Seems I’ve seen a jackrabbit, or three, on every hike I’ve taken this winter. Black-tailed jackrabbits, or American desert hares, make the same habitat as mine their home (that is, the desert Southwest), or perhaps more accurately, I make my home in their habitat. They were here first, and I feel lucky to share this place with them, along with the many other wild creatures I get glimpses of.
Mostly I see their black tails flashing as they speed away from me, their muscular legs powering them across the desert terrain. But every now and then, I’ll spot one’s spectacular ears far enough in the distance that he’ll stay a while as long as I’m quiet (yes, I know they aren’t all males, but they are all “Jack” to me). Since I often carry binoculars for birdwatching, on the rare days that a jackrabbit pauses in my presence, I might see its ears turning toward me, its nose twitching, its whiskers quivering—all its senses alert to my intentions. Jackrabbits remind me to pay attention to what is happening around me.
Though it’s true that given their proximity, it’s no surprise they’ve crossed my path so often this winter, but it’s also true that I choose to make meaning of it. When I searched for the meaning that Indigenous people ascribe to jackrabbits, the first words that came up were hope, adaptability, and determination. Those words resonate with me at this particular time in my life. So, now, when Jack crosses my path, as he and his kin did each day I hiked this week, in addition to attention, I’m reflecting on hope, adaptability, and determination.
Six weeks from today, April 9, 2024, will be a day I’ve dreamed about for years—the day I become a published author. No More Empty Spaces is a story I had to tell. It took years to do so, I’m proud of the result of that labor, and I hope many of you will open its (stunning!) cover, begin turning its pages, and lose yourself (or find yourself?) in the story. So, save the date—and some others as well, those when I’ll be at an independent bookstore in your neighborhood.
I had the honor of discussing my debut novel, No More Empty Spaces with Suzanne M. Lang from Northern California Public Media on A Novel Idea. Our conversation delved into the creative process behind the book, exploring the inspiration, challenges, and memorable moments that shaped the story.
I’m gazing out the window, watching the clouds trying to snow. The tiniest of snowflakes are twisting and swirling, so light that they’re “falling” up, down, and sideways. There certainly won’t be any cross-country skiing today, and it might not even accumulate enough to leave footprints when I go for a hike. Still, a snowy day makes me miss my furry ones even more than I do on not-snowy days. Their unbridled joy at romping in the snow made me let go of everything but the pure joy of those moments.
Come to think of it, their unbridled joy at taking a walk or getting a treat or playing tug with a favorite toy or cuddling on the couch, helped me connect to the joys in life that are right in front of me every day.
I miss the unconditional love I saw in their eyes when they gazed at me, and how I could love them back more than I thought possible.
As writer, Milan Kundera said, “Dogs are our link to paradise. They don’t know evil or jealousy or discontent. To sit with a dog on a hillside on a glorious afternoon is to be back in Eden, where doing nothing was not boring—it was peace.”
Here’s to all the heavenly moments spent in the company of beloved dogs.
I am months away from leaving New Mexico for parts north, and the sailing season on Kagán. Despite that, and because of a colder-than-normal cold snap in the San Juan Islands, I’m thinking about the preventive maintenance measures I took before I zipped the boat cover closed late last September. Did I get the fresh water lines sufficiently drained? Did I set the heater properly? Will water freeze in the dehumidifier hose? And, what if it does? What inspections or tasks should I add to my recommissioning list when I arrive this coming spring, just in case. . . .
Though dealing with the unprecedented temperatures themselves, trying to keep their cabins barely warm enough and their fresh water systems flowing rather than frozen, I am fortunately to have friends who will brave the icy winds out on the dock to check things on Kagán. So far, so good.
What these mental meanderings bring up is preventive maintenance of another sort—my own. I can also, happily, say “so far, so good” in that department. But I know, from reflecting again on my years of caring for and cruising on Kagán, that even with good preventive maintenance, things break down, go wrong, and simply wear out. Though it’s been years since I’ve dealt with any major health scares myself, I know I won’t be spared over time. None of us will. And, currently, I have too many friends traveling arduous paths—of cancer surgeries and treatments, difficult diagnoses, and long roads to, or possibly dead-ends from, recovery.
So, how to move forward in the face of these realities? Breathe, for one. Deeply. Be thankful for good health while I have it. And grateful to be able to give and receive loving support when times are tough. Do the preventive maintenance I can (for me that means exercising, eating healthfully, drinking in moderation, getting enough sleep, and always, always holding gratitude close in my heart) to enhance the quality of the days I am destined for. And then?
And then. . .I suppose I’ll see when I get there. But I hope it will mean facing whatever I must with peace and love and grace.
Here’s something to ponder—perhaps I should add connecting with the peace and love and grace I ultimately seek to all my preventive maintenance lists, right now. Check!
Geologists study the earth and the processes that shape it. Writers study the human heart and the processes that shape it. The GeologistWriter builds a bridge between the two. Come across it with me!
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