If you’d like me to send you one, and if you asked nicely, I just might do it!
. . .
A long time ago in a land far away, Greg and I wanted a quiet 4th of July. We found ourselves at a small marina on the banks of the Petaluma River with no one else around. Perfect. Meanwhile, traffic on a nearby higway was, well, insane. We lingered all afternoon, reading, napping, eating . . . quietly. When we were ready to head for home late afternoon, we noticed the tide had changed, and the small sailboat that had been anchored in the river in front of us began to turn. “Let’s stay and watch the boat,” I suggested. “That can be our fireworks.”
I love the turning of the tide, especially after 18 years on the houseboat, . . . it’s so slow! So we settled in for one long last lingering moment, and when the little boat settled in the opposite direction, we saw the name that was painted on it for the first time.
You’d think, with all this extra time, I could keep up with my sketchbook … I’m not even drawing that much right now. So be it. Quabbin Reservoir is amazing … you can look it up … Western Massachusetts’ watershed, wisely protected and guarded (don’t even think about wading), it’s pristine and uncrowded. We drive 5 minutes, walk 1/2 mile, and settle for hours.
The text is a big bit of Gerard Manley Hopkins’ poem, “That Nature is a Heraclitean Fire,” which tends to go on and on. I’m fond of words that never seem to end.
There are days when I am grateful for this sketchbook and this practice. This day was one of those days.
The other practice, new this year with this new yard, has been weaving bittersweet vines. First there were the baskets … but best of all, a trellis for the sweet peas. Mornings you’ll find me out there whispering, “Grow! Grow!”