THE FLY-IN DILEMMA

     Wood is stacked and ready beside the door. The generator has been started up to be sure it is ready if needed. As I looked out over the chilly scene, all was quiet in anticipation of this loudly touted storm that approached us.

     A Carolina Wren perched on the wooden bench within my sight. It was rare to see a bird venture this close to the back door. It started up with an insistent chirping that went on and on. It caught my attention because these little creatures rarely stay in one place for long. Yet, it seemed to continue on as if it was sending a message. It just continued on. Funny, I thought as I continued to watch.

     Then it dawned on me, it was looking directly at my back door. I felt the message was somehow directed at me. I looked guiltily out at the empty feeders outside. No wonder, this brave little messenger wanted to alert me the the usual fly-ins, their Wendy's, McDonald's, Whataburger feeders, and the dine-in Texas Roadhouse, which was hanging on our window, were all out of millet.

     We crowd together to get our food from the nearest HEB grocery to fill our pantries and freezers before we are stuck inside while no drive-in is open with everyone iced in. But these tiny free loaders had a feeding frenzy in their preparation for the weather change that they could feel in the air.

     Well, little wren, you braved proximity to the human abode. This human got the drift of what was missing out there in your domain. So there, I refilled the feeders with this pricey feed that they love. I also refilled the bird bath in case they needed a bit of a drink afterward.

     Now as I sip my hot tea, I watch the contented flock of finches, wren, sparrows and a cardinal or two come by to dine at their fly-ins. But as for a drink or two after their tasty meal, it turned into a rather icy skating rink. 

     Oh well, just wait a day or two. the water will thaw. Here in Texas the sun will be shining and the ice will flee to some other locale because winter is feisty here. One day you bundle up in sweaters and gloves, but the next day; it's a day for T-shirts and shorts.

WHITE COW IN THE FOG

 

     The lights of our Ford Expedition bounced off of the clouds that enveloped us. We had been forced to take a detour on our way back from the Guanacaste province and the narrow winding road ascended up into the mountains.
     The only trouble was the rain started and the clouds came in blanketing us in their blinding whiteness. This forced us to creep along at five miles an hour. 

     Glancing to my right, there was a wisp of a clearing, and I could see the edge of the road was near a steep drop-off. 

     To the left, my husband looked down from his window. He remarked that he could see the yellow stripe that divided us from oncoming traffic: trucks, cars, and motorcycles that flowed on toward us in a steady stream. Those drivers respectfully slowed as well to a snail’s pace.

     Most of the way, we could not see the front of our vehicle it was so thick. We crawled along slowly and praying hard. 

     This was our third time to experience such a thick fog on a roadway here in Costa Rica. We started out with clear sunny skies near the coast, but as soon as we left the vicinity of the airport near Liberia where we dropped off Jonathan, the drizzle began. Up, up, in elevation where the fog crept over the mountains and overtook us.

     After twenty minutes the fog grew thicker. Then as I looked out my window to the left, I caught a glimpse of a ghost like figure of a white Brahma cow. Just standing there staring at all of the traffic slowly maneuvering on a stretch of road that rarely saw much traffic.

     All alone and barely visible, this lone creature was unable to express what it was thinking. I also felt all alone and unable to say anything, for I did not want to break my husband’s concentration as he skillfully drove blindly along with only an occasional glance down to see that he was the same distance from the center stripe. We could not see anything else except the fuzzy yellow haze of the oncoming lights that were blinding if Jerry would look directly at them.

     I couldn’t help but jot down white cow in the fog when we safely returned to our apartment. The image has stuck in my mind for some time now. I wondered at how these cattle can climb up and down steep slopes to find grassy spots to graze. Usually there is a small herd at least scattered on hillsides. But here there was just one solitary animal. A family’s one hope perhaps. Watching silly humans going past in their noisy boxes on wheels. 

     Some days I’ve felt like that lone cow in the fog. Wondering what everyone is going after at such a pace. So glad that I am out of the rat race. Just today, I was looking at remote jobs and then I closed those pages with a sigh of relief. I will stand on my steep rocky ground. Time has picked me up and taken me through the years of child-bearing, work, volunteering, with only a little time off with my family until my time has nearly run out.

     My houseful of vibrant children has become still. Just we three older folks who connect mostly electronically with our busy crew that have gone on their way. I look at the images of what has been on the media. This is what I know of them today. Almost like looking through the fog. So close to my heart, yet barely reachable and faintly seen.

     The last two months we connected with several over dinners and sleepovers and a hike to Monkey Rock with some. I miss my herd. Some are still out of sight, but I know the fog will lift one day. We will see each other clearly and in person and I will leave this pensiveness behind as we banter, cook, explore, and wrap our arms around each other again.

     So funny, you know; when they were young, dancing and performing in the living room my heart overflowed with joy. But when the last one was tucked in and finally relaxed in slumber, I sighed, quite fulfilled, yet quite tired. Still, today, I think of them all out there living their best years and I sigh again, but this time it is from the satisfaction of having these memories of their time of growth, and now getting to share their dreams and challenges but not up close. It is surreal that the time has come when I even have held my first great-grandchild.

     Like that white Brahma in the white clouds, I am watching as others hurry to the store, catch a Lyft ride, and run to pick up a child from the school bus stop. Not I, I have different tasks now. I have my call to be a scribe. It is time to leave my footprint so that others will know that I was here. Perhaps, if some will stop and take the time; they will discover my thoughts and then some will understand the heart of this woman who still looks on at life, until it stops.