On Lightness

Insouciance; E.B. and Atticus; training; flatbreads.

Oh, the insouciance of nature! The squirrel carrying away the last of our not-yet-ripe apples — another year without a harvest (‘But in the third year you will sow and reap; you will plant vineyards and eat their fruit.’) —; the chipmunks and the strawberries, the rabbits and the zucchinis; hordes of goldfinch knocking down wildflowers (what do they eat, I wonder, as they perch on Black-Eyed Susans?) — my only consolation is that they’ll spread the seeds, my own quixotic rewilding project spiraling over property lines —; a doe, a deer, staring at Doggie and me from just across our overgrown stone wall (poison ivy, much to my chagrin), casually, languorously, comfortably — so comfortably.

***

In the heat of last week, I brought a cart down to the pond, laboring, clearing out sedge and lilies, shoreline, three inches of decaying organic matter, leveling, raking, scooping, hauling, dumping — brought it all to the compost and mixed it in with wood chips and onion skins and mango pits and half-eaten heels of bread, let it sit and bake in the sun, anticipating topsoil — back to the pond for more raking and clearing and then measuring — three-hundred square feet — calculating, coming up with six cubic yards of washed sand I’ll need for a beach — or rather, a landing, the water levels fluctuating — first thinking I’d be shaping the landscape, realizing after sweating through all that that I wasn’t shaping anything — just cultivating, editing, lightly touching — like Michelangelo and his marble and his conviction — until I had to go inside, shower, wash away the muck and grime and sweat and then start getting dinner ready before the kids got back from the pool, ravenous, tired, exhausted.

***

I wonder what Ol’ Elwyn would think of these sentences, long, unwieldy, overgrown, breaking rules thirteen and sixteen and eighteen and so many more.¹

***

Or Atticus, Ol’ One-Shot, eying down the barrel of a rifle at dog gone lopsided (‘I haven’t shot a gun in thirty years—’ ‘I’d feel mighty comfortable if you did now’), nearly fifty, feeble — ‘a gentleman!" — not taking pride in his talents — relaxed all over —

Insouciant!

***

How does one expose a worldview without being didactic? Can one cut away at the pedantic, at the moralistic, at the instructive and just leave the medium? Before ye stands a block of stone; beneath, David. One sits patiently, smiling; one takes one shot and walks away. Say no more, say no more — but what if one doesn’t say anything at?

***

Rolled with the owner of the gym after class earlier this week; spent most of six minutes trying to escape mount. Felt as if I were in a Chinese finger trap: each time I moved, the pressure increased. Lay struggling, pressing, shrimping, trying to rotate — as he held a casual conversation with someone on the sideline. Laughed — really like to escape right now; he laughed, too — I want you to as well!

Insouciance!

That’s the game, though — that light confidence, the Scythians before Darius, whooping, chasing hares. Just go out there and have fun! Hip out, wrestle up, grab a head, an arm, ten seconds, clap hands, hug — learn something for next time. Can’t force a position, can’t force a shore line, can’t force a way of life. Might as well try to force through the grain. Far better, it seems, to go with the flow, work through it, work around it, work with it. The story reveals itself when it’s ready.

***

Ah, but where’s the substance? Easy to write in aphorisms (easy to teach that way, too). Eventually, though, the actual work needs to get done. I stop pecking, look down at the keyboard, my hands…

Driving last week, I passed a girl — in high school, or maybe home from college — walking down her driveway, sweating in the heat, t-shirt, shorts, and running shoes. She paused for a moment, smiled — and then, in the rearview, I watched as she started back up the hill at a sprint.

It’s been hot the last few weeks. Anticipating a crowd, I cooked a fourteen pound deer leg on the Fourth of July — we’ve been subsisting on its leftovers this last week. The other night, after harvesting cucumbers and squash and zucchini (and three tart cherry tomatoes, which Kiddo ate promptly off the vine), we made a tzatziki sauce, some sourdough flatbreads, shaved thin and griddled some of the haunch — and served them like shawarma or souvlaki or gyros — ate them quickly, lightly, lovely.

Here’s how you might do the same.

In a medium bowl, mix together two cups of flour, a pinch of salt, and a cup of water (augmented with sourdough discard, 50-100g, if you have it). Mix until it forms a dough, adding flour or water as needed. Let rest for at least thirty minutes, longer if you have the time (or make them immediately, they’ll still be good) — then roll out the dough into flat, rounded strips and heat over a skillet or griddle, high heat, for a minute or two, flip, and then another minute or so more.

Into a colander with a bowl underneath, grate a cucumber, and then press the gnashed flesh to eviscerate the juices. Reserve them in the bowl, and mix the flesh into thick Greek yogurt (though we used a strained, fresh kefir cheese). Add to this several cloves — a whole head, if you’d like — of garlic — minced or grated — and salt. Splash in fresh lemon juice or a light vinegar, taste, and adjust the flavor accordingly — thinning out the sauce with the reserved cucumber juice.

Brown hot and fast thinly sliced meat — deer or beef or pork or lamb or even chicken — and layer it on top of the flatbread, with some salad greens, and then the tzatziki sauce on top. Wrap as best you can, and then enjoy.

Well, there you go, folks — flatbreads. Make them this weekend, maybe, with whatever is fresh and local and available. No need to worry about particulars.

As for us, this weekend, we’re cheering on Uncle Steady as he paddles his heart out, enjoying the beach, and in all likelihood, decamping to the pool. We eagerly await the arrival of Nana and Grandfather next weekend.

However you spend yours, spend it lightly, insouciantly.

We’ll see you back here next week.

1. From The Elements of Style:

• No. 13: Make the paragraph the unit of composition.

• No. 16: Use definite, specific, concrete language.

• No. 18: Avoid a succession of loose sentences.