Anzac Day Meditation

Died aged 18 near this spot.
April 25th, 1915.
Did his best.

Australian tombstone at Gallipoli.


(Photo courtesy of Chris Sansbury and Unsplash.com.)

WW: More oyster mushrooms

(Still Pleurotus ostreatus. I've posted on these before, but it never ceases to amaze me how attached this species is to the saltchuck. Rare just a few hundred yards inland, if you can smell the bay, this choice edible isn't just common, it's riotous. Something in the chemical signature of sea air.

The above photo documents just a few feet of downed big leaf trunk that's covered with them. And it's not the only host in this patch of woods, either; if I'd been of a mind, or just greedier, I could have had gallons.

But I only took about five stems, and am busy deciding what to do with them. [Among other things, oyster mushrooms are great breaded and fried, and make a worthy substitute for seafood or chicken in veganised dishes.]

A spring blessing that never gets old.)


Appearing also on My Corner of the World.

Quitting On Principle

A friend recently posted this meme on social media. His immediate intent was the current political situation, but in fact, it's really standing policy in any circumstance.

Sometimes we commit to things that take us down paths we wouldn't have chosen had we foreseen them. In the past I've incurred damage when I felt I couldn't back out of an initial commitment; that it was universally binding.

They rarely are. And even in matters where backing out implies a penalty, you're free to choose the penalty.

We tend to confuse anticipated blowback with lack of agency.

I had a teacher when I was young who told us that there are only two have-to's in life: you have to die, and you have to choose. Everything else is choice.

"What if someone points a gun at you?" we said.

"You can still refuse to do what he says."

"What if he shoots you?" we objected.

"Then you chose that. And if you do what he says, you also chose that."

I remember that some classmates had trouble with this notion, and petulantly rejected the teacher's point. But Zen agrees with him. Choice is always yours.

And any road, as I write this, guns aren't in play.

But I wouldn't bet on tomorrow.

These are karmic times. At such moments it's important to maintain a firm understanding of right and wrong, and what you owe.

What you have to do, and what you choose to do.

WW: Gyrovague beach ball

(This lone beach ball rolled past my front yard during a windstorm last week, from unknown origins and pursued by no person. As I was then occupied, I was unable to run after it and corral it. Next day I was in the back yard, and here it came again, travelling in the opposite direction this time, along the lane behind my house. I have no idea if it ever returned to its home, or if its erstwhile owners even know it's missing, but St. Benedict, any road, would not approve.)

Appearing also on My Corner of the World.

The Inevitable Spring

The warbler
wipes its muddy feet
on plum blossoms

–Issa


(Plum Garden, Kamata, by Utagawa Hiroshige, courtesy of Rawpixel.com.)

WW: Turtle boom

(Turtles have always been rare on the North Coast. Unlike the other three reptiles that manage to survive here [this one and this one and this one], they're egg layers, and the rotting wet and lack of spring sunshine makes that problematic. So it was that I, an inveterate turtle lover, had only ever found a single one in the lake I grew up on. On summer days I used row quite a distance to see him, hauled out on his log of choice.

In the intervening years the lake got severely over-developed and the swampy shore where our lone turtle lived turned into lawn. The very log he used to bask on was ripped out of the lake. Since that time, about when I was in college, I've only seen one other turtle here, in a nearby lake just a few years ago.

Then, while walking the dog near some containment ponds last week, I encountered six (!) of them, lined up on a log beneath the first real sun we've had this year. Sadly, they were too far away for a recognisable photograph, but as I rounded the corner, I found a small one, about the size of an adult's hand, close enough for my phone to steal a shot. Still too far for positive species identification, but the Western painted turtle [Chrysemys picta bellii] being functionally our only native, this is probably that.

This must be how it feels to bag a photo of Sasquatch.

Next day, a friend posted photos of a similar line of turtles in my childhood lake, about 6 miles away. Both events have blown my mind.

It's hard not to draw the conclusion that this is yet another symptom of climate disruption. Less rainfall and elevated temperatures have almost certainly raised the turtle fertility here. I'm delighted to see them, but it's one more indication that our unique North Coast environment is rapidly disappearing.)

Appearing also on My Corner of the World.

Understanding Zen Practice

"Open during remodel."



(Photo courtesy of Amy Serin and Wikimedia Commons.)