I mentioned how we moved into this house in the fall, and the weather has mostly been non-conducive to outdoor exploration. My work schedule has also been incredibly busy for the past several weeks, and then of course there was the unpacking, and Christmas, and getting El settled into a new school, etc.
So we have this yard, but I've spent very little time out there.
On one recent, unseasonably warm day (although, it's hard to know what's "seasonable" anymore with the crazy weather lately), I was observing how the fallen leaves were blocking up this little gully we have that is supposed to drain rainwater back to a large ravine at the back of our property. I put on my junky sneakers (note to self: purchase proper boots) and trudged out there to check it out. Before long, I found myself in the garage getting out the rake, and a few minutes after that I found myself back in the thick overgrowth, raking leaves out of the gully and watching a little stream form as the water flowed freely to the mother ravine.
I say "found myself" very deliberately. Out there, I found myself in a sort of "flow" state that I rarely achieve nowadays - a space where I was just completely focused on what I was doing in a really zen, almost surreal way. I was fully present and yet in some ways I had disappeared. I didn't have to think, didn't analyze or overconsider. I just worked on clearing this stream bed, and before I knew it I had made real progress and the water was just going along, even making a pleasant, archetypal babbling brook sound.
After I finished that little project, I tromped over to the big ravine and watched the water course down around a bend, out of sight, flowing no doubt toward the nearby river.
I felt peace. Rare, precious peace.
I thought about how when I was a child, I used to go out in the back yard and play by myself. There was, of course, make-believe play (I'm a caveperson who has to gather her own food! I'm a Native American living at one with the Earth!) but mostly there was just this casual, unscripted exploration... playing with pinestraw and leaves, piling up pinecones, picking at bark. I don't know... that sounds kind of dumb now that I've typed it out. But hey, I was like five. And I remember how that felt. Even as I got older I would just go outside when I needed time to reflect, sometimes with a journal or book, but sometimes just sitting.
I remember too how my dad used to go outside and work in the yard. He called it "piddling." It always looked like he was doing some pretty hard work - cleaning out weeds, chopping at bushes, untangling tomato vines from their cages, but I realize now that he was probably very much in that state of "flow." He needed that time to escape the pressures of work life, and it was where he found joy. I get it now.
I realized that this practice has essentially disappeared from my adult life. Living in a more urban environment, going outside meant being accosted by the sounds of lawnmowers and lowered Hondas. Our patch of yard was small, and everywhere you looked there was another house or garage. We could drive to a park to be outside, but that took great effort with two children and a dog. Here, while we are definitely in a neighborhood, there are views of just trees, and I can walk outside and disappear for a little while.
I had no idea how much my soul has been craving this way of disappearing, while at the same time being more fully present. Or maybe, on some level I did... that day in August when I first drove up this gravel driveway and saw this little patch of property we now call home. Maybe deep down, I know what I need, and I just need to trust the little voice in my heart, and flow with it.
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