Monthly Archives: June 2023

Acclimating

A few weeks back, a black and white cat appeared in our yard and took up residence behind the garage, near the compost pile. He’s neutered and acclimated to human beings, friendly, not feral by any means–but a hunter. I didn’t mind having him there to keep mice and voles out of the compost, but let’s face it: outdoor cats are a menace to wildlife. And we live in a semi-rural area of former fields and old barns, which certain unethical folks deem “good places” to drop off unwanted kitties.

We have kept cats as family companions for years, but over time have altered our feelings about cats being outside; our current pair stay indoors. Our previous cats have killed bats, birds, snakes, toads, cicadas, voles (okay, I have mixed feelings about the voles). This interloper has already killed a small garden snake and is harassing the wrens and a pair of nesting catbirds. After hearing a series of alarm calls from the catbirds, I caught him in the burning bush where they reside and gave him a dousing with the hose; but now he knows where they are and that he can climb up and reach them. I don’t see this ending well for the birds. We have several options here, one of which is to catch him–once he trusts us enough–and take him to a cat rescue center, though in our region the no-kill places are filled to the max already. Or we can catch him and adopt him, which means vet bills and the challenging period of introducing him to our cats, and then acclimating him to staying inside. Other options are less humane.

Cats are cats, and he merely does what cats do. I can’t blame him (though I want to!). The real problem, as usual, comes down to humans altering the environment and being careless about spay/neuter. Plus we could be more responsible cat owners: I have a friend who keeps her cats indoors during nesting season, for example. That’s a good start. It means becoming more “mindful”–by which I mean not doing so many things without even thinking first–and recognizing that even fairly small changes in habits can, cumulatively, make a difference.

Two simple examples. A second or two of thinking first, and caring a little, would have stopped dozens of cigarette-, firework-, and campfire-caused wildfires over the past decades. Would have meant fewer people killed or injured by humans driving while intoxicated. We have brains and can acclimate ourselves to using them by developing less harmful habits.

I hear many birds making their alarm cries this time of year when I take walks. Today, I saw a doe and heard her alarm noise, which sounds very like a person sneezing (she probably had a fawn hiding nearby). These creatures don’t believe my assurances that I am not a threat; I’m human. Inherently threatening.

Lightning bugs

We didn’t call them fireflies when I was a child, though now I kind of prefer that name for the flittery flashers that decorate the summer nights. There are fewer this year, probably due to variances seasonally–that drought we’re still not completely recovered from, followed by some rain and hail, and slightly cooler June temperatures than usual thanks to the haze of smoke from wildfires to our north. Peak season for fireflies in my region has typically been right at the solstice. Looking out my window this evening, I remark on a paucity of flashes in the meadow and over the lawn. Fewer Lampyridae this June. Things can change from one year to the next.

Change equals living: no life without alterations of one kind or another. My current situation is one of those so-called Life Events: I have retired from my position at the university where I worked for about 17 years. I suppose it is A Big Deal (see how I’m capitalizing?), but I must admit that so far it doesn’t feel terribly fraught, major, or even bittersweet. It just feels appropriate. Part of the reason for that is that I’m not a person who has defined herself by her career. Thank goodness, since it was a fairly modest career. I enjoyed my work with students; and I was part of a terrific team of earnest, funny, and supportive folks. So yes, that’s something to miss. However, I have many interests beyond work at the college. Time to pursue those, methinks. Time to spend with my mother as she wanes. Time to travel with my husband and on my own and to visit our far-away offspring. Of course, there are all those things that will keep me unexpectedly busy…gardening, house maintenance, trying to get the metaphorical ducks to line up (as if they ever will). And then, poetry; I want to devote some serious brainpower to revising, reorganizing, drafting, reading, learning more about the art I love. Maybe even submitting more work, putting together another manuscript or two. Who knows what changes are ahead?

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When I note the fewer numbers of fireflies, I do not mean there are none. It’s just that some years, by June 18th, the back of our yard simply dazzles; we don’t need fireworks! Because they pupate in dampness, such as in rotting logs or underground, and because they need moist earth in order to feed (on soft-bodied invertebrates, according to the Xerxes Society’s informative page here), a spring drought can limit their numbers. And I miss them, the way I miss the little brown bats and the green ash trees. Those types of changes may be more or less inevitable, but I can’t help thinking that such transitions feel less timely than my departure from running the university’s writing center. The ash and the bats are still around, but in vastly decreased numbers. I hope the lightning bugs bounce back.

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Art from the Metropolitan Museum: Eishōsai Chōki ca. 1763

Goals, sort of

http://www.wmo.int/gfcs/idmp

Our regional drought continues. I sometimes entertain the idea that the universe is telling me I might as well consider moving to the Southwest–where my children now reside–since the Mid-Atlantic area currently has less rainfall, higher temperatures, and lower humidity than where they are. Granted, this is likely to be a temporary situation; but for the present, I get the chance to walk on crunchy grass and hard soil daily and see how I like it. And to see blue skies for days on end, and see how I like that. What next?

Speculating on “what next” comes rather naturally to me, a reflective sort of human being; but making goals and ambitions toward accomplishment–not so much. Lately, though, the years-ahead thinking has been moved the forefront of my thoughts. It’s all those dang Medicare and Social Security and AARP mailings, in part, and my peers and I heading into the so-called retirement years. Inescapable: the conversations crop up around the dinner party table, while having coffee with a pal, or on a phone call with siblings. People keep asking me what my new goals are. I suppose, having reached the age Social Security (used to) kick in, I was expected to come up with new goals? Must have missed that memo.

Goal: the word is of uncertain origin, says Etymology Online, but appears in the 14th c “with an apparent sense of ‘boundary, limit.’ Perhaps from Old English *gal ‘obstacle, barrier,’ a word implied by gælan ‘to hinder’ and also found in compounds (singal, widgal). That would make it a variant or figurative use of Middle English gale ‘a way, course’…” And there’s the further meaning of a stake that signals the end point of a game. Interesting that goal can be an obstacle, a limitation, an end-point, or a pathway.

If I think of it as a pathway, the question is, what do I want to do? After many years as an educator…do I throw all that experience away and take up something else? My guess is that I’ll find myself imparting information of some kind, one way or another, regardless of employment status. So no major change of course, just a change of scenery, situation, or audience. After all, I will still be writing.

Or are we talking aspirations? What is it I would like to plan for…self care? travel? conferences and retreats? Time to do–what, exactly, and with whom? Here there are perhaps barriers and limitations: can we ever stop worrying about how much will it cost and how much time it will take to achieve the specified goals? And obstacles–you cannot plan for them. Maybe I go blind or get cancer or get hit by a bus. Maybe the apocalypse occurs in my lifetime. That would certainly be the stake that signifies “game over!”

Then again, what if my plans are to get into the woods more, sit under trees more, take more walks, read more books, tend to plants and animals, hang out with my beloveds, write poems? Those things, I want to do in future. But it isn’t as though I am not already doing them now.

Photo by Michael Heinrich on Pexels.com