Staring out the window one recent sunny winter day, I watched one of "our"
squirrels drag a large, green hedgeapple, three times the size of his head,
up the maple tree outside my window. He had to go up backwards---tail
first---and then ease the hedge apple across a branch and around the trunk.
Several rests were necessary before he finally came around to a branch
parallel to me, where he sat and then proceeded to eat his hedgeapple:
chomp, chomp, chomp, littering the ground with seeds. Friend squirrel
likes this particular branch about 15 feet from my window. Today he
snoozed a while, tail curled across his back, sitting in the angle of the
limb and trunk, protected from the wind.
I write in my sunroom, an enclosed porch with windows on three sides. Seated
at my computer, I face north, looking into the pine tree and walnut tree
just outside the window. A swathe of sky is visible if I raise my eyes
slightly. To my left is the back yard which slopes 100 yards or so down to
Brock Creek, a typical rock-strewn, tree-arched Indiana creek about ten feet
wide and one-two feet deep. Four magnificent old silver maple trees,
30 feet from the house, form a semi-circle around the back of the house. In
the summer, the branches of the two inner trees create a majestic green
cathedral in the yard. When the wind blows hard or when storms come, I stand at the windows and speak to the trees: "Stay with me old friends. It is not
time to go." A large sugar maple sits in the center of the yard 30 feet
farther, halfway to the creek. Beyond it are four large rocks--small
boulders--which
were dug up when the 18 foot deep water line was dug through the yard. A
workman kindly asked if I would like the stones arranged in the yard and
then
moved them with his crane. A tall old evergreen--50-60 feet--sits off-center
at the
bottom of the yard, along with two smaller pines which Max and I planted 15
years ago.
Our house is situated half way up a small ridge. The creek flows at the
bottom
of our yard, on the west side of the house. The school's football field
and
practice fields lie along the creek. The middle school sits partly up the
next
ridge with the high school and hospital in a line along that ridge. Along
the
creek are sycamores, the hedgeapple tree, a locust tree, and several unknown
berry trees, among others. The creek is straight along our yard, but curves
around our neighbors' yards to the north. I wonder if Indians used to camp
in the bend. Directly across the creek is the
football practice field and beyond that is the elementary school. I hear
the class bells ring and the shrieks of the children at recess. In the fall
and spring, I hear the band practicing, particularly the drums. As the
team drills, the smack of helmets and the coaches' instructions echo
across the creek. If I turn and look slightly left, I see, across the
creek, the middle school to the south of the elementary school and the
roof of the local hospital. Helicopters arriving at the hospital usually
circle to the north of me and land noisily on the pad. Farther beyond,
out of sight behind the middle school is Salem High School, where I
spent 28 years teaching Senior English, as well as some Junior English
classes most years, and one year each of some sophomore and freshman
English classes.
Reading and writing at my computer, I watch the creek and yard. The other
day a ground hog made a stealthy tour of the yard before disappearing into
the bank of the creek. Some days a heron-like bird, bluish gray, walks in
the creek. The squirrels chase each other around the yard and trees, often
coming up on the deck. On lucky days, cardinals land in the bushes or a
woodpecker climbs the trunk of the tree. Small flocks of birds feed in the
lawn and a few times I have seen a hawk swooping through the trees. This
morning, five turkey vultures were circling the trees, two houses north. The
neighborhood cats cross the yard on trips. Max has seen deer on several
occasions, but I have not. We live on the edge of town and before the
school bought the farm land behind us a couple of years ago, we could
see cows in the field. I miss the cows.
I like to watch the rain and snow. My students used to sit in the classroom,
starring at the rain or snow. Why, I wonder, do we watch so intently? I also
like to watch the sky and clouds. I find myself listening to the rain or
wind, and am irked when I hear the trucks gearing down on the highway a
block away to the east. No matter what time of year, the sunsets are lovely,
though the winter ones with pink and golden clouds seen through the stark
black branches of the trees are the most beautiful. In the summer,
Max sits for hours on the deck or under the trees, surrounded by the holy
space, soaking in the peaceful scene. |
