With the approaching storm, I couldn’t help but think of the big black stray cat that lives in our neighborhood. I call the cat “him”, but I suppose I’ve only got a one in two chance of being right about that. I catch glimpses of him every now and then, and sometimes, he’s a sad sight indeed. His hair is long, and for the most part matted. On pleasant days, he suns himself and sleeps where it is warm. It’s a guarded sleep though, and one eye is always on the alert for danger. There is a part of me that believes that he wasn’t always wild and on his own. Although he doesn’t wish to be approached, he remains in the area, and I somehow think he appreciates being looked out for.
It was close to midnight when I was closing the windows. As I looked out into the front yard one last time, the big black cat was there looking back at me. He paused only a second or two, and then he was gone into the night. Passing under the maple tree he was headed for what I hoped would be a warm and dry spot to weather the storm.
The rain pelted down with a fervor all through the night. I’m not sure what time it finally stopped, but the sound it made was incredible. Rain hit the windows like great sheets of water at times, and added to the sound of the wind it was an awesome noise.
This morning while I was driving Erik to the train station, the big black cat crossed the street, and was headed towards the wooded area. He must be tired, I thought, but I was happy to see him, this little survivor.
Today, the winds continue to blow, making the wind chimes sing, and the leaves on the trees sound like thousands of paper flowers crinkling and rustling together. At times however, it blows so hard that the leaves sound like great waves crashing into the shore. The air is fresh and clean smelling.
I noticed for the first time today that the tree line looking out from the window in our den is starting to look like autumn. Late in the summer the green in the leaves begins to wash out and the trees look “summer tired”. That’s how those trees look today – as if they’ve had enough of hot days, and that it’s time to move on to fall.
Lately, Cassandra has been telling us how she wants a horse.
“Not a pony,” she says, “but a horse”.
It is a subject most serious, and I dare not even tease and say, “Now if you do this or that, I’ll get you a pony!!” There is no sense whatsoever in adding fuel to a raging fire!!
Recently Erik bought the movies “The Black Stallion” and “The Black Stallion Returns” for the girls to watch. Now, while Rebecca sits and watches the movies, for the most part she colors and draws pictures. That’s not to say that she doesn’t enjoy herself, but at this stage of her little life it is perhaps only Hello Kitty or Barbie that gets her full and undivided attention.
Cassandra, on the other hand was entranced. It was as if life around her ceased to exist and she was alone on that island fighting for life alongside of Alec. “It’s the scary part,” she said, “come and see.” Try as I might, I couldn’t recall the “scary part” in The Black Stallion. It turned out to be the scene with the cobra on the beach. She was delighted when the Black came and stomped the object of fear into the sand. That valiant horse had come to the rescue, Alec would be safe, and all was right with her world. It was the perfect innocence of childhood captured in that moment. Oh, to be nine again.
“Do you know how many Black Stallion books there are??” Cassandra asked me.
I had the distinct feeling I was about to find out.
Cassandra loves to read. In fact, she devours books. I have no doubt that having discovered The Black, she will read each volume. We will most happily continue to nurture and encourage this love of books that she has.
I wonder if Walter Farley realized how he would touch the imagination of generations of children when he sat down and penned The Black Stallion. Thank you, Mr. Farley.
Love, Shelley
Butternut Grove - September, 2003
Erik and Shelley's Home
Starting Over
September 5th, 2003
Our cat is beautiful. Ask anyone. They will tell you just what a pretty cat he is. They're right - he IS a pretty cat. He is however a cat, and as such has an iron will, and a stubborn streak a country mile wide.
Evil, thy name is Scooter.
Poor Erik didn't really have a choice in the cat. I arrived in this relationship with 17 lbs of fur and attitude in tow. Now for most couples this would be a minor strain right from the get go, but amazingly, Erik and
Scooter adore one another. Erik calls him by saying, "Come here my good doggie." and Scooter dutifully comes running. Father and cat as they say, are doing just fine.
You have to understand something right away. Scooter is pampered beyond belief. His every need is met. His every whim is catered to. He wouldn't have it any other way. Even Erik's Mommy (now Scooter's Nanny) is ruining him. She knit him the loveliest blue blankie so that he would have somewhere soft to sit while watching the birdies from the big bay
window. She says hello to him over the phone. He purrs back.
Face it; this cat lives the life of Riley. Actually, Riley probably didn't have it this good. All of this said, Scooter still isn't happy. Sigh.
He is de-clawed, and as such, he is an indoor kitty. Just try telling HIM that he is an indoor kitty though, and he will throw that tabby head back, and roll those big green eyes at you as if to say, "Ha, that's what YOU think!!"
Of late he's a cat with a mission. Each time the door is opened, he makes a mad dash (even when he's at the other end of the house!!) in an attempt to gain his freedom. Now, for the most part he doesn't go anywhere on these sorties. Usually, he runs about five feet onto the deck, collapses and then ends with his "victory roll". That is, of course, until the other night.
I had just collected Erik from the train station, and it was later than usual, so we were both tired and looking forward to dinner and a quiet night. Consider this dream shattered right now.
We were reviewing the day and comparing notes on our way up the stairs. Erik got the mail from the box (situated right by the door) and as he turned the key we can only guess that Scooter was already traveling at about 85 mph, because when the door opened, he was out like a shot!! No collapse!! No victory roll!! He was down the stairs and under the deck!! DRAT!!
Between the two of us, we dropped everything we were carrying, and tried to catch a glimpse of the cat on the lam. As the deck has an opening on the other side (and thus a way to true freedom) I made a beeline in that direction, tripping and twisting my ankle in the process. With the flashlight in hand (for now it was getting dark) Erik could see the glow of two yellow green eyes smack under the stairs. We tried coaxing. We tried treats. No avail. We traded spots, and Erik crawled under the deck (which was mushy and muddy from all the rain we've had) and using the broom, he tried to shoo Scooter gently. Taking this as life threatening Scooter greeted him with hissing, and spitting. Plan A was a wash.
Knowing Scooty's disdain of water, I suggested the hose. Erik agreed, and we proceeded. Now before I receive a number of letters chiding the two of us for animal cruelty, we did not douse the poor animal in H2O!! This must be understood. Erik turned the tap on softly, and dripped water through the stairs, where it landed on the rogue feline. It took about 3 seconds, and Scooter made his second mad dash of the night, in the wrong direction!! He came out the back of the deck!! Fortunately, my wild howl confused him just enough so that he turned around and he was right back under the deck. This time however, his wandering spirits were "dampened" (and fortunately so were the stairs) so he ran like a banshee right into the house. Plan B was a success. Erik and I on the other hand were exhausted. I can't remember what we had for dinner. I liken it to eating rations after a battle. It was sustenance only.
Scooter did not speak to either of us for the entire night. I'm not sure if this was out of embarrassment or indignation. Normally he beds down with us, but for this night he made other arrangements. In the morning, all was apparently forgiven and he was making nice with us as if nothing had
happened. Cats.
As I write this, Scooter is on Nanny's Blankie, and he's watching the birdies from the big bay window. Every once in a while I catch him stealing a glance at the door.
Back in the spring we gave each of the girls a small packet of sunflower seeds to plant. It was an unremarkable thing really, just a little envelope filled with 12 seeds apiece. I think it's so important for children to have growing things of their own to nurture. So many life lessons can be learned from a packet of seeds. It is a small expense, but it ends up being a lifetime investment in the long run. This time however, there were lessons for each of
us.
Although it would be a few days before the ground started to crack and the two round leaves appeared, appear they did!! Much to our dismay, we found that many of Rebecca's seeds had been dug up and devoured. We blamed Rat Boy (the resident black squirrel -- more about him at a later date), but it could have been one of his grey cousins. We never did find out, and the squirrels sure weren't talking.
Cassandra, being the diplomat, told her sister that they could share the sunflowers that she planted. With this small setback behind us, we awaited the arrival of the sunflowers.
On a bright and sunny day, Cassandra and Rebecca, gentlewomen farmers, set out to sow their seeds. Erik and I gave them the areas in which to plant, and they tilled and prepared, and following the rule of "plant wet and sow dry" they tenderly placed the seeds in the earth. Within an hour, Rebecca was already checking to see if they had started to grow yet.
I'm not sure which of us spotted them first, but they were undoubtedly sunflowers, and the pattern they made in the ground bore the unmistakable touch of a child's hand. As delighted as I was to see the new plants, I will be honest with you right now and tell you that my heart sank just a little. You see, these sunflowers were coming up within inches of the tomato plants that Erik and I had so carefully picked out, and so lovingly planted.
Now for those of you who have never looked into the eyes of 5 and 9 year old girls, this would not be a problem. For those of you on the other hand who have, you already know what happened. In reality, there was never a question. The sunflowers would stay put, and the tomatoes would have to fend for themselves. That, as they say, was that. In my naïve thinking, I kept telling myself that the tomatoes could do it, they would be fine. Logic went completely out the window. To be honest, I could taste those bacon and tomato sandwiches in September and I was refusing to believe that they wouldn't grow!!
Although we only got a handful of tomatoes, boy, oh boy, did we ever get a bumper crop of sunflowers!! It's silly to think about now, because as sweet as those few tomatoes have been, they will never compare with the sweet joy of seeing Cassandra and Rebecca's faces light up the day that their sunflowers were finally taller than Daddy. When the first flower opened, you would have thought royalty had arrived at our home. I could not have imagined that such enjoyment would have come from a handful of seeds.
Watching the bees diligently travel from one flower head to the next has been a delight. They are such faithful little creatures. We've had the added pleasure of Lemon Birds because of our "Happy Flowers" as Rebecca called them one day. Lemon Birds for those of you who don't know are Goldfinches. They have been feasting on the sunflower seeds.
Granted, I have missed the tomatoes, but I wouldn't take two bushels of them in exchange for our Happy Flowers. I learned that blessings aren't always where you expect to find them. I hope the girls learned that good things really DO come in small packages. I'm sure that Erik now knows that next year he should follow little girls with seeds!! And Scooter, well, he didn't learn anything from this, but he did enjoy the birdies. I'm not sure what that in itself counts for.
As for the tomatoes, well, I've decided that the fresh market is close if we get the urge for bacon and tomato sandwiches. A wispy leaf of lettuce is good on those too. Hmm, I wonder what time the market opens.
We managed to come through our portion of Isabel with little damage, other than the big planter box filled with Cosmos toppling over. Before the actual rain started last night, the wind picked up, and I took advantage of that by opening all the windows for a good airing of the house. The breeze coming in was delicious, and the cool air, heavenly. Scooter too, thought this was a wonderful thing. He spent the evening going from one open window to the next; his head tilted back drinking in the scents that each new gust was carrying. He thoroughly enjoyed himself. He listened to the leaves rustle and the bark of a neighbor’s dog.
Cricket song fills the night air now, and it’s evident that we’re in that lovely transition from summer to fall. For the most part, the days are warm with sunshine, but the nights are becoming cool and fresh. It is the chill of the autumn nights that causes the leaves to turn. It is my favorite time of the year – not quite summer and not quite autumn – one season clinging to the other. This has always been a sweet mystery to me.
As I travel back and forth along the Taconic Parkway this week, I notice that there are smudges of color here and there. It's as if
an artist has taken a “dry brush” with just a hint of color and touched the trees every so often. It’s a most lovely sight, and there is something that stirs in your heart to see such subtle beauty. With each passing day the picture changes just ever so slightly. Wonderful!!
The monarch butterflies linger still, but we know that they’ll be making their way south to Mexico soon. I’ll miss the familiar orange and black amongst the flowers. Safe journey my friends.
The soft purple of the asters has replaced the pink of the cosmos. It is another transition of the season. The goldfinches or lemon birds land on the remaining cosmos and feast on the seed heads. I sit and watch as they sway to and fro on the long stems of the cosmos. It is a delightfully simple pleasure, and I’m convinced that if people would stop and enjoy such things the world as a whole would benefit. Sometimes we get so caught up in this whirlwind that we call life, that we forget that some of the sweetest blessings are sometimes the smallest.
Erik and I enjoy the bird feeders that we have in the yard. Slowly but surely the birds are seeing that we’re here and their numbers are growing. Usually on Saturdays Erik and the girls fill them to the brim, and Cassandra climbs the Mountain Ash to put a dried cob of corn in the wire corn holder. She loves to do this, and her enthusiasm for the task causes me to smile. I hope that she will always tackle life in the same way – seeing the goal, facing it head on with a willing attitude
and a happy heart. Something tells me that she will.
Rebecca helps her Daddy fill the feeders proper. She is wicked serious about this and careful not to spill any seed. Once I gave her some stale bread, broken into little pieces and I asked her to put it out for the birds. She loves to please, so she took the bag with a smile and off she went. In a few minutes she was back with the bag (still full) in hand. I asked her why she still had the bread and she informed me that she had put a piece down and the bird didn’t eat it, so she wasn’t going to give him anymore. I had to turn away.
There was a wonderful little visitor at the feeder this week. I was on the deck in the back enjoying a cup of Earl Grey, when a flash of white caught my eye. It was a partially albino sparrow. His body was the normal mottled brown and grey, but his head completely white. What a striking combination. Try as I might I couldn’t get a photo of him, but I’m hoping that he’ll return. I’ll keep trying. I’ve been fortunate to see a number of albino birds over the years, but it never ceases to be a surprise. I used to think that they were extremely rare, but I’ve since learned that isn’t true.
In truth, the squirrels get more feed than the birds, but I have to admit that I enjoy the antics that they go through. In the circus of life, they are truly the little clowns. They would rather hang upside down on the feeder and get it “from the source” than just sit on the ground and devour what they’ve already knocked from the feeder. Heaven help the second squirrel who shows up. He is told in no uncertain terms that all territory within a one mile radius is now off limits!! Scooter watches the show from the comfort of Nanny’s blankie in the big bay window. He will “chitter*” and chirp at both squirrels. The yard, feeders and all birdies pertaining thereto belong to HIM!! The birds sit in the tree and patiently wait for the grumbling to end. End it does (eventually) and life at the feeder slows to a comfortable pace once again. Scooter settles in for a nap – one eye alert and ready to defend his territory again if needs be. He will not be bettered by a squirrel!!
Enjoy these sweet days.
Love, Shelley
*~*~*
*chitter – it’s an interesting noise and I suppose that anyone who owns a cat is familiar with it. Scooter gets a fixed and intent look on his face, and then he begins to make a clicking noise in the back of his throat. His eyes become as big as butter plates.
