Waypoints
Reflections on the words and ideas that help us find our way, small places to pause, notice, and consider what presence, belonging, enough, grace, wonder, acceptance, hope, and other waypoints might mean in our everyday lives.
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Arriving at 56
Today, at 12:10 in the afternoon, I will officially be fifty-six years old. I was born at Lutheran Hospital in Des Moines, Iowa, on September 6, 1970, which makes me a Virgo by date and, depending on who you ask, apparently explains quite a bit about me. I can certainly recognize some of those traits… Continue reading
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The Ones Who Still Show Up
A few Sundays ago, we conducted what became our very unofficial Great Birdseed Experiment. We filled one feeder with the Walmart birdseed our little neighborhood has always enthusiastically eaten and another with the special birdseed that seemed, at least in theory, like it should have been an upgrade. The birds made their preference quite clear,… Continue reading
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When the Sky Became Quiet
I looked across the puddle today and realized the sky has been quiet lately. Yesterday was such a busy day that I hadn’t noticed when something familiar disappeared from the landscape. The Purple Martin houses across the puddle are closed for the season. For weeks, the Martins were simply part of the sky. They came… Continue reading
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What I Hadn’t Learned to See Yet
The Green Heron was back again this morning. Or at least, a Green Heron was back. I have no way of knowing whether this is the same little visitor we have watched for the past few days or another one who discovered that the puddle happens to be a pretty decent place to find breakfast.… Continue reading
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Behind the Puddle | The People Who Notice
For more than three years, Carly has delivered our mail. She is one of those people who doesn’t just know the houses on her route. She knows the people who live in them, and probably even better, she knows their dogs. Carly loves dogs. She knows their names, their personalities, which ones want attention and… Continue reading
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Enough Room for Both
Again today, the Lone Goose and one of the herons are here. I think it may be Stanley, although Stella and Stanley have proven more difficult to distinguish than the names I gave them would suggest. It doesn’t really matter which one it is for this particular story. What matters is that both the goose… Continue reading
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Enough for a Hummingbird
This morning, I saw something move among the salvia. It was small enough that I could have missed it. A quick little movement between the purple and red flowers, followed by that familiar hovering that makes you stop whatever you are doing and look a little closer. A hummingbird had come to visit. And this… Continue reading
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The Ones Who Simply Stand Beside Us
This morning I am sitting quietly on the patio watching the puddle, and there really isn’t much happening. The Lone Goose is wandering around by itself, as it so often does, and I think Stanley is standing along the edge doing what herons do. No great wildlife moment is unfolding in front of me. They… Continue reading
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I Still Need Proof
I know Great Blue Herons perch in trees. I know this because I have looked it up. I have read about it. I have watched Stella and Stanley fly into the trees around the puddle more times than I can count. I have watched them sit quietly on branches, move higher into the tree, and… Continue reading
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The High-Top Table (Follow-Up)
The negotiations between us and the geese continue. We have provided cracked corn in tins. We have accepted that whatever the birds knock from the feeders will inevitably become part of the goose buffet. There seems to be a fairly well-established understanding around here that everyone is welcome to find something to eat. Apparently, however,… Continue reading
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