Don’t worry when the logger leaves after one day. Be glad he cares about the forest. Be glad he’s upset when his equipment makes ruts in the unfrozen earth beneath the snow. Let the Finger Lakes Land Trust conservation forester and this careful logger and neighbor who cuts only sick or broken trees handle this.
“I’ll return when the ground is hard and dry in the summer or next winter,” he says. “I’ll return when I’ll do less harm.”
Isn’t that all you need to know?
Don’t worry when the wood stove breaks. Call Phil. He’ll figure it out. When his first fix fails, he’ll have a new idea and a better fix. He’ll undercharge. You’ll overpay. He’ll grin when you tell him how much you appreciate his tenacity and willingness to fix anything broken in this old house.
Relax. You can count on Phil.
Don’t worry when a March storm drops eight inches of heavy snow. Don’t worry when the power goes out at midnight and is still out at noon the next day. The repaired wood stove warms the house. You have drinking water, food, and a gas stove with burners that light with a match. You have matches, too.
Tend that pile of clothing that never gets mended. Write a story in a notebook. Send someone a “thinking-of-you” card. Knit. Rub Willow’s belly. Read at the window while the snow comes down. Rest. The power will return. It always does. Your helper Matt will plow when the storm ends.
No need to fret.
Don’t worry when the bluebirds build a nest in February. They’ll find shelter from the snow and return in a blaze of blue. Give thanks when the cardinals visit the birdfeeder and flash their scarlet wings. Rejoice when the mourning doves coo their poignant song. Celebrate the ice-crusted waterfalls. Brush snow from forest stones and sniff spring in the greening moss.
Walk in the snow with Willow. She’ll leap through drifts while you plod along on snow shoes. You’ll both find joy and blessed fatigue.
Get out of town. Take a desert vacation. Can you still spell that word? A holiday, a break, a retreat, a rest. Your mother-in-law is cared for by hospice, her nursing home, and her grandson. You don’t have to be charge. Hike in the mountains with people you love. Take a break from computers, too.
Don’t worry if you aren’t in mountain climbing shape. It’s a vacation, not a marathon. No one’s in a hurry. Search for wildflowers and swelling cactus buds. Sit in the shade and watch the big sky. Ignore politics. Let the world survive without you. Sleep late. Have a glass of wine.
Don’t worry about anything. It never gets you where you want to go.
I’ll be in AZ when you receive this, so I may not respond to comments quickly. I won’t have internet much of the time which feels like a blessing. Do you need a vacation as much as I do? Are you planning one? For other articles about journeys see I Thought I Could or my first blog post called Coming Home.