Pandemic? Life Has Not Changed All That Much

Greetings from the couch

in the parlor

in the house 

on the mountain.

It’s spring here

just like it was last year 

and the year before,

bringing migrating birds 

and blossoms that may freeze 

or may not. 

It doesn’t matter all that much,

the deer eat the flowers anyway.

Two anomalies:

we have migrating Baltimore Orioles this year

and the oak leaves 

are over two weeks late.

But the frogs still peep.

The turkeys still gobble.

I still procrastinate.

Upon waking, 

I still pray the Lord’s Prayer.

For years we have joked 

that our home is the perfect place 

to hide out from the world.

It’s surreal to think that 

that’s actually what we are doing

because not all that much is different.

Our shelves have always been stocked.

We have extra staples

so we don’t need a trip to town:

flour,
sugar,
eggs,
milk, 

and dark chocolate almonds.

Eleven miles both ways saves a gallon of gas.

We already were hand washers 

and sometimes washed to the songs 

playing in our heads. 

For Denny it usually is Crosby, Stills, and Nash.

For me, today it was Bob Dylan’s
“The Times, They Are A’Changin’” 

but I don’t really like Dylan

so I switched to Michael Card’s 

“I Will Bring You Home.”

We were already unemployed 

and by that I mean retired.

The days of the week 

were already mostly meaningless.

Weather is more important in how we spend our days—

if it’s raining, 

we work inside.

Dry? 

Outside.

We already had relatively low standards of dress,

comfy and practical,

that prompt us to 

start pajama time in the late afternoon.

Masks do not bother us— 

masks are actually a relief 

because you aren’t expected 

to recognize people in masks,

a plus for people with prosopagnosia 

or “face blindness.” 

That would be Sue and Brad Pitt.

We are not dependent on beauticians.

Sue has cut her own hair for decades*

and often trims Denny’s hair 

and his eyebrows.

Denny would not need sunscreen 

if his eyebrows were allowed to run wild.

We were already receiving virtual hugs 

and video visits.

We can have LEGO adventures

with the grandgirls in Taiwan

without even bending over.

We still see a lot of friends on Sunday mornings, 

though now they sit in Zoom boxes 

instead of pews.

Gary Magee still makes us laugh.

We hear of people using pandemic time to clean closets;

Denny already cleaned his closet regularly

to make room for the wild comfy shirts

that Sue used to bring him on Mondays 

upon return from Goodwill.

Only 79c!

He is a zealous cleaner.

He even threw out Sue’s chicken suit.

“It was an accident.”

We rarely attended sporting events or concerts.

We already were spending too much time online.

We already distrusted governmental decision-making.

I had hoped that the current situation 

would help to develop a daily habit of flossing
since our dentist office has been closed 

but, alas, tooth maintenance hasn’t changed.

I do drive more slowly, though.

When you don’t get off the mountain often,

there is so much to see!

Every trip becomes a field trip, 

with detours for swamps 

and eagle nests 

and trilliums

and heron rookeries.

I also drive more slowly 

because of that whole “avoid the hospital” thing. 

(That was good advice 

even before 2020.)

I also keep hand sanitizer in the Jeep,

something I have never done before.

I am still theoretically against hand sanitizer, 

but it seems prudent currently.

Here on the mountain, 

we are hardly aware of inaudible crashings 

and foundational changes 

in the world as we knew it.

But we sometimes step in mudholes of grief,

stumble into ditches of fear,

take deep breaths that turn into sobs,

and get homesick for a lap to climb into.

Then we remember Michael Card

singing the words of God:

“In this fearful fallen place

I will be your home.”

We recommend finding a comfy couch,

settling in,

and listening to Michael’s comforting voice--

or you could go to a sink 

and scrub your hands.
When the music fades,
you will be clean enough for a snack.
We recommend dark chocolate almonds.

“I Will Bring You Home”

by Michael Card

 https://youtu.be/ZhWd2421Fpg

*Sue's haircut video may be seen on FaceBook, April 3, 2020

Squirrel's Ear Day

Like Second Breakfast gives a hobbit's morning a boost,
Squirrel's Ear Day is a boost to the Shaffner spring.
Squirrel's Ear Day is a moveable holiday,
falling on a slightly different day each spring,
somewhat similar to Easter
which is the first Sunday
after the first full moon
after the equinox.
Usually Squirrel's Ear Day,
the day when the oak leaves are as big as a squirrel's ear,
falls in single digit May,
but not this year.
Botanical spring is late on the mountain.

Spring comes sooner in the valleys.
DuBois was built around a beaver meadow wetland
and the streams that feed the wetland have lowland wildflowers.
I made my traditional spring drive to Van Tassel Road on Thursday
to see bloodroot,
dogtooth violets,
spring beauties,
and red and white trilliums.
In our college years,
white trilliums bloomed the week that Houghton's semester was over.
As we drove 219 south through the Allegany Forest,
the hemlocks would have a blanket of white at their feet.
"Trillions of trilliums," Den used to say.

My grandpa Bernie
used to make a yearly spring tonic from sassafras root scrapings
and serve it in chilled aluminum glasses.
One major boost to Den's standing in the Rensel family
was using his dad's tractor to pull sassafras roots out of the ground.
Bernie did not have to use a shovel.
We had his vote from that day on.
A friend gave Den a jar of sassafras tea this week
and the scent alone made me feel like an eight year old again.
I had mine without aluminum this time.

Dandelions and violets began blooming this week in the valley.
I sat my first graders down
on the edge of the playground
for an informal science lesson.
"Dente means tooth in French.
So dente de lion,
dandelion,
means tooth of the lion,"
and we picked dandelion leaves
and held them up to our jaws
and growled ferociously.
I then showed them a violet
and pointed out the pouch-like nectary
where the sweet nectar is stored.
We nibbled the nectaries,
then ate the violets.
They taste a bit like cucumbers.
Two girls spent much of the remainder of recess
prowling around
snacking on violets.
(The next day,
A informed me that he wasn't allowed to eat purple flowers.
Do his parents know what is in school lunches?)

Spring here on the mountain is a bit sparser--
no forsythia blooms this year due to frigid temperatures.
I've walked to the arbutus patch twice so far,
but no blooms.
What we lack in flowers this year, though,
has been made up in birds.
Besides the traditional chickadees,
doves,
finches,
blue jays,
cardinals,
and the misguided redwing
that lurks recent years in the silky dogwood,
this year we have a catbird that yells everything he knows,
a pair of rose-breasted grosbeaks,
and three northern orioles.
Orioles!
Yay!
The boys were babies the last time we had orioles.

And Squirrel's Ear Day?
Today was the first day I noticed a swelling in the oak buds.
Squirrel's Ear Day is coming,
probably some day this week.
We suggest celebrating Squirrel's Ear Day with a second breakfast.

Equinox Thoughts

 
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by Denny

            This morning I trekked beyond the cabin with my bucket of corn.  The little herd of deer that make an appearance each morning so we might enjoy breakfast together watched me.  No flapjacks and sausage for them.  They are delighted with corn on the cob, served up cold and on the ground.  As I approach they skip and jump with seeming delight, or do they do that just because they can?  Some jump over the fence, some juke under.  They flee just beyond spitting distance and wait, inquisitively watching while I serve up breakfast.  Tails wag and they come “skipperty-hopping” when I turn my back and walk toward the house.

            As morning unfolds, snow is falling gently and there is a slight breeze which reminds me that today has its feet in the hard winter and its head in the delight of a new birth of spring.  Yes, the robins are back, the snow has receded and the geese are flying in the right direction.  I am painfully aware, though, that the first snowdrop hasn’t popped up yet, and despite finding several wonderfully warm, moist road banks yesterday, there was no evidence yet of coltsfoot. 

Denny at Tara, an ancient Irish site

            It is no wonder the ancient Irish looked to the sun.  Am I so different than they?  Perhaps I am.  I am come back to a warm house and with the flick of a switch I will have light.  With the turn of a knob I can make fire.  Their lives were not quite so comfortable.  I am thinking of all of those massive stones they collected from all parts of the Emerald Isle.  They sorted and arranged them into structures to celebrate the season.  My goals for today are not quite so lofty.  My day will be spent here on the mountain.  I am looking for the sun just as they were, but it is only a bright white orb that peeks out from behind the clouds every now and then.  The ancient Irish looked for the sun to return, but they knew that if it didn’t, it may be there tomorrow.  There is evidence it is there and, “Hope springs eternal,” three words that go together quite nicely I think, and I am reminded,

            The fundamental fact of existence is that this trust in God, this faith,

            is the firm foundation under everything that makes life worth living.

            It’s our handle on what we can’t see.  The act of faith is what

            distinguished our ancestors, set them above the crowd. 

                  By faith we see the world called into existence by God’s word,

            what we see created by what we don’t see.

                                                                                    Heb. 11    Peterson

bop

The First Buzzard of Spring

Yesterday was Saint Patrick's Day.
Everyone knows that if you catch a leprechaun
he has to grant you a wish.
To lure in any neighborhood leprechauns,
I was dressed as a leprechaun
and distributing luck
by putting green glitter
on the heads of kids in line for dismissal.
Fun!
...also a hygiene check:
how long will it take the glitter to leave their hair?
A little girl said,
"Hey Leprechaun!
Hey!
Hey! Hey!"
I turned around.
"Yes?"
"Hey! Did you know I'm Amish?"
I gave her an extra sprinkle.

The glitter was green,
but outside
the grass has not yet begun to green.
It has been cold.
At recess yesterday
in right field
the kids found a large frozen puddle.
I warned, "Be careful,"
and turned them loose.
Thump.
Thump thump.
The thumping was science at work.
Ice is slippery.
Gravity pulls mass toward the earth.
Lessons were learned with squeals and grins.
As small-bottomed impacts
made the ice crack
kids picked up the pieces
"This looks like glass!"
and learned about transparence
and translucence.

Today the ice was mostly gone.
Instead,
the kids piled sticks between the trunks of trees.
L found a spider on a chunk of bark
and took it over to show the girls.
"Augh!!"
They screamed
and ran away,
not because they are afraid of spiders
but because it is fun to scream.
T found tufts of fur,
remnants of a rabbit long gone.
E insisted the eagle that killed it
was up in the woods.
There is a fine line
between pretending
and lying.
Then I looked up
and saw a big bird.
Not an eagle...
the tipping of the v-shaped wings
told me it was a turkey vulture.
The first buzzard of spring!
I blew my whistle to call the kids together
and pointed out the vulture.
"Lets make our arms into a V
and tip from side to side.
Be vultures!"
As we tipped and soared around center field,
a small voice said, "There's a V!"
She pointed up.
There above our heads
were four Vs
headed north.
White Vs.
Snow geese!
I have never seen snow geese.
Canada geese are exciting enough...
but snow geese!
We form our class into a V,
girls on one slant,
boys on the other,
and flap our goosey group
northward
toward the school.

We haven't found any leprechauns,
but we are indeed lucky.
Saint Patrick would call us
blessed.

First Day of Spring

Today is the first day of March.
For years
we have celebrated the first day of spring
on this date,
using the logic
that if summer vacation
is June, July, and August,
then spring must be March, April, and May.
And though the temperatures were below zero yesterday
and there is a Major Snowstorm predicted for tomorrow,
last week Den saw the first robin,
right on schedule.
The bluebirds, however, are late.
Smart birds, those.

Spring arrives in increments.
The rising sun wakes the cats
who wake us earlier each morning.
Four geese flew over on Valentines Day.
Where did they land?
I still wear a black turtleneck almost every day,
but some days I cover it with a cotton sweater
instead of wool.
The winter fleece-lined boots
are occasionally replaced with wellies.
The ankle length wool coat
is replaced by a knee-length wool coat.
The daffodil noses emerge on the south side of the house
while the snowdrops are still buried under a big snowbank,
but by the end of the month,
crocuses will be withering
and The Great Coltsfoot Race will be over.
(Den usually finds the first coltsfoot
as he travels at lower elevations
and he knows of a certain south-facing spring-fed bank,
but I am just as thrilled to find a sunny yellow face
a week later under the mailbox.)

Today we celebrated the first day of spring
by having our blood drawn--
new doctor--
and then going out for breakfast.
Scrambled eggs with friends
was a serendipitous small town treat.
A stop at the County Historical Museum
to sell some books
led to the 1866 Pomeroy property map
full of Troutville ancestors--
Knarr.  Kunst. Heilbron. Schoch. Zilliox.
In Osceola,
Kepharts and Gearharts,
in Mount Joy,
Conklins and Shaffners.
I find myself thankful
that I am not dependent on their ancestral furnaces.
This winter we have been snug
despite the frequent sub-zero temperatures.
We decide to drive Clearfield Creek
to see a result of those temperatures,
the ice jams
between Dimeling
and Faunce.
The jagged pieces
stand up like the hair
on the back of a giant ice-cat
and are as tall as I am in some places.
The road had been flooded
but the water has receded
and we are able to get through.
We swerve to miss a flash of red,
then turn around
to pick up the body of a pileated woodpecker.
Roadkill is another sign of spring,
but it's usually possums
and raccons
and skunks,
mammals who are using their hormones
instead of their eyes.

Upon our arrival back home,
a possum under the birdfeeder
greets us with a mouthful of sunflower seeds.
He scuttles up the tree
and waits motionless.
I wonder--
if he is nervous,
will he play dead
and fall out of the tree? 
I talk to him,
touch his tail,
his toes,
his haunch,
then look a bit closer at his teeth
and decide not to press my luck.

All have us have had an adventure
this first day of spring.