The Thistles February 14, 2014

I’m a big fan of wild flowers, but I draw the line at thistles, the bane of my pasture.  This charming deep purple flower is saddled with an enormous base of stiff and prickly leaves, which understandably are left uneaten by the deer and horses.  Fortunately, thistles are not deeply rooted, and tenacity and a sturdy pair of gloves can be combined to upend them before they flower.

Typically by now, the grass has already grown lush and high, masking the young thistles before they erupt.  But in this season of drought, the thistles have gotten out of the gate ahead of the grass, and I can spy them in their near infancy.  I waited for the rain of the past week to end, and today, I launched my attack.  I donned my gloves and grabbed a shovel, a pitchfork, and a trowel and worked my way around the perimeter of the house and the fences, where the thistles tend to congregate.  After I removed the more monstrous ones manually, I grabbed the Roundup to spray clusters that were just beginning to peek through the ground.  Take that, thistles!  I’ll be back. 

Alone at Pi February 8. 2014

When I bought the land and built the home that I have come to call Almost Pi, my intention was twofold:  First, to spend weekends here with my daughter Annie, who was ten at the time, off the grid and succumbing to the slow pace of nature.  And second, as my thinking went, eventually to retire here and to share this home with a partner.  It is now almost ten years since I made this decision.  Annie with her friends, I with my friends, and together with our family, we have come and gone many times, hiking, feasting, and taking in the sunset over a glass of wine.  But Annie now lives in Seattle, the much-imagined partner has eluded me, and I spend most of my time here alone.

And though a solitary retreat wasn’t my intention, I have come to love my time here alone.  I spend the weekends reading and writing, thinking and looking, occasionally hiking or asana-ing.  I jump down to the library, if it is open, to access the web or pick up a DVD, grab a pastry at the Bovine Bakery, frequent the hardware store for supplies, browse the bookstore, or take in a concert at the Dance Palace.  But mostly, I am alone.   And really, it’s not so bad.  Cancel that: it is wonderful.

Rain February 8, 2014

Finally!  Rain!  It has been raining the past few days, and more precipitation is forecast for the future.  I was eager to get to Pi on this dreary Saturday morning both to check on the house in this, the first significant storm of the season and to bask in its grey tranquility.

As I drove up the final steep curve of Lucas Valley Road, approaching Big Rock from the east, a small SUV coming toward me spun out of control on the slippery surface, nearly crashing into me, but instead settled into the deep ditch on the hillside.  I pulled over in a turnout zone, flipped on my flashers, and jumped out to check on the driver.  He was fine.  I was fine.  With a few back and forths of his four-wheel drive, he maneuvered his way out of the gulley, thanked me, and drove on. 

Continuing even more cautiously toward Pi, I passed the Nicasio Reservoir to find it … wet!  Actual moisture, a few inches deep, layered itself onto the deepest parts of the basin.  Such a long way to go, but still, a start.

Now home and settled, I eat my lunch and watch the birds as they too seem to relish the arrival of rain, feasting on worms, playing in the pools of water, and preparing their nests on my studio’s eaves.  The swale now cradles a very large puddle and I can almost hear the lavender sighing, “Ah!”