Life in the Cheese Drawer

i’ve had some delightful moments the past month or so and just haven’t taken the time to set it into words. maybe i’ve been working with too many words weekly at work. maybe the lack of light is leaving me lackluster. maybe the anticipation of alliteration just wasn’t alluring enough.

so.

at the end of september and early october, i headed to palm springs, california to present at a national conference. the conference was meh. my presentation was decent. i was in the middle of a head cold. but it was california and hot and i was two hours from the ocean and how could i not take advantage of that? the good news was that it was cheaper for me to rent a car and drive to san diego to fly out rather than leave from palm springs. so, that’s what i did.

along the way, i drove up and over a mountain via switchbacks. i watched the desert turn into shrubby, low-growth foliage. i basked in the sunshine. i saw no cacti. i started to see palm trees. i glimpsed the ocean. and then there i was.

i spent friday night in dana point, which is the home of lesley fightmaster. i found a super 8 right across the highway from the ocean and public beach and paid for the ocean-view room with a balcony.

after checking in and a brief nap, i changed and walked a block, crossed a busy 4-lane road, then up and over a railroad track, and landed on the beach, set up shop on the sand, and sat for an hour.

after that, i went to a mediocre restaurant that was actually just a bar with appetizers, sat on their “patio” with the car noise whizzing past. the view was fantastic tho.

then back to my balcony room, where i sat as the sun set over the ocean, highlighting the palm trees and surfer vans and young girls dancing with flashlights and a gathering around a fire.

then i doordashed some chocolate cake, ate it in bed (and made a mess), and was asleep by 9:30.

the next day i drove down the coast to san diego, stopping at a fantastic little coffee shop before leaving dana point, where i had the best meal of the week (a lox, cream cheese, avocado, and greens sandwich on multigrain bread). the trip to the airport took a couple hours since i bypassed the freeway to drive through small coastal towns to keep the ocean in view as long as possible, stopping a couple times to put my feet in the sand and surf in my ears. the town of carlsbad would be one i’d like to return to someday.

then it was time to board an airplane, and we swung out over the ocean before turning around and heading inland toward the most land-locked piece of real estate the continent has to offer.

i wouldn’t mind being a beach bum.

but then i come back to lakes and leaves and the promise of seasons.

after august has heavily made its way and september spends nearly all its time in summer, there is a moment before autumn starts where i’ve missed spring and summer so much that i don’t want to welcome the season and october. the light disappears; the trees will lose their leaves to remain barren for months; the wind stings in the nose and breath appears like a dream. it’s the subsequent season that keeps me from a freefall into fall.

but then on my drive to work in the morning, just this past couple weeks, when i am still sleepy and thinking about nothing, rotely driving in the barely there morning light, green started to drain in force from the leaves. there is a stand of trees in a small dip in a backroad—i hesitate to call it valley—with one of the best displays i have seen. yellows, oranges, reds, ethereal orangey yellows that blur the eyes and create a watercolor painting. strong greens still stand out, giving the contrast my eyes need so badly, the thought that this will be gradual.

it will be over too soon, of course. the season is short in our state, and shorter the farther north you go. the leaves will fall or shrivel and fall or turn brown and shrivel and fall, and the stark darkness of branches will stand out from a grey sky that’s so common in november, or else cloaked in darkness to hibernate.

until that point, during which i am irritated by axial tilt, i will enjoy the pockets of delight on my drives, noticing the transitions and hoard the moment.

what’s delightful? a long weekend is delightful. looking forward to the three days of no one renting your time for their purposes and doing your own stuff as needed. some long weekends i just lie around like a bum. THIS long weekend, however, i have gotten a lot done, so far. and getting things checked off my checklist is, well, delightful.

1. i fixed my toilet. it had been making a whining noise for a while and i determined that it was the internal mechanism that needed to be replaced. so i did that.
2. nate and i finally went grocery shopping.
3. finished a book in 1.5 days.
4. sat outside in the hot weather, soaking it up before autumn comes to announce winter.
5. made a document for my dad.
6. installed a pull out drawer in my cupboard with pots in it.
7. installed a ring doorbell (against my wishes – doing it for the insurance discount).
8. got some new art for the entry hallway since now you can see in there!
9. cleaned up the apples rotting in yard in preparation for mowing the lawn, except it’s too hot to mow.
10. picked a bunch of tomatoes! i may not have cucumbers, but i’ll have tomatoes. gotta figure out what to do with them.
11. went to TJMaxx and got enough cheap soap to last us 6 years (and two sets of halloween press-on nails).
12. then stopped by the bizarre bazaar on saturday! that was fun to check out, though i didn’t buy much (just more soap).

the only thing i didn’t get to on my list was a possible haircut, and that wasn’t a priority so i’ll get that done another day.

then i go to work for three days and i’m taking friday off because nate has a long weekend next weekend! that’s all i’ve got, blog land. i want to do something RE: the downfall of social media soon, but i need to think about. could be just me – i am almost ready to pull the plug on it all.

every house i’ve owned (3 of them) have had a red door. i painted my st. joe door after a couple years, and then for my st charles and avon houses, i painted them right away.

my current house had a front door that had a little peeper of a window at the top, which really did nothing for the dark danky hallway that it was opening into. in order to have any light in that hallway, i had to open the bedroom door and roll up the blinds. it wasn’t bad, but for a person who would have her whole house windows if possible, it was dark.

finally something clicked after liz told me that my next project needed to be a new door with more windows. aha! i can fix this!

i went to menards and bought a new, high-efficiency door that will not only let light in, but it will get me $120 back in tax rebates. after nate and i hung it friday afternoon (it came pre-hung and we just took the door off frame and replaced it), i painted it this afternoon when the weather isn’t 90º.

nate was worried about being able to see in right to where he’s sitting at his desk, but if there are no lights on indoors, all you really see is a reflection as you walk up. if it gets bad, i’ll put up a filmy curtain or something like i did in st. charles.

the cats ADORE it.

i’m not sure i would file this under delight, but i find it interesting.

there’s a moment in the late spring when the frogs stop croaking. occasionally you’ll hear an outlier, but the symphony of peepers and croakers in the evening and early nighttime slowly dwindle to nothing after two months of chaos in the swamp.

there’s a moment in the early july when you hear the first cricket, maybe on a walk along a field with tall grass, or in the ditch while you drag your trash to the curb, but it’s singular and early in the evening.

then there’s a moment in mid- to late-july when the the birds have moved north and no longer swarm the trees, and the birds who do live locally are asleep early.

and it’s this moment when you step outside after the gloaming, and you hear no sign of life. no frogs, no crickets, no birds. it doesn’t last long and it’s nothing like the deep silence of winter, but it’s disconcerting nonetheless.

and then a few days later, the crickets start singing in the evenings into the nighttime, and in august the cicadas will start up.

but the silence of summer is the height, the shift. the sun no longer stays out past 9 p.m. the leaves are soaked in their chlorophyll. tips of sumac start turning red. motes of floating plant fuzz drift to find a spot of dirt to hibernate.

oh but don’t you dare come at me with fall vibes and pumpkin spice. it’s not sweater weather when it’s 90º in early september.

it was a hot and muggy day today, one of the hottest of the year, i’d bet. and likely one of the muggiest. even at work where the AC was running, the humidity crept in and made everyone sticky, and woe to those who had to do some work outside.

when i got home, i pulled out my paddleboard after taking it to a week-long lake excursion and inflated it, sweat flinging off my forehead (the electrical airpump is looking better every minute).

tossed that baby in the back of the truck and headed to lake sag at st. john’s.

the water was glass.

and only one fishing canoe on it – where were all the people?? not that i was complaining.

i slipped my sup into the water and glided so easily across it. the water was wonderful – not chilly or cold that would shock your body if you jumped in. i paddled to the middle of the lake and slipped over the side into the water. (made kind of a ruckus as i did and definitely disturbed the smooth surface.)

the water was lovely, with small sections of colder water as i swam around my paddleboard, floated on my back, and enjoyed not being hot.

and if i thought i made a ruckus getting in, it was even worse hauling myself onto the board! i made it, even after my calf cramped up.

then i took a paddle around the lake and found the loon family. they were floating in the lilypads, rolling onto their backs so their white bellies showed with feet flipping around in the air. the loon pair had two chicks this year, and it seems they are about young adult age. their brown fuzz isn’t completely gone, but their bellies are white and you can tell they are loons and not a fluffy brown blob.

then one of the young loons did the thing that loons do when they’re looking pretty in the water: flapped its wings and stretched out, like the photo below (not my pic!).

i left the loons to be solitary and then paddled over to the stella maris chapel and then back into the middle of the lake for another dip in the water before i headed out, creating a few more ripples on the flat surface of the lake.

i was camping at savanna portage state park and about an hour from duluth, so on my way home, i decided to just hop over that way before heading southwest.

i forgot how much in ENJOY the big lake. i drove north of duluth (which is always surprisingly more industrial than i think it should be) along the scenic route, stealing glimpses of the lake’s expanse as i drove farther and farther north.

i only went about 15 miles or so north of duluth and stopped at an historical marker (thanks norm wallace), which had a little path down to the lake.

the rocks were hot under the sun, but the lake was cool and clear, and it went on to the horizon. it doesn’t have the sound of the surf like an ocean, but it looks like the ocean. or maybe it just looks like the big lake.

i sat on the hot rocks in the sun with the lake before me for 10-15 minutes before i headed south again. i have to remember to go north to just look at the lake once in a while.

(one of my goals in the next few years is to go around the perimeter of lake superior, camping as i can along the way and stopping for some time in cour de’laine. maybe the other shores of the big lake will have the sound of the surf.)

mornings in the summer mean coffee on the patio.

the patio faces northwest, so the patio is in shade while i sit i my chair, either reading a book or scrolling on my phone. i hear birds, sometimes traffic from the freeway, and the rustle of leaves and other greenstuff. and it’s so pleasant to be able to sit out there, taking in all the warmth and green and loveliness that is spring, summer, and fall.

sophie likes to come hang out with me on the patio. she will flop over and enjoy the outdoors while mocking stan who is meowing from the door. (stan gets outside and tears off into the woods. no outside time for him.)

i have been slowly upping my patio game – in addition to a couple chairs and an end table. it started with solar lights hanging from the edge of the gutters. then i added a rug. the next year i added a better rug. this year i found a cushy ottoman and new pillows, as well as an offset umbrella for when it’s too bright on that side of the house. finally, a week ago, i got a fire table that my sisters bought me for my birthday.

patio mornings are when i can enjoy the stillness and possibilities of the day, opposite yet compatible (enhanced by coffee).

after a very wet spring, it’s been rainless for quite a while across minnesota. in april, my pond was overflowing, and now two months later, it’s halfway to empty. i let my lawn go for the month of may (no mow may) and mowed it on the 29th, and i haven’t touched it since, save a few spots where i needed to tame the thistle weeds. the parts of my lawn in full sun are very dry, brittle, and not green.

so when the forecast showed rain this weekend, i was happy yet hesitant, because i know how these normally go, especially with snow (9″! oh wait, 6″! oh wait, 3″? oh, well, you get .5″). then it rained thursday night, and friday it started to rain during the day, thundering and then starting a solid downpour.

i stood under my covered front entry and watched the rain run down my driveway and into the engineered watercourse that took it down to the pond. i watched the heavy rain overflow the gutters and start to spill over the edges. i listened to the rush of water from sky and hitting the ground. smiled as my plants got soaked with droplets.

it didn’t last very long, but it was something. and afterward, goldfinches swarmed the birdfeeder, which i’m still curious about.

after a humid break today (and a very sweaty run), there’s more rain to come tonight. i did yoga on the patio tonight, and i watched as a cloud meandered across the blue sky in the distance and listened to distant thunder, a harbinger of (good) things to come. i generally would like rain to show up during the week, or at least overnight, but at this point, i welcome rain at any time.

(good thing I didn’t name this daily delights.)

we have a woodchuck. the first time i saw her, i didn’t know what kind of rodent she was. sort of non-descript, really. no flashy tail, no special ears, nothing to differentiate her nose or feet. but bigger than a chipmunk, that was for sure!

then nate sent me a text with a pic: we have a woodchuck!!! (aka groundhog)

she has tunneled a home under the shed.

we’ve named her petunia.

some days when i come home, petunia is gallumping across the driveway to dive in her hidey hole, after having dug around in the flower bed.

and i’ve caught her chomping away at the leftovers in the compost pile (good for you, petunia).

so when i came home one day and saw my vegetable garden in disarray, i was dismayed. would this be the end of petunia? do i need to google how to get rid of woodchucks? install a fence only to have her tunnel under?

not only was the garden in disarray, but my baby honeycrisp tree had the leader broken off, hanging by a thread. that night i had a dream that it completely got bent over and i cried in my dream. i didn’t know i had such attachment to the tree.

but the next morning nate looked at the tree and said, there’s no way that was petunia. that was a deer.

stupid deers. continue to be a menace.

so i put some deer repellant (and other garden eaters will stay away) around the garden, and i still have to attend to the tree, but for now, petunia remains in her cozy tunnel under the shed and occasionally gallumps across the driveway when i come out the door or drive in.

after all, says nate, woodchucks were here first.