Going to the Dump!

Memories of childhood were the dreams that stayed with you after you woke.      

~Julian Barnes

     This afternoon Lanny had planned on taking a load of old stuff to the local dump for a toxic material drop off. He had several big cans of latex paint, and some old electronic gizmos that no longer worked that had been taking up space in his work shop. Since we have been quarantined for over 10 weeks now, when he asked if I'd like to go along I jumped at the chance. I mean, who doesn't love a trip to the dump??

     The trip sparked two distinct memories for me. The first one was from my childhood. We lived in a duplex with my grandmother living upstairs and my family downstairs. Grandma Ruth was a saver. She had boxes and boxes of old canning jars and other seldom used old things stored down in the basement. My father was not a saver at all. He looked forward to early spring when he could borrow a friend's pickup truck, clean out the junk in the basement that accumulated over the winter, and haul it away to the local dump. Likewise, a similar cleanup occurred in the fall. He would pull the old truck up so it was parked next to the basement window, head to the basement and start sending boxes of stuff up through the window. The stuff would get loaded into the truck and then hauled away. There was always a "discussion" between my father and my grandmother over the stuff he wanted to get rid of, sometimes ending in the box being carried back down to the basement by my not happy father. Finally the back was loaded up and off Dad would go. Sometimes my sister would go with him... when she was old enough to not get into trouble. I only went once that I can recall. My mother warned me to "stay away from the rats!", which filled me with dread, and a sense of danger that was more than a little enticing. Secretly I was excited. Off we went in that old truck, wind whistling through the open windows. The dump was down a dirt road full of pot holes, so the ride was bumpy. It was stinky when we got there, and my goodness there were indeed rats there. I'd heard about boys learning to shoot by shooting rats with bb guns at the dump... Mountains of trash of all sorts. Did I mention the smell?? Not the place for the prissy little girl that I was. I did not ever ask to go again. 

     The "dump" here in Asheville is a completely different place. An open iron gate with landscaped shrubbery and a paved driveway greeted us. We were met by a friendly gentleman who asked what we were dropping off, and then guided us to the correct place for their disposal using a map. Area Five was a covered building where three more employees (and a friendly labrador retriever) directed us where to place the paint cans. A separate place for electronics was found, and soon the back of Lanny's air conditioned truck was emptied. Except for that distinct smell, it was a completely different experience. Only the smell was the same, and it carried me back to that other dump, long, long ago.

     Our trip took us along the shores of the French Broad River, which after a week of heavy rain, is way over it's banks and has places of thundering white water as it tumbles through the valley on it's way to Tennessee. As we drove along, there were homes and campgrounds all along the bank that were flooded. We used to have our creek back in Avon flood every spring, and apparently the same thing happens here. With climate change, there is more water here than there used to be, so the flooding can cause some real damage. As we drove along looking at it all, I was reminded of the flooding that occurred the year I lived in Hazard, Kentucky. Hazard sits along the East Fork of the Kentucky River, and the ARH Hospital where I worked sat just across the road from the river. I used to follow the river from where I lived in town to the hospital. One day after some pretty heavy rains, I headed in to work. Driving along the river, it was already over it's banks. I could hear the pops of gunshots too. Everywhere. Turns out when the river flooded, river rats had to run up the banks to escape the rising water, and the locals would go sit along the banks and shoot at them... I parked in the employee lot and walked in through a rather small front entrance to the hospital. The visitors' lot was full, which was unusual for that early in the morning. Unbeknownst to me, the flood warnings had been issued locally. The lobby of the hospital was crammed with people, too many for the chairs, so many were sitting on the floors. There were old folks, young folks and children, all crammed into the lobby. I found my way to the unit where I worked and asked what was going on. It was explained to me that where the hospital sat put it at risk of being cut off by the flooding on both sides of the road, making it impossible for anyone to get in or out as long as the road was flooded. The response of the people in the area, many of whom lived up in the hollers on dirt roads, was to bring the whole family down to town and camp out at the hospital... yup. In case somebody got sick, they were already there.  

     This may sound silly, but if you think about it, it makes sense. These were people with very limited resources who were in a scary situation. They came to a place they knew would take them in, keep them safe. 

     There are rising waters in many places right now. If you are in one of them,  I hope you too can find a place that will take you in and keep you safe! And to us all, stay safe and healthy. 

Talking to Birds

"Cardinals appear when angels are near."

~Victoria McGovern

     When I was a kid, my father was an avid bird watcher. He had a maiden aunt who was an Audobon Society bird expert, and he had learned to appreciate birds from her. We always had a full bird feeder in the yard within sight of the front living room window, no small feat in the middle of a Western New York winter. As a small child, I learned to identify blue jays, nut hatches, and especially cardinals. I knew what kind of birdseed they preferred and could identify their song. My father taught me all this and more. In the evenings there was often a male cardinal that would sing from one of the big trees in our yard and often you could hear another cardinal in the distance calling a reply. My father learned to mimic their call, and sometimes he would go out in the yard and start a conversation with them. Yup... my dad talked to cardinals!

     He was a huge presence in my life, of course. A loving father who became my most ardent supporter as I ventured out to make my mark in the world. He doted on my children as well. I could always count on his wise counsel if I was facing a difficulty. He was a good listener.

     The day he died, my mother, sister and I returned home bereft from the hospital to the cottage  my parents lived in, It seemed so empty!  It was a warm, beautiful Indiana June day, so we ended up out on the enclosed porch at the back of the house. Under the windows of the porch was the rose garden my father had planted and tended, and there were several in full bloom. One was a bright yellow rose. Perched on the stem of this gorgeous rose was a yellow bird I'd never seen before. It was there for a moment and then with a chirp it was gone. We all three were stunned. I looked up the bird in Dad's bird book and found that it was a yellow warbler, common in Indiana in June. But we'd never seen one before, and I have not seen one since. My mother remarked that maybe it was my dad, just checking in for one last goodbye.  And ever since then, I have associated my father with birds, especially yellow warblers.

     Here in our mountain home, keeping a bird feeder full of food would be wonderful, but it comes with the knowledge that black bears love bird food and are great tree climbers. Keeping one full is like inviting a black bear to lunch. Indeed, our neighbors have had that exact experience... So, reluctantly, I have not kept a feeder.  Living in the woods, though, we are surrounded by birds, many of them different than those we saw regularly in Indiana. I keep my dad's copy of A Field Guide to the Birds by Roger Tory Peterson close so I can look up any we do see. Lanny has become more than a novice in this regard, and since his eyes are better than mine, he often sees details on a bird that helps us identify it.

     Today, as I was sitting in our living room, there was a tapping sound on the window. I looked out in amazement to see a male cardinal, resplendent in his red plumage, peering in the window at me. He chirped when I looked, tilted his head for a moment and then flew away. I was immediately transported back to my childhood and my father talking to those cardinals, and then I remembered the quote at the top of this blog. Whether it was my father or just a wonderful coincidence, it gave me a warm memory of a central figure in my life. I was reminded of my father's love for me. Of course I miss him, but  his gifts to me fill my life with goodness. And gosh, I needed that in this weird, troubled time!

Many thanks!!

"In ordinary life, we hardly realize that we receive a great deal more than we give, and that it is only with gratitude that life becomes rich." 

~Dietrich Bonhoeffer

     When I was working, especially as a bedside nurse in maternity, often after a baby had been born I was thanked by the family. Often tearful, full of gratitude for the new life in their family, they would thank me over and over again. And my usual response was to tell them that it was a privilege to witness the birth of their baby and my pleasure to care for them during the process. I was only doing my job...

     Fast forward to today. I have been retired for almost ten years (I cannot fathom this... but it's true, according to the calendar...) so it has been a long time since I have been on the receiving end of such grateful expressions. However, I have tried my best to help when I see a need, to be friendly and courteous to those I come in contact with. So occasionally someone thanks me and it feels good. 

     But as I age, more and more, I am finding I must ask for help from other people. I'm not used to that, and I am not comfortable with doing it much. It demands a change in my self image from the caregiver to the one being cared for. That makes me feel weak and old and I don't like it! And this Covid-19 pandemic has made me aware of how vulnerable I have become. I am officially in the "High Risk" group for contracting the disease, at least in terms of age. So we have quarantined ourselves in our mountain home. 

     We have been quarantined for 7 weeks now. In that time I have physically seen my husband, and a handful of neighbors from a distance. I have Zoomed and Facetimed with other friends and especially those grandkids, and it has helped some. I have been outside our neighborhood only twice. Once to pick up a prescription at the drugstore through the drive through window and once to get some fresh vegetables at our local farmers' market (which operated so differently with six feet markers, no touching the produce rules and a central pay desk that used a credit card reader... and we wore masks!) We have our groceries delivered by a local delivery service.

     Today we put in another grocery order, expecting a delay of up to five days and discovering they could do it and deliver it within 2 hours... wow!  I completed the list online and a young man named Graham got the list and shopped it, loaded it into his car and delivered it to us in way less time that we could have done it ourselves. There were a few items I had ordered that were not available, but all of the important stuff was obtained. Graham delivered it to our porch where we could gather it up, one item at a time, sanitize the item and bring it in the house. This process takes awhile but it keeps us a little safer.

     So, as I put the last item away, I got to thinking about Graham, and how lucky we were that he was willing to risk his own health to help us stay protected. Armed with PPE and that sense of invincibility that comes with  youth, Graham wound his way through the store picking the items I had ordered, scanning them, bagging them up, loading them into his car and driving it here. We tip generously, assuming Graham is one of those out of work folks just trying to survive during a very difficult time. There are also the workers at the store who unloaded the stuff from the trucks that delivered them and placed them on the shelves. There are the truck drivers who brought the items from their source. The workers at the plants where the items were manufactured or the farms where they were harvested. So many helpers just to bring us our food!  

     A sense of deep gratitude washed over me. Lanny and I are so blessed... we are healthy, happy together, comfortable in our home with plenty to eat. Health care is available should we need it. All because so many people are out there willing to help us should we need them. Today and every day, I send my deepest thanks. 

"Acknowledging the good that you already have in your life is the foundation for all abundance." 

~Eckhart Tolle