Six degrees of memory

It’s said that we know everyone in the world within six degrees. As a generalization, I believe that might be true; maybe it takes seven or ten to get from one side of the world to another, but even that’s pretty amazing. But what I’m beginning to learn is that writing these stories of mine about our transition to and discovery about our new home and environment is triggering memories and stories for others already in my life, and bringing new friends into my life.

I related a story that wasn’t even mine, but shared with me by our friends – riding a motorcycle into winds so strong that the rider couldn’t go faster than 40 miles per hour at full throttle. That struck a memory for another close friend of a windy day some years ago on Long Island Sound where they spent a full day sailing into a head-wind, but making no head-way and finding themselves at the end of the day right where they started. And her story reminded me of one of my favorite author’s stories of a boat in high winds and water: John Steinbeck’s Travels with Charlie which I had locate the chapter and read again – which will probably motivate me to read the entire book again, if I can find it in the house.

When I wrote of the fires here in town, and the small burned circle on the street below us, I was gifted with another memory from our nephew, who spent his early years in New Mexico: "Your email reminds me of the time when I lived in Santa Fe and I almost started a prairie fire! The mother of my friend saw these little kids (including me) running in and out of the house with coffee cups full of water! :) Finally, she figured something must be wrong and sure enough the fire was starting to get out of control. Luckily, one of the neighbors thought very quickly and brought his garden hose over to put out the fire, which by that point was a good 5x10 foot. " Thanks, David for permission to include your memory here.

And my musings have brought two new friends into my life. One I met because of her involvement with WILL (the Western Institute for Lifelong Learning) when she called to get feedback on the classes Nick and I attended. She didn’t know – but now does – you never ask a trainer for feedback on training and trainers unless you want an honest answer. And to be fair, the people who deliver the courses, everything from Birding for Beginners to Enjoying the Wilderness (the survival-skills course) to Four from Hillerman are dedicated volunteers who propose and deliver these classes out of their own interest and willingness. So it was easy to give a good evaluation and in the process, start a conversation that still continues. When we met, I had just created my public blog to share stories, so I got up the gumption to mention it to her. She liked them and passed my address on to a friend of hers, whom I am also now getting to know. Thus is a sense of community built, becoming an important foundation in a new place.

Maybe this is the way story-telling is supposed to work, but I’m still honored that I’m part of six degrees of memory!

It’s Easter Sunday, and a wild weekend, weather-wise. Yesterday, the sky was black – and then sunny – and then black again. The winds howled – and then they didn’t – and then they did again. It snowed. It rained. It little-white-pelleted. I don’t know what those last were, but they stung when they hit! I walked Nutmeg during a sun-break about 4 pm, and then had to hurry home because I could see another mountain of black, dense and dropping clouds heading my way. I fully intended to get home, grab my camera and head up to a high point because the clouds were so diverse in shape, altitude, density, color and illumination I just felt I had to capture it on film. Well, not film; everything’s digital now, so on pixels. But by the time I got back here, unhooked Nutmeg and got my camera out, the sky was flat, grey and snowing again. Today didn’t exactly dawn; let’s say it ‘opened’ darkly. The amazing thing is that the clouds would appear to move in one direction, while down at street level, the winds were blowing in a totally different direction. Now, looking out the window in my office, I see high, white puffs – the kind that take form, shape and life.

I think, though, that it’s only us two-legged that have problems and complaints about the wind. It doesn’t seem to bother the ravens, which are soaring, dancing, and as a friend observed the other day, surfing the currents. It doesn’t seem to bother the smaller migrants which are moving through in greater numbers. It isn’t stopping the deer; this morning, there was a snuffling, huffing sound coming from below the hill just behind the house and Nutmeg was on point. In a burst, I heard then saw a large buck dash around the bottom of the hill, with Nutmeg racing it along the top. She stopped when it pushed through the bushes and on down into the arroyo. And the wind is definitely not stopping the skunk that lives in the culvert under the driveway of a house we pass every day when we walk. I thought skunks don’t spray unless unsettled; I’ve even known people who had natural, as opposed to de-fragranced, skunks as pets and they swore they never got sprayed because they learned the warning signs. But this neighborhood skunk must be unsettled much of the time because at least 2 or 3 times a week when we walk around that block, his presence is obvious. I wonder what stresses a skunk out!

Anyway, the winds are a big part of Spring, even if not my favorite part, and a topic of frequent complaint here. Maybe we two-leggeds are just more prone to getting blown over!