Having lived in our non-easy-care rural south Salem house for 26 years, and having reached the semi-geezerish age of 67, I'm heavy into a love/hate relationship with where we are.
But then there's a day like today, when a near-sunset dog walk on trails and roads in our neighborhood made me feel, This is why it'd be tough to move somewhere else.
My iPhone's camera tells the tale. With some word help from me. (click to enlarge the photos)
Near the end of our walk, ZuZu and I come to a trail that overlooks the Ankeny Wildlife Refuge in the far distance, and the coast range ever farther away. A neighbor's field is mostly clear, but a row of oaks lie along one side.
I understand the attraction of living in a city. One day we'll probably join the urban crowd. But I'll miss views like this.
Walking along our street, Lake Drive, there's a grove of smaller oaks on the other side of the street, just before our driveway. Usually they look like, well, a bunch of nondescript oak trees. Today, though, the setting sun highlighted them against a cloudy background.
Right across the street from our mailbox is this medium-sized oak that speaks to me a lot. Since oak trees don't communicate in English or any other human language, I can't convey the message I got from it.
But the message was loud and clear. Whatever it was.
A few days ago it was dry enough for me to mow the grass and pick up winter debris from our yard. It's looking pretty good, considering this is late February. With global warming, spring is coming earlier. The daffodils speak to that.
Nestled in the woods, with no neighbor in sight, I really enjoy our natural setting. It reminds me that we humans are just a bump on the log of what nature has wrought (yet we often act as if the reverse is true).
It reminds me that even when you're old, and let yourself go in a unruly fashion, there's a certain charm that comes from letting nature take its course.