Beltane (last day) and the Greenhouse Moon

Thursday gratefuls: Paul. Tom. Diane. Luke and Leo. Marilyn and Irv. Ginny and Janice. Annie and Luna. Panentheism. The Bird of dawn. Set people free. Make firm a person’s steps. The Shema. Rabbi Jamie. Rich. Tara and Eleanor. Ruby covered in Lodgepole Pollen. Yellow everywhere. Great Sol. A slow unmasking. The vastness of space. The cosmic void.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: The Koi on the greenhouse door.

Week Kavannah: Bitachon. Confidence.  “A feeling of self-assurance arising from one’s appreciation of one’s abilities or qualities.”

One brief shining: Long ago in the history of evolution Lodgepole Pines developed a simple method of spreading Pollen from male Cones to female cones, blanket the air with yellow sperm, bound to hit a female cone with the aid of Mountain Winds; those of us who live in Lodgepole forests get to share in this sexual ritual each June. Right now.

Irony: The teflon Don (thanks, Mark) put his hand on the Bible and swore his oath on Martin Luther King Day. Now he considers whether to bomb Iran into the Stone Age on Juneteenth. The power of holidays.

No matter the resident of the Whitehouse these two holidays give all Americans a chance to reflect on our actual history, not the whitewashed, fact unburdened history the right wants taught in schools.

I didn’t know what Juneteenth was until it became a national holiday. Oh, I’d learned about it at some point, sure, but the details? No.

In case you don’t know the history well either here’s Heather Cox Richardson’s explainer published today on her Substack, Letters From an American.

I found her writing on the 13th and 14th amendments to the constitution especially helpful since the racist U.S. government has begun a full assault on many of their provisions. Birthright citizenship. Equality under the law. Federal level enforcement in all states.

Celebrate, celebrate. Dance to the music. And never forget.

Greenhouse: Nathan got back to work yesterday. The side insulating panels went on, as did metal Koi on the door, a special Japanese touch he added for me. Today he’ll work on the outside raised beds.

He told me he wasn’t one to dwell, that he preferred working, doing something after a shock like Takota’s death. My son has the same attitude.

I honor their intent while knowing grief will not be bound by choice or will. Grief works in its own way, on its own schedule, doing its work of reconciling absence with continued existence. Never, never easy.

Dog journal: Shadow now comes inside, lets me close the back door when it’s cooler outside without attempting to dive back out.

She routinely joins me in the bed sometime during the night. Her jumping up to be noticed has gotten softer, less frenetic so my skin has begun to heal.

The house and all its stairs pose no barrier for her. She roams at will inside and out. A curious doggy. A difficult journey for both of us, not over, no, yet so so much better.