I rarely lack for words, yet a month has zipped by since my last post. As I think back over all that has occurred during that month, neither boredom nor word scarcity have hindered my communication; rather, lack of motivation has been the most limiting factor. The leaden-gray, ash-filled, tightly-drawn curtain of smoke that shrouds our world, reduces it to painful ugliness and mutes my desire to write, paint, or share.
I need to get over it, maybe even learn lessons from veggies and sheep. Our tomatoes are thriving in the heat and steady rain of ash. They're heaped in every colander, featured in every meal, and plentiful enough to share with anyone willing to pick. The ewes seem to regard our eerily dark mornings and evenings as a mere acceleration of the season; they move out to graze at a fashionably late hour and return to the corral each evening earlier than usual. I should welcome potash from the sky and march purposefully to unusual circadian rhythms. Shouldn't I accept that which I can't change with grace and without complaint? Before succumbing to such placidity, I feel compelled to shout: To hell with this oobleck and that's about as much grace as I can muster!
If I glimpse a bit of silver lining our drear, it is my need to grapple with discontent through physical activity. I am not tempted to squander hours on Facebook or escape reality with an engaging book. Nope, I seek out ugly jobs and slam into them with fury. My current target is sticky gumweed, that invasive increaser that has a use in Luden's cough drops but not in Montana pastures. For each day's attack, I don a big hat, sticky pants, stinky shirt, and gum-coated gloves for pulling feed bags full of weeds. Those bags get dumped into bulk grain bags--three pictured--that require the use of tractor hydraulics and power to lift and cart off the fields. I will never finish that job in my lifetime, but should I need variation in battlefronts, barn cleaning awaits.
The weather forecast suggests a change later in the week. Based on that possibility, I have wedged open enough room for optimism. Buoyed by hope for clean-swept skies and sharp-edged vistas, I am looking forward to the opening reception and awards banquet for Watermedia 2017; I'm visualizing paintings to be done before Great Falls' western art extravaganza in March; I am posting this blog in defiance of personal funk.
I need to get over it, maybe even learn lessons from veggies and sheep. Our tomatoes are thriving in the heat and steady rain of ash. They're heaped in every colander, featured in every meal, and plentiful enough to share with anyone willing to pick. The ewes seem to regard our eerily dark mornings and evenings as a mere acceleration of the season; they move out to graze at a fashionably late hour and return to the corral each evening earlier than usual. I should welcome potash from the sky and march purposefully to unusual circadian rhythms. Shouldn't I accept that which I can't change with grace and without complaint? Before succumbing to such placidity, I feel compelled to shout: To hell with this oobleck and that's about as much grace as I can muster!
If I glimpse a bit of silver lining our drear, it is my need to grapple with discontent through physical activity. I am not tempted to squander hours on Facebook or escape reality with an engaging book. Nope, I seek out ugly jobs and slam into them with fury. My current target is sticky gumweed, that invasive increaser that has a use in Luden's cough drops but not in Montana pastures. For each day's attack, I don a big hat, sticky pants, stinky shirt, and gum-coated gloves for pulling feed bags full of weeds. Those bags get dumped into bulk grain bags--three pictured--that require the use of tractor hydraulics and power to lift and cart off the fields. I will never finish that job in my lifetime, but should I need variation in battlefronts, barn cleaning awaits.
The weather forecast suggests a change later in the week. Based on that possibility, I have wedged open enough room for optimism. Buoyed by hope for clean-swept skies and sharp-edged vistas, I am looking forward to the opening reception and awards banquet for Watermedia 2017; I'm visualizing paintings to be done before Great Falls' western art extravaganza in March; I am posting this blog in defiance of personal funk.
RSS Feed
