peripheral vision

Star gazing with Randy has taught me a few things over the years ... one of those things is that when you are looking for a distant and fuzzy galaxy in the night sky, it is best to use one's peripheral vision.  Things are a little clearer in the dark with the peripherals.

This morning I am thinking about the things I have seen in this neighborhood with my peripheral vision. 

Driving up the driveway on a summer day, my neighbor Keith is often tending his beloved but slowly deteriorating Mayday tree.  Its spring blossoms fill the neighborhood with a luscious fragrance, but one by one the branches are dying, and Keith would climb the ladder with his pruning shears and tend to the tree, to prolong it's life and cut out the dead wood. 

His green truck headed often for the Railway museum, where Keith restored an old train station, bringing to life the train cars and engines.  We have had many visits over the fence, or standing on the driveway about trains, and stations, and railways in Saskatchewan.  He knew every track that was laid, which ones were being torn up, the way the towns in Saskatchewan were named alphabetically along the tracks, the history of the railroad.  The year that I used trains as an analogy for speaking at Redberry, reading Pierre Burton's books on the Canadian railroad, Keith took me to the museum for a tour (just at the junction of the #7 and the Pike Lake Road).  It is a wonderful place. 

When we moved into the neighborhood, I was in a hurry to hang pictures on the walls.  Didn't want to wait till the boxes were completely unpacked, and besides, had no idea where the hammer might be. I went next door, and asked Keith if he would happen to have a hammer handy, that we could borrow for a moment.  He informed me that I had come to the right place - he had a hammer in every room.  Over the years we were to discover that he had the right tool for every job.  When ice accumulated on the driveway - he had a heavy de-icer.  When digging out my shrub in the front yard, Fran informed me that they had just the right spade for that job - hanging on the back of the garage.

He lent us his green truck when it was time to load up our flower baskets and climbing morning glory screens for Josie and Mitch's wedding.

Much of what Keith did was behind the scenes ... something that doesn't take place on centre stage.  But if you paid attention with your peripheral vision, you'd see Keith coming and going, or in the yard; slowly, and methodically doing the things that needed doing.

Last night  the comings and goings came to an end.

The neighborhood will miss you.  The Klassens will miss you.
Peace to the family as you grieve this wonderful, and kind man.

one

our grandson turns one this week

snow continues to accumulate

countries are in turmoil

but we mark the arrival of this precious one

the world becomes small when you enter the world of a little one

the layers are few

his needs, his wants, his joys, his sorrows

he is starting to become aware of comings and goings

people that he loves sometimes surprise him by showing up unexpectedly

or disappearing without his permission

he likes some things (soup)

more than others (avacado)

charges down hallways with one adult firmly in his grip

one finger and one heart at a time

chattering and growling and pulling and pushing and

turning and running and sitting and pointing

all intensity and all important and all consuming

then quietly considering his book

for a while

and then onward to discover new worlds

and touching noses and earrings

there are unexpected kisses, and then hugs

and then chattering and growling and pulling and charging down hallways

with this one adult firmly in his grip - by the finger and by the heart 

breaking loose

wrestling with words

with the Word

trying to contain it in a lesson plan

a coherent system

only to have it break loose and shower me with grace

drenching me in the pure, unbelievable, amazing grace

of our uncontainable God

self defense

Gardening magazines in January are exercises in faith. 
Thinking of growing things when the temperatues are -30 are exercises in hope. 
Funny how color and brilliance prepare us for a season of whites and browns.  I have begun to recognize the changes of the seasons as part of the way that my Lord teaches me to live my life. 

In this particular corner of the world, the summer seemed short and unusually soggy.  We decided not to fight the rains, and simply lit a fire in the fireplace when the days seemed dreary... enjoying occasional indoor weiner roasts, and pretended we were camping in the rain. 

 And these days, with long extended cold snaps, with reports of beauty and warmth in Cuba from quite a few sources ... we just keep on making fires in the fire place.  We finished burning the last of our well seasoned poplar trees, which have gone down in our backyard over the years with a wide variety of tree-cutting methods (that will have to be another post). 

As the trees have come down, I am trying to figure out what new trees to plant.  I have a growing appreciation for the things that take longer to mature (perhaps my strategy of self-defense... our growing age gives us increasing appreciation for other things that take a while to mature).  My meanderings through nurseries and greenhouses take me more often into perennials, trees and shrubs than into the annual aisles. 

Trees and shrubs are more the backbone of a garden and yard; they seldom draw attention to themselves.  Yet they shape, color and flavor the whole yard and park.   Birds may stop where they didn't bother to.  A child may rest in the shade, not even realizing that the tree filters the harsh mid-day sun.  Or that child may look up, figure out a way up, and end up inside the arms of the tree looking out at the world.  

They stand tall in the snow, wearing the snow, dancing through the wind, keeping their last few fall leaves stubbornly clutched in their branches.  Until sap begins to flow again, pushing fresh green past the dried up leaves. 

But that day is not this day.

more than a strategy of self defense ... the planting of shrubs and trees. 

Nuance

it is the difference in the cry when a baby is irritable, or hungry
the difference in grains of wood,
the difference in textures of green in the forest
the slight shifts in technique, releasing the basketball for a shot
the quality of shade that welcomes or repels the astillbe
   (I have yet to find a place where it will thrive)
the sound of a ferrari as opposed to a ford;
the reality of grace and free gift when compared to my work,
    and my response to that grace
freedom and slavery
grace and expectation
sometimes the difference is only a shade.  only a nuance. 
it catches us by surprise when we were expecting a whole new universe. 
And you only catch the nuance when you live long in that land. 
Listening often to that precious child, you learn the difference between pain and hunger. 
working with wood teaches the difference in grains
   and why one is suited for flooring and another for carving

...listening for grace.

Falling

I love the way this season seeps into my soul. 
I always reject the first sign ... my ornery poplar dropping fully yellow leaves onto my lawn
before August slips into my backyard. 
But the increasing harvest of tomatoes, the gradual sweetening of carrots,
the crispening of the nights,
the warming of our bedroom as the rising sun reflects off the yellows of that same poplar tree,
the sounds of Canada geese practicing their take-offs along the river banks,
the unexpected call of sandhill cranes high above us as we enjoy supper on the deck,
the sights and sounds of students on the sidewalks of our neighborhoods;
they bring a richness of color and texture and flavor to life that makes me want to savor this season of change.

defining ourselves

I prefer to leave footprints in the sand rather than concrete,
   fleeting expressions across the faces of my children,
       a snapshot of my garden ...


experimenting with words,
 struggling to express beauty,
   wrestling with life,
     bearing witness