Addictions, unwanted and otherwise

At church on Sunday, someone mentioned in a talk "unwanted addictions." Which got me to thinking about whether there are wanted addictions. And of course, books immediately came to mind. I don't just adore reading, I adore the books themselves. The shape and heft of them, the scent of old paper, the patina on a particularly old cover, the beauty of them on the shelf. An entire bookcase is like a patchwork quilt, bringing warmth and personality into a room. The act of reading itself is an integral part of it all, of course, but just being around books makes me happy.

I also feel intensely -- though I'm not sure it's an addiction quite yet -- toward wood. Running my hand along the smooth, satin surface of an antique table. The smell of fresh-cut pine. The feel of it under my hands as I sand and stain and varnish, buffing to bring out the glow. I like the solidity and earthiness and authenticity of wood furniture. I want to learn more about woodworking, and watching someone use a lathe is as fascinating as watching a pottery wheel, as a shape rises out of nowhere. The soul of the wood being revealed.

So yes. Some addictions are very much wanted. Life would be a dimmer thing without them.

Meanwhile, happy plants

The lettuce, basil, tomatoes, cucumbers, and sweet potatoes growing under my lights seem happy. I've gotten several batches of pesto out of the basil so far, lots of salads from the lettuce, and now it looks like a tomato is imminent. Also flowers on the cukes. I'm in my happy place.

Surreal thoughts at 7 a.m. -- the great disconnect

This morning I went to let the dog out, and the sky was the most amazing delicate salmon colour, fading to pale blue. The trees were a dense silhouette against this dramatic backdrop, and there was the most perfectly-placed sliver of silver moon. It was the most incredible sunrise, full of peace and promise, and I was filled with a strange mix of joy and sorrow. Joy that I've been given the chance to live on this amazing planet, with all its beauty and intricacy. Gratitude for the ability to see and appreciate all this goodness around me. Sorrow that the earth has had to bear with us and suffer for so long. That line from the Book of Enoch kept coming to my mind. When will the earth rest? It has done its job amazingly well, and now it's time to let it rest. It has earned the right to go to its next stage. I wonder if it can -- if it should -- forgive us.

I find myself in the surreal position of waiting for the geopolitical situation and climate change to end life as we know it at any moment, and yet still writing out my grocery list and organizing the septic tank cleaning, deciding whether to spray-foam insulate the garage, ordering garden seeds for next year. Without the full expectation that there will be a next year.

But humans have unconquerable hope, and we have to plan for a future just in case there is one. Well, there will be one, just maybe not the one we have always assumed will come to us. There is tension in that anticipation, but there isn't anxiety. Whether the world lasts another two days or two decades, I suppose in the bigger scheme of things it doesn't matter, if we have taken the time to soak in the sunrise and be grateful today.

Maple Syrup (Nectar of the Gods)

A friend of ours produces maple syrup, and we recently bought a 500-ml bottle from him. His is the most delicate, wonderful syrup I've ever tasted. It's almost like butterscotch. He doesn't blend his like many others do, so it's pure and light and amazing.

Here's the thing -- he told us that next spring he won't be tapping his trees, in order to give them some time to recover from this year's drought. If other producers are taking the same approach, there may be a shortage of syrup. We immediately ordered four more bottles from him. 

Nevermind the freeze-dried turkey cubes and stroganoff in mylar pouches, the Crisco candles, and the bottled peaches. Stock up on syrup! :)

Coyotes

Twice, in the night, I have heard the yipping of coyotes. It's a weird sound, like frightened puppies. The first time I heard it, it sounded like a bunch of doomed rabbits being carried off by foxes, and it took a while to figure out what I'd heard. A neighbour told me the woman down the road saw about 45 coyotes in a pack running down our street one night. The pack included several young ones. I know coyotes don't often attack humans, but if they have their young with them, they might get defensive/aggressive, so I don't plan on any midnight strolls. I think it's rather wonderful to know we're in such close proximity to the wild. But yes, caution is prudent.

Question: where do they go during the day?

Someone gets it!

I saw this on Facebook and just had to share it here. Yes. This is me, every night.