Replenish the Cycle, Wring It 3 Times
Radish (Swedish Black) and Boy Duck (Pekin)
July 2nd is in the midst of a typical Los Angeles heat wave and we’re gearing up for the 4th. Every year that means watering the entire yard each day for several days in advance of the astonishing density and magnitude of neighborhood fireworks. They usually ignite brush fires, set off car alarms, scare animals, scare humans, and clog up the 911 system. I’ve come to both loathe fireworks and accept them as part of the neighborhood fabric. A tremendous waste of resources and fun to watch. I should write a story about a carmudgeon, with no one in particular as my inspo.
Speaking of stories…. Today while doing the weekly duck pond cleaning—which is down the hill from our house where I scarcely get phone or internet—all these story ideas arrived. That always happens in the wrong moments, doesn’t it? I think it’s partly to do with water. For me that’s where it happens. When my hands are wet and my phone is in danger of falling in. But more so just the lull of it.
The ducks are excited when the pond is refreshed. It is a repurposed Kohler that arrived damaged when we remodeled our bathroom. We had a new duck enclosure installed around the tub, and its drain connected to a hose and valve system. I can direct the weekly waste water onto all my plantings that are intended to both provide food and anchor soil erosion. One tubful waters: 4 olive trees, 4 pear trees, 2 apple trees, a grapefruit tree, and a dragonfruit arbor. Runoff from those plantings flows into the native underbrush where, for the first time in our nine years here, rabbits had a litter and are safe from coyotes in the healthy thicket.
The ducks are rescues and the tubful of water gives them a week of enrichment. They in turn enrich the water with nitrogen for the plants. It’s nearly a closed system because we feed them kitchen and garden scraps. Though, they are also supplemented with organic California-made feed. Radish is a senior and still lays an egg daily. Our favorite way to use her eggs is to salt-cure and dry the yolks for long-term storage. We shave the dried yolk on top of pasta and it nearly tastes like parmesan. Truly!
That’s Kahanamoku Lagoon in Hawaii. Two week ago my husband and I went for a work trip. His work, not mine. Although, as usual, where there’s water there’s writing. That rainbow ends on the marina where I’d walk in the mornings, watch fish and turtles from the shore, and write in a journal or take phone notes. Between those lines of poetry and short story ideas—plus today’s duck pond prompts—I have an overwhelm to work with. And I reuse the scenes…
Photos taken on writing breaks make for double and triple usage of the setting that’s inspiring me. Maybe it will eventually produce a poem and a short story. Maybe I can pair my photos with my published works (or other’s work). I feel like I’m squeezing every last opportunity from the moment. Yet not missing the moment. I also simply sit. I sit for long swaths without seeking arrivals or outcomes. Those are natural manifestations of being still, aware. I do it at home too. I sit in the yard and something always arrives.
My writing practice, meditation practice, morning ritual, exercise, and activation of all senses–they are not chaptered out. Not when I’m on vacation, anyway. Not when I’m at home doing chores. I get so flustered when a day gets all parceled out. I’d be terrible at going to meditation, going to workout, or even going to a writing retreat. It’s the going to that triggers my anxiety and causes me to pull back, hesitate, stay home.
So, it’s not all Hawaii and dreamy journaling. I’m the stereotypical introverted anxious writer—on pills and psychotherapy. But a natural unfolding of things is my happy place. And water. And now this bulging folder of fragmented short stories that I really ought to pull together into a collection. I’m happy with it and I shouldn’t complain but it’s so damn hot. I need water. It doesn’t have to be a lot. And it’s okay if it’s filled with duck poop.
What I’m Reading: True North by Jim Harrison. Can’t believe I’m just now reading this book. It takes place in and around my hometown/home-county. Let’s just say I have a backlog. I’m also from the land of Catfish (the movie) and Anatomy of a Murder (book and Academy Award-nominated movie). In fact, the latter was written and filmed on the road I grew up on. Double in fact, both films have scenes filmed a block from dad’s house. Clappity clap.
