#NewThisDay Writing From My Photo Stream

Up early, thinking I would write. But Wave woke up early too, and so we played Transformers. I measured his height, because we may go on a trip were he can go on a Transformers ride (!!!!) but he has to be 40 inches. I get out my measuring tape, measure him from the floor up. Oh no—only 38 inches. How could that be? And then Wave said, You forgot to measure my head, Grammy. Indeed. I had only measured as high as his shoulders! Camp is making him extra hungry. Egg sandwich AND blueberry pancake. He’s out the door, (without his lost shoe which I searched for in the weeds and bushes last night and this morning) and then I am out the door. I go to Farm Pond for my swim. An hour, across the bond, sideways, back. I feel great. Then I drive to Athol. I have been wanting to get there to do some research in the library. I am looking for my great grandmother Annie’s obit. I get there just in time to set up my computer in a quiet corner to lead my Israeli group on Zoom before hitting the microfiche. It’s a powerful group, as usual. No luck finding the obit. But I go on three nature walks, which is very very beautiful and satisfying on this sunny and warm day. The library has a lovely park on the Miller’s River. Then, I go to Skyfields Arboretum and walk amongst the trees and the wildflowers in this wooded meadow area. It’s hot. Then I drive to the Miller’s River Environmental Center, hoping to find it open. It’s not. But I walk their gardens looking at nature collage art on the exterior of the building, and their pollinator garden is lovely. I wished I could water the dry plants. Then I discover another nature trail across the street from the center: mowed trail that led me through vines and vines of ripening blackberries and right to a quiet, secluded edge of the Miller’s River where I stood for some time, listening to the shallow river over the rocks on a hot summer’s day. I got what I needed and intended, despite not getting the obit. I wanted wild, native plants and time by the river, reflecting on its history in running through Athol and all the countless animals, plants, and humans who have belonged to it and belong to it still. Including me.

And after watering my own gardens in the early evening at home, especially the thirsty as heck hydrangeas, I found the boy’s shoe in a pot of geraniums on the porch.