A Conversation August 15, 2019

One of the many beautiful aspects of living at Pi is its agency for connection.  At first blush, Pi might seem an unlikely vehicle, as it is so remote and I am off the grid.  But I think it is precisely because of this isolation that Pi fosters deeper appreciation for each other.  It takes a while for a friend to drive out here, and once here, he or she is a little less impatient to leave.   Visiting isn’t just a casual whim or a quick coffee, it is a meeting borne of intention. 

Witness Saturday and the visit of my friend Susan:  I had met Susan while singing in the San Francisco Bach Choir.  Though she and I are members of different sections (alto and soprano, respectively), we happened to be placed next to each other for a performance, and our voices meshed.  We both recognized that a match was in the making.  We never had a chance to connect at any length during a rehearsal, but Saturday – through a walk on Muddy Hollow, over a West Marin Reuben at the IP market, and relaxing on my deck – we grew to learn about each other, our paths as singers, our relationships, and our children.  We never made it to our duet books, as the conversation was so absorbing, but that will come.

Call of the Wild August 13, 2019

Like many women my age, I rarely sleep through the night, but to catch a shooting star, sleeplessness can be an advantage.  Right now, the earth is hurling though the Persiad meteor shower, and I’ve been exploiting these nocturnal interruptions in attempts to see it.

Following a few nights of obstructive fog, last night finally was clear.  I ventured out onto the deck to encounter a nearly full moon, whose silver light bleached out any faint photons from a shooting star.  As I lingered to adjust my eyes in hopes of a glimpse, the pungent scent of a skunk came my way, and I thought, “Better go inside!”  Perhaps I was threatening that critter’s turf, and I was hoping that turf wasn’t just below me.

As I tried to ignore the stench and get back to sleep, a red-tailed hawk started screeching.  Then quickly came the piercing cry of what at first I feared to be a animal injured by the hawk, but it was so incredibly loud that it seemed unlikely to be a raptor’s prey.  I finally concluded the howl must have come from a coyote somewhere in the midst; it was a three-note song, followed by a short report of barks.  I crept back out to see if I could find the creature, but no luck.

I decided to linger and turned my attention back to the sky.  Soon I spied a few meteors.  Be it earth’s animals or cosmic debris, it is all amazing.

My Little Mouse August 12, 2019

Readers will have read about Bob, the bobcat, otherwise known as “My Little Bobcat”, a welcome constant in my summer life at Pi.  At dawn, he rests in the grass near Route One and warily peers over to me through the glass door as I make my coffee.  In mid-afternoon, I peer back at him as he patiently prowls for gophers in the hot pasture. 

Now I appear to have a new constant, yet I have yet to lay eyes on him.  When I came up here in July, I found a few mouse droppings under the kitchen sink, cleaned up the area, and then saw nothing more for about a month.  But the evidence is now overwhelming; “my little mouse” is back – and thriving.  

So far, just cleaning up, removing edibles hasn’t done the job.  I bought high-frequency emitters that are supposed to keep rodents at bay – no luck.  Last night I tried just leaving the kitchen lights on as a deterrent; still the little droppings.  I even have a cat!  What self-respecting mouse would hang around in the middle of all this? 

Last night I found myself dreaming about Gus and the other little mice in Cinderella. Perhaps acceptance is another strategy.  Good grief, I don’t want to harm the little guy, I just want to gently scoop him up and encourage him to kindly move elsewhere.  Suggestions?