Late Fall: A Beauty of Its Own

The leaves are past peak, the clicks of camera shutters no longer add to the music of the forest, and people have left to settle in for winter. The fluttering gold aspen leaves of early fall are tarnished and less plentiful. They've darkened, fallen, and now grace the earth.

I've grown to love this time of year, for many reasons. In the last years of my parents' lives together, late fall is when I'd take my dog Carly and drive three days across the country to visit them. It wasn't really warm, it wasn't really cold; there wasn't much to do other than focus on being together. It was a time of connection with those I missed from living so far away.

A late fall visit with Mom and Dad

Late fall is when I see the world with its soul bared. There's no showy spring flowers that lift spirits or offer the promise of sun and new things to come. There's no feeling of the glory days of summer with heat and leaves and grass and bugs and water and rain all mashed together into one thick green world. There's no shimmer of stunning autumn color, where the harvest gives us the fruits of our labor and when apples are sweet; and there's yet to come the hush of a white blanket of snow that crystallizes sky, breath, and ice.

Late fall, northern Minnesota

Late fall is when the earth takes a breather from all that work. I relish the bare bones of late fall. I can take the time to remember those who are now gone and appreciate the precious time we have while alive right now. I have the time to examine the details of muted fallen leaves carpeting the trail or of those still clinging to their branch, blemished and pockmarked, bypassed by those who just a couple weeks earlier would have stopped and stared in awe.

Today, Bruce and I took Carly into the mountains that we had to ourselves. It was also the day I found out I lost a dear friend, and remembered well two other friends no longer with us, all three of whom dedicated a good portion of their lives to protecting the forest now surrounding me. And it was a day I deeply felt my memories of mom and dad.

I dedicate these images to Mom, Dad, Liz, Keith, and Don.

The cycle continues; so evident in life, and in the quiet season of late fall. 

Re-tire or re-energize?

Reflections on Retirement After Seven Whole Days

There were gatherings, lunches, parties, glasses of bubbly, cards and flowers, quiet moments, and loud cheers. And one really incredible poem (yes, it's below). My first week of retirement coincided with the start of our summer rains, both so desperately anticipated and welcomed like a cool drink to a parched throat. The rains have been fairly light at our house (torrential storms elsewhere); we've been waking up to gentle, cool winds; cloudy skies; and the smell of damp grass instead of the relentless, bone-dry weather of the last 8 months. It's been a perfect way to turn the corner from managing conference calls and meetings to suddenly empty calendars and deleted e-mail accounts. There's little opportunity to rush-rush-rush to cram every outdoor recreational sport I've envisioned into my empty days because, well, it's wet out. Cloudy, rainy mornings just beg for lingering on the back deck with my morning cuppa, for watching the hummingbirds wake up and start their territorial battles for feeder ownership, and for letting what happens....happen.

On my first Monday-is-now-just-another-Saturday, I thought what better day would there be to...wait for it... wait for it...dust the house? Why in the world would dusting be on the list for my first "Monturday"? Holy dust bunnies, Batman, I hate dusting. Take the framed pictures, the fancy glassware, and the knick-knacks off a shelf; dust the shelf; dust the stuff; replace the stuff; rinse and repeat ad nauseum. After about the third shelf I just want to burn the house down rather than ever having to deal with SO MUCH STUFF. So, naturally it gets put off (see Realities: Point Three, below).

But by the time First Monturday rolled around, I could no longer ignore the clumps of dog hair and everything becoming more opaque by the minute. I figured yes indeed, what better day to dust? It was the ultimate in celebrating "A day doing THIS is still better than a day at the office!!!" Out came the Pledge, the microfiber cloth, the Windex, and a roll of paper towels. I got to work.

Stuff. But very good stuff.

With this little bit of mental joy infused into my dreaded dusting routine, I found myself enjoying this task. Well, almost; it's still dusting, mind you, and I would rather be doing just about anything else (except be at the office!), but it wasn't so bad! Instead of picking up a knick-knack and wanting to throw it out the window, I would look at it, remembering where we got it and who may have presented this to us as a gift, and recalling fond memories the item in question represented.

More good stuff.

I would smile at every photo, remembering what, who, where, or why. I gently caressed the photo of Mom and Dad, and read through their memorial service programs that were carefully tucked behind the frame. Champagne glasses that are treasured wedding gifts brought back our wedding toast to each other. Old books we've read as youngsters stand together on one shelf so they're not lost among the forgotten paperbacks stored in the guest bedroom. I touched all the things that are always there, gracing our lives, that we don't really notice anymore until dusting must happen, and each touch brought a smile or a tear. Why, I asked myself, did I detest dusting so much?

When weekends were just two days off during a work week.

So, miracle of miracles, my first day of retirement fundamentally transformed this thing, this chore, this task I dreaded into a time of reflection, remembering, and honoring the life I've built with Bruce, friends, family, dog(s) and the home containing it all.

Check! A successful first day of retirement!!!

As the world turns and the stomach churns, so went my week. I got into a groove with pickleball, biking, reading (wow, I read a book!), knitting (I can see the light at the end of my sweater!), and a fairly consistent 4:00 p.m. happy hour. I paid more attention to both Bruce and Carly. And, I've had a few jolts of "this is my reality now!" (it is telling that I still feel the impulse to create an orderly, numbered list. Some things will take longer to let go):

1: My work accounts and e-mail inbox, calendar, and contacts were deleted. Before I left, I moved many of those contacts I wished to keep over to my personal email system. The process of who made the cut was a psychological wrestling match. With whom, really, will I keep in touch? Contact list or Facebook? Ugh, scary, a bit sad, but also freeing.

2: Things on my calendar have shifted from conference calls, meetings, and product due dates to....well....nothing. Other than Friend X Visiting this day and Husband Leaves for Fishing Trip that day, I have nothing. I'm leaving it that way for awhile before I populate it with self-inflicted responsibilities.

3: Things I Can Do During The Week: Sunday, I had the usual (weekly) realization that I didn't get some of my weekend tasks done. My first thought was "crap, they'll have to wait until next weekend," because that's what I usually think, as a typical Employed One who generally kicks more and more cans down the road because that's life. But then it hit me that I could just pick them up the next day! No longer do I have to wait 5 more days to wash the throw rugs or run vinegar through my Keurig. I could do that stuff on...a Tuesday!

4: Running to the bank on a Monday afternoon when the bank is wide open instead of frantically trying to get there before they close was one of those little things that made me realize that barely-bothersome-but-still-there stresses are falling by the wayside.

And then there's The Poem. Writer, artist, videographer, photographer, and most importantly dear friend Barb pulled this magic out of her creative gray matter for both myself and friend Ann, both of us retiring within a week of each other. Presented to us at a lovely luncheon hosted by Barb and fourth Musketeer Julie, we read it aloud. The quiet contemplation afterwards was a testimony to the power of the words that encapsulated what both Ann and I were blindly grasping for:

Free Range Living by Barbara L. Davis

Adventures abound for those who dare

To live life fully without a care.

It takes deep courage to choose a time

To leave behind that extra dime.

You are superb at what you do,

And your boss will feel the loss of you.

But the hour has arrived to claim your life

Free Range Living is without the strife.

Money be damned. Freedom is here.

You are all you need. Let go of career.

Live a life that takes you where you want to go

With plenty of time to make it so.

But - don't rush to the next thing without some thought.

Give yourself time to form a new plot.

A time to be without major choices

Will allow you to hear new inner voices.

There's much to consider as you move on

Like who you are now without the song

Of your past identity with allegiance to others.

It's time to play with your sisters and brothers.

Who you are now, is what the world needs.

Simply being yourself grows the seeds

Of ongoing life on this beautiful earth.

We're all better off because of your worth.

Thank you for your special career

Your work was beneficial far and near.

Congratulations to you. Retirement is your reward

For a life of work that truly soared.

You've given much to the world at large.

And stepped up to every charge.

It's time to relax into the gift of time,

And finally say, "This life is mine."

Got more Facebook likes on this photo than any other I've ever posted.

I still want to develop Sue's Retirement Lifestyle, a plan to stay healthy and active. I want to take this amorphous blob of a "build my jewelry business" goal and piecemeal it out to have concrete things I can check off a list. I want to blah, blah, blah, and so on and so forth. But for now, I'm OK sitting on the back deck, petting Carly, knitting a bit, watching hummingbirds fight and other birds sing, and spending time actually listening to what the world around me is trying to say.

Many, many thanks to many, many friends, family, colleagues, and co-workers who helped me celebrate, who understood what this change might mean, and who gave me support and cheers when I needed it.

Thanks, Sharon and John!

Thanks, Cathy and Jim!

Thanks to my husband who took this giant leap of faith for me and for us.

And from an extremely grateful and appreciative daughter, thank you to Mom and Dad; without your love, this happy life would not be possible.

Nicely dusted as of July 9, 2018

From Laya to Leech Socks: The Highs and Lows of an Asia Adventure, Act X

Act X: The Gift of a Bird

For all my Bhutan and Thailand entries, please see the above "Bhutan & Thailand" tab

"For it is in giving that we receive.” Saint Francis of Assisi

They were my parent's old, dusty, mis-aligned set of binoculars. The bird was a common one, so common that a thousand birds later, I can't even remember what it was. Probably a robin, blue jay, or mourning dove. But the moment the two came together through my 15-year-old eyes, I felt my world shift under my feet. That's what I remember. To see close up the glint in that bird's eye reflecting its drive to survive, the subtle coloration of one feather among a million others, the tiny movements of feet scratching a branch and a beak probing treebark; well, nothing was ever quite the same again for me. What's the next bird going to look like, and the next one, and the one after that? What other things did I miss when I didn't take the time to look closely enough at something that I relegated to the periphery of my world? Why did it take me 15 years to figure out this magic?

The simple "ooooohhhh!!!" reaction when one sees -- I mean really sees -- their first bird belies what happens behind the scenes. In about two seconds, the brain runs through the following:

1) Ooooohhhh!!!
2) These things are around me all the time, and I never knew that a -- pick any common bird group: dove, duck, robin, sparrow, hawk -- really looked like that!
3) Astonishment on face.
4) You all gotta see this!!!

This....versus

...that

And then comes the quiet as your mind processes that you're seeing this amazing thing for the first time; that this amazing thing has been there the whole time you've been busy-busy-busy living your life; and that you can never look at a tree, the top of a telephone pole (or in Arizona, a saguaro cactus), a pond, a lake, a clump of bushes, the air, the sea, the heavens, or the earth the same way again.

Because now you know a secret. And it changes your life. Truly...one's first bird is a gift.

Ralph and Nit

Nit and Ralph, actually

After the first four days of birding on one side of Bangkok in the Gulf of Thailand, Kaeng Krachan National Park, and areas in between, I was dropped off by my guide Nick back in Bangkok at the familiar Hotel Mariya for the evening. Early the next morning, British guide Ralph and his Thai wife Nit would pick me up, and we'd be off for Khao Yai National Park and the last three days of my Thai birding adventure.

A sampling of Khao Yai National Park

It wasn't hard to spot Ralph and Nit when they pulled up to the hotel with their SUV. Highly organized birders through and through, Ralph and Nit were already wearing their birding vests, binoculars strapped on, ready for birds. We packed the car with my stuff and I climbed into my space in their rig, anticipating what might be seen over the next few days from through that very window.

Our digs near Khao Yai National Park

Off we went. I chatted about my first few days with Nick, and Ralph outlined his general plan for us that centered around Khao Yai. We'd stay at a hotel in a nearby town much like my earlier set-up -- small cabin-like duplexes that were comfortable, clean, and air-conditioned. We'd focus on Khao Yai for most of my remaining three days, and visit other "birdy" spots along the way back to the Bangkok airport my last evening to arrive in time for my 9:00 p.m. flight back home. Ralph and Nit supplied me with a very much appreciated "tea box" of all the things needed to make tea in my room (water heater, mug, spoon, tea, and coffee boxed up perfectly) and just so happened to have stashed the makings for gin & tonics to end our long days of birding. I settled in with them comfortably and felt right at home. Indeed, both were just some of the added touches that made me feel welcomed like a friend. It really was the perfect way to cap off my Asia adventure!

The well-earned G&T for all back at the hotel.
His cooler contained more than food!!!

Khao Yai was busy! It was Sunday, and the park was crowded with Thai visitors I assumed were mostly from Bangkok, getting away from that bustling city to pitch a tent in a bustling campground. Rolled-up tents and sleeping bags indicated most were packing up to head home. We pulled into a crowded campground that had some good birding spots including a huge tree in the middle of a grassy field and a nearby creek.

Ralph opened up the back of the SUV to pull out lunch supplies. Out from the cooler came some deli meat, cheese, bread, and condiments. "I brought some mealworms too," he said casually, as a plastic tub full of inch-long squirming worms came out from next to the cooler. Ah, birders. Mealworms set in strategic places attract birds, and, well, you can't be fussy about traveling with mealworms, right? I didn't even blink. Birders don't pause at mealworms for company.

The full image; I didn't want to give it away!

We parked ourselves at a picnic table near the big tree that was fruiting with something that attracted multiple birds. We sprinkled mealworms around, ate lunch, and birded the tree and surrounding environs as most people cleared out.

Moustached Barbet

Thick-billed Green Pigeon

Surprisingly, a huge monitor lizard walked around the campground and aside from me, no one paid it any attention. This, readers, is Thailand.

Leech Socks

After lunch, we decided to explore the nearby creek and it's adjacent jungle-ness. Let's go, I said. Wait a minute, said Ralph. We have to dress the part. It's time for leech socks. What? Leeches? I remembered the three-to-four-inch things that I once or twice had to pull off my legs swimming in a northern Minnesota lake. Holy cow, there's not a bird in the world important enough for me to tramp through leeches to see.

Noooooooo!!!! (photo credit)

Well, explained Ralph, these leeches are tiny, perhaps a half-inch long, and are probably not even present as it's the dry season. It's mostly a precaution. Nit pulled out these canvas knee-high sock-type booties and showed me the set-up. Take off shoes; hike the leech socks over your regular socks and pants; tie below your knees, and return shoes to feet, laces loosened a bit to adjust for the additional material in your shoes.

Nit ensured that leech socks were worn whenever we ventured into wet forests. A native Thai and a field biologist, she had seen enough to not take chances. I respected that. Sure enough the only leech we saw, a singular tiny thing, found its way onto one of Nit's leech socks. Figures; just like me and my squickiness with cockroaches -- I could be with 50 people in a room, and I'd be the only one who would get a cockroach zipping over my foot. Nit gets the leech. "See???" she said. Yes, I get it. 

Not a leech; a hammerhead worm....but still...

The Gift of a Great Hornbill

A target bird for me was the Great Hornbill. One of the largest of hornbills, it's a formidable, strikingly-marked bird that, while not common, can generally be found at Khao Yai. We packed up lunch and drove the main park road up to a saddle offering a lovely vista of the park's tropical forest. Often, Ralph said, hornbills fly by in groups and feed in the large trees adjacent to the vista's parking lot.

We were not the only ones at the vista. It's a popular spot for park visitors to stop and take the mandatory selfie, so a paved parking lot and walking areas greeted us as we pulled up. Groups of laughing friends peppered the length of the parking lot, their backs towards the view as they stared into their phones to capture that view with smiling faces (the irony was not lost on us). A few serious photographers sat next to their enormous cameras on tripods, waiting for hornbills to arrive. Yes, this was the likely spot for hornbills, so let's see what we can see.

Waiting....waiting....waiting for hornbills

Could it be????

Sure enough, in a few minutes we saw movement in the large trees at one edge of the parking area. Something, or many things, were deep in the tree, shaking fruit off large branches. Great Hornbills!!! Ralph quickly set up the tripod and spotting scope, zoomed in, and there they were.

Grand, awesome, amazing. Once again, I felt that sense of wonder that comes with seeing a bird, this creature, this living wonder, close up. Minding their own business, the hornbills focused on food, on surviving another day, on living. I sucked in the view through the scope like I was quenching a thirst. Slated, I stepped away from the scope. As their client, Ralph and Nit obligingly let me get the first look, but I certainly wanted them to enjoy the view as well. After them, I took another look. The birds seemed to be sticking around, and we all smiled at each other. Success.

It was only then that we saw a few people glancing our way. We could see they were following the line of the spotting scope into the trees, curious as to what we could possibly be seeing in those shaking branches. Ralph looked inquiringly at me, and I nodded back. We both didn't need to speak to know that it was time to invite other people into our world.

We waved our hands to the nearest group, gesturing to come look, come over and see! A few smiled and obliged. The first fellow approached the scope, figuring out just how to work it. We could tell the second he finally saw his first bird.

"Ooooohhhh!!!!!!" Excitement bubbled over as he nearly jumped back in surprise. Gesturing to a friend to hurry up and look, the next one peered through the scope. "Ooooohhhh!!!!!" Ralph and I smiled at each other as we recognized the thrill of someone just like us seeing, really seeing, their first bird. Their surprise was like an electric current touching more and more people as it flowed through the parking lot. Soon, a line of eager people waited their turn; the hornbill-viewing party was in full swing. Nit explained to them what they were seeing.

They were seeing hornbills, and I was seeing them, remembering myself at age 15, when dusty binoculars, a common bird, and my eyes joined forces. I knew that today, there were a few more people who just had their world rocked, perhaps changing them forever. In their eyes, excitement sparkled with unspoken gratitude from receiving the gift of their first bird.

Thank you Nick, Ralph, and Nit for giving ME the gifts of over 200 birds, a pangolin, wild elephants (yes!!!), and so much more. The icing on the cake was paying it forward and giving something back to a few people with whom I could not communicate in anything but the universal language of birds.

Readers, thank you for experiencing my Asia adventure! Some closing photos from my time with Ralph and Nit:

Typical walkway through the Thailand national park forests

Finally, on my last full day....elephants!!!

A short video of these incredible animals:

 The End of my Asia Adventure. Next up? Reality.....but for now, g'bye!!!!!