Back to Nature: The End of Summer in Rural Kentucky

I have just returned from five glorious peaceful days at our lake cottage in Kentucky that has no reliable cell phone service, no television, and no radio reception. The most complicated electronic gadget is the coffee maker. Osmosis from the outside world rarely improves the natural experience.

When I was growing up, we retreated from the hot Florida summers to this rural place with no running water where we carried buckets from the spring behind the house to boil for dish washing. We bathed in the lake and brought drinking water from my Grandmother’s house. Now we have running water and no longer need the old privy out back.

Miles from a town or a store or a road wider than two narrow lanes, the place is much as it was then; the rustic decay of the cottage adds to its charm.

Tucked between hills, with the rising sun beyond the hills behind, the cottage stays darkened until late in the morning. The sun moves across the lake all day, setting directly across in the evening, casting beautiful light across the waters that looks like Tinkerbell hosting a dance party and can be viewed from our front porch.

As the sun sinks in the evenings, the mist curls over the lake and the bats come alive from their roosts, making the approaching darkness a little bit eerie before it finally gets nearly black. When there is a full moon, it rises behind the cottage, casing shadows across the lake and lighting the way for a last walk around its perimeter while the bats fly and the night noises begin.

Our favorite lake meal continues to be a bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwich (BLT) and we savor the wonderful tomatoes from the local farms. Their sweetness, combined with the salty, crisp bacon, a dash of pepper, a small amount of mayonnaise, and ice cold crunchy lettuce between two slices of toasted wheat bread is the most delightfully delicious combination. I indulged twice this year.

HIGHLIGHTS:

• Sitting on the screened porch in old rockers with split oak seats listening to owls on opposite sides of the lake having conversation and playing ventriloquist games with their prey.
• Laughing at the crazy whippoorwill making its frenetic calls again and again, interrupting concentration on a good book and causing us to stop and listen, smiling at his OCD behavior.
• Hearing woodpeckers in the hollows of the massive old trees, their hammering echoing across the lake at all hours.
• Watching tiny hummingbirds buzz and fight with one another at the feeders erected by our neighbors who are there often enough to keep them filled.
• Walking down to our dock, hot coffee cup in hand, seeing a small turtle scuttle off the ladder step, just above the water, his drying time interrupted.
• Scanning the lake to see an occasional fish jump and dozens of large and small turtle heads pop up, round bodies flattened out behind them as they navigate their way to a good place to crawl out and catch the sun.
• Startling a great blue heron during his morning feasting near the shore and feeling the gust from his loud flapping wings as he departed for the other end of the lake, away from the only human danger he was aware of.
• While out in the canoe, dog asleep in its bottom, watching a double-crested cormorant, with crooked beak, his long pipe-like neck steady and strangely still before diving below the surface to search for food and protection from intruders. When he realized we were too close for comfort, he spread his wings and with great much fluttering and splashing, he ended our hide and seek game.
• Observing thousands of nickel-sized freshwater jellyfish, found in lakes with good water quality and plenty of zooplankton, free-fall happily in the cool currents, tiny tendrils pumping. They have a ghost-like appearance, gelatinous filling outlined in white with a white X in the middle of the circle akin to a three-dimensional single jack with silky white beards waving from the circular outlines.
• Reluctantly driving into town in search of a replacement coffee maker, and being rewarded when a huge, beautiful red-tailed hawk flew directly in front of our car, nearly hitting the windshield. It flew safely into the wooded area on the other side of the road and we marveled at the detail we were able to view up close.
• Watching a harmless water snake that lives in the weeds by the sandy swimming area catch minnows in the shallow water. I don’t care for snakes but this one was interesting to watch.
• Finding a dead snake in the grass by the lake, looking very much like he had been flattened and severed by machinery, and being glad it was not the harmless water snake but a copperhead.
• Walking with the dog, watching him chase squirrels and chipmunks and follow dozens of trails of scents that led up trees or further than his old legs were willing to go.
• Enjoying the cool breeze and the sun-warmed dock on my back while I stretched out with the dog for my pillow.
• Did I mention the BLTs?

Animal Encounters

Wherever I am, I always watch for animals. You just never know when you are going to encounter one; I may see something unusual or maybe just a beautiful spider's web with beads of dew that look like pearls.

After I told my sister about the animal encounters on my recent trip to see my Mother in Florida, she said that she has noticed that I have “a thing with animals.” They “do stuff” when I am around and I "always" seem to be in the right place at the right time to see them. I suspect this has more to do with me being alert to their activities, and always looking out for something interesting. Or maybe I am just lucky.

I take exception to “always.” When we vacationed in the Pacific Northwest, I watched for whales. And watched. And watched from the places where “everyone” saw them. Nary a whale and it was whale season.

When I was four or five, I tried to catch a live squirrel by putting my stuffed squirrel in the yard near a box with a stick propping it up. I waited for hours, convinced that a real squirrel would be fooled by my stuffed one, trip the stick and be captured under the box. I never even saw a real squirrel that day.

But then there are the critters that find their way to me.

I have seen a pair of foxes playing and yipping as they frolicked at dusk in the park in my neighborhood. I live inside the Washington Beltway, not in the country.

Coyotes visit my neighborhood sometimes. I have encountered them four different times, very close to me, on early morning walks. They always saw me and stopped and stared. I avoided getting close, but wasn't afraid.

Several times I have seen the hawk that lives in our neighborhood catching and eating squirrels. Once he sat on the rails of the deck, just outside the window. I think he was feeding off the chipmunks that ate the seed that the birds dropped from the feeder.

Our family has a cottage on a lake in Kentucky. In the lake this spring, I saw schools of hundreds of newly hatched, nearly transparent striped bass. I also saw mother bluegills guarding their eggs in their underwater nests. I followed loud, hollow hammering sounds in the woods there and seen an enormous pileated woodpecker.

Also at the cottage, there was a huge black snake resting in the eves above the dinner table on the porch where we were eating. I am not fond of snakes so I hope that its positioning was merely a coincidence and that it will not visit again.

Once my brother and I saw an owl as we were leaving the cottage. It was daytime, when you don’t usually see owls, and we thought it must represent our Dad, recently departed and the former owner of the cottage. Who whoo knows?

I decided to participate in the Great Backyard Bird Count this year and in the 10 minutes I was counting, a flock of Bohemian Waxwings (I counted 9) visited the pond in my yard. I had never seen a Bohemian Waxwing before and I assumed it was my reward for participating in the count. It was thrilling to watch them strip the berries from the bush adjacent to the pond and bathe in the waterfall. The next count is in February, 2010. Consider participating and maybe bohemian waxwings or something equally exciting will reward you too (http://www.birdsource.org/gbbc/).

I raise bullfrogs in my garden pond. Each year I get a few tadpoles and delight in watching them turn to frogs. Last year, several were finally mature enough that they began to sing. They should have kept quiet because then the owl that lives in the neighborhood began to visit every night, making hooting noises as he hunted in the garden. The frogs disappeared and a few weeks later the owl stopped coming around. I miss the frogs' singing. But new frogs have matured and soon they will sing. I am hopeful that the owl will not return.

A catbird recently followed the dog and me on our morning walk, going from tree to tree for several blocks, watching us and occasionally flying in front of us. That bird often greets me in the driveway and observes us when we are out in the garden.

A mother wren brought her baby up to my deck when I was out reading the paper one morning. I hung the house that she made her nest in. I think the deck visit was my thank you present.

This week in Florida, I saw two dolphins in a river corralling mullet for their dinner. They had come up from the Gulf of Mexico. We timed our visit perfectly and it was a huge surprise.

Also on this week's trip, when I was walking a Rails to Trails path, I saw a young armadillo rooting out its breakfast in the grass right next to me. It hopped straight up when startled and took off, making good time on its stubby little legs.

Once when we were swimming in a spring-fed freshwater stream in Florida I saw a ray on the sandy bottom. He swam downstream with my son. It was so dramatic to watch them swimming together in the strong current. Maybe he was glad to have found friends so far from his ocean habitat.

When I visited my friend in California a pair of roadrunners made morning visits to her yard. They were very curious and made no effort to run away when I went out and took photographs of them.

This is a partial list. I don’t think I am “always” in the right place at the right time, but I do think I am observant and very fortunate and maybe I have a special relationship with some of the critters out there. Or maybe they just know that I am only an observer and that they are safe with me.

Back to School - Empty Nest

Washington is quiet now without Congress in session, absent the workers whose vacation schedules mirror those of lawmakers, and with tourists going home to buy school supplies and prepare for the Fall schedules.

Colleges and University students have begun departing for school; some have started Fall classes. Many upper classmen, like my son, departed early in order to move into apartments, reconnect with friends and get settled and resume their social lives before classes start.

Summers were more complicated when my children were younger. As a single, working mother I started piecing together childcare in January and February in order to ensure that interesting and affordable experiences were there for both boys. By this point in those summers, it was difficult to find childcare and, as a result, we generally took our vacations during the last few weeks of August.

While a lingering sadness about summer ending is in the minds of those parents of young children, their loss is less dramatic. Sure, they have to take on the homework police role and get the children up earlier and there are no more late nights spent catching fireflies. But they don't have to say good-bye.

The parents of college students not only lose the carefree days of summer but they lose their fun and energetic sons and daughters as they begin their departures for schools near and far.

While I haven’t taken a poll, I suspect that the single parents are especially sad to see their students leave. My sons and I have a special bond that in part developed because it has been just the three of us for a very long time. When they leave, I feel disconnected and it becomes more painfully obvious that there is a family link missing. It’s ghostly quiet, save the dog’s occasionally noises, and there is nobody who needs me. It takes several days to get over the sadness...and to pick up the feathers discarded by the ones who left the nest.

Single parents and whole families alike suffer a loss that can be intense. It is hard to fill the void and it can be very sad without the chicks at home. There are no more dirty socks left by the door (or under beds, behind the couch, even on top of furniture). The laptop doesn’t occupy space in the family room and that white-noise hum of its motor is absent. Dirty glasses aren’t scattered throughout the house. For the parents of boys, toilet seats stay down. And for us all, the porch light goes out much earlier. It’s quiet and it’s boring.

Oh it’s nice that the grocery bill goes way down and the water and electricity usages are significantly reduced. But those are small prices to pay for the entertainment they provide, the sense of importance they give us and the pride we have in seeing just how well they have done and what interesting humans they have become. My sons are not only hugely entertaining but extremely loving and helpful. When they aren’t around, I have to find other ways to get projects done. Let’s face it, there is no better comfort food than family. They feed us in a way nothing else can and they make us feel complete.

With college students, I have appreciated summers more than ever because I have had the privilege of having my sons home and all the energy and enthusiasm they bring. With the last one starting his Senior year, this week’s good-bye was bitter sweet with the knowledge that there won’t be another end of August like this again.

Life goes on and Thanksgiving will be here before I know it. I had better start picking up those feathers!

Essential Boomer Equipment

Last week I traveled with a friend to spend time with our mutual dear friend whose Mother had just passed away. It was a quick trip that involved an overnight in a lovely resort with amenities that we did not have an opportunity to take advantage of. However, the one thing I did use was the magnifying mirror in the spacious, well-appointed bathroom.

I had never used a magnifying mirror. My friend couldn't believe it and commented that everyone our age needs one. I was afraid to use it because I knew what I would see. When I did look, sure enough, I saw the skin of a woman who grew up in Florida and began tanning in February every year. But I also could see to apply eyeliner - something I struggled with at home because my mirror is on the far side of the sink. It was great. I was amazed. Now I knew what she was talking about. I had to get one of these marvelous tools

When I got home, I ordered one online. It arrived and I installed it, being sure to use all of the screws and anchors so it would be well grounded and I could use its extendable arm to its full length.

When I looked in it for the first time I nearly jumped out of my skin. Unknowingly, I had ordered a 7x mirror, which was at least 2x more magnification than I had used at the hotel. All over again, I experienced the shock of the look of my skin, now aged at least 2x from a week ago. Getting over the trauma, I convinced myself that I will eventually be glad I got the stronger mirror. It will only get harder to see and I'll gradually care less about the wrinkles. After all, this is essential equipment for everyone of a certain age.

Small Animals Take on Distinctive Human Behaviors and Characteristics

During the past week with the Chinese professors, I began to understand how they learned English and how they categorized and filed away the bits and pieces they gathered as they experienced many everyday American activities. In order to absorb the important things and not overwhelm themselves with too much detail, they take a summary snapshot of the ideas, sometimes absent the humor, emotion or details that we Americans might ruminate endlessly.

Last night, on an evening driving tour of Washington, I pointed out landmarks that they might find interesting. They echoed their summaries of what they knew or recognized, as if I were quizzing them with flashcards or playing Alex Trebek on Jeopardy. Supreme Court building - "first Hispanic justice - Sotomayor!" US Capitol- "Congress!" Vice President's home - "not Cheney..." ["It's Biden," I said.] The Old Executive Office Building "Eisenhower Executive Office Building!" I started to explain how the Frenchman Pierre L'Enfant planned Washington with numbered streets going north and south, letters east and west and state at angles everywhich way. They interrupted and together shouted "L'Enfant Plaza Metro." "Yes, that's right, " I replied and continued. At the conclusion, one said "Oh, M street West to East." "Yes sort of," I said, "except where it is one way and only East to West." So much for the simple snapshot.

"What is the relationship of the Governors to the Senators," they asked. "Nothing formal," I said. "The Senators do not report to Governors," I explained adding facts about their roles. "But," I said, "most Governors have offices in Washington and have staff who help them lobby Congress to get things for their states." "Oh," they answered in unison, "we have that in Beijing." I decided not to complicate the lesson with further discussion.

En route to the airport this morning, the women asked many questions about the area outside the Washington Beltway and things they had heard about the United States and Americans. "Are there still Indians," they wondered? I squashed their mental [movie] pictures of American Indians as savages when I explained that many now live in poverty on land that is absent buffalo and not good for growing crops or enabling self sufficiency. That was not what they expected.

They asked about the Amish. Some of their classmates had been to Pennsylvania and talked about the horses and "carts" and how the Amish are environmentalists because they live off the land and do not waste resources. "This is religion?" one asked. I answered "yes," realizing later that that their picture of this religion is absent some pixels.

We talked about their classmates and who would be flying back with them and the man who complained every day that he was hungry. I joked that I hoped they did not have to sit next to him. They giggled and called me "very funny."

"Do you know the stories of Winnie the Pooh," I asked. "Of course, " they replied, puzzled that I would ask whether they knew about something so obviously Disney. I told them that their descriptions of the hungry man reminded me of Eeyore, who seemed never to be happy about anything. They agreed, seeming surprised that I would make the comparison. [I thought my joking about how many Eeyores I have dated would be lost on them so I kept that thought to myself.] I went on to say that I think that most groups of people anywhere have each of the characters in Winnie the Pooh. "There is always an Eeyore," I said, " and hopefully a Tigger to balance out his negativity. " "Yes, the one who bounces and has no teeth," one said, recognizing the character and possibly grasping my analogy. As is typical of conversations we had over the week of their visit, the other summarized succinctly, "yes, small animals take on distinctive human behaviors and characteristics." And so they do.

I hope one of them was seated next to a Pooh, who would make good company on a long flight back to Beijing.

Just like Mom's: The Ultimate Compliment

There is truly no greater compliment than having guests enjoy the food I prepare. It's the Southerner in me, or the old fashioned Mom in me that wants nothing more than for you to love my cooking.

After almost several days of worrying that the visiting Chinese professors were not getting enough to eat, I asked them what they like to eat. They said that the food they missed most was rice. American rice, they said, had no flavor and was "not sticky". Not a rice fan, and always conscious of "empty carbs," I avoid making it because it makes a horrible mess mess in the saucepan as I inevitably use too little water, too much heat and forget about it until it burns. But I wanted to make my guests happy diners. I went to the local international grocery store and bought rice from Thailand and a small rice cooker.

When they walked in the door that night, they smelled it. Smells evoke memories and can be soothing and even enchanting. I could tell it in their faces as their noses followed the scent and they smiled, then giggled.

They were clearly delighted to have something that smelled and tasted like home. More than that, they were so touched by the thought. It was just a little thing for me, but it meant so much to them and they were clearly overjoyed to have this familiar, simple food. "It tastes like my Mother's rice," one said. In China, as in America, this is the ultimate compliment. It doesn't get better than Mom, even without the apple pie. I beamed, they ate.

The next day I sent containers of rice for their lunch at school. That evening they returned their empty containers and said that they had shared some rice with their Chinese colleagues at school that day and told them that I had made the rice for them. They were impressed. I offered to make some more rice for them to take to their friends the following day. "No, that is too much," one said, "we will spoil them."

Each night since, I have fixed rice with dinner. They always finish the rice and rarely finish the other American food - until last night. They loved the grilled eggplant and asked for seconds. Again, the ultimate compliment.

Tonight, they will fix us a traditional Chinese meal. Last night we went shopping for the ingredients and I learned which soy sauce is "the best." I enjoyed going through the international grocery store, following behind them as they looked for their ingredients and found familiar items. These lovely, highly educated women, whose own Mothers live with them and do most of the cooking, were alternately methodical and childlike in their approach to the shopping experience. They say they are not very good cooks, because they do not do it often.

I look forward to repaying them the compliment of cleaning my plate. But I know I won't be able to tell them that is just like my Mother's because the only Chinese food she ever fixed for me in the 1960's and 70's was from a can, American style.

Chinese Guests Help Define Wealth

Last night we hosted a pot luck dinner for friends and neighbors to meet our Chinese guests. Everyone brought something that was regional, from their hometowns or grown in their gardens. We had a map of the US so that friends could show our guests where they were born and even take a few minutes to talk about it. This sparked much conversation and it was a lively evening that everyone seemed to enjoy. I may have been the most blessed, however.

[We were so busy with other interesting conversation that the bicycle incident of the morning was not discussed. ]

We asked the Chinese guests many questions, from what life was like in China to inquiries about family members, work and the economy. They asked us questions about our families, where we live and our lives. A serious discussion of economics took place between one of the men and one of the Chinese women.

They wanted to know what the "middle class" was like and noted the wealth of food and "things" in my home and thought I must be "upper class". Unemployed since January and struggling to get my first consulting client for my LLC, I was aghast to think someone would consider me to be upper class. "But you have too much to be middle class," one said. This was a casual observation on her part, but for me a most interesting perspective. When I am spending too much time on the "pity pot", feeling poor, worrying about how I will make ends meet down the road if the employment situation does not improve, and not recognizing my obvious wealth in the eyes of others I will remember that and "get off the pot".

These ladies are college professors and well educated. Their textbooks, and likely the professors they learned from, taught them that middle class is simply average and clearly we live better than the average lives they know in China. But certainly I would not consider myself to be upper class. In classrooms far away, the definitions are more rigid and do not take into consideration the vast differences in regions of the US and of the world. Our standards are very high in this metropolitan area. People have a lot of money (and debt) and possessions. We seek more wealth, acquire more things, and do not appreciate that we are already wealthy in the eyes of many. In short, we do not appreciate enough what we have.

It took that simple observation from a Chinese college professor to make me think that I need to re-examine my priorities during this extended time of opportunity for reflection that I have been "gifted" via unemployment. I am in so many ways very wealthy. I have food for my table, friends who are worth their weight in gold, children who are truly my greatest gift from God, family members who are inspirational, and many opportunities available to me. In the eyes of others I am wealthy, and I thank my Chinese guests for helping me to more fully recognize that I have been blessed with many riches.

Explaining Rude American Behavior to Foreign Visitors

This morning the dog and I walked two visiting Chinese professors to the Metro. As it was their first day commuting to Georgetown University from my home in the Virginia suburbs of Washington, DC, I wanted to make sure that they felt secure enough to make the pleasant walk on their own this evening.

As we approached the paved pedestrian/bike path, I warned them to stay to the right of the yellow line and that sometimes you do not hear bicycles approaching, often going very fast. One professor asked simply "Do they not have chimes?" "Most do," I explained, "but many do not use them." They both appeared puzzled but asked no more questions. Unfortunately, they quickly understood my warning. A biker came up behind us at top speed, not using the warning bell on his handlebars. He passed very close to one of the women. She was startled and nearly stumbled in his path. He scowled, and sped on. It happened a second time and I once again observed an unused bell.

My experience was completely the opposite in Copenhagen, where there are many people who commute to the city by bicycle. Many times, usually when I was focused on taking a photograph or observing architecture, I walked in the path of a bicycle, even though the lanes were clearly marked. Never did I receive a scowl, or anything but a knowing smile. They were friendly, clearly used to tourists. Their pace was equally fast, but they did not seem to put themselves above others who shared the road.

I suspect the professors and I will have a chat about this at dinner this evening and I will try to explain the attitude, knowing I will not come up with an answer that makes this morning's experience any less of a bad reflection. How do you explain why someone has a chime but does not use it? Are we in too much of a hurry or is it a different attitude?