Celery Bog frog

We found a friend at the Celery Bog last night. I love the frogs there.

"A tent on steroids," and perhaps more.

A yurt is unlike other spaces. The cornerless but windowed environment offers the closest thing to 360 degree views without actually being outside (and having eyes in the back and top of your head). There is a sense of largeness in a yurt that doesn't exist in a comparably sized structure with traditional corners. The circularity of the yurt drew my eye around, and around, and eventually, up:



In a yurt, you are at once sheltered and yet integrated into the natural environment.

There are fewer compromises required in a structure like this. After staying in the yurt, I have a theory that the mind, like a watermelon grown square within the confines of a box, will take on the shape of its environment. As the hours passed, I could feel the corners of my own boxed-up brain smoothing and stretching out. Thoughts, words and feelings bubbled up more easily. It was a magnificent place to do creative work.

Bear Lake

See the yurt in the lower left hand corner? That was my home for three days this week.

Cedar Tree

I suppose it's foolish to try to write anything of substance with two boys, age 7 and almost 13, playing pool and air hockey downstairs. I keep hearing unidentified crashes and bangs -- and honestly, I prefer to keep them unidentified. It goes something like this:

***CRASH***

Almost thirteen-year old: "My Bad!!"

All righty then. At least we have accountability.

We started out this weekend on a ten-mile trail, and got about a mile and a half of it done before the sole of The Boy's boot detached almost completely. We hiked out, sought duct tape, and drove to the Hocking Hills and did day hikes.

We hiked first at Ash Cave in the Hocking Hills complex. I felt, for a moment, as if I were back in Oregon. The trail back to the falls was lined with fragrant cedar and coated with pine needles. A short hike led us here:

The priesthood

That's what my dad called the life of a lawyer before I went to law school. I didn't really believe him, and dismissed his words as typical Dad hyperbole.

He was right.

I've taken the last three days off after finishing a big project, and I'm amazed at how my brain has returned to creative mode. I've photographed daisies, new sunflowers, my dog, and a sprig of leaves in the twilight. I've encountered the full moon, a big spider, and my own fears. It's amazing how much else that work blocks out for me. I've always known it, but it's part of the tradeoff I live with. I need to remember to get away frequently, so I can be myself often.

Gerbera Daisy, early morning

Turtles don't do drama

It had been a rough, raw week. The weekend was spent recovering, catching up and solving problems of one kind or another. Practicalities dominated. We had planned to keep hacking away at things that needed to be done into the evening, but when I saw the golden light of a late spring Sunday evening, I thought of the middle path between accomplishing nothing and accomplishing too much. He asked me what sounded good for dinner, and I said a sandwich from Dagwood's and a walk on the Monon Trail.

For my non-local readers, the Monon Trail is a greenway that runs through the heart of a hippie-dippie area in Indy called Broad Ripple. I've lived in Broad Ripple twice -- once when I returned here after law school and once when I returned here from Idaho. Living in Broad Ripple is, I've found, the best way to re-acquaint yourself with this city after a period of time away. The food is excellent, the houses are old and have character, and the shopping is a pleasure. The village is bisected by the White River. The Monon is a ribbon of trail that winds from downtown Indianapolis to Carmel, the suburb to the north of Indianapolis. It cuts a path through the village and crosses the river just to the north.

And it happens to be where we had our first date, almost a year ago. We ate on the canal, and then went for a walk, much like tonight. It was different then, of course. Tonight we knew each other. We had the freedom tonight to watch the river and its residents with real attention. He has a much better eye than I do, but I spotted the paddle-tail of the beaver first. We watched the creature for a long time until it disappeared from view. I also spotted the movement of the turtle as it joined another on a log. But he found the red mushrooms and the woodpecker after we ducked off the trail into Marott Park.

This is what we do.

And we do it, apparently, regardless of what else is going on -- with each other, with our lives, with anything.

Turtles and beavers and mushrooms don't do drama. They do not deal in fear, angst, or insecurity. They simply go about their business, and do not thrash about.

A good reminder.