From the Guide

Have I mentioned that it’s snowing? Yes, I understand that it’s winter on this band of the earth and that it snows in a lot of places. (In fact, I just heard from Sangha on the East Coast with 12 inches of snow and a power outage.) However, what all this means for me is a deeper interest in and a renewed commitment to attending to global climate change. Because this is one of those “no, this really is not normal” situations, with temperature records being broken daily, just as it is happening around the world. Did it snow here ten years ago? Twenty years ago? Sure. But not like this. Did we have temperatures in triple digits at the Monastery in Calaveras County? Sure. But we didn’t have entire summers in which the temperatures never drop below 90 degrees and the above 100 degrees last for days. I’m glad, grateful to be here in this exquisite spot on earth committed to learning from the land, being guided by nature, as we prioritize a reciprocal relationship with our Mother Earth.
 
While out shaking the snow from the bird treats (the fatty snacks they need in these temperatures they, too, are not accustomed to navigating), I was chuckling about the similarity between weather predictions and conditioned mind. On this particular side of the horrible/wonderful duality is the promise that tomorrow it will be warmer and raining. Then, perhaps during the night when the snow starts, the prediction becomes 100% chance of snow.
 
In the moments of bird care, feeling the not yet 30 degrees the temperature will shoot up to, breathing the freshness of the air, “hearing” the utter silence, what occurred was, “This is so gorgeous, it’s just that I can’t go anywhere.” What followed was, “Life is gorgeous and I’m not going anywhere.” A much clearer, more helpful message!
 
And, let me be clear, I was able to get out for a trip to the grocery store, several days into the freeze, several days ago. (This just in: A warning of landslides as the snow melts in the 2-6 inches of rain predicted between now and Friday. Oy!) Here’s how that getting to the store happened. On Friday, just before the retreat began, there was a knock on the door. There is never a knock on the door. When I opened it there was a woman, dressed in a manner of which an Eskimo could be proud. A trail of footsteps through the 2-foot-deep snow led back to a truck parked at the top of the drive. She introduced herself as a neighbor who lives on up the road, and she stopped by to see if I’d like her to clear my driveway. Once we established this was simply a neighborly offer, it’s no trouble, either she or her husband could do it the next day, and that it really is better to give the rain a smaller amount of snow to wash away, I happily, gratefully said an enthusiastic yes.
 
Our handyman hero is putting the finishing touches on the house for the generator. I’m hoping we get that up and running before time for spring planting! I suppose the power can go out at any time of year—certainly happens much more often in the summer than in the winter where I come from—so it will be a welcome addition to the “someday we will be able to have people here on this property” vision.
 
We are two months away from time to pick up the native trees, bushes, and shrubs we’ve ordered from the state. Arranging for fences is our next big focus, as soon as the snow melts. I’m being reassurance that this is indeed very unusual weather and people are hoping for wetter-with-our-much-vaunted-sunshine soon. To date I’ve never seen a critter on this property, but I get lots of clear information that they are in the woods awaiting the plantings of tender salads they can enjoy.
 
In gasshō,
ch