self is dangerous; I suppose I understand why many people simply prefer to adopt the opinions of others rather than take the time to research an issue and reach an informed conclusion.  It's just so much easier.  URGH.  I wish there weren't such a fear of . . . of what?  New ideas?  People who are different from ourselves?  What might happen if we let our comfortable worldview get shaken up a little?

So yes, reading about Jane Goodall's reasons for hope should be heartening.  She is such an amazing woman, and has done incredible things not only for our understanding of chimpanzees and for the preservation of great apes and their habitats, but for women in science and beyond.  I'll let you know how these books go.

What have you been reading lately?  I'm always looking for new recommendations!

Love to all!

Beginning Again . . . and Again

Dusk.

The sky is that amazing deep teal color, with streaks of pale yellow and orange on the horizon. The first stars are coming out. A narrow curve of moon shines above the neighbor's trees. The quiet evening air is cool and fresh, yet still holds a hint of today's warmth. I hear the muffled plop! of acorns hitting the ground, the whir of traffic, a dog barking in the distance. But overall, the night is calm.

I love September. It's my favorite month of the year (and not only because it's my birth month, though that's a decided perk). The air turns chill and crisp, the leaves begin their turning, and I feel a new energy zinging through my mind and body. September has always been a time of beginnings for me--my birthday, school starting up, moving to new places--so that, this September, I feel this delightful freshness, though for the first time in a long time there are no big new changes in my life. It's enough simply to know that I've lived for 31 years in this world, and that, once again, I get to start afresh.

On my birthday Greg and I were in Boise, visiting our good friend Jessie. Sunday morning, we decided to take a hike in the deserty hills above the city, and set out in the early(ish) morning. The air was cold and breezy, the landscape rocky and beautifully barren but for the sagebrush, rabbitbrush, and bitterbrush scattered across the yellow hills. The sun cast sharp shadows that tumbled down the rocks and the steep slopes of the hills, and the paths we walked were sandy. Below us lay Boise, but when we descended into the valleys and the land rose up around us, all we could see was rock and sagebrush and sky. The wind blew chill and steady. Instead of minding it as I sometimes do, I had the strangely powerful feeling that it was scouring me clean, tearing free the clutter in my mind and heart, leaving me a bit raw, perhaps, but refreshed, renewed. I stood on the sandy path as it rose along the ridge, felt the sun and wind surrounding me, felt myself filled with air and light.

I am thankful for so very many chances to begin again.

Here's to new beginnings. New seasons. Garden harvest goodness. Fresh tomatoes. Yellow larch needles, flame-red maple leaves. Good work. Guitar playing. Teatime. Shifting constellations, Orion in the night sky. Crisp mornings and sunny afternoons. Time even to do yoga, to write, to create. BEing space amidst the busyness.

Rainy Day Ponderings

It’s August, and it’s raining. Clouds this morning, an even slate grey, water-filled. The rain came down steadily while I lay in bed, the rich wet air breezing in around me. I love this, this unexpected, unusual August rain.

It rained last August, too. I wonder if climate change will make August rain in Missoula usual rather than not. It doesn’t seem as though it would be a bad thing . . . and yet what repercussions may it have?

Russia is in flames. Temps over 100, steadily, for the past several weeks. And flames, flames, flames, burning through small Russian towns, smoking out Moscow, killing people, destroying homes and crops and livestock. That’s climate change, too, and not such pleasant change as we’re experiencing in Missoula.

There’s a part of me, deep inside, that whispers, “At least it’s not like that here, this summer.” And another, larger (I hope) part feels guilty. Because we’re all in this together. Yes, it’s nice that our low-snow winter isn’t affecting us as negatively as we’d feared. Yes, it was pleasant to have three weeks of rain in June and verdant hills such as we rarely see around here. Yes, it’s nice to have this soaking rain today, in August. I am grateful. We are grateful. But what of the massive rains in Iowa? The storms in the south? The heat wave and flames spreading across Russia? The tornadoes in central and eastern Montana?

It is so easy to read the news, feel some shock or sadness, and then put it down and get on with my day. More deaths in Afghanistan and Iraq. Fires in Russia. Tensions in Palestine and Israel. Radical climate change in places other than my tiny little bubble of Missoula, western Montana. I read these things and feel an ache, deep down inside. It’s not a sharp ache. I’ve padded it with too many other things to feel the slicing sharpness—self-centeredness, numbness, busyness. And good things, too: friends, books, hikes, food. But what if I were to pull off these layers? What if I were to let that ache free to slice me raw?

Mother Teresa prayed, “Break my heart so wide open that the whole world falls in.”

I am afraid to do that. To let the ache be so sharp that it cuts a hole big enough for all the world—oh, it’s too much vulnerability. Too much openness, too much rawness. I am not strong enough to feel the pain of the Palestinians and the Afghanis and the Iraqis and the Russians . . . . I am not strong enough even to feel my own pain, sometimes. How then can I dare try to feel the pain of others?

~~~

The rain is still falling. I am sitting in our little upstairs, in the Hobbit Room, next to the window. My computer is on my lap and Nutmeg is curled up on my shins. Basil just leaped up the stairs and skidded into the bathroom, nosed around for a moment, and then flew back downstairs. I can see oak leaves out the bathroom window. Greg and I have been harvesting onions, garlic, kale, potatoes, carrots, beets, cucumbers, raspberries, and currants from our garden, and our tomatoes are just starting to blush red. Ears of corn are swelling on the stalks in the alley. We just bought a lovely wooden screen door for the back entrance, as well as an umbrella for our picnic table, and I kicked some ass by tearing apart and reconstructing a couple of screens to fit into our unscreened bedroom windows. On Sunday Greg made an amazing dinner—a frittata-like dish of layered potatoes, zucchini, onions, garlic and kale from our garden, along with mushrooms, peppers, eggs, and cheese. The ingredients melded together into an impossibly delicious symphony of flavors and textures.

These are small bits of goodness. Cuddly kitties. Food plucked fresh from our backyard. Spaces in our lovely little cottage to write and read, work and sleep. My wonderful husband, who is enthusiastic about cooking and gardening and home projects. Perhaps I simply need to begin by appreciating these small things. Perhaps these small goodnesses are where feeling starts.

Pain is not the only feeling, after all.

The ache that could slice me raw might let me feel joy as well as pain. To feel pain only—does anyone want that? But while one may be able to choose whether or not to feel, one does not have power over what one feels. Perhaps I do not have the right to proclaim that it’s worth the pain to feel the other the side, the joy, the delight, the goodness. After all, what do I, a woman with a home and a job and a simple but good life in Missoula, Montana, USA, know about pain?

I know enough to know that, somehow, my small pains have made my life richer. I know enough to know that even if I think I want to avoid its sharp rawness, it is better for me to feel it. Better to recognize that I’m bleeding so that I can do what I need to do to stanch the flow. And then, well, hey, I have a scar and a story and maybe a little more strength for the next time.

As I sit here writing this, I find myself trying to wrap it all up neatly. (You know, a nice little post with a bit of an arc of story and some nice wrapped package at the end.) But this stuff isn’t nice and neat, it isn’t black and white, and there are no easy answers, if there are answers at all. Perhaps I just need to be okay with that. I don’t know what to do about all the horror stories in the newspaper. I don’t know what to do about my instinctual emotional recoil when I read them. I don’t know what the right answer is. I know I don’t know much about other people’s pain. I want to be more aware, if I can. I want to be more open, and right now, I think the best way for me to do that is to be more open to the ups and downs of my own life. If I can re-learn how to feel my own experiences, perhaps, just perhaps, I’ll be able to understand more deeply the experiences of others.

So here I am. I am writing, and it feels good. I have a Nutmeg-kitty curled up on my legs, and that feels good, too. My Basil-dude is sitting on his favorite perch, looking out the window, and it feels good knowing that I am his favorite human being in the world. The love of animals is not a small thing. The air is cool and wet, and the grey sky subtly draws out the green richness of leaves and grass and garden. It is August 10, 2010, I am 30 years old (for another few weeks, at least), and I have the mysterious, exquisite gift of being able to start again. Right now.

Spring Adventures

I love this time of year.

Of course, I seem to love every time of year as it arrives. I love the changing of the seasons, the constant renewal and new beginnings as we cycle through the year. These past several weeks have been weeks of rain. This is not a normal thing for Missoula. We'll get some rain in the spring, of course, but 16 days straight of rain? Rare, very rare. As a result, everything is incredibly verdant, and I am reveling in it. Our garden is growing enthusiastically, as are the wildflowers on the hills, and, unfortunately and inevitably, the noxious weeds. C'est la vie.

Spring is also a time to get out the tents, thermarests, and other camping gear, as the weather warms up just enough for us to get out into the wilderness. Some pictures from our spring excursions:

We took our first camping trip of the year to a little Forest Service campground on Rock Creek, about 30 minutes away from Missoula, and enjoyed a lovely, sunny weekend of relaxation:

Of course we had to take a bit of an amble in the woods:

and stop to admire all the lovely wildflowers, including the lovely Calypso bulbosas, or fairy slipper orchids.

Our next camping trip was a little less . . . dry. Over Memorial Day weekend a huge wet system moved in, covering most areas within a day's drive of Missoula. "How about the Rocky Mountain front?" Forecast: 4o degrees and snow. "Central Washington?" 51 degrees and torrential rain. "Oregon?" Rain. "Yellowstone?" Cold and rain. "Idaho?" Cold and rain, possibly snow. "Utah?" 95 degrees and sunny . . . but oh, wait, it's a 12-hour drive.

We wanted to camp somewhere, so we finally decided to head down into Idaho and brave the weather. The first night was a little drizzly, but not too bad, and the next day we took a hike in the misty cool mountains, feeling as though we were hiking through Ireland or northern England.

We were well equipped with our rain gear, at least!

It was truly lovely to amble up and over and amongst the hills, in this wild and untamed piece of Idaho.

The wildflowers were stunning. We saw too many for me to remember, though we stopped, examined, and admired them all. Thanks to my wonderful Greg we (and by "we" I mean "Greg") were able to identify most of them; here's a little rain-dampened phlox. I could post pictures of 25 more flowers, but I'll spare you. :)

Mmmm . . .

We then drove farther south, past Salmon, down to the Pahsimeroi River valley, where we drove along a little dirt road up into the mountains, where our gazetteer promised us a Forest Service campground. After splashing through a stream or two and a large puddle, we came to the end of the road . . . and the campground, which had only two sites, tucked between Morse Creek and the hills. The sun came out, and we went on another pleasant amble, checking out the territory for the hikes we hoped to take on the following days. Then we set up camp and started dinner.

I think I may have a landscape crush on Idaho . . .

Britta built the fire

while Beth updated her nature journal

and Greg popped a Cold Smoke (okay, okay, so the rest of us did, too!),

and I took pictures of everyone. :)

We ate supper in the sunshine. And then it began to rain, so we moved under the tarp we'd hung from two trees and the truck. And then it began to rain harder, so we packed up the dishes and food box into the truck, and dashed into the tent to stay warm and dry.

And then the tent started leaking. And then it started hailing/graupeling. So we went outside to wipe the hail from the tent, had a minor incident during which half the tent collapsed, eventually got it stable again, and dashed back inside to thaw numb fingers and toes. Water was seeping in under the floor, as well as through parts of the roof and walls, so we moved all our sleeping gear to the middle and decided to just tough it out . . . don't I look tough?

We slept fairly well, though it rained all through the night, though it seemed to let up every once in awhile. Beth and Greg made sure to check the creek level, as we didn't want to get washed away in a flash flood. Or crushed by a falling tree. Or eaten by a bear. Or stuck in the campground, unable to get out past the washed-out road. Or . . .

Okay, so it was a rather long night. But morning came at last . . .

and we woke up to this:

Not to mention wet sleeping bags/gear/clothing. So we decided to pack up, throw everything in a sodden heap in the back of the truck, and head back to civilization for the rest of the weekend, civilization being a decadent brunch at a diner in Salmon and two days at Greg's parents' house and hot tub in Hamilton.

The drive out offered some pretty spectacular scenery:

We are all determined to go back sometime soon, on a weekend when there is no hint of snow in the forecast!

On Sunday we went on a hike up Bass Creek--the same hike that Greg and I took on our first date, about two years ago. Of course, it was a beautiful bluebird day.

We scrambled off the trail to sit at the base of a waterfall pouring over the rock above us, a perfect place to eat lunch (aside from the ticks, that is).

The waterfall dries up later in the summer, but there was still enough snowmelt for us to enjoy it.

I have no idea what everyone is laughing about . . . but it must have been funny.

Oh, to walk in the woods is a lovely thing. Here's to many more outdoor adventures in the coming months!

Of Greenhouses and Gardening

For those of you who have been checking my blog in vain the past several months, here is a post for you! And there was much rejoicing . . . yaaaaay! My apologies. I know it's been awhile. However, I have begun a blog for the Montana Natural History Center, and I try to post there once a week or so. So, if you want to read about birds I'm interested in or see pictures of flowers from some of my and Greg's hikes, it's a great place to go.

From last Saturday's hike up Woods Gulch: larches bursting into their spring green finery . . . one of the most beautiful sights in the world.

However, I really do want to be updating this a bit more. I may get a new computer soon, and that will probably inspire me to update more often (at least for awhile!). It's May! Greg and I have been doing lots of work in our greenhouse and garden, and I would love to share a few (dozen) pictures with you. Last summer, Greg decided to build a greenhouse. Greg got 4x4 posts for the foundation . . .



. . . and bought 2x4s and plywood from Home Resource, a local non-profit that collects and sells reusable building materials. WE LOVE THIS PLACE. (Especially when it was still in walking distance. However, they needed more space, so they've moved to the west side of town (fairly close to my old apartment, actually), so it's no longer convenient to walk there.)



We had old windows in our garage, left over from when the previous owners replaced the windows in the house. We also bought a couple of extras from Home Resource . . .



. . . as well as a door, which Greg framed in.



We bought some asphalt shingles from Home Resource, and Greg built an insulated roof with a hinge on the lower third, so that we can prop it open on warm, sunny days to let the heat escape. With the help of some friends, we lifted the very heavy roof in place and screwed it in. Almost winter-ready . . .



. . . it just needed some walls, so Greg spent a couple of days in the fall putting up the plywood:



We really loved the look of this new little building, especially in the gorgeous fall sunshine!



So we let it sit all winter, waiting, and then March rolled around and we started to get inspired. We started some seeds, putting them upstairs in our guest bedroom with a heater and a mini-greenhouse made out of wire coat hangers and bubble wrap. But we really wanted to put them out in the greenhouse. It was time to beef it up even more--by adding insulation. Again, we turned to Home Resource for a solution, and found it. They were selling a bunch of flooring material from a climbing gym--thick, poofy stuff that would work perfectly as insulation, and was only 15 cents a square foot. Not bad.



Greg cut it to fit between the studs, and covered it up with another layer of plywood. Perfect! At this point, it's probably better insulated than most of the walls of our house (yet another project to complete before next winter . . . )



After putting in the interior walls, we spent some time putting up long, narrow shelves for our wine bottles, which we filled with water in order to help retain heat in the greenhouse at night. We found a free bookshelf in an alley (alley-walking has got to be one of the most useful activities!), which was perfect for holding plants, tools, and other miscellaneous. We bought a couple of fluorescent light bulbs (2 for $4) from Ace Hardware, and set up a little growing station in our greenhouse. Check out our little plantlings!



We used all of our old egg cartons as seed starters--they're a perfect size, and when we transplanted the seedlings to bigger pots, we just stuck the egg carton sections right in there with the plants. Here's a lovely little cherry tomato:



and some little broccoli plants springing up:



and a cucumber unfurling itself from the earth:



Watching them every day, they don't seem to grow very fast. But when I look at pictures over the past few weeks, it's amazing how much they are growing! The ones in the foreground are garbanzo beans. We planted a few dried garbanzo beans and lentils--just ones we bought from the store!--and they promptly sprouted and started growing like crazy. Amazing.



After a few weeks in the greenhouse, we transplanted a few plants into larger pots; within the next couple of weeks, we had transplanted all of the plants. Happy plants!



In between greenhouse improvements, we've also been readying the garden for spring. We dug all the leaf cover into the soil (and are now spending several minutes a day pulling up maple seedlings from the garden), and planted many of our cold-weather seeds: lettuce, spinach, beets, kale, carrots, and peas.





Spring is also a time to plant fruit trees, and we simply couldn't resist buying an apricot tree and this amazing little cherry tree, with four, count them, FOUR, types of branches grafted onto the trunk: Bing, Rainier, Lapins, and Tieton. Just imagine the cherries we'll be eating in a few years.

. .

Ah, spring in Montana. Just because we're planting seeds in the garden doesn't mean we're past the snow stage. Here's March going out like a (cold, wet, snowy) lion:



And yet the warm days are creeping in. We spent a day working out our watering system (Ace Hardware supplied us with hoses, multi-ended spigots, etc.) and laying out the hoses.



That day was even warm and sunny enough to hang our laundry out to dry!



We opened the windows, which Basil loved. He also loves munching tulip leaves. Trust me, he's not contemplating the beauty of these flowers. He just wants to munch them. Little punk.



Our Egyptian walking onions are growing fabulously (below right), and our garlic is getting a good start, too (below left).



We added Moroccan mint (an unexpected, wonderful find at the Bellingham Farmer's Market!) to our herb garden, and we can't wait to make some Moroccan mint tea. Pressing the leaves releases a fragrance that transports me back to Morocco and the gallons of mint tea I drank there. Apparently Moroccan mint is a type of spearmint (rather than peppermint) -- a little bit more subtle, not to mention utterly delicious. Mmm.



I must say, the longer I live in this house, the more fond I become of our little yard. Especially in the sunshine. It holds light and color in such a magical way. Isn't it beautiful?






With our yard looking so beautiful, we figured we'd better continue the improvements on the greenhouse--but this time, we decided to work on the exterior. Last fall, Greg was alley-walking (what did I tell you??) and walked past a woman who was ripping cedar shingles off of a building. Since she was just going to throw them away, he asked if he could have them, and took home a carload of these wonderful cedar shingles. They sat protected in the greenhouse all winter, and just this past weekend, we took the time to put them on the greenhouse.



I sorted the shingles by size and condition, while Greg nailed them up. I'm not sure who had the more challenging task!



Looking good!! (Oh, yes, and the greenhouse, too!)



From the front: all finished! (Yes, that's duct tape on the window. A few of the elderly windows cracked during the construction of the greenhouse. Greg and I are trying to gear ourselves up for replacing the glass . . . which is not going to be a fun task. In the meantime, the duct tape is doing its job.)



View of the side and back:



Doesn't it look wonderful? The greenhouse suddenly looks like it's been there for years. I am thinking of painting the door a bright red. What do you think?



A few other garden delights: Cherry blossom!! This was our first one . . . we had four total, three from the Bing branch and one from the Lapins branch. If we're lucky, we may get to sample four cherries this summer! We are hoping the recent record-low temperatures (22 and 24 degrees two nights last week) didn't ruin our chances for a tiny taste of cherry sweetness this summer.



Another delight was our tulips. Last fall we planted upwards of 100 bulbs of various types, and they have been blooming like crazy. There are some lovely pink and white striped ones in front of the greenhouse, as well as some deep pink and purple and yellow ones to the side:



The most striking ones, however, may be our orange and red-yellow beauties:





Happy happy spring, everyone!