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Adventures with Qwerty

A typical nice summer evening usually finds us taking the dogs for a walk through the meadow to the pond, and yesterday evening was no different. As I slipped out the door, I commented to Eric that our cat Qwerty was outside somewhere- I thought he might be scared of the dogs so I wanted to keep an eye out for him. He must have been laying low for we saw no sign of him as we crossed the farm yard with Molly and Rudi. At the gate of the hay field we let the dogs off their leashes and away they went, Rudi raced to the woods, Molly into the tall grass. We strolled down to the pond and sat on the overturned boat near the water’s edge. Eventually the dogs showed up and did their usual poking around in the reeds, then disappeared into the woods near the creek. We sat and talked and watched the fish swimming around, watching us.

Wearing shorts and a t-shirt, I soon got tired of fending off the man-eating mosquitoes and little gnats whose only purpose in life was to fly into my eyes or up my nose. We called the dogs, but only Rudi showed. So we walked around the pond, thinking we’d spot Molly in the field. No Molly. We headed up the hill through the woods, thinking she’d hear us leaving and run to catch us. No Molly. At the gate, Rudi spied Qwerty (remember Qwerty?) and promptly chased him up the wild cherry tree near the old grey barn. Higher and higher the little cat scrambled, black and white fur bristling, eyes big and dark. Eric took Rudi back to the house, and I tried to coax Qwerty down. “Come on, Q, you can do it, come on.” Nothing doing, he was clinging to that tree like a sailor holding on to the mast in a storm. Eric came back to look for Molly. “Call me if she shows up.” He said and down the meadow path he went. The mosquitoes near the tree were just as vicious as the ones near the pond, so I went back to the house to change into long sleeves and jeans. Maybe Qwerty would come down while I was gone, I thought, but no such luck- he was still high in the tree when I came back.

I eyed the tree- there were some handy branches lower down, and it looked pretty sturdy. Next to the tree is a decrepit old wooden fence, with a row of barbed wire running along the top board. I really didn’t fancy falling out of the tree to start with, but falling into the barbed wire would have been much less fun. “I’m 45 years old, why the hell am I contemplating climbing a tree? I haven’t done that since I was ten, probably.” I wondered at the ability of bones to heal at my advanced age. Still, I’m usually up for a challenge, and I didn’t want to bother with going all the way back to the garage for the ladder. Did I mention sometimes I get hypoglycemic? No? So I’m scrambling up the first few branches and feel that familiar lightheadedness kick in and my hands start to shake a bit. Great. Then I hear a jingling and look down to see Molly arrive. Remember Molly? She’s very happy to see me, and Qwerty is not a bit happy to see her. I sigh, and climb back down the tree. It’s then that I see the egg in Molly’s mouth. Yes, an egg. The size of a chicken egg, only speckled. Molly is so proud of her find, and I’m amazed that it’s not cracked. It is, however, slippery and slimy from being carried in her mouth all the way from who knows where. I take her and the egg back to the house. I call Eric on his cell phone…. and only get his voice mail. So I walk back out to the field and yell again. This time he answers.

I go back to the tree with Qwerty (remember Qwerty?). I considered just leaving him there- perhaps he’d come down on his own when he calmed down enough? Visions of him clinging to the tree in the dark while coyotes circled below made me think better of that idea. Big deep breath, and back up I go, one branch at a time. I have a nice view of the sun sinking down and have hopes of getting back out of the tree before dark. Eric is watching from a distance- Qwerty is a little afraid of him and he doesn’t want to make the cat even more nervous. Later I asked if he was poised to call 911 if I fell out of the tree. “I’d probably call your brother first, then 911.” Hmmm, I wasn’t sure what t think of that.

I’m at a point where I can touch the cat, but not get ahold of him. He happily purrs and rubs his head against my fingertips, his paws kneading on the branches. I shift and squeeze and scooch and manage to get a little closer. One foot is on a sturdy branch, the other is on one I can can feel bending, my shoulders are wedged between two thick limbs taking most of my weight so I can thread my arms up to Qwerty and grab him by the scruff of his neck, just like his mom did when he was little.   I pull him down and hold him tight against my chest, wondering how to get un-wedged from the branches supporting my shoulders, with no free hands. I shift Qwerty to one shoulder, turn sideways, and slide down to the next branch. At this point, Qwerty decides to leave the safety of my arm for a nearby branch. I have to grab him again, hold tight and scramble down a few more branches. Now we’re close enough to the ground, Qwerty makes a break for  it and lands safely. I follow suit, a little more slowly and not so gracefully. I scoop him up, and carry him all the way back to the house, one hand firmly holding him by the scruff of his neck. He purrs all the way there. It’s now 9 o’clock. “Thanks for saving all the adventure till I got home.” Eric tells me. “No problem.” I settle down for a late dinner and a much needed glass of wine.

I wonder what kind of egg that is, the one Molly found. I try to “candle” it with the flashlight, but the shell is too thick. Should I crack it open, or slide it under our broody hen and see if it hatches? Maybe tomorrow…

Add comment May 25th, 2011

Reflections

I have my share of grumpy days. Days when I really don’t want to get out of bed. Days when everything seems to go wrong- and they’re just little things in the grand scheme of things, but they add up and soon the day feels black and gloomy. The very air is thick and heavy. My shoulders get tense and tight. I have a tendency to drop things, and my patience wears thinner than a cowboy’s handkerchief.

And then I just walk outside. I attach mental balloons to all my troubles and they float away into the sky where they dissolve. I know that sounds trite, and a little too easy, but just walking out the door and into all that green does wonders. The other evening I saw a single barn swallow skim across the surface of the pond, dipping just low enough for a drink then back up again, her perfect reflection skimming along with her. And that moment was so simple, so beautiful, I wanted to hold it forever. Oh for a camera with the right lens, the right timing. But even that wouldn’t catch the warmth of the evening sun, the smell of summer in the air and the call of the blackbird. Thank goodness for memories, hold on to them as long as you can.

Today I took the slow road home, forsaking the paved highway for the dusty country road. I stopped three times to help box turtles across the road- safely deposited them in the direction they were headed. One had a dry dusty shell and cast a wary eye my way before withdrawing into her shell. The last one was small, no bigger than a tea cup and his shell was bright and damp, a fragment of leaf and a smear of mud letting on that he had just emerged from his hiding spot. And I felt happy to have seen them, to hopefully have saved them from being smashed. I continued on my way, Randy Travis crooning that he’d love me forever, a soft gritty trail of dust in my wake. As I paused at a field yellow with wild mustard, I reflected how lucky I am to be here, now, at this moment. I should pinch myself just to see if it’s real. A few stirrings of guilt came to the surface- memories of great sadnesses- and  I questioned how I could call myself lucky in light of those memories. I thought of others whose lives are difficult and that tempered my gleefulness a bit. But still I soaked up the pure peacefulness of the moment, and the joy that a field full of yellow flowers yields. All the things that have happened in my life came together to lead to this moment, the sad and the happy. Sometimes one just outweighs the others.

1 comment May 12th, 2011

Rainy Days

It’s been a very wet spring, to put it mildly. There’s a small creek near our house that floods over its banks, and over the road usually a few times a year. So far this spring it’s flooded at least five times, and now the areas downstream from us are so backed up with water, new rain has no where to go. Happily our house is high on a hill, so we’re in no danger, other than the occasional case of cabin fever when we can’t get to town. All along the highways, fields are under water and canoes are parked near flooded roads so residents can ferry back and forth.

The trees and plants seem to be loving the rain, thought they can’t soak it up fast enough. The hills and fields are such shades of bright green, it almost overloads my senses. We had a few days of glorious sunshine, and are now back to rain- everything is dripping and there’s mist in the hills. The rain makes things seem close and quiet, intimate. The trees press in close and the sky is lowered. In the gloom each color stands out strongly- the red cardinal nearly glows against the green.

The rain puts so many things on hold- the farmers can’t get in their fields, my own garden is in a state of limbo with some things planted and thriving and some are just waiting. Outside projects are delayed- though it’s a good time to pull weeds since the soaked earth gives them up easily. So it seems like a good time for all those rainy day projects- things that need to be done inside. Fix things, wash things, organize things- right? Tackle that big painting, sort through my yarn, clean out the closet. But I keep finding myself at the window, cup of tea in hand, longing to be outside.  Spring is my favorite season, and it slips by so quickly I’m afraid I’ll miss something. Every day things change outside- some wildflowers only last a day or two, then they’re gone. The hillsides leaf out so fast, soon my views change and I can’t see into the woods any more.

Eventually I know I’ll give in and put on my boots and go for at least a short walk in the woods. The trees will brush their damp green fingers against me, and the birds will sing for mates and stake out their territories. I’ll poke around the little creek, looking under leaves for flowers, peering at funny shaped rocks, and touching the velvet moss. I’ll find a dry twig of sassafras and break off a bit, inhale that sharp sweet fragrance and slip the bit into my pocket to turn over and over in my fingers as I walk along. In the other pocket will be a small rock I picked up, perhaps a piece of lichen or a bird feather. I must remember to clean out my pockets before I do laundry- I try to make a mental note. Soon I’ll be wet and muddy, perhaps a little chilled and I’ll head back to that cup of tea that waits, and all those rainy day projects. Maybe the sun will come out tomorrow?

Add comment May 6th, 2011