If you’re from central PA, (or even if you know someone from central PA) you’re aware that the weather has been less than lovely in recent days.weeks.months. We’ve had rain upon rain, interspersed with days of “partly cloudy,” mostly cloud, clouds giving way to showers...you get the picture. I think it’s the hardest “season” of the year for me – winter without snow.
It was during just such a week of weather, when I was fulfilling a role as travel guide for holiday visitors along a winding road heading up the mountain, that one of my “not from here” passengers commented, “It’s just so beautiful here.” I chuckled.
“Now I know you’ll have to come back,” I replied. “If you think it’s pretty now...”
My mind was busy with a picturesque sales pitch for alternatives to the current bleak view through dirty windows...
If you think this is pretty, you should visit the Valley in springtime, when the mountains are soft and green with promise, when pink buds swell along the redbud stems, and lambs frisk in verdant meadows.
If you think this is pretty, spend some summer days winding along the back roads where farmers with horse drawn equipment are raking hay in long fragrant swaths, and barefoot children clamor along the creek. Every other farm has a “Produce” sign hanging on a fence post, and the tomatoes are fat and sun ripened. And you can eat sweet corn every single day.
If you think this pretty, autumn will take your breath away with its splendid maples splashing orange and yellow everywhere, fields dotted with corn shocks, and apple trees ladened with globes of gold.
All these scenes went spinning through my mind as we rounded the bend to a view of bare trees silhouetted against a bleak sky.
It was during just such a week of weather, when I was fulfilling a role as travel guide for holiday visitors along a winding road heading up the mountain, that one of my “not from here” passengers commented, “It’s just so beautiful here.” I chuckled.
“Now I know you’ll have to come back,” I replied. “If you think it’s pretty now...”
My mind was busy with a picturesque sales pitch for alternatives to the current bleak view through dirty windows...
If you think this is pretty, you should visit the Valley in springtime, when the mountains are soft and green with promise, when pink buds swell along the redbud stems, and lambs frisk in verdant meadows.
If you think this is pretty, spend some summer days winding along the back roads where farmers with horse drawn equipment are raking hay in long fragrant swaths, and barefoot children clamor along the creek. Every other farm has a “Produce” sign hanging on a fence post, and the tomatoes are fat and sun ripened. And you can eat sweet corn every single day.
If you think this pretty, autumn will take your breath away with its splendid maples splashing orange and yellow everywhere, fields dotted with corn shocks, and apple trees ladened with globes of gold.
All these scenes went spinning through my mind as we rounded the bend to a view of bare trees silhouetted against a bleak sky.
Words were lined up in my brain, ready to march forth and tell them what beautiful really meant. And just as quickly, I pinched my lips together and sent the words into retreat, because my young friends held the wiser perspective. They were right.
It is beautiful here.
Right now.
And every day of every year, beauty is to be found-
if. I. am. looking. for. it.
(It's not like God goes to Florida for the winter...)
It is beautiful here.
Right now.
And every day of every year, beauty is to be found-
if. I. am. looking. for. it.
(It's not like God goes to Florida for the winter...)
True, the season of deep winter, snowless, seems to call for more sleuthing skills than just about any other time, but this is a good season to develop a new skill or strengthen a weak one. So, thanks E and K for prodding me without realizing it, for giving me reason to ponder the Thoreau quote that appeared on my daily calendar the day after the above comment:
The question is not what you look at, but what you see."
It’s time for-
(More) Lessons from the road less traveled.
It’s time for-
(More) Lessons from the road less traveled.
1. Practice mindfulness.
New Year's Day dandelion! Pay attention to what’s right in front of you, literally and also metaphorically. Mindfulness is defined in some circles as "bringing one's attention to experiences occurring in the present moment." It’s noticing what you see. I’m surprised how hard it is for me to stay focused on this present moment when I’m taking my daily walk. My mind is often anywhere but here. I’m trying to change that. The camera seems to help me.
2. Remember the long view.
Perspective. Here and now is important. But it’s not all there is. Sometimes a long walk is exactly the view shift that I need to get out of the mental box I’ve been circling in all day. It’s good to see the road stretch out ahead of me, or behind me, and think about the journey.
3. Accept the wonder...
that has come in the midst of losses, disappointments, changes in plans. As much as I miss the fresh smell of spring, the warm rays of sun on my back as I garden on a summer afternoon, the autumn sound of leaf crunch underfoot, I know that unless those seasons fade, I would never see the splendor of sycamores in winter. These trees have no outstanding features to draw the eye until the frigid winter days. Then, the creamy mottled bark radiates beauty.
4. Be aware of who is watching.
Not in the way we usually think of it (or at least the way I usually think of it.) Not because I don’t want to embarrass myself or because I’m worried about what “they” will think.
But because – someone is usually watching, someone younger or more vulnerable or less settled, and they will choose what I choose; they will watch my actions and reactions and respond similarly because of my example.
My decision gives them permission. So, don’t forget the watchers.
And yet...
But because – someone is usually watching, someone younger or more vulnerable or less settled, and they will choose what I choose; they will watch my actions and reactions and respond similarly because of my example.
My decision gives them permission. So, don’t forget the watchers.
And yet...
5. Don’t be afraid to take some risks.
On a hike along the Conewago Trail last week, I saw quite a few squirrels. But this one was the bravest, dangling along the far edge of his balancing abilities, enjoying what must have been a very tasty feast of (???) buds.
Don’t let your fears keep you from the feast.
Ask yourself, what would I do if I wasn’t afraid?
And then, do it.
Don’t let your fears keep you from the feast.
Ask yourself, what would I do if I wasn’t afraid?
And then, do it.
Yep, that's the little squirrel, the brave little squirrel, enjoying a feast!
6. Grow here.
Wherever here is, put down some roots and make the best of it.
Five years from now, you will be five years older, but will you be five years better? That doesn’t depend on your circumstances, that depends on your decisions.
These trees, growing out of solid rock, reminded me that I’m responsible for my own growth, even if conditions are less than optimal.
Five years from now, you will be five years older, but will you be five years better? That doesn’t depend on your circumstances, that depends on your decisions.
These trees, growing out of solid rock, reminded me that I’m responsible for my own growth, even if conditions are less than optimal.
7. Rejoice in what is even if you are also grieving what is not.
On Friday I set out for my usual walk, camera in hand and wondered why I’d bothered to bring it. The entire sky was socked in with clouds. I saw no glint of sun, no blue sky; all the greens had faded to gray, trees stood stark and leafless, outlined against the sky. But then sunset flared up with colors so vibrant I thought the sky might be on fire.
More lessons from the road less traveled. And as is generally the case, I'm writing first and foremost for me. I need the reminders, every single one of them. Thanks for listening to me talk to myself.
Remember, the question is not what you look at but what you see. (Thanks, Thoreau.)
Tell me, what do you see? Keep watching for God to show up...
Remember, the question is not what you look at but what you see. (Thanks, Thoreau.)
Tell me, what do you see? Keep watching for God to show up...
HumminB
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