Dispatches From The August Heat Dome

 

[Two weeks on from the massive fire that swept away lives and heritage on Maui, I continue every day to be grateful that my dear friend, Marjorie, managed somehow to escape from Lahaina in her car and is safe with a friend on the north coast. Here is a link to her Go Fund Me page with more details. Although she is blessed with the many friends she has made and the many artists she's mentored over the years, to reconstruct your entire life at 81 takes determination, grit and yes, money. Thank you for helping and sharing this link to assist a beautiful soul rebuild her life from the ashes.]

6:10 AM.  I take a few minutes off from my work in the perennial bed that is desperately in need of deadheading to sit down on the screened porch and embrace the simple pleasures of my life. I have much to be grateful for, sitting with an iced coffee, made from the leftovers of yesterday's breakfast I saved in a glass jar in the fridge for just such an occasion.

I close my eyes as I hold the mug, and acknowledge all the minor miracles swirling in my hand. From the beans that were grown and gathered and roasted far from my home to all those who made it possible for a bag of Organic Guatemala Medium Roast to conveniently sit on a display at Aldi's that I plop into my shopping cart. Everything I can touch, taste or smell, see or feel, has one origin: Mother Earth. And I do not waste her blessings. 

I apologize to the trees and the grasses and flowers and Mother Gaia for the day old coffee, as I know they prefer the fresh perked variety I make for us almost every day with a splash of their preferred Italian Sweet Cream as they have let me know on those occasions when my pocketbook is low on cash and there is only regular milk or a little Half and Half to stir into a big mug for our morning ritual. 

Our daily ritual is a walk about to some point in my acreage, where I collect my thoughts, let go of my fear of lack, or aches and pains, or occasional bouts of loneliness and offer thanks for all that has been shared with me. I honor Mother Gaia with the first sips from the cup that I pour over this one precious Earth that embraces me and all that I love. 

It's late August in southern Illinois. The second heat dome of the summer encases us like hot, wet towels we can't shake off while volcanoes are erupting, the Earth shakes, and a rare tropical storm unloads masses of rain at the same time on southern California. Wild fires further north are creating new refugees while here I sit, comfortable if sweaty, my eyes following the flight of the swallowtails and sulphurs and frittilary threading among the wild and unruly patch of annuals blanketing the raised bed in front of my porch. I tossed out my odd assortment of saved seeds haphazardly in my beds and along the pollinator fence I started last year. It may take awhile for the native perennials to grow and expand but this year's zinnias are everywhere. Any and all food for the butterflies and bees is food for my soul---and of course, the planet. I'm eager for the monarchs to return, knowing they are about to head south. Only one has visited so far but I hope that when the heat moves out they will begin to show up in higher numbers. Their migration story always renews my hope for our own survival, if we can tap into our ancient instinctual need for moving and working together to create home.

7:35 PM

How often do you take time to sit and just thank the Mother Earth for all the splendor, color, abundance, variety that She gifts you? In the midst of all this madness, of vitriol, unwavering loyalty to beliefs founded on quicksand, of ignorance, greed, unholy alliances, loss of vision, loss of faith in goodness and humility, fractured community, there are still sunsets so radiantly glorious and golden, dazzling white ribbons shot through the forest, that I am blinded with yet another miracle I witness from my porch while talking to the tree sisters, "Look ladies! Another evening shared!" Another moment of peace, another turn on the wheel of life. And I am so grateful. It’s my quiet rebuke to the nonsense of the world waiting to choke me from inside cell phones or social media.

After a day inside away from the oppressive heat and humidity, I can sit on my porch and once again acknowledge how damn lucky I am to have air conditioning, an up and running power grid, my cell phone charged and plenty of food in my fridge, pantry, and in the raised beds I built from my own compost pile. I sit back as white clouds turn pink then orange, then blue-gray and sip the last of my iced sun tea as dusk descends, trancelike over the remnants of day. 

I’m the lucky one, the voice in my head reminds me, the same voice that so often begs for mercy, for the outside world oblivious to monarchs, or swallowtails, peach colored sunsets, water, to just notice. I take another sip before heading inside to wash up, grateful for chirping crickets, a trio of fruit bats zapping mosquitos near the light pole, a soft breeze offering to cool the garden. Life is good.   

Blessings, Mahalo,

           Yvonne

To help you identify the marvelous winged ones circling your flowers, check out Owlcation.com.  

Check out the many independent YouTube channels popping up with on-ground interviews and material and resources beyond FEMA, Red Cross, to get directly to those who need it most. Such as www.mauilfg.org.