08.23.06 thequest UPdate

I Began a Journey Today – July 14, 2006.

by Victoria Cavendish


I began a journey today. It started with the alarm going off at 6:00 a.m. I hate alarm clocks. I hate their noise. I hate what they mean. I don’t want to get up because I must, but rather because I am done sleeping.

I was not done sleeping this morning. The dream—disturbing—was vivid in my mind and I needed to resolve its problems—a broken car, lack of a parking place, a need to be somewhere with my eldest child. How was I going to get there? What had happened to my car? And would I ever find a parking place where I wouldn’t be towed? All very silly things as I now contemplate them.

Nonetheless, I called to my youngest daughters and told them the time. Neither responded and I pushed the snooze alarm. I push the snooze button at least five or six times every morning. I hate alarms. I hate getting up when I’m tired.

At 7:15, I finally rolled out of my bed. My two daughters were already up getting ready for summer school. My 13-year old spends an unbelievable amount of time primping herself. My 10-year old, in contrast, has to be ordered to take showers, brush her teeth, and brush her hair. This, too, I know shall pass and soon she will be boy-crazy and worried about her appearance. For now, she retains her childhood innocence and cares more about the experience and wonder of living life to its fullest.

I got dressed and trundled downstairs, dog and cat following. They know I am the one that opens the doors in the morning. I am the one that takes them for the first morning walk. I opened the doors and call for Runt the little gray striped cat. No response. He will come when he is hungry.

I made my coffee and called Mindy, our dog. After gathering needed things—leash, purse, keys, books, pens, etc.—we pile into the car, the girls, me, and Mindy.

I dropped them off at school and they rejoiced that they were early this day. I am a chronically late person. It goes back to my hatred of alarms and any artificial construct telling me I must be someplace at a certain time.

Mindy whined as they leave the car. Mindy is a border collie mix, and she does not like to see her “sheepies” leave her. Of course, she is ecstatic when they return, jumping and greeting them with licks and barks. Her enthusiasm of her dance of greeting is directly proportional to how long her sheep has been gone. Interestingly, once a sheep, always a sheep. She remembers my children’s childhood friends and greets them with as much excitement as a family member. She is not that way with strangers. She is a good dog. We are lucky to have her as a friend.

Today I decided we would go to a different park for our morning constitutional—a British way of saying going for a walk. Sharon Woods seemed close and interesting. I was bored with Antrim Lake. The gravel path annoys me as does the loudness of the cars going by on 315, the highway that bisects the park.

By the time we parked, the morning fog had lifted. A man was mowing the wide picnic area. The smell of the cut grass was delicious. I didn’t even mind the sound of the mower as I enjoyed the smell so. I decided we would walk around the picnic area over by the lake. I would have preferred to take a trail, but the park does not allow pets on nature trails. I wonder why.

I stopped by the billboard at the beginning of the picnic area trail and noticed pictures of the eastern bluebird. I would like to see one. The last time I had been here with Patricia, my youngest, we had seen a blue jay. A blue jay's blue color is not so striking as the eastern bluebird’s.

We began our walk. I watched birds flying and marveled at their ability to stay suspended in air. To have a 3-dimensional world where you can go travel up and down besides forward, backward, and sideways would be an interesting adventure. I noticed that they do not always flap their wings but at times seem to have a controlled falling-gliding motion. Intriguing.

The air was cool but damp with moisture. A soft breeze rustled the leaves of trees and meadow grasses. I turned left onto the park road that ended at the far end of the lake. It was a pond when I was a child. How had it become so large?

I caught sight of a something yellow on a thistle. A large yellow butterfly I mused, but no. It was a small yellow finch. It’s beak was red. I stopped to watch it, amazed that it was light enough that the thistle could hold it up. I tried to get nearer to see it more closely. I lamented that I was not wearing my glasses and owned no binoculars. My movement frightened it and it flew further into the trees. I noted its tiny size and the blackness of its wings. I wondered what it was. Later I looked it up, it was probably an American Goldfinch.

We walked on. Suddenly I caught sight of blue color up in the picnic area’s trees to the right. I focused on it and realized I was seeing a bluebird. How lucky to see one right after I had seen its pictures on the billboard.

We walked on. A lady stepped out of a car and asked me if this was the multipurpose trail. I answered that I did not know and walked on. Two other ladies who heard her question came to talk to her as they had similar questions.

I have a map of the park in my head with all the trails drawn and parking areas and picnic areas marked, but I know no names, simply directions and pictures. What is in a name, I mused. All my knowledge of the park was useless to that woman as I could not communicate effectively with her. Language is an interesting construct of humans. It sets us apart from the beasts of the field. Was I regressing or not progressing by not learning the words?

I came to the lake. Three boys were fishing with an older man sitting. I stopped and watched the tableau. A younger boy reeled in his line then swung his pole and dropped the line farther out. An older boy simply stood and held his pole. The first boy said excitedly, “I caught a fish, Papau,” and began reeling his line back in. His older brother expressed disbelief, but his grandfather just said, “Did you now?” I watched to see if he had, but he hadn’t and no one said anything negative. I walked on not wanting to make them nervous because of my watching. How nice to see the ancient way of humanity expressed so elegantly, the old teaching the young with patience and kindness.

Farther on I found a father with his two daughters but they looked up as I passed by. I did not stop as their’s was a feeling of privacy that invited no observation from an unknown person.

I walked through a flock of geese. They parted and gave us wide berth as they saw Mindy. Their obvious concern over this hairy beast was evident in their mindful eyes on her movements. Mindy for her part ignored them. I wish I could. They stunk or should I say their waste smelled. I had never noticed such an odor from geese before though I have lived near and walked among them many times. I walked on quickly quelling the nausea that rose in my throat.

Just past the geese, I slowed in wonder. What was this tree I saw with leaves like feathers? It had to be some type of spruce and yet I do not remember ever seeing one like this. I reached out and touched its branchlets. Yes, they were knobby just like a spruce. I touched its leaves. They were soft and delicate, not like the usual needles of pines and spruce trees. The featheriness reminded me of a Norfolk pine but the needles were so tiny almost fern like. I saw no cones but then I did not look for them. I searched my North American tree book later but could not identify the tree. It is a mystery. Perhaps on another trip I can ask a ranger.

I walked on and was amazed that I had seen so many new things in a park that was familiar from childhood. Had I never looked before?

We came to the branch in the trail where a grassy path cut a swath through a meadow. This was our path back to the car. I thought this portion would be boring but was proven wrong. The meadow was alive with bees and butterflies. I saw a multiwinged creature similar to a dragonfly but whose flight resembled a butterfly’s. I again wished I had my glasses on so that I could actually make out what it was.

I found the lone red flower that Patricia had pointed out in the middle of the field on our last trip to the park. It was beautiful in it’s own right, not simply as a solitary bright splash of color in the green and gold field. Patricia was wrong, though; I found another smaller specimen of the same plant as I walked further.

I saw a bumble bee and stopped to watch its progress as it sipped nectar from every blossom on a clover head. Its long probiscus entered each blossom and gathered its sweetness. I walked on and saw a strange sight. A bumble bee sat still, not moving, on a thistle blossom. I had never seen one unmoving. I examined it and noticed a patch of yellow fuzz on its back was missing. It was a particularly large bee. I wondered if it had died of old age. What is the length of a life span of a bumble bee? My eyes roamed the field and close by I saw another thistle with a bumble bee similarly still. Another mystery. Gingerly I reached out and touched the first bee to see if it was alive. It slowly moved and then speeding up began crawling over the thistle’s blossoms looking for sustenance. Was it slow from age? Do bees get arthritis? Had it been asleep? Do bees need sleep? Was the blossom soporific for bees? More questions to ask a park ranger when next I saw one.

As I was about to exit the meadow trail I noticed a strange thing, a Queen Anne’s Lace flower that was pink. A white one bobbed next to the pink one, and I wondered if the same plant had produced the variation. My gaze traveled down the stems and I noted that the plants were two. Even the inner blossom of the pink flower was pink instead of the characteristic dark blood red color of all the blossoms I had seen before. How amazing! How blessed I was to see so much on my short walk.

I crossed the road and retraced my steps on the path leading to the car. But my journey of discovery was not over. Beside the path I noticed wild blackberry bushes. One had a ripened berry that awoke yearning in me. I did not need this berry. I was not hungry, yet I longed to taste its wildness. I reached my hand out tentatively looking furtively around and almost guiltily I took it. The birds would not miss one berry. I looked at its plumpness in my fingers as I held it delicately. Then I quickly popped it in my mouth. It was not sweet but sour but even it sourness was delicious. I reveled in this taste of summer and walked on.

Walking to the car and unlocking its door, I felt a satisfaction and peace I had not known when the alarm had jangled my nerves this morning. No, I don’t like to get up in the morning nor do I particularly like exercise for its own sake. How much I would have missed if I had stayed in bed or gone home after dropping off the girls.

My journey ended. My purpose achieved. Sometimes the holy message of creation is more eloquent than the Bible. “For since the creation of the world God’s invisible qualities—his eternal power and divine nature—have been clearly seen, being understood from what has been made.” Romans 1:20

Do I understand who I am or who He is? Do I know His plan for my life? No. Yet I have peace. The thought and intelligence He put into making this world has been put into me. I am a part of this amazing world. What greater privilege could I seek than to know I am His, created for His pleasure and purpose?


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