On Green Things

Bees, goldfinches, hummingbirds; elk, deer, squash; 'hoagie salad.'

1. Wildflowers resplendent along the driveway. Walking down with Doggie at dawn, the air vibrates with bees, buzzing among the partridge peas, the sunflowers, the Black-eyed Susans.

2. Joshua Ross — or rather, his better half — calls that glimmering, low-angled sun “god light.” Do bees believe in God? Do goldfinches?

3. We have those, and a hummingbird, a regular to the zinnias and the dahlias and the butterfly bushes. Watch it hover then flit, back and forth, fluid, unending. A hummingbird’s wings are jerky at 30-frames per second; shouldn’t even bother trying to film.

4. Still, Mrs. CWD appreciates the footage.

5. Was thinking about that god light as I moved down the trail, lost in reverie, Doggie bounding ahead. Felt an unnatural presence, a blinding light behind me. Turned. A mountain biker, 1600 lumens blasting ahead. Called Doggie to me, watched him power by, stars dancing in my peripheral.

6. Later, coming up the final rise, Doggie zigzagged across the trail, nose in the air, nose down, vibrating. Again, called her close, heard the electric snapping of branches, saw the white flash of tails heading downhill.

7. Last fall, Kiddo and the Warthog had a contest to see who could throw our jack-o-lanterns and ornamental squashes furthest into the pond. They floated there, decomposing, then sank to the bottom, froze, thawed, froze, thawed, fed fish and turtles and raccoon and deer.

8. At jiu jitsu, one of the guys told me he was thinking of me. He has a buddy who lives out west, a buddy who hunts elk, was talking to him about it. Didn’t realize how challenging hunting was, how much time it could take up. Was shocked to hear his buddy even eats the meat!

9. Told him I haven’t been elk hunting, but that I’d love to. Told him about deer though, about my freezer, about how we don’t usually buy meat. He asked how deer tasted (I could probably convince you it was beef), if my kids liked it (they do), if Mrs. CWD did (she does), and what it looked like (deeply red, unless it’s purple, or sometimes a mix of both or something else entirely).

10. Why’s that, he wondered.

11. It kinda depends on the animal, how active it is, what it eats.

12. He’d never thought of that. Never thought to look at the meat he buys at the grocery store, never noticed the difference in color between the different steaks and roasts and grinds and loins. Their diet makes a difference? It does. Is the same true for us? Probably.

13. I picture a cross section of my own thigh, muscle bisected by bone, deeply red and purple, rich, alive.

14. Seeing that must change how you think about eating, huh?

15. Sure does.

16. John Graves:

    We will be nearly finished, I think, when we stop understanding the old pull of green things and living things, toward dirt and rain and heat and what they spawn. Most of us still have it in us, whether as would-be squire or drifting, poaching gypsy.¹

17. Came back up the driveway, god light still in my eyes, bumblebees exalting their universal sound — when caught glimpse of something growing in the stream bed. Bent closer. Broad green leaves, vines, yellow flowers from walnut-sized fruit.

18. When I brought the kids down to show them, Kiddo was ecstatic: Now we don’t need to even buy jack-o-lanterns this year!

19. Growing things, green things, living things — it takes all things.

20. Still, the summer ticks onward, already August now. I try to grasp it, hold it tight, but it slips, fluid, hovering, fleeting. Sliced fresh onions, peppers, from the farm and the garden, and bathed them in vinegar, salt, sugar, thyme, a little water. Shocked fresh celery, vibrantly green, in ice water, drained it, mixed it in with the pickled onions and peppers and a few first cherry tomatoes, showered parm cheese, doused with olive oil and black pepper and more thyme. Tossed in sausage, deer with juniper and sage and garlic, and served it with fresh bread, a la Josh McFadden and his “Italian Hoagie” salad recipe from Six Seasons. We enjoyed it that night and again, even more, the next.

    

That’s all we’ve got for this week, folks. We’re back up North, summer plowing forward, no time to catch our breath. However you choose to spend your weekend, I hope you spend it in exaltation.

We’ll see you back here next week.

1. From Goodbye to a River.