Endless Snot Nose Catalyzes Masterpiece. After five consecutive nights of broken sleep due to eight year old’s googer nose snorfing resulting in an altered mind state and subsequent hallucinatory visions, artist mom has furious studio session resulting in what can only be described as her most brilliant work.
If only.
After a hard week, I did get a chance yesterday to recoup. We left the kids and went out seed shopping, then a leisurely walk from Graton to Forestville on the bike path connecting the two burbs. Going with our friends Meredith and Steve was especially enjoyable since we all used to live (at different times) on the same piece of magical property out that way. The path actually meanders right along the back end of said piece of land and all kinds of recollections were stirred as we passed by. Even though the “house” we inhabited those years ago was in reality more of a shed/barn, the land was truly charmed in some way. I remember that place with a deep fondness. Some of my happiest times were there. I was pregnant on that ground. India was born there. (Yes, literally born in a barn). I was nurtured as I myself was learning to nurture.
We four were trying to put our finger on what exactly it was about that place that gave three funky habitations nestled on 11 wild acres at the end of a dead end road such a particular sublimity. Certainly whatever-it-was prevailed despite various unappealing qualities. The adjacent vineyards and orchards were actively sprayed. The property sat low and was a cold sink. Our place gathered the thickest fog pocket and was the first to frost. The “house” was a shabby patched together affair, uninsulated and mildewy with exposed redwood poles inside that irritated the lungs (every winter we would develop the pernicious “laughing” cough). We heated with a leaky woodstove. The water was laden with iron and stunk like eggs. The toilet was outside and the tub (with its unsightly rusty patina) graced the living room. The exterior was lined in asphalt roofing tiles. So what was the appeal?
Of all the attributes…the quiet, the wildlife, the flowers, the fruit trees, I think it was the presence of what we called “the bog” that cast the magic spell. A good chunk of that acreage was an almost impenetrable low-lying wetland tangled with willow, cottonwood and bramble. The ground was burbly wallowy and sucked on your footsteps. You went slow into that thicket of thorny wild with its soft rain of seed fluff for you could easily be swallowed. Metaphorically, if not really.
It felt otherworldly and infinitely restful. I know there were fairy mounds out there.
As we walked the periphery of the bog yesterday, we could see signs of attempts to tame it but I know it is a vain endeavor. There was and still is a beingness about that place that is palpable. there it is, reminding me to go slow, take time, allow fallowness and immersion into something quietly tumultuous and beautifully disorderly.
Photo: Me, circa 1986 ?, bogging down in the well-remembered bath in the living room.
2 comments:
I think I hazily remember coming to visit you when you lived in the barn? I don't remember it as you describe it though, I remember one big open room and you had decorated with skulls and dried roses and brambley furniture? You've made every place look magical, so I could very well be mistaken and have it mixed up with another magical place.
I hope the coughs and colds are gone and that you all sleep well tonight. Glad you got to enjoy the sunshine and revisit.
Yes, that was the place. It took a glamour well. It was our sweet funky hobbit hovel.
Thanks. I'm finally getting back to normal. All mothers understand why sleep deprivation is a torture technique. Rob's been sleeping nights in E's princess bed and getting decent sleep. Last night we did a switcheroo and I awoke refreshed and chipper and he got to be the grumper. These are the harrowing tales of the Family Bed.
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