milkweed lessons

and the meandering path

You know how sometimes when you’re planning a day or dreaming of nothing much, a thing shows up and everything is instantly re-arranged—for a moment or a week or your version of forever?

A gal could, just for instance, be perched on the bole of a freshly beaver-felled willow dreaming of breakfast when a black and white being slips out of the grasses, looks up, and meets her eye.

For a moment she might be curious— is this a friendly look: just wanted to say hi— love that your hair matches mine! Or something less cordial: this is my meadow so get the hell out of here or you’ll be very very sorry. Not having studied skunk psychology in great depth however, and also having misplaced the recipe for de-smelling solution, she might take a cue from her dog (who thinks a hasty retreat is in order), whisper “Good Morning friend-- Love your hair too,” over her shoulder, and trot away.

She also might decide that it is time to re-arrange her route or choose a parallel path. At least for a while.

The same gal (or a different one—though for the sake of the story let’s assume she’s still that 60-something skunk woman with the black and white dog and serious fiber habit), might also (for instance), be coming home from a different morning meander when her dear meandering partner realizes that the milkweed thinning she did a couple of weeks before¹ had been insufficiently rigorous so offers our gal some more stalks to bring home —if (perchance) the first gal would be interested?

And she is—or at least she is pretty sure that in this version of the story she is. For though she had been planning to do something else that day she knows the fibers will be easiest to lift out when the stalks are fresh—

—and also that it is in her best interest to give her all to such amazing plants when they do her the honor of showing up.

So let’s imagine that she walks home with the bundle of stalks under her arm, re-arranging her day so she can ignore the lengthy to-do list and devote the light to whatever these plants will provide.

(If you were behind her, you might watch white milkweed sap drip down the back of her jacket and onto the pavement behind—and wonder that she doesn't seem to notice or care).

The plans are duly shifted around and when the bright new strands have been twisted she turns to some others in her stash—because the weather is perfect for bast fibers, because unexpected rain is a treat—

—and because in our story it is best to take advantage of rare moments when the weather, the muse and a person’s somewhat arthritic hands are in complete agreement.

Even better when her sidekick is also in favor.

Now it is a truth universally acknowledged that this gal does not like surprises. (Might as well assume that it is the same gal— a few days older and feeling somewhat smug because she actually did manage to get to her appointments and do a bit of the paperwork flowing her way).

This gal, indeed, has never liked surprises. But nonetheless it came to be (no might about it this time), that after being surprised by a skunk and re-routed by a week of milkweed, she completely surprised herself —

—when she threw some snacks in a bag, hopped into her mortar, and like Baba Yaga herself (who she is happy to emulate)—

—took herself over hill and dale and river and canyon to the house on legs where things are often very complicated (not least because of the occasional need to carry water uphill), because it was suddenly essential to scatter some ashes.

Not the whole box-full by any means for her husband was a tall man and would have a big box— but enough to make a start.

She might have found it fraught. She could have been freaked out.

But in this story she found it curiously and surprisingly, delightful—

—particularly with the help of a snort of whiskey, a handful of milkweed, and the glow of almost-solstice evening light.

The gal and and her dog did not stay long —just a brief overnight.

But since evenings and mornings are this gal’s favorite times in the canyon, and the sky was clear—

—this story gets to end (for now), in an otherworldly moment as she follows her very good dog—

—into the dappled path of whatever surprises show up next.

1. Idea Gardens (where I talk about the fresh milkweed thinning). And for the other Milkweed seen in the top photo: Wool, Paper, Milkweed and Of Milkweed and Mending. Tiny obsession? Why yes, as a matter of fact…