We have all the windows open, and the world outside is cool and wet. We’ll get a lot of rain tonight. I’m glad — it’ll water in my mums. I’m wearing a flannel shirt, jeans, and socks, and I considered pulling on my slippers. We’re not quite to slipper season yet, though. We’ve got freshly stacked firewood for when that day comes, and judging by the current weather and the flowers in bloom in the garden, that day may be soon.
I took my camera for a walk around the flower beds this morning before the rain began. We are in full on caterpillar season. I need to cut back some of the dead stuff but I don’t have the energy for that right now. So let’s just pretend it’s not there.
Goldenrod and mumsLantana and goldenrodMonarch caterpillar on nepetaAutumn joy sedumSwallowtail caterpillar on ruePink cleomeFront bedsZinnias taking overMonarch caterpillars out back, grasses and mums out front
I’ve felt very fragile since we dropped our son off at college. I’ve had trouble sleeping, and I feel jittery and strung out. Work has been hectic, which has been hard. My team lead encouraged me to be gentle with myself in the coming weeks because she knew this would be an emotional time for our family, but sometimes work and the world don’t really allow for going easy. There’s too much to do. I’m too far behind. I got Covid two weeks before our son left, and I could not afford to lose that time at work, and I’m still trying to catch up.
I did finish something at work on Friday that had been weighing on me for weeks, and that kept getting shoved to the bottom of my ever-growing list, so I was at least able to sleep this weekend having finally gotten a draft out for review. I feel better after sleeping past 4am on Saturday and then again on Sunday.
My chest still feels thick sometimes despite feeling otherwise recovered from Covid. I mowed the lawn on Friday and it wore me out. Sunday I wanted to get out of the house and out of my head, and I wanted to do that in the woods, on a hike, with my camera. I didn’t feel up for anything strenuous, and it was hot out, so my husband picked a short, flattish hike a little higher up in the mountains where it would be cooler: the War Spur trail near Mountain Lake Lodge, where Dirty Dancing was filmed.
The trail was shaded and green, and the air smelled fresh, especially when we dipped down into a stream-bed where clear water trickled over mossy stones. The hike is known for having lots of mushrooms, and we probably saw two dozen different kinds. They’re delicate little things, fragile but grounded. Those earthy mushrooms, the fat acorns, and a smattering of red leaves in green ferns were what I needed to feel some peace.
Mushrooms and moss, I love the combination (and the little mushroom hiding in the lower right)Gills and dirt.Puffball in the understory.Eight different yellow, brown, copper, and toast-colored mushroomsI love the gills and cup shape, and the moss and green leavesFall is coming, and I’m happy about that.
Our son’s room is half packed. His door is open and he’s not here.
He moves out tomorrow. Early in the morning, we’ll drive him the two and a half hours to Charlottesville. We’ll cart duffle bags and laundry baskets full of clothes and Twin XL linens to his dorm room, help him unpack, maybe run around buying stuff we forgot. And then we’ll drive away. I’ll likely sob. He’ll wave and say “SEE YA!” then start his new life.
It’s strange to simultaneously celebrate and mourn not being needed anymore. As parents, our job is to prepare our children to leave us. He feels ready to go out on his own, so I think we’ve maybe done that. And that feels good, and I’m super proud of him and excited for him. The whole world is out there to discover! But it’s hard to let go. His door will stay open after tomorrow, and he won’t come back home to close it. There will only be three of us at the dinner table each night. Tubbles will walk around meowing, looking in every room for him. She won’t find him anywhere. I’ll scratch his Reeses Puffs, American cheese, and bagel requests off my grocery list template.
He’s out with friends right now on his last day. A couple of them have already moved into their dorms at the college here in town. Others will scatter across the east coast in the coming weeks. When he comes home this evening, we’ll go out to dinner together, and he’ll like be packing deep into the night.
At 7 am, we’ll drive away with a car full of him and his stuff. And then we’ll drive home empty.
We’re visiting family in Florida. Yesterday, I woke early to walk on the beach before it got boiling hot. I took my camera with me, and it turns out I didn’t end up walking very much. I wanted to play with some of the basics I’m learning in my photography class — motion, leading lines, contrast — so I ended up stopping every few feet to snap photos. I also wanted to mix it up a little with my photographs; I’ve got a thousand shots of the Gulf of Mexico being the Gulf of Mexico in it’s beautiful blues and greens. I switched to black and white, and I had fun capturing the beach in a totally different way.
I started a new photography blog to help me curate some of my favorite photos and also track the camera settings on them so I can learn. It’s at photo.andreabadgley.blog if you’re interested.
I feel lost when I don’t have a good book to read. Sometimes I just can’t figure out what I’m in the mood for, and my whole life suffers as a consequence. Everything becomes duller.
This recently happened to me. I went through a string of books that were only okay, and after a few books like that in a row, I got listless and apathetic and nothing sounded good and I wondered at life’s purpose. I tried Don Quixote and put it down. I tried a few other things I can’t remember and put them down. Everything I had on hold at the library had a 4-8 week wait, and I rarely buy books unless I know I like them and will read them again. I especially don’t buy books when I’m in a mood like I was in, where there was a real possibility I could read 5 pages and not be into it anymore.
When this happens in my reading life, it affects my regular life. I pace. I wander aimlessly. I pick things up and put them down. I don’t know what to do with myself. I feel unmoored.
Finally I decided to re-read something I know I like, something light and fun and that has characters I want to spend time with, that’s a known quantity, that’s not too long, and that I could get my hands on without waiting. I reread The Weird Sisters by Eleanor Brown.
It did the job. I felt happy about reading again. Life got colorful again. I read another book after it that I was eager to read and that made me giggle (Either/Or by Elif Batuman), and I remembered authors I want to read more of (Jane Smiley). I filled my book queue with fresh titles that I’m excited about, some of which I’ll have to wait for and some of which are available to borrow right now.
Sometimes decay can be beautiful. I walked the garden one day looking for dried and cracked textures, for discarded parts, for nature in a state of decomposition. For something different than I usually look for. There is so much to see when when you look beyond the fresh bloom at the beginning of life. This was a a wonderful reminder to observe more than the obvious: flowers and butterflies are beautiful in all their colorful glory, and so are brown branches and brittle dry flower petals.
Remains of cut flowers in the compost pileHydrangea in the compostA rose bloom in its death throesHydrangea in the leaf litter
Of course, all of these dead and dying things are fodder for other life: ants, fruit flies, centipedes, and worms all feed on them. Rain and wind, friction and feet, biting mouths and digestive tracts break them down until they are dirt again.
And sometimes, before that happens, a creature will gather these shed strands, forgotten fragments, and castoff clumps into soft shelters for new life to be born.
Butterfly Mind 