October Magic

October is flying by. It seems it just got here and already we are running out of month. I have garden chores that need doing: cutting backing, thinning out, relocating. Out in my neck of the woods we’ve had a couple of light frosts but not a killing frost. Yet. My dahlias and begonias are still waiting to either be dug up and stored for the winter—that is my stated objective--or waiting to be mourned in the spring, when I realize that the slimy mass I just poked my trowel in was once a Good Thing. That, sadly, is my modus operandi.

According to my Magic 8 Ball—iPhone calls it a weather app, but honestly, as often as they are wrong I might as well let a Magic 8 Ball do the forecasting. Shane used to say that the only job in which you could be wrong 80% of the time and still expect to stay employed was having a job as a weatherman. Or weatherperson.

Where was I? Oh, right, the weather.

We just survived an intense, rainy interlude but the Magic 8 Ball says “signs point to yes” and the next few days should be sunny. Ish. Sunny-ish. Lots of time to go out and get things done.

I don’t want to brag, but I’ve already rolled up and stored most of my hoses. Actually, I DO want to brag because that’s all I’ve done. With any luck I can avoid all the other chores - argue that I can do them later. Or early next spring. Or, you know, never.

October is also a wonderful time to go for a walk, to head to the beach with friends, to suddenly decide that the garage needs cleaning. Which of these will I do? “Ask again later.”

Charity Begins at Home

It’s official: I am a charity case. Or, rather, my gardens are. The nice woman from Washington Department of Fish and Wildlife Conflict told me so, and she’s a Specialist. I can’t decide whether to laugh or cry, but either way something’s got to give. Mark my words: it’s not going to be me.

FAT & GREEDY 

I’ve faithfully followed all nine steps of Elk Conflict Resolution: 1) Sustain substantial elk damage to your landscaping. 2) Cry and throw things. 3) Call everybody—and by everybody I mean people who work for Washington Department of Fish and Wild Life. Your friends may commiserate with you, but odds are they don’t have access to the necessary paperwork.  4) Complain. 5) Cry some more. 6) When the F&WL officer shows up, show him/her your elk damage. 7) Repeat step four. Possibly step two. Actually, step five might be better. Forget what I said about repeating step two. 8) Hang the kill permit on your fridge. 9) Repeat every thirty days. FOR FIVE YEARS.

Being an Official Charity Case means that all my whining and crying and kvetching have started to pay off: squeaky wheel, meet grease. A Master Hunter will be headed my way to put the fear of firepower into my herd of complacent cows. He will shoot---I mean HARVEST--- one of the Destruction Derby Queens, then see that the meat is appropriately processed and distributed using the local food bank and various churches for this important work. So, it’s win/win. Or, rather, BANG win/win.

Lather. Rinse. Repeat as necessary. (I may have added that part. What can I say? I’m enthusiastic.)

Being “gung-ho”—pardon the pun—and eager to support the elk harassment effort every way possible, I offered to put the offender’s head on a spike and display it on my property as a warning to other members of the Gang---I mean “Herd” to stay away. Judging by the way the Conflict Specialist winced and shook her head that may have been a bit much.

 I still think it seems like a good idea. Seriously, would YOU go to a Five Star Salad bar for lunch if the establishment openly displayed the mounted heads of previous diners? Especially those who sullied the linens and knocked over the water glasses? I wouldn’t, I don’t care how many good reviews I’d heard.

Heavy Heart

It’s difficult to sit in front of a keyboard and not know quite what to say. The recent events in Las Vegas are beyond imagining, let alone understanding. When the weapons of war are loosed on people at play, when human life is taken with such utter contempt---it’s easy to fall into despair. It is easy to say that we live in a sick and twisted world, that things are rotten and getting worse, that the center cannot hold. And while it’s understandable to lose heart and despair, that statement is a Big Fat LIE.

The world is not a sick and twisted place—that individual was. We don’t know his full story and I won’t use his name---but he is not who we are; his acts do not define Humanity. Humanity is beautiful.

Humanity shines in darkness.

Humanity shows up to help.

Humanity covers loved ones and strangers alike with their own bodies, a shield made not only of vulnerable flesh and bone but of indestructible, enduring Love.

Humanity stays with the fallen, giving first aid, carrying others to safety. Humanity refuses to leave.

Humanity lines up at two a.m. to give blood, and stands in lines for hours to make that happen.

Humanity weeps and mourns and comforts each other.

When Darkness comes, it is too easy to consider the black and despair. But there is Light there, 

and it destroys the darkness. You just have to look.

Fred Rogers—Mr. Rogers--- famously said of disasters “When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, ‘Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.’” 

And that is true. Humanity shows up to help. And that, my friends, is a beautiful, blessed thing.