Ever been to Chernigov? It’s a beautiful city in northern Ukraine. Come visit Onesmallwalk.com and take a walk in Chernigov with me, Susan.
The morning walk we take is always Sadie’s walk. But this one is very special. After she prances around the deck with eager happiness, we put on her leash, grab the doggie treats, and off we go.
Today, we are heading up the street toward the hills. Sadie knows the way, and loves smelling all the bushes and weeds and mailboxes along the way. She knows them all very well, and seems to check to make sure everything is in order as she leads us on. She wants to go to the park today, it seems, because she crosses the street at the top of the hill, heading toward the community garden and the park beyond.
We often walk the perimeter fence, and cross the bridge over the small creek, and maybe stop off at the dog park for a burst-of-energy run. But today when we reach the fence, Sadie sees something that she has never seen before.
Past the confines of the park, there is a large field that covers the hillside. I have noticed livestock fencing, but never have seen cows close-by in this field. Neither has Sadie. But today, they are here. A lot of them.
She approaches with extreme caution. No prancing here; she crouches, shies away, approaches, shies away. Her ears lay back against her head. More cows are coming to the fence, looking curious and sweet. I think maybe they aren’t all cows, but young bulls. Sadie doesn’t seem to know what to think.
She retreats from the growing crowd, walking along the fence toward the creek, something she’s done many times before, without the cows/baby bulls who now begin to follow. She pulls Stanley, who is attached to the other side of the leash, away into the playground, as if she needs a break from this new idea of huge creatures that are neither people nor dogs.
I wander away from them, noticing a heron on the hillside.
Then, Sadie wanders back, heading toward the fence, then shying away. One baby bull pulls away from the crowd and follows Sadie, reaching out his nose. They both pause, on different sides of the fence, looking like they are each wondering what their next step will be. The baby bull makes a funny little jump, and Sadie startles, then the baby bull crouches and runs, crouches and runs, almost baiting Sadie to play. The baby bull takes off back to the cow crowd, and Sadie follows, crouching and running, crouching and running.
Now she is in full play mood. So is the baby bull. More come up to the fence, and Sadie and the cows introduce their noses to each other.
It’s a funny scene. Large animals getting acquainted with a small animal. I believe that Sadie is not used to feeling small. But by the end of their encounter, she seems to be over that. We have to insist that it’s time to move on. But, I am guessing that Sadie will want to do the park walk a bit more often now that she’s had a grand adventure there. Sadie, the cowgirl.
This time of year, I begin spending a good deal of time in the garden. A minor amount of winter clean-up calls for the attention that I have avoided during the colder weather.
For two months out of the year – mostly January and February – , I wear shoes – or at least socks – on my feet when I am outside, but now the barefoot days have begun again. The deck is warm, the steps are cool, and there is joy when I plant my feet outside, skin to ground. With my garden tools placed around the yard in cubbies here and there, I can putter whenever the spirit calls.
But there is a dilemma. I am not one to run and change my clothes when I begin a project. Neither am I one to overly-plan out my time in the flower beds. So if I put on my new purple soft sweater in the morning, it is likely to still be on in the afternoon when the weeds have called to me and I answer. My socks are already in ruin, having been abused all winter in short bursts around the yard. Do I have to allow the rest of my clothes to follow suit?
Truly, yard work is so easy here, that twenty minutes cures all the visible weeds wherever I am. But changing my clothes for a twenty-minute chore just doesn’t make sense. So, the purple sweater and new jeans, even if I meant to save them for that once-in-six-months trip to a nice-ish restaurant, become my garden clothes for that chore.
As do my pajamas if I start gardening too early.
Who changes clothes just to spend a glorious twenty minutes watering the hanging pots? No one. Or at least, not me. But then, after my watering done, I see the geraniums are hanging out the top of the bower vine, and the clematis needs its cold-weather-hardened leaves trimmed. It’s then that I wish I had changed my clothes, because the pollen stains and the bird of paradise drips and the sack of new compost reaches out to touch the new jeans.
They aren’t new jeans any longer, not after I’ve spent an hour in the garden. Let’s face it, at this time in my life all my clothes are garden clothes.
Well said, Uncle Spike.
“The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil
is for good men to do nothing.”
Here are some ways to add your support to this message of peace:
1) Publish the following statement on your own blog
2) Post a link to Twitter and/or Facebook
3) Reblog this post or any post that replicates this statement
4) Request to be added to the signatory list below by adding a comment or mailing firstname.lastname@example.org
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We are normal, everyday hard-working people with a common hobby, blogging. We hail from far and wide. We reside in different lands, on different continents. We speak different languages, eat different foods, and are of varying ages, professions…
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If you haven’t visited Uncle Spike before, I would like to offer you this link today. He blogs from Turkey, a country that has given me a warm welcome twice, and speaks for many all over the globe.
During the past 48 hours, I, and I’m sure many of you, will have seen or perhaps taken part in the prayers and condolences offered to the people of Paris, France. However, I’m also mindful that yet again, for some reason that really escapes me, we seem to have lost perspective as to what is an attack on humanity… and what is not.
I am deeply sorry for those who lost their lives, for their loved ones, and for all who now feel a sense of loss of their personal security, as of late last Friday. However I wonder if we, as supposed equal members of this human race, should not be asking ourselves why atrocities in one country, are deemed worthy (and rightly so) of our shared sense of grief, compared those that occur in other countries.
Of course, the loss of 132 lives on one day is absolutely appalling…
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Thank you, Betsy.
another good pick…
A new favorite book from ‘quirky women’
As it does every year, the time for writing long-version has come. Marsha becomes Susan and her universe remains tilted for just long enough to finish a book. Or maybe finish a book, depending on the weather and the garden and the soup simmering away.
Take a look at the offerings at the best little publishing company around:
Good cheer to everyone.