Catching frogs in a pond, tipping precariously from a canoe.
This was what I had in mind when I whined I was in the mood for fun. Something and somewhere outside my daily drive between work and home and work.
Lately, I have the days memorized. I can move through them in my sleep. Nothing here feels new.
In photography class a few weeks ago, we walked into Lab 116 and were greeted by a large photo of King John’s Castle in Ireland. Our instructor had a point to make. In our search for the remarkable, we tend to dismiss what is all around us. We’ve seen what there is to see, we’ve tasted what there is to taste. My classmates and I nodded in agreement as he shared his diagnosis with us.
He pointed to the photo of the castle, telling us he grew up two hundred meters from its walls. Only when he moved to Montana, asking where our castles were, did he realize how remarkable his former surroundings are.
Here, castles are all about hay fields and silos. (Perhaps a sister shepherding with a snake-flinging hoe.)
I haven’t the funds to fly to Ireland in order to revitalize the way I see my world, to reboot my own taste buds. In the past, tipping out of canoes was a sure way to reboot.
With this in mind last weekend I ventured out and about, beyond the fields — finding a pond and a pole sans canoe. I walked the water’s edges lined in mud and brittle cattails. I didn’t wish once for a canoe — I was too caught up in new discoveries.