Category Archives: Awareness

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A Flower’s Name and Nature

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I learned that the blue flower growing in my garden and all over the Wehr Nature Center woods is called scilla siberica (wood squill) and is native to southwestern Russia, the Caucasus and Turkey.  I am guessing that settlers brought it over here about a hundred years ago.  I’m tickled that we have parts of our name in common!  I am thinking more about the settlers and their way of life while I wait to hear about the outcome of my Old World Wisconsin interview.  What did they find different about the flora and fauna here?  What did they miss from the old country?  How does the emotional connection to land, a place, a “mother country” develop, and what did it feel like to venture out from there to an unknown place?

scilla siberica

Memories are sweet; what is here right now is also sweet. 

I find myself using more energy to be present with what is right in front of me.  When I retreat to my memories, I take that energy and shelter it deep within myself.  It feels like I’m hiding, in a way.  It’s not easy to allow anyone else to inhabit that place.  It’s slow and calm and secret.

I have a memory garden.  It blooms with the flowers of the old country: my babies, my husband, my house, my youth.  I like to visit it and inhale its familiar fragrance.  I am alone there. 

The world of the present is all around that secret garden.  It asks to be acknowledged, appreciated, and invited into my deep consciousness. 

I could call this my “settler’s mind”.   But there really is no division.  Here, there, then, now…it’s all fluid, connected, like the roots and rhizomes of wild flowers.

“One of the illusions of life is that the present hour is not the critical, decisive hour. Write it on your heart that every day is the best day of the year.” – Ralph Waldo Emerson

Every day is the best day, every place you are is the best place.


 

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Appreciating Milwaukee

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Here it is, March in Milwaukee, Wisconsin.  Some unknown and perhaps magical forces have transformed this place into a balmy paradise.  It is 81 degrees F outside, flowers are blooming, trees are sprouting leaves, and chipmunks are cavorting around the forest floor.  I am appreciating it.  Last year was a very different story.  We had a blizzard at the very end of January, and snow fell into April.  The last two months of snow in a winter that can sometimes take up half the year can be very trying on a person’s patience.  Especially if that person lived in California for 15 years and got rather attached to sunshine and greenery!  So, what is there to do in Milwaukee when the weather is nice?  So glad you asked!

Steve used to live on the East Side of Milwaukee, which is kind of an East San Francisco.  Well, a little bit, anyway.  There are lakefront parks, beautiful old buildings, college students from the University, and a smattering of the nature freak/hippie vibe.  On St. Patrick’s Day, we headed to his old neighborhood to take in some of this atmosphere, which was augmented by people parading about in green beads with plastic tumblers of beer, enjoying the unseasonably comfortable weather on a Saturday devoted to pub crawling.  It made people-watching that much more interesting. 

We ate a late afternoon meal at Beans & Barley, which features a deli and market as well as a vegan-friendly cafe with a huge selection of tea.  I had a grilled balsamic Portobello mushroom sandwich with red peppers and bleu cheese, accompanied by a fantastic curry potato salad and a bottle of New Glarus Spotted Cow beer.  Steve had a black bean burrito with some very spicy salsa, an entree that is approaching “landmark status” since its debut in 1979.  We shared a piece of their “killer chocolate cake” for dessert.

After I was satisfied that every bit of frosting had been thoroughly licked up, we headed over to the deli and market to take stock of their offerings.  It was there that I found this most delightful treasure: it’s an old cigarette vending machine that now provides the customer with a genuine work of art for the price of one token.  All of the Art-0-mat items are the size and shape of a pack of cigs, and decorated in a variety of different ways, by different artists.  Examples are installed on the front of the machine. 

Here is a close up of one example:

I simply love this idea!  I’ve never seen anything like it before.  It’s hip, it’s visual, it’s smoke-free.  These should be everywhere, supporting artists in every community. 

I’m feeling young, artsy, and energized.  We take a walk down to the lighthouse station.  I do a portrait of Steve that I think would look good on the back of a book he will write some day.

I’m having fun discovering something wonderful every day, no matter where I am.  This is how I want to keep myself well and happy for the rest of my life.  A few weeks ago, Wisconsin Public Radio’s Ben Merens did a show on wellness that featured an interview with a personal life coach named Colleen Hickman.  Steve likes to call into this radio station when the topic moves him, and he called in to add to this discussion.  He had two things to share.  First, he said that his partner (me!) was very good at appreciating things, and then he said that his contribution to our positive relationship is that he doesn’t think of life as a problem to be solved or a commodity to be evaluated.  It is something of which to be constantly aware, though.   After he hung up, Ms. Hickman says, “Steve is certainly one of the lights we have in the world.”  That makes me chuckle because it sounds so “media”, but I have to agree.  If you want to hear the broadcast, here’s the link; just scroll down to the Friday, March 2, 5:00pm broadcast and click the Windows Media Player or MP3 icon to the right.  Steve’s call is 17:30 into the program.

What a wonderful world!  Even in Wisconsin in March! 

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Don’t Fence Me In

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The maple trees have already stopped running sap.  The wildflowers have begun to bloom.  It’s like we’ve gone past spring in a flash and gotten into early summer already.  The temperatures have hit record highs all this week.  How can you not be outside on a day like today?!  Well, that’s where I’m heading.  First, I’ll share some more architectural shots from my Old World Wisconsin trek.

What are you doing inside still?!  Go out and enjoy the world!

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Honoring My Father

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George William Heigho II — born July 10, 1933, died March 19, 2010.

Today I want to honor my dad and tell you about how I eventually gave him something in return for all he’d given me.

My dad was the most influential person in my life until I was married.  He was the obvious authority in the family, very strict and powerful.  His power was sometimes expressed in angry outbursts like a deep bellow, more often in calculated punishments encased in logical rationalizations.  I knew he was to be obeyed.  I also knew he could be playful.  He loved to build with wooden blocks or sand.  Elaborate structures would spread across the living room floor or the cottage beach front, and my dad would be lying on his side adding finishing touches long after I’d lost interest.  He taught me verse after verse of silly songs with the most scholarly look on his face.  He took photographs with his Leica and set up slide shows with a projector and tripod screen after dinner when I really begged him.  He often grew frustrated with the mechanics of those contraptions, but I would wait hopefully that the show would go on forever.  It was magic to see myself and my family from my dad’s perspective.  He was such a mystery to me.  I thought he was God for a long time.  He certainly seemed smart enough to be.  He was a very devout Episcopalian, Harvard-educated, a professor and a technical writer for IBM.  He was an introvert, and loved the outdoors.  When he retired, he would go off for long hikes in the California hills by himself.  He also loved fine dining, opera, ballet, and museums.  He took us to fabulously educational places — Jamaica, Cozumel, Hawaii, and the National Parks.  He kept the dining room bookcase stacked with reference works and told us that it was unnecessary to argue in conversation over facts.

Camping in Alaska the summer after his senior year in High School: 1951.

My father was not skilled in communicating about emotions.  He was a very private person.  Raising four daughters through their teenaged years must have driven him somewhat mad.  Tears, insecurities, enthusiasms and the fodder of our adolescent dreams seemed to mystify him.  He would help me with my Trigonometry homework instead.

Playing with my dad, 1971.

I married a man of whom my father absolutely approved.  He walked me down the aisle quite proudly.  He feted my family and our guests at 4 baptisms when his grandchildren were born.  I finally felt that I had succeeded in gaining his blessing and trust.  Gradually, I began to work through the  more difficult aspects of our relationship.  He scared my young children with his style of discipline.  I asked him to refrain and allow me to do it my way.   He disowned my older sister for her choice of religion.  For 20 years, that was a subject delicately opened and re-opened during my visits.  I realized that there was still so much about this central figure in my life that I did not understand at all.

Grandpa George

In 2001, after the World Trade Center towers fell, I felt a great urgency to know my father better.  I walked into a Christian bookstore and picked up a book called Always Daddy’s Girl: Understanding Your Father’s Impact on Who You Are by H. Norman Wright.  One of the chapters contained a Father Interview that listed dozens of questions aimed at bringing out the father’s life history and the meaning he assigned to those events.  I decided to ask my father if he would answer some of these questions for me, by e-mail (since he lived more than 2,000 miles away).   Being a writer, this was not a difficult proposition for him to accept.  He decided how to break up the questions into his own groupings and sometimes re-phrase them completely to be more specific and understandable and dove in, essentially writing his own memoirs.   I was amazed, fascinated, deeply touched and profoundly grateful at the correspondence I received.  I printed each one and kept them.  So did my mother.  When I called on the telephone, each time he mentioned how grateful he was for my suggestion.  He and my mother shared many hours reminiscing and putting together the connections of events and feelings of years and years of his life.   On the phone, his repeated thanks began to be a bit eerie.  Gradually, he developed more symptoms of dementia.  His final years were spent in that wordless country we later identified as Alzheimer’s disease.

I could never have known at the time that the e-mails we exchanged would be the last record of my dad’s memory.  To have it preserved is a gift that is priceless to the entire family.  I finally learned something about the many deep wounds of his childhood, the interior life of his character development, his perception of my sister’s death at the age of 20 and his responsibility in the lives of his children.   My father is no longer “perfect”, “smart”, “strict” or any other concept or adjective that I could assign him.  He is simply the man, my father.  I accept him completely and love and respect him more holistically than I did when I knew him as a child.  That is the gift I want to give everyone.

I will close with this photo, taken in the summer of 2008 when my youngest daughter and I visited my father at the nursing home.  I had been widowed 6 months, had not yet met Steve, and was anticipating my father’s imminent passing.  My frozen smile and averted eyes are fascinating to me.  That I feel I must face a camera and record an image is somehow rational and irrational at the same time.  To honor life honestly is a difficult assignment.  I press on.

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Sunday Stroll

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Thursday’s trip out to Old World Wisconsin was full of so many wonderful moments that I’m going to take up several posts to cover them all.  This one is about the natural world. 

Driving County Road Lo west, past farms and ranches and parks, we spotted an animal in the road and stopped.  This is what we saw:

I thought this bird might be injured because it did not fly away when we drove past.  In fact, an SUV going east almost ran right over it, and it didn’t change course!  I decided to put on my fire gloves and see if I could pick it up and move it out of the road.  By the time I got within 8 feet of it, though, it flew off.  I guess a lady with big green gloves is a lot scarier than a Chevy going 55!  Anyway, this is the American Woodcock doing his spring courtship walk.  Let me tell you, it’s fun imitating his strut!

One of these days, we’re going to figure out how to bring a sound recorder instead of just a camera with us on our walks.  I wasn’t able to catch the Sandhill Cranes on film, and I definitely heard them long before I saw them.  They were flying low over the river in the late afternoon sun, their wings so broad and slow they looked like giant butterflies.  They were too far away and too brightly bathed in light as I looked west to photograph with my little Lumix.  The little red squirrels that chattered and chased each other through the picnic woods were also to difficult to catch on camera.  Their color was exactly the same as the iron rust bubbling over the rocks in the spring.  We heard a loud “whooo-hoo” from the pines behind the picnic shelter, but alas, no sighting of the owl.  Woodpeckers, robins, cardinals, red-winged blackbirds and chickadees lend familiar serenades to our outings, but they don’t come close and hold still for portraits; at least not for me.  Their songs definitely fill in the atmosphere, as they’re doing even now while I type and Steve stretches beside me next to our open bedroom window.  Here are some nature compositions that I was able to frame:

That brown ball is not a rock, or a "horse apple", but a spongy fungus!

Carya ovata, the Shagbark Hickory

Audio cue: burble, babble, etc.

With a deep appreciation for all life and for being at one with it,

scillagrace

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Spring is Sprung!

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Spring is sprung; the grass is rizz….

I wonder where the flowers izz?

Well, that’s the only flower I could find in my garden today, but it’s 73 degrees out, and soon, things will be busting out all over!  I took a group of kindergarteners to collect maple sap from the trees, and the spout on the south side of the tree refused to give any.  The north side was flowing slowly, enough for each kid to taste a drip.  Buds are opening, and sap’s first priority is way over the heads of the little kids.

Tomorrow, we plan to spend the day outside.  We actually have job interviews at a living history museum called Old World Wisconsin.  Their season starts in May, and their exhibits are 19th century homesteads featuring working farms, home crafts, and costumed interpreters (please pick me!).  I would love to work and learn and get paid there!  With Steve, too!  But I can’t count my chickens before they’re hatched.  In any event, it’ll be lovely visiting the site and camping out the rest of the day somewhere in this gorgeous weather.

I think of all the tiny, tender green shoots pushing up through the dead leaf litter, and the words of a song pop into my head: “Up from the ashes grow the roses of success.”  Now where did that come from?  Oh, “Chitty Chitty Bang Bang”, the movie musical.  Based on the book by Ian Fleming, no less.   A corny video of a bunch of crackpot inventors is available, but I’m not going to include it.  I do like to rejoice in the hopeful and positive example of nature.  Life goes on.  Death is part of it, but not the whole.  Green sprouts are a lot more sturdy and virile than they look.   All will be well.  And maybe I’ll be re-employed soon!

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The Bicentennial Post

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I began this blog 200 posts ago, and there’s nothing in this world that I don’t know…


Well, that’s not true, but I’m remembering my father sitting in his chair on our wrap-around porch singing old silly songs as the sun went down.  “I was born about 10,000 years ago…” verse after unbelievable verse.   There’s a lot in this world that I don’t know and will never know, and many things that I can know if I pay attention and try to be aware.  One thing I became aware of is that my blog was hard for my mother to read in its old format.  The light text on a slightly darker background was obscured through her developing cataracts.  I hoping that this new look will be clearer for her.

Another thing that I’m becoming aware of is the way that thoughts influence energy.  Life is difficult (opening line of M. Scott Peck’s The Road Less Traveled), in other words, living requires effort.  Solving problems, finding food, making money, communicating – all of that takes some energy, but sometimes the energy returns to us if the process is positive and life-giving.  When I feel drained and sad and depressed, it’s often simply because my thoughts about problem solving, making money, and other efforts of living are not positive.  In another Summit with Steve this morning, I asked myself this question, “Are you going to roll up your sleeves or roll up your eyes?”  Steve offered an illustration from our favorite National Basketball team, the Chicago Bulls (President Obama is also a loyal fan).  Rookie Jimmy Butler, brand new to the team, has a life story that exemplifies the effort of overcoming obstacles.  He was abandoned by his father at an early age, kicked out by his mother at 13, raised by a widow with 4 children who remarried a man with 3 more children, and finally made it to Marquette University and the NBA.   He is part of the energy infusion we fans call “The Bench Mob”.  They’re not “good enough” to be starters, but when they go into a game, they roll up their sleeves and get to work!  Another member of “The Bench Mob” who has a totally different physical attitude is Omer Asik.  We love him, because he’s nerdy-looking like us.  He’s tall and skinny and white.  He’s from Turkey.  He is a great basket defender, but he’s pretty new to the team, too, and not as athletic as many players.  He has this comical hang-dog expression when he fouls someone or misses a shot.  He literally rolls up his eyes, instead of his sleeves.

Energy ebbs and flows.  Sometimes I roll up my sleeves, sometimes I roll up my eyes.  Here’s another comic example: Buster Keaton.  Mr. Keaton had a stellar career in silent films.  He’s a little guy, very physically strong.  His acrobatic stunts on camera are amazing.  His comedy is also about solving problems, thinking outside of the box and using his incredible energy.  Of course, he doesn’t squander any energy talking!  His reaction to social situations is great.  He doesn’t let them deter him from going after what he wants, and whenever he fails, he simply tries a new tactic.  See any of the clips from “College” (1927) that you can find…or the whole film!  He makes a great movie star hero, in my book.

So, this one’s for me, my kids and anyone else out there who is putting effort into living.   You are not your thoughts.  If your thoughts of failure and shame are draining your energy, listen to them and then change them.  Are you really ashamed of yourself?  Or is that a perception of what you think ‘society’ thinks of you?  The truth is you are a good person and you desire to be a good person (most likely – granted there may be exceptions).  Roll up your sleeves, Good Person, and play!

A couple of really Good People rolling up their sleeves!

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Peace Walk

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Yesterday, I blogged several quotes from Thich Nhat Hahn.  Last night, I came across a passage in Living Buddha, Living Christ that illuminated my journey through widowhood, change, and doubt.

“One day when you are plunged into the dark night of doubt, the images and notions that were helpful in the beginning no longer help.  They only cover up the anguish and suffering that have begun to surface.  Thomas Merton wrote, ‘The most crucial aspect of this experience is precisely the temptation to doubt God Himself.’  This is a genuine risk.  If you stick to an idea or an image of God and if you do not touch the reality of God, one day you will be plunged into doubt.  According to Merton, ‘Here we are advancing beyond the stage where God made Himself accessible to our mind in simple and primitive images.’  Simple and primitive images may have been the object of our faith in God in the beginning, but as we advance, He becomes present without any image, beyond any satisfactory mental representation.  We come to a point where any notion we had can no longer represent God.”

“The reality of God”…beyond any notion or representation, there is a reality, an experience.  Returning regularly to this experience is what Thich Nhat Hahn refers to as “deep practice”.  It requires awareness, mindfulness, being awake and paying attention.  What is the experience of being in this living world?

I went for a walk yesterday in a strong wind and looked up to the trees.  They were all swaying in their own way, in different directions, at different levels, different speeds.  They have no notion that is “wind”.  They have an experience.

The river touches the stones and mud in the river bed, it touches the banks, it touches the wind with its surface and reflects the trees that rise high above it.  It inhabits its course without a concept or an image of anything.

I enjoy images.  I become attached to them.  Their primitive simplicity appeals to my limited brain and feels comfortable.  I wonder now if that’s why I often become “stuck”.  It’s as if I become unable to see the forest because I look so constantly at the trees.  The experience of ‘forest’ is so much more.

Every time I take a photo, I put my experience into a frame.  Would a frameless view of reality take me beyond my doubts?  Beyond my fears?

When I was a cantor at my church, I’d sing a refrain during Vespers, framing the prayers that people offered up in the pews: “Shepherd me, O God, beyond my wants, beyond my fears, from death into life.”

Shepherd me, O God, beyond my doubts, wants, fears, images, and notions…from death into Life.

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Meditation

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I got myself into a mood last night while Steve was gone. We had mailed out job applications earlier that day for Old World Wisconsin, a seasonal living history museum, and gradually my anxieties about my life and work began escalating.  I searched the internet like a magic 8 ball, and the best advice I found was a quote from Teddy Roosevelt, “Far and away the best prize that life has to offer is the chance to work hard at work worth doing.”

What is “work worth doing”?  How do I want to spend my life’s energy?  What is worth it?  Am I even worthy of my life if I don’t do something worth doing with it?  Steve came home to find me sitting in the dark, staring out the window.  “Are you okay?” he asked tentatively.  Fortunately, we both have the ability to laugh at our moods, acknowledge them and joke about them and pay attention to them without getting too attached to them.  I did some doodling and some stream-of-consciousness writing and played my sopranino recorder a bit to loosen up and allow something to emerge.  I fell asleep with this phrase in my head: “Teach peace”.

This morning my thoughts turned to flowers and Thich Nhat Hahn.  He is one of the greatest teachers of peace, in my opinion.  If you’ve never heard of him, I urge you to do a little research.  Reading his books helped me through pivotal stages of grief and anger and crises of faith after my husband died.  I got a very personal message from his words, but his vision is for the entire world as well.  Peace begins internally and has consequences on a global scale.  I do believe that.  Today, I invite you to a meditation using Thich Nhat Hahn’s words and photos I took last summer of peonies from our garden.  I hope it nudges you awake to the happiness in you…as it did for me!

“If we are peaceful, if we are happy, we can smile and blossom like a flower, and everyone in our family, our entire society, will benefit from our peace.”
– Thich Nhat Hahn, Being Peace

“The source of love is deep in us and we can help others realize a lot of happiness. One word, one action, one thought can reduce another person’s suffering and bring that person joy.”

“The most precious gift we can offer anyone is our attention. When mindfulness embraces those we love, they will bloom like flowers.”

“Each moment is a chance for us to make peace with the world, to make peace possible for the world, to make happiness possible for the world.”
― Teachings on Love

“Our notions about happiness entrap us. We forget that they are just ideas. Our idea of happiness can prevent us from actually being happy. We fail to see the opportunity for joy that is right in front of us when we are caught in a belief that happiness should take a particular form.”

‎”The earth is so beautiful. We are beautiful also. We can allow ourselves to walk mindfully, touching the earth, our wonderful mother, with each step. We don’t need to wish our friends, ‘Peace be with you.’ Peace is already with them. We only need to help them cultivate the habit of touching peace in each moment.”

WALKING MEDITATION

Take my hand.
We will walk.
We will only walk.
We will enjoy our walk
without thinking of arriving anywhere.
Walk peacefully.
Walk happily.
Our walk is a peace walk.
Our walk is a happiness walk.

Then we learn
that there is no peace walk;
that peace is the walk;
that there is no happiness walk;
that happiness is the walk.
We walk for ourselves.
We walk for everyone
always hand in hand.

Walk and touch peace every moment.
Walk and touch happiness every moment.
Each step brings a fresh breeze.
Each step makes a flower bloom under our feet.
Kiss the Earth with your feet.
Print on Earth your love and happiness.

Earth will be safe
when we feel in us enough safety.

– from Call Me by My True Names: The Collected Poems of Thich Nhat Hanh

“Smile, breathe, and go slowly.”

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Lamb

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In some parts of the world, it’s lambing season.  I’ve seen some beautiful photos from bloggers in rural areas, and I want to share my “Lamb” story, too.

Steve and I went on a cross-country camping trip in the summer of 2009.  One of our primary destinations was Zion National Park in Utah.  We chose to camp in nearby Dixie National Forest.  The National Forest designation allows camping free of charge anywhere within the boundaries.  The land is also used for other things, which present something of a mystery to me.  Houses are built in National Forests.  ATV roads and logging operations also exist there.  The official motto on many National Forest signs is “Land of Many Uses”.  You’re never really sure what the land is being used for until you get there, drive around, and check it out.  This was my first experience traveling like this.  I was used to researching websites and making reservations with check-in and check-out times.  Steve assured me that traveling without plans is mostly safe and more of an adventure.  “Be open to what arises” was his Zen-like mantra. This trip would definitely shape our relationship, and I was excited about the possibilities.

After bumping down a narrow ATV road in Steve’s Toyota Camry, we discovered a nice spot in an aspen grove away from the big camper-trailers that had gathered in the valley for an off-road rally event.  We parked the car and began to look for level ground to set up the tent.  In the quiet of the woods, I heard a faint sound.  A bird with an unfamiliar song…rather like the sound of a bleating…goat?  “Did you hear that?”  I asked Steve.  Odd.  I picked up a roll of toilet paper and began to look for a likely tree to designate as my powder room.  Then I saw her.  At the base of an aspen, dirty white fur blended into the leaf cover and the white bark.  She let out a mournful cry.  “Maa-aa-aa!”  Oh, my goodness!  “Steve!”  She was skin and bones.  A dry umbilical cord hung from her belly.  Her long tail was caked with mud.  She rose and began walking away from us.  She was shaky and obviously hungry.  We started throwing out questions to each other.  What do we have here?  (I guessed a goat because sheep don’t have long tails. What did I know?)  Where is her mother?  She needs help.  What should we do?  Where can we take her?  How do we catch her?  How involved do we want to get?  Where is the ranger station?  How long would it take to get there?  It’s getting dark; should we set up camp and make dinner first?

We decided to catch her and drive her toward the ranger station, even though we knew it was closed.  I put on my leather fire gloves and picked her up.  She weighed almost nothing, but I wanted to be gentle and careful of her sharp hoofs.  We set off slowly toward the populated area of the forest and came upon a big, white pickup truck we thought might belong to a ranger.  It wasn’t a ranger, but a local who was able to tell us that we had a lamb and that there were free-ranging flocks in the forest.  We drove back to camp with this information, hopeful that we’d come upon a shepherd on horseback whom we’d seen earlier.  As we set up camp, the lamb stayed close.  We tried to feed her milk from a water bottle, but she just didn’t catch on.  She was bumping and nuzzling between my legs, looking to nurse.  I felt helpless not having the equipment she was seeking.  Steve wanted to allow her to sleep in the tent with us that night to keep warm.  I feel like an ogre now for saying ‘no’, but I was more “citified” back then.  She slept on a blanket just outside the tent with her back against its slope all night.  In the morning, we made breakfast, took pictures and figured out a plan.

Looking for milk in all the wrong places

The plastic bottle fails

So skinny

What am I going to do with you, huh?

Love me!

We decided to take a hike.  Perhaps we’d find the shepherd.  Perhaps Lamb would find her mother.  We set out with Lamb following for a bit, then she turned around and sat at the base of the tent again.  We went off toward the valley overlook.  Suddenly, I heard a clanking bell sound and the bleating of…SHEEP!  The flock was in the valley!  We raced back to camp, put Lamb in the car, and drove off to the valley.  I will never forget the image of Steve crossing the road with Lamb in his outstretched hands, little legs flailing.  It wasn’t so easy as just setting her down off the side of the road, though.  Oh, no!  She kept following ME!  I’d creep as close as I dared to the flock without scaring them further away, set her down and then turn and run toward Steve.  He was laughing his head off because bounding behind me with more energy than she actually had was the little Lamb, ears flapping, leaping over the tall grass.  Obviously, we had to use more stealth, more trickery.  I crept very carefully in toward some ewes, put Lamb beside me and stayed stock still.  Finally, she recognized her own kind and started moving toward them.  As she moved in, I moved back, until finally there was enough distance between us that she couldn’t see me.  She began pursuing the ewes, bleating and trying to nurse.  My last vision of her was rather sad.  She came up behind a ewe who turned and knocked her off her feet with an angry neck butt.  I saw Lamb’s white legs upended in the grass.  She hadn’t much strength left, but I hoped her persistence would get her some milk.  Or that the shepherd would show up soon.  I turned toward the car in earnest and forbid myself to look back.

Of course I’ll never know the exact outcome of our encounter with Lamb.  I am grateful for all that she taught us about being open to what arises, talking about how we want to behave toward others, and acting with compassion in the best way we can.  That little Lamb was instrumental in our formation in many ways, and I hope that we were able to help her.