Month: June 2014

A Love As Old As Time

/ Julie Atkinson / Leave a comment
Bone Shards & Fossilized Deer Teeth

Bone Shards & Fossilized Deer Teeth

If I had a blog, today I would write about dinosaurs. I am currently reading a book called, “My Beloved Brontosaurus,” by Brian Switek. The author takes my dream trip around the world, visiting the sites where the most significant dinosaur discoveries were made, bringing us amateur paleontologists up to date on the latest finds. Sadly, to both myself and the author, Brontosaurus no longer exists. He has been reclassified as Apatosaurus, but I have to say, I love him still. It has been forty-plus years since I first entered the world of the “Thunder Lizard” and I find creatures prehistoric as fascinating today as I did back then.

Dinosaurs were my first true love. From the age of four, I was captivated by these ancient giants and, as always, I dove into my idée fixe  with heart and soul. My parents were more than supportive and I remember with great clarity my favorite dino toy: A Jurassic landscape, complete with plastic cliffs, swamp, and a multitude of plastic dinosaurs. Despite the fact that my diorama included cave-men, a fact that made me very upset, I spent hours arranging my Brontosaurus, T-Rex, stegosaurus, dimetradon, triceratops, pterodactyl, and other favorites as they went about their life of hunting and being hunted. Everyone in the family knew about my obsession, but they only asked once what my career path would be.

“So you’re going to be an archaeologist?” a well-meaning relative would ask.

“No,” I would reply, with four-year-old indignation, “I am going to be a paleontologist. It’s quite different you know.” Enough said.

Crinoid Fossil

Crinoid Fossil

Down the years, my plans changed and I graduated college with a degree of psychology instead of paleontology. But nonetheless, my interest in dinosaurs remained. When my parents bought our farm on the Little Piney River, I did my research and found that the Missouri Ozarks is still rich in prehistoric remains. This part of the country was once an inland sea and rocks found in our creeks and rivers contain fossils of the ancient creatures who inhabited the watery world. After the seas receded and the ice-age ended, central Missouri was home to many prehistoric mammals: Horses, mammoths, great bears, and even sloths roamed field and forest. During the Middle and Late Woodland Periods (500-1000 CE), nomadic peoples roamed this area, subsisting as hunter-gatherers, making their temporary homes in the caves and limestone overhangs that are common in this area.

Fossilized Horse Tooth

Fossilized Horse Tooth

With loupes and geology picks in hand, Mom and I began searching for fossils along our stretch of the river. We may not have discovered a new species of dinosaur, but our efforts were soon rewarded. At first we found a multitude of fossils from small sea creatures called crinoids and snail-like mollusks called ammonites, which dwelt here more than 60 million years ago. My best find is the fossilized tooth of a paleo-horse, dated at over 2-million years old. Mom and I were thrilled at our discoveries, small as they were. Then we found the cave.

Shards of Cord-Marked Pottery

Shards of Cord-Marked Pottery

Up above our river is a small limestone overhang, typical of the kind used by the Woodland Indians. We checked with the USGS and found that the overhang had been excavated by the University of Missouri in the 1970s and pottery and other artifacts had been found. Now that the dig was complete, we were welcome to explore the area and keep any minor artifacts we might find – and find we did!

The cave, which we christened “Old Woman Cave” is a challenge to reach. We could only get through the underbrush in winter and even then the amount of bushwhacking needed was considerable. After climbing the near-vertical face of the hill in which the cave lies, we reached the entrance. The open area goes back about 50 yards, then constricts to a tunnel about 4′ in diameter. Since Mom and I are not spelunkers, we limited ourselves to the large part of the cave, but that was more than enough. We spent hours sitting in the fine, sandy soil of the cave floor, sifting through time. We found several nice shards of cord-marked pottery, deer bones and teeth, and river mollusk shells used as decoration. It was the experience of a lifetime.

Paleo-Trinkets

Paleo-Trinkets

Sitting in the silent darkness, I felt as though I had found a “thin place,” a place where planes of reality intersect and time becomes irrelevant. Holding a shard of pottery in my hand, I could feel the spirit of the women who created and used this pottery more than 1000 years ago. From their hand to mine, a gift across the millenia. I promised those spirits I would protect and honor their work and, one day, hand it on to another woman so she could tell the story of its making and of its journey through the ages.

In my recent search for fossils, I discovered my passion has more to do with connections than with fame or fortune. Of course, it would be great to discover an entirely new species of prehistoric beast or find a complete mammoth skeleton in our cave, but more than that I love the feeling of universal oneness I have when I touch an artifact so old. It is like weaving together the strands of time, making me part of a tapestry that exists outside of time, where all things truly are connected.

My Own Jurassic Park

My Own Jurassic Park

Once I began my new quest for ancient artifacts, my beloved dinorama came to mind at once. I knew it had not survived my childhood – played with until it fell to pieces – and I wished I could see it one more time. I knew it was a reach, but I plumbed the depths of eBay and one bright morning, I found it: A “Like New” incarnation of my favorite toy. I purchased it at once and the day it arrived I set it up in my bedroom and the years melted away until I was a four-year old with a Brontosaurus once again. All these ventures have brought me to the conclusion that Time is really just a human convention. We may not be able to go back to a moment and change our fate or jump ahead and alter the future, but the artifacts we collect and leave behind to be rediscovered give us a way to transcend the present and, for a moment, find our Universal past.

T.S. Eliot said it best when he wrote:

“We shall not cease from exploring, and the end of our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time.”

Welcome home.

Binge Cleaners & Horse Trainers

/ Julie Atkinson / Leave a comment
In the Mist

In the Mist

If I had a blog, today I would write about my life as a binge cleaner and horse trainer. Before you click away, preemptively bored by my reference to cleaning, let me say that observing my intermittent need for organization and my love for a very unique horse has opened up a world of insight into personality types. Its a pretty interesting world, so you might want to read on.

What is binge cleaning? It is a phrase coined by my younger brother, David, to describe the way both he and I approach home maintenance. Although we both prefer to operate in an organized environment, neither of us do well at day-to-day upkeep. We let papers pile up on our desks, laundry creep out of the closet, and the detritus of our creativity grow to epic proportions. As an artist and photographer, I have camera gear strewn about my office, covered by my latest artwork, pencils, erasers, and paintbrushes. David is a musician and computer fiend, so his world becomes awash in sheet music, guitar strings, and USB cables. Despite our tolerance for the untidy, we can only go so long before we need relief and a binge ensues. We plunge in and in a matter of hours have brought order out of chaos, leaving our families to wonder, “Why didn’t they just pick up in the first place?” To that I can only answer, “It’s just the way we are.” Accepting one’s eccentricities has recently become central to my life, in a way I did not expect.

The Happy Herd

The Happy Herd

I’ve been around horses most of my life. When I was a kid, my grandparents (Dad’s folks) raised Arabian horses and we raised and farmed with Suffolk draft horses and rode Arabians. After a fifteen-year hiatus, we got back in to Suffolks for a time and now we are back to riding horses. We have two paints and three Arabians and this time around, my consciousness regarding horse personality has been raised to new heights.

Although we bought middle-aged, saddle-trained horses, Mom, Dad, and I wanted to do more than just ride. We wanted to find a way to bond with our individual horses in a way that made us partners, not master and servant. The program we chose was designed by Pat and Linda Parelli and one of the most fascinating aspects of their curriculum is the focus on “horsenality.” Based on human personality testing, like Meyers-Briggs, horses (and humans) are one of four types: Left-Brain Introvert, Right-Brain Introvert, Left-Brain Extrovert, and Right-Brain Extrovert. I knew the essence of introversion vs. extroversion, but the right and left-brained concept was new to me. Left-brain horses are thinkers. They react based on observation while right-brain horses react based on emotion. My horse, Rain, is a left-brain introvert and she has opened my eyes into a whole new world.

Wisewoman Rain

Wisewoman Rain

LBI’s are very smart but have very low energy. Thus, Rain’s entire life revolves around using as little energy as possible and finding creative ways to avoid anything resembling work. The other horses have challenges too, but they are different to Rain because they have different horsenalities. What works to motivate Rain doesn’t work for Mom’s Arab mare, Nika, and what works for Nika doesn’t work for Dad’s Arab, Abe.  The key to getting Rain engaged in an activity, it turns out, is food. Rain loves to eat: Clover, apple-treats, carrots, you name it. If I make our training sessions a scavenger hunt for hidden treats, Rain will move at lightning speed to solve the puzzle and find her goodies. She’s happy, I’m happy, and we meet our training goals every time – plus I have Rain’s respect. Not an easy get in horse-world!

What does this have to do with my binge cleaning? Once I got involved in “horsenality,” I started thinking about my personality (I’m a world-class introvert and empath) and I realized just how much of  “She-Who-I-Am” is hardwired into my brain and really can’t (and shouldn’t) be changed. For most of my life I’ve pushed myself to be more outgoing, more social, and more energetic, but what if its ok to be quiet, solitary, and low-energy? What if I figure out how to work with who I am rather than trying to become someone entirely different? What if my goals for self-improvement revolve around being the best version of who I am instead of who the world thinks I should be?

Rain's Happy Place

Rain’s Happy Place

When I go to the barn tonight, the first voice I’ll hear will be the baritone nicker of my Big Paint Mare. She’ll have her head over the stall door, waiting for an apple-treat and and good, long, belly-rub. She doesn’t nicker to just anyone, her welcome is for me. If Rain loves me for the binge-cleaning, book-loving, techno-nerd that I am, how can I offer her any less? I don’t want her to become a hot-headed, high-spirited racehorse or a blindly obedient automaton. I love Rain because of her quirky personality, not in spite of it.

As Rain and I embark on the next leg of our journey, we will remember the wisdom of poet and memoirist May Sarton, when she wrote, “We have to dare to be ourselves, however frightening or strange that self may prove to be.” Here’s to the new adventure that lies ahead.

 

Cane Toad’s A Comin’

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A Bolt from the Blue

Bolt from the Blue

If I had a blog, today I would write about my lifelong fascination with weather. What does this have to do with a giant amphibian native to Australia? Honestly, outside my quirky family, nothing at all, but we adopted this phrase as an omen of a coming storm after hearing the opening lines of a song called “Cane Toad Blues” on a documentary about these massive and, might I add, poisonous members of the toad family. Right here you see that I was destined to be a science geek. Any child who knows the lyrics to “Cane Toad Blues” and whose mother read National Geographic to her kids at bedtime was going to be a little off the grid. Given that I was raised on documentaries and real-life nature adventures, it was only a matter of time until my love for all things meteorological came to the surface.

Grandy and Gran in the 1950s

Grandy and Gran in the 1950s

My mom’s father was my first weather sensei. Grandy Kent was a man of few words and my only clear memories of him revolve around stormy days. Whenever storms were in the forecast, Grandy and I would watch the western sky and when the first anvil-shaped thunderheads appeared, we sprang into action. Granny and Grandy’s house was in a subdivision, but it overlooked acres of undeveloped land to the west, giving us a clear view of approaching storms. There was an old wooden fence at the edge of their property and Grandy built me a little seat on top of one of the posts so I could see what was happening far afield. I would sit on my perch, leaning back against Grandy’s chest, his arm holding me safely in place, and without saying a word, we would watch the storm roll in. We saw the white wind-clouds ride before the blue-black skies and listened for the first deep rumbles of thunder. I’d count the seconds between the flashes of lightning and the thunderclaps so I’d know how fast the storm was coming. The wind would rise, the smell of ozone heavy in the humid air, and then we’d see it: The curtains of rain as they danced over distant hills. As soon as we could hear the rain on the trees just beyond the field, Grandy would say, “It’s coming across the pea-patch!” and he’d lift me from my seat, take my hand, and we’d try to beat the rain to the back door of the house. More often than not we’d make it, but Granny Ruby was always standing by with big, soft towels in case out timing was a little off. It has been 40 years since those magical spring afternoons, but I can still feel the promise of rain in the wind and hear the patter of droplets rushing across forest and field on those magical days.. Grandy passed away when I was ten, but the love of storms he gave me grew into a passion that I carry with me today. The year before Grandy died, I saw a film in school about amateur weather-forecasting. It featured a boy who built his own weather station and made his own forecasts with a barometer, thermometer, and a cloud chart. I was hooked! I desperately wanted to make my own forecasts and started gathering books from the library telling me what to do. The one thing I didn’t have was a barometer. Amazon.com was thirty years in the future and living in a rural Missouri town didn’t present many options for this kind of purchase. The only barometer I’d ever seen was an antique brass model Grandy kept on his dresser. It was a “look but don’t touch” situation, although we would get readings together when I was at the house. Shortly before his passing, Grandy gave me that barometer. It was the best gift I was ever given and it sits proudly on the sideboard in my living room, advising me whether to expect “Rain, Change, or Fair.”

Inside the Storm

Inside the Storm

As the years rolled by, my whole family supported my love of weather. Mom, Dad, and Granny Ruby kept me well supplied with books on forecasting and Granny faithfully clipped newspaper articles about anything weather-related, which we pasted in my Weather Scrapbook. I wrote to every TV weatherman in our area and received wonderful replies from all. Dave Murry, a meteorologist in St. Louis sent me stacks of satellite imagery from severe weather outbreaks and I got volumes of Civil Defense pamphlets on all manner of severe weather. I knew nothing about sports stars, but knew the names and “stats” of ever tornado researcher in the field: Howie Bluestein, Tim Marshall, Kelvin Droegemeier, Gene Rassmussen, and Tim Samaras were my “team” and I haunted PBS for any documentaries they sent my way. Today, storm forecasting and photography are still my passion. Since my academic strengths were English and art, a degree in meteorology wasn’t in my future. Happily, with the advent of the internet, I can indulge my interests as an amateur and be part of the storm-chasing community without ever leaving home. It goes without saying that no storm enthusiast wants an EF5 tornado to form for their entertainment. Tornadoes are terrifying, destructive, and tragic. For me, as for many, the fascination is the study of something we still don’t understand. It is (for me) armchair exploration of uncharted territory and awe at the forces of Nature. So, when I get an iPhone notification from the National Weather Service that says storms are in the offing, I will go out and drink in the heady air. I will check the radar and the thermodynamic fields from the Storm Prediction Center, but, in the end, I will make my forecast based on the moment I hear the rain coming across the pea patch. Then I will call Mom and she’ll join me as we watch the clouds and make our judgment. If “Cane Toad’s A Comin’,” you can be sure we’ll be standing on the front porch, watching the storm roll in.

In the Garden

/ Julie Atkinson / 2 Comments
In the Garden - Spotted Kingsnake

In the Garden – Spotted Kingsnake

If I had a blog, I would write about the speckled kingsnake that appeared on the porch last evening. Up front, I should tell you that I have very strong emotions about snakes; very positive emotions. I’ve always felt that non-poisonous snakes get a bum rap. From the Garden of Eden onward, humanity has taken a mean-spirited and largely undeserved opinion of the humble serpent. Take my kingsnake: He (or she) is a quiet, secretive individual, preferring shady woodlands and cool, damp gardens to sunny pastures or desert climes. He is gentle and (if needs be) easy to handle. Best of all, every variety of kingsnake is immune to the poison of all our venomous snakes and is quite happy to make a meal of them if the opportunity arises. I like the aphorism, “The enemy of my enemy is my friend,” and since copperheads are a problem around here, the kingsnake is definitely my ally.

So why am I not among the throng that hates and fears all snakes? What makes me feel compassion for my serpentine brother when others are repelled? It all goes back to an epiphany I had as a ten year-old. We had just moved to our first farm and although I dearly loved nature, I was terrified of the coyotes that roamed our property after dark. Their howls sent shivers of terror up my spine and I had nightmares about glowing eyes and gnashing teeth. One night I was wakened by the eerie howls and as I trembled under my covers, a whippoorwill began to sing. That was the moment of enlightenment. Hearing my favorite birdsong juxtaposed with the coyote’s lonely refrain, I realized they were one in the same. The coyotes weren’t howling to be scary, they were howling because its what they do. Barking at the moon or celebrating a hunt was all about them and their particular joie de vie and nothing more. They couldn’t help sounding ghostly to human ears, they were using the voices The Universe gave them and I had no right to judge.

From that moment on, I looked at the whole of nature in a different way. I realized although humans certainly impact the natural world, Nature gives us very little thought. Spiders and snakes aren’t “out to get us,” wolves don’t care what color hoods we wear, and no wild creature dreams of the day when it will befriend a human. For the most part, Nature’s wish is to be left alone.

I will end today with a quote from writer and naturalist Henry Beston:

“For the animal shall not be measured by man. In a world older and more complete than ours they move finished and complete, gifted with extensions and the senses we have lost or never attained, living by voices we shall never hear. They are not brethren, they are not underlings, they are other nations . “

Sweet Freedom

/ Julie Atkinson / 3 Comments
Our Home on The Greenwood

Our Home on The Greenwood

If I had a blog, today I would write about Freedom – my personal liberation from the shackles of landscaping. Don’t get me wrong, I love our beautiful farm and nothing pleases me more than to see it mowed, manicured, and abloom with wildflowers. I think it is only right to honor one’s home by keeping it beautiful. The thing is, its too big a job for one (or even two) people. In order to keep our lawn, the lawn at our guest house, the barn lot (front and back) and all the side lots and paddocks mowed, I have to mow every single day from mid-April to mid-October and then I have no energy for the things I really love to do. So, in the interest of self-preservation, I have hired a landscaping company to take on the grass for the remainder of the summer. They start Monday and I am now free to get back to my creative exploits.

Rain - My Dearest Friend

Rain – My Dearest Friend

In anticipation of my liberation, I committed a large part of my daily energy budget to working with my horse, Rain. Although I care for Rain every day by bringing her to the barn to rest and munch hay when it is hot outdoors, I haven’t played with her for almost a month and oh! how I have missed my girl. Rain is a big, raw-boned paint mare; one-quarter thoroughbred and three-quarters quarter horse. She is 15-2 hands (that’s 5’2″ at the shoulder) and is as laid back as a horse can be. I don’t ride a lot (a story for another time) but I love working with Rain on the ground. We are in a training program that sets out specific goals for horse and rider so they can work as a team, with the human as the leader. This is important for Rain and me because Rain is the leader of our horse herd and thus thinks of me as a subordinate. As an introvert and empath, I struggle to assert myself and this program is helping both of us find the right place in our relationship. If it sounds like marriage counseling, it very nearly is. Horses are complex creatures and smart, thoughtful, low-energy horses like Rain are a real challenge. As an introvert myself, I know where Rain is coming from, but finding the balance of power isn’t easy when you believe an animal is every bit as sentient as a human being.

Sure, I could make this a lot easier on myself. I could just treat Rain like a mindless piece of property – a motorcycle or ATV – and demand she do my bidding whether she likes it or not, but that isn’t me. I want to earn Rain’s respect so when she obeys me it is because she trusts my judgment implicitly. I want to have a partnership with this amazing creature. I want to learn from her as well as instruct her. There is much she can teach me, I am certain.

I will close with a quote from writer Monica Dickens (the great-granddaughter of Charles Dickens), that sums up my philosophy regarding horses:

“You and your horse. His strength and beauty. Your knowledge and patience and determination and understanding and love. That’s what fuses the two of you onto this marvelous partnership that makes you wonder, ‘What can heaven offer any better then what I have here on earth?'”

To that I reply, “Nothing.  Heaven is a life lived deeply, here on planet Earth, with a horse as your deepest, dearest friend.”

Cats, Frogs & Angels

/ Julie Atkinson / 3 Comments

If I had a blog, I would write about how much I have missed my cats. I haven’t gone anywhere and neither have they, but the rigors of summer on the farm have kept me so busy I haven’t had time to sit and be loved. Today I made time. The lawn can wait, the bills will keep until tomorrow, and the laundry will only grow a few more inches before nightfall. Today was for me and cats.

Sawyer, man of the house.

Sawyer, man of the house.

“Quality Cat Time” involves two phases: First, a long nap with Sawyer, the Big Black Cat, sacked out on top of me. His purr is the best lullaby I could wish for and his considerable heft keeps me cozy and warm. After nap-time has ended, I sit in my reading chair and Claudia Jean, my dainty calico, walks round and round from one side of the back-rest to the other rubbing on my head and face. I scratch her ears and she sits on my shoulder, loving the glasses off my face. I think she’d go forever if something fascinating, like cat hair floating past the window, didn’t grab her attention and I wouldn’t mind. There is no therapy as restoring as the love of a happy cat.

Claudia Jean, the Calico Cat

Claudia Jean, the Calico Cat

Then there was The Frog. Mom and I were going out to do morning chores and as we sat on the garden wall, putting on our work boots, we saw a big, handsome leopard frog climbing into the lap or our Garden Angel. It was a small thing, but somehow it felt like a good sign for the day.

Of Frogs and Angels

Of Frogs and Angels

Actress Cameron Diaz once said, “I’d kiss a frog even if there was no promise of a Prince Charming popping out of it. I love frogs” and I have to agree. There is something innocent yet wise in the visage of a frog, as if their seeming naiveté is an act to disguise their ancient knowings. I think they watch us with amusement and perhaps even pity as we rush through our lives, so full of worry for the future and regret for the past. Frogs live in the moment and although I believe they see the grand scheme of things, they keep their world small and simple. French biologist and philosopher Jean Rostand summed it up perfectly when he wrote, “Theories pass. The frog remains.” Amen, small brother. Amen.

Frog's Eye View

Frog’s Eye View