Roosting Together

A few weeks back, a large flock of wild turkeys tiptoed through my muddy yard. It was a dark, rainy day; those birds got me up out of my chair, cheering.

Then today, this one guy following his gal into the woods had me pulling off the road. 

My peeps are back...

Many believe that the turkey cannot fly, but this is not so. The turkey is capable of quick take-offs and can fly up to 50 miles per hour for short distances. They also run well upon their stout legs. They also perch in trees at night for safety, roosting together; and they will change their roosting nightly. They find strength in numbers and thus reflect the energy of sharing.

- from Animal Speak by Ted Andrews

A Tuesday shout-out and welcome to the newest members of the This Being Alive flock!! If anyone calls you a turkey, say thanks.

Here's to strength in numbers, the energy of sharing...

and roosting together.

Shared Blessings

Go ahead, call me the Turkey Lady. They keep showing up. Like family.

So, I don't know what Owen was thinking when this pair strolled by the back door. He watched them crisscrossing in the grass, which way should we go, looked at me once, then laid his head back down on his front paws. (There were babies out there too!)

ps. The weather's been heavenly here in Northeast PA; we've been watching birds, eating ice cream, swimming in the river; soaking up this late August magic. We have *not been shoveling truck loads of stone. Amen.

Here's to the magic of shared blessings.

TURKEY: Shared Blessings and Harvest

"The turkey is sometimes called the earth eagle. It has a long history of association with spirituality and the honoring of the Earth Mother. It is a symbol of all the blessings that the Earth contains, along with the ability to use them to their greatest advantage."

- from Animal Speak by Ted Andrews

* read It's That Simple (Part Two)

Some Day

We met Lewis (0n the left) at the Martz bus station @ 7:30 this morning. Lewis showed up for work @ 3:40 am because the first bus comes through @ 4 am. Lewis used to drive a bus but his days were sixteen hours long. Now he gets done with work around 11:00 am. For someone who has to get up so early, Lewis is a really sweet guy. I, on the other hand, would be quite cranky.

Dad took a bus to visit my brother, Dave, and his family in Northampton, MA. He had to ride the bus into NYC, then transfer. I gave him a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and an apple for his trip. I was a little worried about him getting lost in Port Authority because it's easy to get lost there. I'm happy to report that I did not pin my phone number (in case of emergencies) on Dad's coat. I did speak to Ralph Martinez, the bus driver (no photo) and whispered, Please look out for my Dad. Thanks, Ralph.

Back home, Claire and Elizabeth read in the back of the car while our resident turkeys took a walk through the yard.

Make A Garden

Today was an Elizabeth day. Most Wednesday mornings are. We kicked things off with a round of "the picture card matching game", followed by a reading of Who, Who, Who Lost a Shoe, and had some snacks. Teeny pretzel sandwiches with peanut butter on the inside. whoa! After that I suggested we go outside and see what was popping out of the ground.

The minute we stepped out we heard a lot of swoosh swoosh swooshing going on. The sound was close by, but for the life of us we couldn't figure out what it was. Then we saw them; twenty-four wild turkeys, (we counted them!), dragging their tiny turkey feet through the dry leaves in the neighbor's stand of trees. Elizabeth and I crouched down and watched them peck their way to the back of the woods, meandering towards Joan and Arnold's backyard. I love wild turkeys. But I'll save that for another piece.

Elizabeth said, "Dirt piles, Bean," and pointed to the street. So we made our way to the wooden bench under the apple tree at the end of my front yard. I put my arm around her. We snuggled and listened to the birds singing like crazy. And we stared at the piles of dirt that Frankie, the new neighbor, had dumped before the last whopping snow storm.

At first, I didn't really notice them, the dirt piles. Or maybe I did, but for a while they looked like fluffy mounds of pretty white snow. Now they're just dirt piles filled with chunks of rocks and small tree stumps, spilling over onto the street. I'm sure Frankie has some kind of plan for the piles. He's going to smooth them out, grow grass, plant an orchard, right?

But in the meantime, Spring is one of my favorite seasons and it's getting ready to give birth in a big way. I am panting for daffodils and crocuses, poised for all things blooming.

"I don't know, Elizabeth, I'm not liking these dirt piles."

"Make a garden, Bean," she said, nodding her head.

She never elaborates. It's just what she says every time I start complaining about the damn dirt piles.

Clearly, I need work on my creative visualization skills. I may be rusty, but I'm a willing student. Tomorrow morning when I get up, I'm going to look out my picture window, sigh and say, Oh look! What a pretty garden.