Spring has sprung

Favorite moments from a weekend jaunt to Edisto Beach:

An early morning walk with an 8 year old, watching a starfish slip back into the sea.

A game of tag on the beach at sunset, finding the dipper on the way home

Watching a bluebird watch me

Waking a late-sleeping teen with a blue crab claw

Sitting on a dock in a tidal creek, syncing with the ebb and flow,

Napping and then napping more

DB

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     The finish line was not where it was supposed to be. I had been training for a race for months, working my way up from just about no running to running a 5K. That's five kilometers, 3.1 miles. It may not sound like much, but for a non-runner, trust me, it is. After all my hard work building up endurance, I could not figure out why I was feeling so tired already at the halfway point. I had my iPhone in my pocket, so on the return trip to the start/finish point, I turned on its GPS-enabled running application to keep track of my distance, time, and pace. When I felt my legs telling me I could not run anymore, I checked my phone. That's how I learned that this "5K" course was much longer than 3.1 miles. In fact, when I crossed that finish line, which should have been about 1.55 miles from the halfway point, I looked at my phone again and saw that it was actually 2.3 miles! That means that the race was about 4.6 miles in total, and I ran all but the last mile of it! Now I was plenty annoyed when I realized that (although it may have just been the fact that I was so grouchy from being sore and tired and hungry), but now I am almost thankful. I ran over three and a half miles, which is farther than I think I've ever run in my life. And I would not have been pushed to my limits and beyond if things had gone according to plan. I would not have learned what I was capable of if the finish line had been where it was supposed to be.

SS

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“Be tough the way a blade of grass is: rooted, willing to lean, 

and at peace with what is around it.” 

Natalie Goldberg

      On my run today, I noticed the grass in all of the yards I passed. The grass has greened up in most places, but it’s still brown and full of weeds in others.  Some yards, clearly over-seeded for the winter, have a lawn of fresh spring green grass.  The fertilized lawns look a deeper, richer green.  So many shades of green.

     Grass is tough stuff.  It gets stepped on day after day and springs right back up.  It dries up during a drought but freshens right up after a gentle rain.   I pull tough rooted runners of grass from my flower beds and even out of cracks in the driveway.   Grass is persistent, continuing to grow even though it's chopped down weekly with the power mower.   I find myself needing those qualities these days - a little more toughness, persistence, resilience.  So, if you're looking for me, I'll be in the back yard, sipping a nice cool drink and meditating on the grass.

AF

Beach Retreat

“Here's the problem,” I said to God while we sat crocheting. “I can't stand single crochet anymore.” God said nothing, so I continued. “Single crochet is . . . boring. It's the most basic, dull stitch there is. Anybody can do that one.”

“Anybody?” God asked. “I've had more than a few people tell me it's difficult to do well.”

“I just mean, it's nothing spectacular,” I continued. “When you get into the double and triple crochet, that's when things get interesting.”

“Single is how everyone begins,” God reminded me.

“But they don't stay there,” I protested.

“Some do. There are beautiful, intricate patterns that can only be created from single crochet. You've seen a few.”

I sighed. “This isn't really about crochet.”

“Yes, beloved, I know.”

“Of course you know,” I huffed. “You know everything.”

I could tell God was trying not to laugh. It annoyed me in the way you can only get annoyed with someone you really love.

“I don't want to be single crochet,” I said quietly. “At least not forever. This is not what I hoped for, not what I had planned. How long do I have to be alone?”

God stayed maddeningly silent, but kept working the yarn, counting every stitch.

SS

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There’s nothing quite like early morning light. 

I’m always amazed at the magic that happens on an early morning walk. I managed to wake to take a sunrise walk while at Camp St. Christopher where I went for a women’s retreat at Providence Baptist Church. Having to shed my shoes and wade through chilly high-tide surf, I made it to the beach-front side of the island. There I watched the sun start the day, but got the eerie sense that someone was watching me.  I turned to scan the houses behind me, but saw no one.   Catching movement in the dunes,  I realized six deer were standing still, same posture, ears cocked,  perfectly alert as if frozen by the light - all of us in silent reverence for the start of the day.

So some time this week or this holiday season - rise early - and receive the blessings.

Why I Wake Early

Hello, sun in my face.

Hello, you who made the morning

and spread it over the fields

and into the faces of the tulips

and the nodding morning glories,

and into the windows of, even, the

miserable and the crotchety –

best preacher that ever was,

dear star, that just happens

to be where you are in the universe

to keep us from ever-darkness,

to ease us with warm touching,

to hold us in the great hands of light –

good morning, good morning, good morning.

Watch, now, how I start the day

in happiness, in kindness.

~ Mary Oliver ~ 

(Why I Wake Early, 2004)

DB

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Walking takes longer...than any other known form of locomotion except crawling.  Thus it stretches time and prolongs life.  Life is already too short to waste on speed.   ~ Edward Abbey, "Walking"

It took me a while to get used to sand.  I grew up an Appalachian mountain girl.   Life in the South Carolina lowcountry,  only six miles from the ocean, has been an experience in flat land, tidal clocks and sand... everywhere.   On my feet, in my hair, on my children, in my car, in the house.    I started digging a garden in my back yard and what did I find but oyster shells and ...sand.   (And some weird clay dirt... but we won’t go into that.)  

What I have found is that sand slows you down.  I’m normally a fast walker.  At the store, on my walks, up the stairs, across the parking lot... I walk fast.  But not in sand.   I can run (sort of) on the hard packed sand left by the surf -  but not in soft sand.  There’s really no way to move fast there.  And that’s a good thing.  Sand slows me down.  Walking out to the beach,  I have to step carefully and with purpose.  Different muscles in my hips and legs push me forward.    I watch out for sand spurs and fire ants, paying attention. 

I see the yellow flowers and the worn rope that edge the path.  I stop and take a picture.  I’m not moving forward in a rush to my destination.  I'm  breathing and present and listening.  Here in the sand. 

AF