When I was born it was not into a void, but into a second womb.
By some miracle it was just the place my body and soul needed to thrive.
Breeze and bright green leaves. Grass and roses and a cherry tree and later an orchard of apple trees. And a garden so large we needed to hire a farm tractor. Apples and pears and rhubarb and applesauce went into a room just for keeping preserves that my mother "put up" so they lasted the year.
I walked a mile to school down a country road with streams when it rained
and sledding when it snowed.
We were surrounded by 40 foot high spruce trees and trembled when the hurricanes came and even tied ropes to one that we moved when the wind shifted. The home and its acres were joined more than usual for the foundation was stone. And evergreens touched virtually every shingle and 30 foot oaks and maples gave shade and beauty. Summers to ninety and and my sister's marriage on the lawn in the rose garden. And winters to minus 20.
Susan planted flowers some of which we enjoyed all year. But my oh my, on that magicaly musical day in July, a chromatic scale of color would accompany an hour's saunter, knowing the daylilies were truly there for the day, but others would appear on the morrow. Pale, delicate or red that gave a new meaning to crimson.
Susan chose, and planted, but she did not create the designs that seemed infinite, but we knew were only a fraction of what the earth offered.
Just below is Susan's garden and below that flowers from this garden from two years ago. We have a little bit of climate heaven here.
Decades of wondering and thinking and hoping for an answer that I did not need.
But pursued nevertheless, for sometimes it would lead to something that made everything else more profound.
I knew my progenitors stretched infinitely back in time but my first cousins began learning about me when they cracked the right stone in just the right way to help life move on. And it did. But it has left me with the wonder of why the music of those blossems exists, for many lived and live without them. Many of my kind would never see them and so never learned to love them.
Why? And why could my fingers move in ways a little like Chopin's did. Why?
Notes are not there for the taking like picking flowers, but because of a longing for a unique companion who made waltzes and scheros blossom and every other kind of musical form that vahished as soon as it appeared but could be brought back at any time. Why?
But one thing I knew, it took the climate. No experience, no sentience nothing was possible without climate. No evolution and certainly no physical life.
We cannot live without the climate, which for us is about 10 miles of air, and 10 miles is a pretty thin coat. A little too much messing around here and we turn into Mars, that once had a atmosphere.
We breath oxygen, the most important part of the climate. Oxygen keeps us alive as well as is necessary for all the plants and animals that we eat. The creation has stitched together for us exactly what we need. And fourty or so years ago there was just enough carbon dioxide to keep the earth warm enought to live on. If you read futher you will find Joseph Fourier who in 1824 discovered the greenhouse effect.
To me the climate and the weather bring something I love, or grumble about or am terrorized when its a hurricane. But it is also where I developed my third profession, that of a landscape photographer. I spent 30 years wandering the 4 corners of America but mostly New England. Click on LightSong® to see what I saw. Above is from my collection The Hidden World of the Nearby.