Weekend Country Fun

We had visitors over the weekend. Our oldest grandson and three of his buddies managed to coordinate a trip Up North. Two of the guys slept in our young Dave's vintage VW camper.



A third chose the semicivilized relative comfort of our front porch, while a fourth slung his hammock in what still remains (we've been hacking away at it lately) of our popple grove.


In the morning, everyone was glad that the tramping around in the grove, as well as Sarah's interested sniffing--which was our first clue that they were there--had spared the lives of these adorable little bunnies in their soft, down-lined nest. No, my vegetable garden will not need rabbits, but who can look on these tiny lives and not feel protective toward them?


There was other weekend excitement, well timed. You know I'm not going to give away the secret location, but look at these beautiful morels! Why is Gumby wearing morels as oven mitts? How did Barbie get involved? What is Pokey's role in the scene? You must remember from older posts on Barbies and plastic horses how we are in this family.



It's good to know the younger generation shares our sensibilities.


Conversation with the four twenty-somethings was good, running the gamut from banking and bees, chickens and dogs to vehicles and wildflowers. They are mechanics, inventors, gardeners, campers and hard workers who also know how to play. Oh, and they read books, too. They give us hope for the future.

Outdoors, Indoors

Last night in the woods (my cathedral) a few morels called my name. Miraculous appearance! As a rule, I look and look without finding morels. Fungi in hand, two sides of my nature warred with each other, Pollyanna and Doubting Thomasina. Le vrai ou le faux? Investigative research calmed my worries. This morning at the bookstore I was given two rules to mushroom by: (1) “If it’s not hollow, don’t swallow.” [The NOT is crucial. Don’t forget it!] (2) “If it’s red, you’re dead.”

It was good to be in the woods after two evenings indoors. It was good to come back home and spread good, black, worm-rich compost on the garden. Altogether a satisfying evening.

Meanwhile, in Northport: two weeks ago today we had a completely spontaneous meeting of the Dog Ears Philosophy Club here at the bookstore. Never organized, never scheduled, the group coalesced around the low table piled high with books, two “members” in the red leather chairs, the third and I in less sybaritic but adequately comfortable seating. The topic was epistemology. The focus, thanks to Big Steve, was Schopenhauer. No one grandstanded. Everyone listened to others. Conversation took a naturally evolving, somewhat meandering road but stayed within ground sketched out by the initial questions. We had a wonderful time.

“When is your next meeting?” asked someone who stopped in briefly and couldn’t stay. The admission had to be made: we didn’t know! The next meeting will occur as did the last, at some unexpected time when interested people converge and compelling questions emerge. We don’t know when that may happen. We do, however, know that we don’t know.