Where Seldom Is Heard A Discouraging Word

TREE in FOG

dew

It has been foggy here, the kind of fog that hushes and softens everything. White clouds veil the orchard and frost the hillsides and brush the road into whispers, and our gazes settle on dreams and remembrances. Yesterday I went out early in the morning and encountered a cowgirl on horseback emerging from the fog, and by the creek, a pair of cows with identical newborn calves.

Closer to the house, a couple of quail burst from the bushes, startling me, and rushed around importantly. And a hummingbird with a bright red throat darted about the fragrant rosemary, whose tiny leaves were adorned with dewy webs glistening like diamonds. (I took a picture of this.)

It seems a time for hiding, and since I have the luxury of doing so, I have chosen to indulge. I'm taking a break from the tasks I should be tending to and the anxieties that haunt me, from the constant noise and self-promotion of the internet, from the ongoing barrage of bad news I can't do anything about.  

I blame the fog...or credit it...its muffling effect has muted out the world beyond this one. I am home on the range here, and seldom is heard a discouraging word, and I know I'm being easy on myself, but I like it.

Last night we drove through the fog at dusk to our neighbors' house for dinner, and the canyon seemed to glow, and it was as though we were driving into someplace secret and wondrous. On the way back, we could see nothing but the beam of our headlights, which we followed slowly home. The trees were dripping, the deck was wet. It was almost like rain, a lovely, gentle sort of rain.

This morning, a surprise: a knock on the door, and believe me, no one ever comes here unexpectedly, and it was my beautiful friend Genevieve, with whom I used to teach at the middle school. Genevieve and I both left teaching five years ago, she to have a baby, and me to, um, move on, or whatever it is I am doing. Anyway, she is married to Jacob, an organic farmer, and they now have two children, and she continues to be someone I love and admire––a brilliant, accomplished, and well-educated young woman who knows that being a good mother is very important indeed. She has also become a doula, which seems so right for her.

And now here she was, in the whiteness of the morning, a mirage at my door. I honestly thought I was imagining her. We went to the fog-shrouded beach and watched her little girl playing on the sand by the gray sea, and we talked.

"Do you miss it?" we asked each other, referring to teaching. No, we both said, or maybe sometimes, and only aspects, not the day-to-day reality. But oh, we are glad for having done it, and it's fun to hear from kids, and what a team we had in those days!  Now Genevieve is mothering her two children and providing support to new mothers during labor and childbirth, and Jacob is tending to the farm, and it seems to me they are both doing ancient, fundamental, and genuinely life-affirming work.

If someone is going to come calling on me in the fog, I couldn't think of anyone better.