I have been thinking of names for our pair of lovebird ravens, predictably a famous couple, and Franny & Zooey comes to mind. A fictitious pair of genius siblings who are perfectly worthy of these smart trusting birds, and well, its just that I’m a fan of Salinger. Here’s Zooey, on the wood pile, right next to our tiny house ….
He is preening and watching over his shy lady Franny, who walks on the ground at a greater distance in the Charcoal Forest.
But distance is relative, because I tell you folks, I was 20 feet away at the most, quietly inching forward ever so slowly before Zooey caught on to me, and took flight.
Beautiful birds, I just can’t get over them.
They have so far snubbed my yarn offerings by the way!
I have been experimenting with another sock design. Knitting, ripping, knitting, ripping, and knitting again. But I think I’ve finally worked it out (um…hopefully.) There’s my knitting for the next weeks, exhaustive exploration of the designs’ potential !
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But perhaps the most interesting of things happening right now are the ravens yet again stealing away with my attention in their nest-making work! Photographed (a blurry phone photo) through the window in our tiny house yesterday in the dimming evening light, are the male & female which share the wooded habitat “close in” with us. They are busy tearing up fluff from the packing blanket covering the bath tub and apparently are making a nest! They’ve been at this blanket for about a week now, and I don’t mind, they can shred it up all they like, and in fact, I’ve just now put a pile of yarn scraps in the middle, as an offering to them.
We watch them pull and tear, and fill their mouths with this fluff, then fly off together to some private place near by, and then they inevitably are back, usually to be found up in the limbs close by. Five years ago, back in this post, I photographed and talked about what I assume to be this pair of ravens, and took some good photos of them in the oak trees next to our house. Of course, the wildfire brought on huge concern for a while about what would happen to the wildlife, but as you can see, as we didn’t let the loggers go through our woods, we have many trees left to be the habitat left for the wildlife. Some are not the healthiest trees, but many larger ones managed to not get too injured in the wildfire, showing a number of decades left in them. Did you know that ravens mate monogamously for life, and can live to be over thirteen years? I expect they will be around for years to come (… read more info on ravens.)
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Other news is that we’ve had to cut down the Black Oak which use to shade our original house, and that has been a sad thing indeed. Our original deck was built around it somewhat, and it just seemed a part of the house.
We didn’t want to do it, but three-quarters of the bark had been burned off, and was nearly entirely dead. We should have cut it down before the house started to be rebuilt, but Jeff wanted to see if it might spring back to life, which it didn’t sadly. Now that the deck is starting to get built, it had to come down ~~~ and it was a huge stress !
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In closing I would like to say that although the rain came late this season, and nearly April it is still raining gobs, and from a fire-ravaged California that desperately needs regrowth of the wild habitat, rain is the new gold. I am very inspired to plant an undergrowth of woodland species, including more fruit trees in the gardens (to share with the ravens of course), and in general have been ready to focus on planting things as soon as the rain wanes off a bit. Making lists and garden sketches in the morning light of the window, with delicious mugs of coffee, is my solid unwavering bliss.
Large patches of trees not burned in their crowns, giving a flooding sense of hope.
This morning as I was taking pen into hand to write my morning journal entry, I noticed a warm orange glow cast from the sunrise, and giving an intense beauty into the forest. Early morning light sure does give me perspective, and so I grabbed my camera and just looked about.
My life hasn’t felt very photogenic lately, so capturing these images suddenly lifts me a little. It seems always less the subject, and nearly all the light, which makes or breaks a photograph. And as I have been feeling so overwhelmed with being uprooted during this crazy shuffling about, now seven & 1/2 months since the wildfire, this morning’s sunrise brings a delicate understanding of how both expectation & impatience are troubling me.
As I write this a very big and ominously black raven lands just outside the picture window, on the roof of the little shed next to Tiny House, and seems to be inspecting something. I love the ravens, I am so happy they weren’t away long. The wildlife is indeed more scarce since the fire, but seems to be slowly populating this lonely wood. I have felt thrown out of synchronization with the wild for what is half a year before we moved our Tiny House up here, and I realize this morning that I missed out on a full half rotation around the sun, from 10th of October last year to the 1st of May, being away from this place. That is a long time for a hermit (merely a soft kind word for agoraphobic) . I must just … b r e a t h e….. now back up on the mountain. Breathe it in! This month of May has been such work learning to live and operate inside of a small space. A really small space, and still doing without so much that makes the experience more like camping … as though my ‘real life’ is still on hold.
But life is not on hold, must forget how life once seemed, and open my eyes to the reality of being here, and now, and this could be as good as it gets. Still , my knitting design which has been seriously ergonomically tampered with, nothing in a neat orderly space, but in boxes, here and there, is going to hibernate a spell while we go through more harrowing experience with the demands of the county, which in the end may prove an ironic and impossible situation for rebuilding.
I strive to be happy for what I have. Namely, my charcoal forest, and sense of place…. the ones I love, and this Tiny House. I guess I just need more time, figuring my way forward, thinking about what matters. Life is so short, and I feel each day which slips by that even the rhythm of work of my knitting design has become distortingly hazy. I find I am caught in a sort of reflection of life up to the fire, and am wanting to set in motion the way forward, but frozen peering into that reflection.
Early morning reflection from window of tiny house.
Life is difficult often, but good, and everything in its place.
In the woods, caught up in the days, and hypnotized by the pendulum of nature, I feel a swing of weeks upon weeks pushing through seasons, while the light changes angle and leaves come and go on the maples and the oaks, and lay papery on the forest floor. While the chickadees keep time with their greeting in spring, linger through summer, then go elsewhere it seems, and yet the tiny black-headed junco stays. Perhaps of all the seasonal signs, the pendulum moves most noticeably through the motionless drying landscape of August, the time when the grasses bleach to blonde and mosses turn almost brown, as it is the dry dormant time, and all things wild wait desperately yet patiently for the first rains of Autumn. The pair of ravens living among the branches near, are talkative, loudly squawking and chortling, perhaps expressing their impatience too. One never knows.
And here we are one week into September already, a blink away from Autumn! Emma and I are mellowing out waning ourselves into a bit of a stale state. We are needing incentive to greet the forthcoming Autumn with some kind of significance. For a long time I’ve pondered, and for a long time I’ve talked, about the big project of the Knitting Trail, while not really applying myself. (Knitting too much? Perhaps!) Taming the wild woods is a boatload of hard labor to put it simply. Working a delicate maze of trail in and around the framework of the more established trees while trying to see through the forest of younger trees and shrubs is well, an exhausting event of instincts & decisions followed up by manual labor, as I very lightly etch into the forest a path, inconspicuous as possible, in some places merely moving aside fallen branches or cutting back poison oak. We will have our home trail from where we can walk through the seasons.
Me with my trail-making gear consisting of long-handled pruners, a variety of bow saws, and a shovel, while Emma contributes her subtle but constant encouragement, and of course, her nose for a the traffic of the wildlife, which is very helpful. In need of a really big goal, and I have thought this morning about how life should, oh but very well must, include a physical regimen of some sort, more than once, twice…or thrice out walking closer in to the house. We are going to craft our Daily Mile (or near mile) of walking trail from the bits of trails already in use that we began years back, and impulsively followed, some discarded, some maintained. And I am going to share with you the whole process. The real challenge is to make this trail nearly entirely near our house’s door step, on ours and on the neighbor’s woods (a generous person granting permission to roam)… so roam we will.
I share this morning, a real determination to make this trail complete. Beginning from the three-foot tall trail blaze outside of the front door , a stack of stones gathered from the trail head parking lots and roadside of the High Sierra . . .
One of my weird kitchen concoctions ~~ hot pepper chocolate.
I have been home alone on the mountain with Emma and The Ravens for four days now. Jeff is returning tonight, from Mexico where he has been visiting with his daughter in Cancun since the nineteenth, visiting ancient Mayan ruins and enjoying a lovely warm beach. Here, I’ve been very busy with holding the fort, and working on this lacey thing . . .
But really what I’ve been working hard on while alone in the house, is my traditional gift of Christmas to Jeff, but I dare not show you a thing until Christmas morning. In the mean time, still serving up my Spiced Chocolate drink if you’d like to stop by ~~I’ll whip one up for you ! If you can’t make it over, I understand, but you’ll have to try this at home ! Here’s how :
Jen’s Spicy Bittersweet Chocolate
(For two servings)
With a mortar & pestle, crunch up a couple of cinnamon sticks, and dried chile flakes or a whole small chile pepper ~~ to taste, what you consider ‘barely hot’ , or ‘really hot’, it is up to you.
(( Optional: a few cardamom pods, and a ‘petal’ from a star anise pod, a dash of grey sea salt ))
Simmer in a pan with about 3 cups of water for about 20 minutes, take off heat and melt into it a few ounces bittersweet chocolate, whisking while it melts.
More chocolate is nice… as much as you feel to balance against the heat of the peppers. I don’t add more sugar, as the idea is to be bittersweet and spicy hot… which is really delicious. However, nobody is stopping you from sweetening it up :).
Whip up a small bowl of cream, again, barely sweetened.
Strain through sieve into cups and pile on the whipped cream , sprinkle with something… like nutmeg or cinnamon… and enjoy !
Wishing You All and Yours lovely days of these fresh first winter days (or summer) and Happy Christmas sentiments.
