Life often gets in my way, and I often get in the way of life. So it has been with the "Some Thoughts This Week" inspirational blog, and as well with the "From My Seat" hospitality blog. With my time taken up by freelance assignments for multiple clients as well as family and home issues, time has flown by swiftly, and both of the above have suffered from neglect, their content not updated regularly. I have often read where writers desire, insist on, end eventually (and regularly) return to more personal writing. In fact, I have been a proponent of this, but have not exercised this belief in quite some time. Therefore, the "SomeThoughts This Week" blog returns today, and hopefully will make (for now) a once a month appearance on my soon-to-be-updated-in-its-entirety website. I leave the reader with a thought, and perhaps - depending on the individual - deep meaning. Earlier this week, as the sun shone through the basemant window onto my writing desk, a tiny spectrum graced one of the pages of a spiritual book I use daily for morning prayers. I moved quickly to take the photo, thinking the thin rays of color would soon exit the area, but all "rested" for the prayer session remainder. Genesis 9:13 reads that God has set his rainbow in the clouds, and it is a covenant sign between God and earth.
That rainbow, tiny though it was, descended from the clouds to my desk this past week, and I was then and still am grateful for the peace delivered. Steve
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This past Thursday, I decided at 12 noon to exit my writing desk with a somewhat-vow to return briefly later that afternoon.
Those who know me well know I am fond of nature. I seek it when I can, especially in areas where people are not nearby, so I can enjoy what I see in private even though I may not in retrospect return home and grab a book about nature from the Sears "Basement Bookshelf" (our home library) to study and learn more about what I discovered. The first two sentences describe perfectly a recent New Jersey's Sandy Hook National Recreation Area. Our treks to this spot were few since December, but the difference in climates certainly revealed less people in the colder months as well as varied degree of temperatures, an elevation being in the latter numbers inviting more visitors in May. Still, it was not enough to invade the solitude in most areas of the peninsula. 'When visiting this wonderful place, I tend to favor Old Dune Trail, a walk along a sandy path through the back dune area that sits between the ocean on one side, and roadway and bay side on the other. It is designed to introduce the walker to various foliage and, if fortunate, maybe an animal. There are birds in abundance, but I have seen mice scurrying, and raccoons my appear in the later afternoon. As I walked on this beautiful but warm May late morning, not all was silence - and that was on me. I purposely carried my phone with me so I could listen to two different types of music: Chicago 16, the 1982 comeback album for the rock band Chicago, and from 1959 Johnny Mathis's Faithfully. Quite a style contrast musically, but I was feeling freedom, and I wanted to pair the sights with the sounds. Speaking of "contrast," that's what the growth at Sandy Hook is, and I embrace that. As you can see from the below photos, not everything I snapped a photo of was blooming, because I find beauty in nature's past, its decay. In the photo below, yes green grass and weeds dominate, but kind of below their rise are dead, forgotten twigs and some rusted grass blades. There are as well opportunities to view evidence of new life, and not all of it clings to the soil. A baby bird was born recently on the Hook, its blue shell shed and, quite possibly, it now flies tree to tree or bush to bush, hopping branch to branch. It was nice to think when I found the pictured cracked shell that maybe, just maybe, one of the birds that crossed my path during my stroll might have been the former "inhabitant." When we returned home that afternoon, I found happiness in the fact that, yes, this spot exists, but that also within the fence of my own backyard, every day there are opportunities for me to walk outside, peer at the few bushes and trees and see what lurks. Sparrows, of course, but also female and male cardinals, robins, blue jays, catbird, and occasional shrikes and goldfinches make an appearance.
Steve I have often found it amazing and wonderful that, here in New Jersey, where we have more people per square mile than any other state in the United States, that serene spots "live" near all the busyness our state offers. Consider the 47,000 acre Edwin B. Forsythe Wildlife Refuge off of Route 9 in Oceanville, which is where the Brigantine division is located (the Barnegat division is located in Barnegat Township, Holgate at the southern end of Long Beach Island, and Little Beach is private). In Oceanville, where the acreage is the most, you can enjoy nature trails and climb two lookout towers and view the area of tiny islands, marsh, and wildlife from a distance. However, recommended is the 8-mile Wildlife Drive, a roughly 1 1/2 hour loop where you can enjoy the many species of birds and waterfowl, as well as the beauty of the varied ecosystems, and not interfere with it. On the brisk Thursday we visited, skies were blue as winds caused the floral growth to sway. The variety and contrast in colors is amazing. For me, it's not what I specifically see, but how it makes me feel. Yes, I could study up more on what I'm looking at - and maybe I should; the urge is strong sometimes to do that - but what I marvel at is that this actually exists, this "freedom" lives along our coast. An escape from busyness. And speaking of that busyness, the below photo reveals (if you look closely enough) Atlantic City's rising casinos behind the trees. Just 10-miles away but in clear view from various spots in the refuge is probably the Garden State's most famous skyline. In fact, as we drove and looked at the snow geese , ducks, and bird variety - some of it enjoying fresh-caught seafood right on the roadway, car tires just a feet away - the towers of Atlantic City may have dominated the view, but it was no thief to our calm. Sundown approached at the 5:00 p.m. closing time. Lucille, Stefanie, and I also said prayers and read scripture at this wonderful place, the Spirit well at home in this placid spot.
Steve Last Monday, December 7, at 9:50 a.m., our beautiful little girl, our lovely miniature dachshund, Little Lady - affectionately known as "Button" - died in my wife's arms. She was 19 years old; just two weeks away from her 20th birthday.
As she lay in her favorite blanket on my wife's lap as we took her to be blessed after her passing, I kept reaching over to rub her fur and caress under her neck, two things she loved. After the priest blessed her and we took her to the vet for cremation, one of the workers waited calmly and respectfully to take her from me as I held her in the blanket. As me, my wife, and my daugher all cried, I asked my daughter to pull my mask down so I could kiss Button's little black nose one last time. The nose was still wet, and somewhat cold on the chilly, sunny morning. It was my parting from her, my final act of love towards her here on earth.
We did, and the pink ribbons are from that morning.
The spots where her two beds were in the dining room and living room are barren now. She no longer struggles to walk from her bed to her food and water bowls, and everything is much quieter. I - we - feel empty. But I believe - in fact, I know - that we will see "Button" again one day. I firmly believe that, even as I cry so many tears. There was something very special about this 6 pound little girl. Nothing but love ever filled her. She lives that love now in Heaven. Love, Steve My Sundays are down days; a day to avoid my writing desk and writing in general. The above two photos, and the rest to follow, were taken at an Essex County, New Jersey industrial park, a neighbor of a major highway and much traffic. I thought the fence next to the dead and overgrown brush were a nice match, and the decaying shoots in front of the somewhat-painted rock a nice contrast. Greenery does "live" in autumn, however, depending on the species of plant. Of course, this is all to prove that beauty - which is relative to the individual - is displayed in both the bright as well as the "dim. " It's about perspective. Here's a key thing, too. It's not only about what you see, but what you feel. A walk in nature, which is, yes, seeing - color in both the decay and vibrancy of growth, watching birds land and squirrels scurry quickly from vine to branch - but also emotion; a freedom. A chance to breath easier.
Finally, it's about what you take with you, maybe not physically but mentally. You'll want to do this again, get away to something that calms you, becomes "part" of you. Steve Those who know me well are aware I find peace and fascination in things that some wish to avoid.
One place of avoidance are cemeteries. I once took a short story course for horror writers where I set a scene in a cemetery. One of my lines, "It was not a good night to be in a cemetery..." was met with red ink by my instructor, who responded in the margin, "No time is a good time to be in a cemetery." I disagree (and by the way, I left that course and entered another for general fiction, and received an "A"). While I do believe venturing in beyond sundown is not the most inviting scenario, and a burial day is not the happiest time, I have found that daytime visits, especially when remembering family members and loved ones, are apropos times for peace and thought. There is a cemetery in New Jersey in which are buried my grandparents, an aunt, and a fellow co-worker. So, when I'm in the area on assignment or meeting with my writer's group, I'll make a quick stop, and one of these visits took place on a warm, early October day. During this trip, I was unable to locate my friend's burial spot, but did locate that of my grandparents. All was quite as I looked down at the granite markers, studying their dates of birth and death, all the while thinking that one day, I too will join them (hopefully not too soon) beneath earth, a visitor eyeing my marker and reflecting on my contributions to humanity. I also recalled both days of my grandparent’s burials, the contrast in weather extreme. My grandfather was buried in April on a very warm day, my grandmother following a huge snowstorm accompanied by great chill in February. On this October day, 34 and 26 years later respectively, both days were a memory, as fondly were their lives. Nearby their plots was an open structure where you can sit to think, or recite The Lord's Prayer or the Hail Mary, the words of both chiseled in the walls. I faced each respective set of words, the prayers, and sat for a moment. I was joined within by a flock of birds, a number also walking on and pecking at the ground outside. Sometimes, birds and trees swaying are all that you will find in movement during a visit, and rather than being an interruption, both are welcome, the perfect addition to the scene. As I exited the cemetery, I was joined on the road by cars, of course, tailing me, well over the speed limit, the antithesis of what I'd just experienced. But it led me to thinking that those few minutes in the cemetery, the memories, the nature, is something to be enjoyed as well as savored. Steve I'm a big believer in taking time out and resting, and much of that resting involves my going outdoors and just looking, even at the tiniest thing nature presents. Sometimes, I wonder what it is that I'm looking at, but I've found that analyzation and study - although enjoyable and worthy for some - for me takes away the beauty of the moment. Also, when out on the road for an assignment, I'll try and find the nearest "escape" from busy highways and seek out what is, for many, perhaps mundane and ignored as they speed by. For example, on a recent Monday afternoon trip to Sandy Hook Beach, a place where there is never a lack of wonder to be seen or vacant spot for serenity, I crossed from the walking path - which was crowded on this particular day with kids and parents since it was a religious holiday - for quieter spots, and located the growth pictured below.
On a recent Sussex County farm visit, a brief sojourn into higher elevations yielded the below, colorful growth, which I found worthy of photos. What I find most amazing is the contrast of color in the plant life to the dirt and stone below or neighboring it.
I share the following, too, as a perfect example that heading out to see nature doesn't always have to be a planned event, but a thought turned into action (https://stevesearswriter.weebly.com/inspirational/some-thoughts-this-week-a-spur-of-the-moment-day-trip-works-wonders). Steve My posting in this blog has been somewhat dormant for a period, but recent ventures out into nature by me and friends have encouraged revisiting it in the interest of reawakening it and to inspire others.
Consider first recent walks that me and two writing colleagues have had. I was met on nearby sidewalks by rabbits, and also noticed baby male and female cardinals flying with other birds from various tree branches. My friends were greeted by rabbits as well, but also by red foxes who scurried quickly as footsteps approached from the distance. Although both are living things which habitate the earth, humans and animals are part of different realms. For example, I would never invite a fox into my home, nor would I enter his abode, welcome ot not. However, the sight of animals along our trails can certainly invigorate your day, especially as it begins. Also, my article writing assignments for New Jersey Farmer (www.americanfarm.com) have recently welcomingly forced me from my writing desk to visit Garden State farms during hot days. At one farm, a chipmunk when seeing me took immediate leave and entered a tiny hole for safety, while at another, red tail hawks hovered above treetops waiting for chickens to exit a barn, the predator ready to pounce. The heat during one trip reminded me of my early writing days, when I ventured to a nearby park with journal in hand to jot down thoughts for a potential poem and, at the same time, bask in peace. From my journal, I offer a few lines which I assume to be from the summer of 1993. The page is titled "Natural Beauty": "...I have a breeze in the shade, and it's a (beautiful) day and hot in the sun...two bumble bees attack as I retreat, but they continue their pursuit, as if I've invaded their home...my travels now takes me to the spot where a tree has been unearthed for reasons unknown. Only wood chips remain...There are long rows of garden bordered by stones along their paths, a short, dirt one leading to a cement bench, like those found in graveyards..." As much as our human world changes, the world of nature always seems to be - when left uninterrupted - as is, there for the viewing, exploring, and enjoying. Steve I last posted here on August 24, 2019. That date coincides with our next-to-last family trip, and my (our) last connection specifically with nature except that inside our home fence. That date also coincides with a busy writing period which saw my "Current Assignments" folder fill up, again and again. As right and needed as that picture appears for a full-time freelance writer, there's also a faux pas there that I am personally responsible for: not getting away to commune with the peace of nature. I was familiar with the remedy; I just had to employ it again. And in December, I sought a weather report online where a day promised to be blemish-free of rain or snow and significant chill, peered at my desk calendar, and picked a day that was devoid of writing by choice. And that day the Sears traveled 100 miles to the Barnegat Light and Holgate sections of Long Beach Island (*Note: Remember, this was in December, prior to the COVID19 pandemic). There's a great deal to be said and pondered about when it comes to nature, in any form. As you can see from the above photos, seasonal winter growth yields greenery amid decaying or already dead brush and grasses. The contrast, for me, is the true beauty of nature, especially in an area with a body of water nearby. The warm December day encouraged no quick departure over the Route 72 causeway bridge for home, so after our visit to Barnegat Light, we headed down to LBI's other end, where the Holgate Division of the Edwin B. Forsythe Wildlife Refuge resides. It is ironic that, in a spot where such peace can be enjoyed on a 2 1/2 mile area of beach and dunes, the Atlantic City architecture, which houses much activity and noise, was viewable as an apparent "Emerald City" about 25 miles down the Atlantic Ocean. Quite the day. A nice escape to somthing (and somewhere) different.
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Steve Sears is a New Jersey based freelance writer
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