Month: December 2021

Typing is not easy at the moment; broke a finger last night. Five trees blocked the road to the Merlo junction due to recent winds. One of them fought back.

The new consulting job did not last. Three weeks of work, and from their end, all was well. Yesterday morning the act of logging on caused the stomach to lock, and then ache. What more instruction does a man need than his own body?

My grasp of clarity is fuzzing with all of this, so it is time to step back from a role as such. Herding cats? Directing squirrels was a better metaphor for this lot.

It is one degree outside but seventy one in the living room. All is well. I will ponder the shift and explore where I was versus where I am today. I am safe, dry, warm and all is okay. A stomach that is not aching is my reward.

Life can offer lessons anywhere if one is looking, and if one cares to acknowledge what is proffered. There was a dialog into the past last night, sharing with someone that knew a former version of me. A moment in time of an evolving being. The lenses of others might blur and fade over time, but they remain an honest reflection from the outside, if you are looking, and if you care to acknowledge what is proffered.

We filter ourselves in many ways, often to protect, sometimes to avoid, sometimes to simply hide. We filter others often for the same. Filters have value but it is worth noting that any valid system for such can get clogged, dirty, blocked from what is now incoming; if one is not static, how can be what one filters?

We learn as we go. If we can reflect on what was versus what is, then we are making our progress and doing our work. We will not be perfect, it isn’t possible or wise to seek such. We need to be pleased with our own growth, our own filters, freshly cleansed and examined if they need still exist.

This wise woman once showed me the true beauty of such. Leaving a meditation session she walked up to me in English-as-a-third-language succinctly stating “I must be more like dog. Less like cat!” She turned on the ball of her foot to immediately return to the session, the filter cleansed. Perfection!

So the lesson for the today is: clean your own filters. If you are a dog, be a dog. If you are a cat, consider the value of being so wary, but also be sure you are not about to choke on a fur ball.

The forecast is ebbing and flowing, unsure if it really wants to snow, and how much, if anything at all is to occur. Watch. Wait. All is good with what nature chooses to do. The large game hunters are gone and deer are slowly peeking out and sensing that safety has returned. I rarely see any during big game season, but they are now again nearly daily visitors.

The winter winds are back, however. An absolute blustery couple of days up on this old hill top, using wood piles to block the worst when waiting for the dog to do his routines. Hats on. Hoods up. Back to the wind. It can move you, and not in the spiritual sense.

The clarity in shift of self is sticking this time, and things are good. I am clear why I am here, in this valley, in this ranch, and just here.

I have the second largest storm of the year in the forecast now. Four inches Friday, and maybe an inch on Saturday. Unlike last year, I am ready. Ready in action, supplies, stores, and compared to last year, fully in mental faculty. It is not as simple, or arrogant, as ‘been there, done that’, it is a feeling of understanding. Knowing what it means to be here, experience, listen, watch, learn. I am anxious for another opportunity.

The pass to the house is in shadowy tall trees. One more storm like the last and that pass won’t be navigable with truck or jeep, so I shall relocate them and hike the ranch one day after my consulting duties.

Moon Bug is dusty from the waiting and my spirit is starting to itch for the white. Two nights grilling in shorts and t-shirts, however? A very nice way for December to have begun.

Last year at this time I was fully Moon Bug dependent to get up the three nearest passes to get access in or out of the ranch. This year the six inches of Thanksgiving snow has melted off, with temperatures expected to be in the fifties today. The hunters are gone. Even those longing to stay are gone; everyone is hunkering down for the winter that hasn’t started yet. It is quiet here. Peaceful. Yet it far more remote.

I took the dog to a vet yesterday, traveling to and from the house in the truck. Moon Bug sits idle, only running to keep the battery topped off; she doesn’t move. Such as this place is, the snow is gone nearly everywhere except for Schierl Road itself, still slick in spots. The first few miles escaped the Spring Fire so shade is prevalent for much of this stretch.

The remoteness is real, and I drove just a bit more cautiously as a result. The dog was with me, and he walks yards now, not miles, so he must get home. My Jeep is parked down at the access gate, prepared for the snow that is not even in the ten day forecast. Nearly everyone I know has gone elsewhere and hunkered down. It is remote, these eight miles from pavement which is twelve miles from town.

A man and his dog. We will be cautious and pay attention, but we will thrive in the remoteness as well. The silence. The space. The gift that is the ranch.