A Certain Romance

“I have always known that at last I would take this road, but yesterday I did not know that it would be today.” ~ Narihara

Day 2 is drawing to a close. Considering that I got up at 10:45 a.m., it has felt like a long day. I had the most comfortable sleep. I haven’t slept in my own bed since Halloween. My last week at my dad’s, I slept on a sleeping bag on the living room floor. Otherwise, I have been sleeping on people’s couches. Top order of the day was meeting with Debbie, Rachel and Jocelyn to go over some of the components of what my program will look like. I think that once it gets going, I will be quite busy. Monday nights there is a small group, Thursdays a counselor comes into meet with the residents individually, Rachel and I will be meeting at least once a week (she is my Resident Team Leader), a mentor will be introduced to us at some point, and a lady named Janet is going to go over my finances with me and help me get started on Ontario Works. I found that the debriefing was over relatively fast. During the meeting, everyone kept thinking that I must be so overwhelmed and that I just needed to rest. I accept what they’re saying and I respect that they know best, but at the same time, I feel like they’re crazy! I’m used to being very busy. Apparently, everyone experiences a “crash” during their first month here. Clearly, I haven't reached that stage yet. I can’t claim to feel 100% myself, but I still feel calm and not terribly troubled. The only thing that has put me out of sorts is the onset of this cold.

I had a few tiny goals for today. Happily, I completed all of them! I spent time in devotions this morning. The easy chair is perfectly comfortable. What I got out of my reading was that meditating on God’s word is a recipe for success; we can be bold and courageous in our life (in fact we are commanded to); and God gave us commandments to give us security and boundaries in our foreign home. The latter seems very relevant at the moment as I adjust to this new home. Being sociable was very strenuous today. I took the initiative to make a little nest for myself in the reading nook in the living room. It must be the coziest place I have ever snuggled up in. A banquette has been built into an alcove. It has a black plush pillow with feathers stitched around the boarder and the word “Hope” is embroidered with cursive writing in golden thread. There is a matching black throw in the softest velvet material. It kept me surprisingly warm. Two light fixtures hang from the ceiling. I felt wrapped up in a warm cocoon and, best of all, I was completely inconspicuous. While one of the residents watched the Judd family on Oprah, I lost myself in Louise May Alcott’s “Good Wives.” I read a few chapters, and then decided that I would go for a walk.

I have been quite anxious to go exploring in the orchard. I didn’t care if I had a cold; I had to get out there! I am not known for dressing sensibly in the winter. Even my young piano students chide me for “never wearing socks!” I have frustrated many with my incorrigibility, but I would have made them all proud today! I put on lined track pants, thick socks with my boots and I wore out my new hat and scarf not forgetting the final touch of my snow-white fuzzy mittens. I have more than an ample share of curiosity and I love to explore! Every new aspect of this place is charming and intriguing. Once outside, I didn’t take off with adrenaline on a power walk, as I would customarily do. Instead, I took my time pondering over every detail of the house’s exterior. First, I wanted to see how long it would take me to get to Flamborough Baptist Church. It was a rough five-minute walk across the field. The church can be easily seen from the dining room window. Along the way, I stumbled frequently, unaccustomed to the uneven path and the hard unearthed clumps of soil. I briefly peeked around the outside of the church but as there wasn’t much to see, I turned back towards the orchard.

Although the Drummond House is clearly visible from the main road, it is hidden, from every other angle by tall slender pine trees. It’s like an isolated fortress in the middle of nowhere. At the end of the church parking lot is (what I gather) a cornfield. As we are in winter, I had to guess what certain plants were when they were in season. The surroundings are beautiful in a natural, untainted sort of way that I find so soothing. I lament not being surrounded by green healthy fields and plump juicy apples dangling from the trees. I don’t want to be here too long, but it would so wonderful to watch the seasons change on this farm like I did back when I worked at Bennett’s Apple & Cider. I thoroughly enjoyed my solitary walk along the back orchard and through the thicket by the creek. However, I wished that I had some knowledgeable person with me to answer some of my random questions. Why is the grass between the trees still lush and green, but the grass that was once shaded under the trees is yellow, brown and dried up? Shouldn’t it be the other way around? Why were so many apples left behind on the ground to rot? The bright red round tops of the apples bobbed up amid the decaying ones; a lovely rustic contrast in colours.

What were those grassy pouches I found everywhere? At first, they looked like withered chestnut shells. On closer examination, I truly could not distinguish what it was. I would have popped one open to check, but it looked like it could have been some sort of nest. I suddenly had a horrific image of baby spiders crawling out by the multitude, and myself suffering a minor stroke. I will have to identify them another day.

After a few more minutes of walking, I reached the creek. It is picturesque and breathtaking. The water is in the early stage of freezing. Crooked barren branches and twigs stand to attention on either side. I gather that in the spring and summer that it must give a lot of shade. Warm sunlight cast a glow on the creek highlighting every crack and texture of the ice.

As soon as I came upon this scene, a line from a Joni Mitchell song started playing over in my head. “I wish I had a river I could skate away on.” On my left, I had a vision of a teenage boy and girl skating along and laughing heartily at one another. On my right, I could see Pooh Bear with his other friends of the Hundred Acre Wood playing “pooh sticks.” I couldn’t resist picking up a fallen twig and tossing it into the water. I stood there a minute longer reflecting on the expanding ripples.

As I walked back towards the house, I couldn’t help but feel that there is a romance about this place. It’s been awhile since I’ve been romanced. I couldn’t help but think that as I stared out to even further fields of stark trees. It would be nice to fantasize of meeting someone during my stay. Preferably, a decent Christian man who attends the local church or who works on the farm. Someone who looks like Angel Claire from “Tess of the d’Urbervilles” who could tell me what were those confounded grassy pouches back in that thicket! I am being silly, of course. But in all seriousness, there is a romance about this place. There is a longing and a calling. As I looked at the land, its barrenness and cold solace triggered an internal chord that resonated in my soul, echoing back, I long for something more! I gazed at the great expanse of acreage around me, this great space to explore, and deserted trees that are destined to blossom again. A refrain came back to me, “Come! There is so much more.” It was a spark of encouragement. My hope soared like the wind. It somersaulted over the fields and danced on the treetops.

I don’t know why I’m here. I am just rolling along feeling disconnected with myself. Reality has not struck the midnight bell yet. I am to do nothing but rest. I cannot see where this big change is coming from. I did enjoy curling up by the fire with my book and I loved my walk, but the question of the day is, “Why am I here?” There is no answer in sight, but the divine romance of the orchard reassures me that God’s presence is resting on us. Approaching the walkway up to the house, I could hear a knocking sound. I stopped to look up. At the top of an enormous tree, I could see a little bird pecking away at the trunk. The bird was so high up, I could barely see it, but his Morse code rhythm pierced boldly through the tranquility that surrounded Drummond House at the moment. I will close the entry with this last question, “Why do woodpeckers peck wood?”