Remarkable in the Ordinary

 

My dishwasher has been out of commission for a while and I have discovered the odd sense of well-being that comes from standing at the kitchen sink looking out the window while washing dishes.  Those moments in front of the sink, doing an ordinary task that takes no thought or planning, can be moments out of time, where the sights and sounds outside the window transport me to another place.  I think they call it daydreaming.  Or remembering.  Or sometimes planning.

Frederick Buechner, one of my favorite writers, has a book, The Remarkable Ordinary, which I am re-reading right now as part of my early morning on the swing.  The book reflects beautifully on how we can pay attention to the remarkable things right in front of us and as a result, to watch for the remarkable in the ordinary. 

A kitchen window gives a wonderful view of the march of the seasons, from the bare limbs of winter to the gauzy green of new leaves in spring, expanding into thick canopies of summer foliage that hide my neighbor’s barn from sight and give shade to the deer, the rabbits and the squirrels below.  Then the unseen signal goes out and the parade of fall colors begins, ending with the shedding of dead leaves to carpet the ground and protect the wildflowers and grass beneath the trees during another winter.  A remarkable succession of seasons, set in motion by a creator long, long ago and taken for granted by most humans.

Sometimes in the early morning light, I catch sight of a spiderweb etched with dew, an ordinary construction by a spider, but remarkable to me.  The intricate weaving of the web stretches from a twig of a crepe myrtle to the old wire fence around my yard, put in place overnight by an ordinary tiny being doing what ordinary spiders do.

There are all kinds of remarkable, ordinary things to see. On my way to the barn, I notice tiny ferns clinging to the crevices in an old cistern with wild strawberries scattered below.  The wild strawberries have been there as long as I can remember – I don’t know how they got there or how they have survived.   The cistern has been there longer than I have, as have the brick reservoirs under the back steps.  I have a vague memory of watching my daddy using a portable pump with the cistern to water the garden, but its main use since then has been to spread walnuts on to crack with a rock.  I have no memory of the brick reservoirs, how they were used or where the water went that presumably filled them.  I guess I never asked. 

I sit on the porch listening to a storm come in.  The thunder’s rumble and the rain moving across the pasture to the garden are ordinary events, but remarkable to see and hear.  The dripping leaves make music to the ears that take time to listen – an ordinary sound that brings a drowsy sense of peace when the storm is over.

I watched an eaglet fledge the other day on a live cam on the internet.  I discovered these eagle sites several years ago and have loved watching the nest building, hatching and growth of these magnificent birds.  This year, for this particular nest, has been a year of tragedy.  The disappearance of the male eagle shortly after the hatching of three little eagles and the subsequent loss of two of the babies has been discouraging.  But the survivor took flight last week, an ordinary event in the ordinary life of an eagle and remarkable to witness.  The eagle had been preparing for this moment for weeks, exercising his wings and eventually “branching,” hopping to a nearby branch and back to the next several times a day.  On this day, he spread his wings and let the wind fill them, then hopped to the edge of the nest, trying out the wind in each direction.  He hopped out and back in, eager to follow instinct’s call but not quite sure he was ready to fly.  Suddenly, his wings spread and he was off, soaring out of the camera’s sight, off into the skies.  Eagles have fledged just like this for centuries, an ordinary part of their life cycle, but so remarkable to us – earth bound creatures that we are.

I can’t remember who said it, but I read one time that if a sunrise happened only once a year, everyone would gather outside to see it.  I have read before that there were primitive people who did gather at sunrise, to sing and chant encouragement to the life-giving sun. 

They must have known how remarkable the ordinary can be.  Sunrise, sunset, moonrise, the parade of the stars across the sky, the ebb and flow of the tides – ordinary events that happen day after day, year after year, so ordinary that we take them for granted.  But when you think about it, it is remarkable that we know exactly when they will happen, to the minute.  We can plant our crops by the seasons, we can sail our boats according to the tides and even guide our way by the stars.  We can see the remarkable in the ordinary, if we stop and look.

 

A Little Less Crazy

 

I have to say, things are not as crazy around here now that Scout has become an adult.  I also have to admit, I sort of miss the old days, when he seemingly tried to destroy as much of the house as he could, when no shoe was safe, no trash can was left undisturbed and every open closet door was an invitation to debauchery.  Not that the dogs are totally innocent of any troublesome behavior.  Just this week, they ate a whole row of bone meal sticks my cousin had placed beside the tomatoes in the garden.  It doesn’t seem to have hurt them, but I don’t think it helped the tomatoes. Next time we will remember to put the tomato cages up before applying bone meal.

Carli, whose greatest goal in life seems to be to be a house dog, is almost a year old.  I swear, she could be related to Tess, my former couch potato collie, who spent most of her days watching tv with her head resting on the arm of the couch.  She only wanted to be outside a few days in any given year, when it wasn’t raining, snowing, too cold, too hot or when the moon and stars aligned in some perfect way only she was aware of.   Carli’s other goal is to take every toy in the house out into the yard.  I keep explaining to her that Mr. Giraffe and Mr. Squirrel do not want to be outside.  She listens to me, but she just doesn’t believe me.  But she is so sweet, I can’t be mad at her.  She has adopted the picnic table as her throne, surveying the antics of the other dogs from there until she is compelled to join in the zoomies. 

And her sweetness did not keep her from participating in the killing of a bobcat not long ago.   I was torn between regret that they killed it and alarm that it was so close to the house.  Bear, Carli and Scout were the combatants.  Sophie stood back and barked encouragement.  As one of my friends said, she would have been the one videoing the encounter if she had a camera.  Although she is not afraid to get in the action if the mood hits.  She has this thing with Scout, where she attacks him and throws him on to the ground, then grabs him by the neck and pretends to try to kill him.  He doesn’t seem to mind.  Sometimes she and Carli team up and hold him down, one holding a back leg and the other at his head.  But when it's time to patrol the pastures or check out the varmints in the holler, they are a team.  They are mighty mole hunters, rabbit chasers, and they warn the coyotes away in the dark. And when it's time for love snuggles, they have the same endearing way of laying their head on my knees and begging for petting.

Scout has taken to spending most of his nights outside on the edge of the porch, where he can protect the house from boogers in the dark and the garden from varmints.  Sometime around daybreak, he comes in the dog door and takes up a post on the hearth in my bedroom.  Each dog has his or her own spot – Sophie and Carli on either side of the bed, Bear at the foot and Scout on the hearth.  Scouts preferred spot during the day is by my chair in the living room.  I thought at first he just wanted to be beside me but then I realized that the air conditioning vent is also beside my chair.   Maybe it’s a little of both.  There are other vents in the house.

I know there are several kinds of competitions for dogs – agility, frisbee catching, dock diving and barn hunts.  I’m not a good enough trainer to teach my dogs anything beyond very basic things like sit and down and shake hands.  Fetch is a foreign concept.  Sophie just looks at me when I throw a ball as if to say, “You dropped something.  I am not a golden retriever.”  Scout will sometimes chase it and pick it up, but he sees no sense in bringing it back.  He thinks I don’t need the ball if I can’t hold on to it better than that.  Their favorite game is chase and take away or wrestling and tug of war.  I’m not proficient in any of those games.  They were carried away the other day when I fell in the barn lot.  Immediately they were on top of me, licking my face and wagging their tails.  “Look,” they seemed to be saying, “Mama is down here with us.  Let’s play!”  I thought for a few minutes that I would have to spend the night there on the ground, hopefully surrounded by the warm bodies of my loyal companions.  I’m not sure they wouldn’t have wandered off in search of something to chase when dark fell, but it was a nice thought.  I did manage to get myself up and back to the house so I will never know.

The competition that my dogs could win, paws down, would be synchronized alarm, if there were such a thing.  They will lie scattered around the room, peacefully sleeping.  Suddenly, at some unseen signal, they all erupt, exactly at the same moment, levitating off the floor, barking madly and surging out the dog door.  It’s amazing to watch, if a little startling.  I wish I could video it, but it happens at random, and short of running constant surveillance, I don’t know how I could do it.  Usually, a few minutes later, they all straggle back inside as if nothing happened and resume their slumber.  Sometimes it happens two or three times in one night, and I never know what they are hearing.   I wonder if they even know.  The dogs are a great alarm system.  I have no need for a doorbell.  When a vehicle pulls up, they are at the gate, ready to welcome visitors.  I'm sure it's a little intimidating to first time visitors, having three or four very large dogs meeting them at the car.  One of the regular delivery people brings treats.  A substitute was on his route one day and was scared to death.  I kept telling him they were just looking for their treats, but he didn't seem to believe me. 

It is hard to believe, but the unexpected litter of puppies Sophie produced are just a few weeks short of their first birthdays.  I see pictures and hear from their owners often, and some even come to visit every now and then.  They all seem to look more like Sophie than Scout and some even have her mellow disposition.  Others are more like Scout, but their humans seem to think that’s okay. Some are busy protecting back yards from deer, wild turkeys and even emus.  Several of them have young children to protect and play with.  I’m thinking it might soon be time to do this again, this time with planning and preparation.  I’m not sure how enthusiastic Sophie will be about it, but I’m sure Scout will love having more puppies to play with.