Clearing Obstacles

The rain has stopped for the time being though not before there was plenty of damage to Scotts Valley, Capitola and surrounding areas. The sun is out and the weather-folk say the air should warm to high 70s by the end of this week. I'm grateful for this glorious sunshine.


Sunday we walked at the cement boat beach (Seacliff) and climbed among the logs, trees and tires that had either washed up on the shore or washed down off the mountain. I spent some time wondering whether it was possible for a whole tree to swim down a creek (it must have at some point) or float onto the shore from somewhere off at sea. The amount of trash that had washed onto the beach should not surprise me though it always does. I expect one day to discover a body in that mess. That should be an interesting day unless the body is mine.


Bella has become filthy from the mud so much so that she has natural gray-colored ring around her collar. I've had her groomed several times this winter though she never stayed clean for over an hour or so. There's something not so great about owning being a short dog in relentless rain storms except Bella loves the water and the rain doesn't seem to bother her. She hits puddles full force; leaping and bounding through creeks. She waits hopefully in the foamy froth at the ocean's edge knowing some day she'll be swept out to sea on the next wave on to her next watery adventure.

Since I've lost (so much) weight, have loads of energy and less body to lug around I'm spending time hanging out in the forest behind my house. There's a steep hill leading down a path covered with branches and forest debris although I've been clearing the downed branches and attempting to keep the scotch broom off my property completely, which entails secretly hacking down scotch broom from other people's property too mostly because it reseeds on a light breeze. Do you suppose my neighbors mind if I hack out their thistles while I'm at it? One thistle head is worth 20 thousand seeds/plants. Each time I heave a branch off of the side of the trail, Bella thinks I'm playing her favorite go fetch game and chases after the branch. A good many of those branches could be the death of her. I try to be extra careful but she is a nutjob.


When my husband was alive, he spent hours in the forest often cutting fire wood though there were times I didn't hear the chain saw and he's still be gone for hours. He seemed to appreciate the forest for the trees while I was too fat to get up and down the hill, refusing to   walk down that steep hill except for possibly 2 - 3 times in 15 years, each time the labored hike back up to the house, wishing to be air-lifted (but by what!?) in order to get back home, flop down on the couch and praise haysus that I was still alive after my contribution to this feat of human endurance and suffering, and then feast on a box of See's.

Weighing much less now, I sprint up and down the trail, tossing logs and branches off the side, clearing rock, reshaping a place my husband held dear; a contemplative (when not employing the use of the chain saw) time in the forest. Bella exhausted, heaving a breathing drama - her short-lived burnout caused in part by petite legs and quite possibly an occasional klunk to the side of her head from a tossed tree limb.


It's safe to say we are both filled with gratitude that the rains have stopped.