Having a new puppy reminds me of the first months after bringing a new baby home. All routine goes out the window and the youngest member of the family calls the shots. At 12 weeks of age, Ruby has us pretty much in tune with her schedule. She sleeps all night—almost—most of the time. But if Tara, our older dog, wants out in the wee hours she wakes the baby, and then it’s all hands on deck; find the leash, find the snow boots and zip the coat in the dark.
We take turns, mostly, and unlike when my children were little, this husband isn’t averse to cleanup. The last chore before bedtime is to clear a path so we don’t trip over toys in the dark. Oh, and we have to take a toy or two to bed so Ruby will occupy herself until she falls asleep again. I recall falling back to sleep hearing the clatter of a mobile being batted by a baby who was fed and dry but not sleepy yet.
Sometimes the established pattern falls apart. Last weekend we spent a night at the line camp down in the hills. Ruby slept fine, or would have, except for Tara wanting out almost hourly. About 4:30 am I gave up and called it morning so Bruce could get some sleep. Took the dogs out, fed them breakfast, and made coffee. Of course, the dogs immediately went back to sleep, but the windy walk had my eyes open wide, so I settled in to re-read a book called, Find the Good, by Heather Lende.
Lende maintains that there are always good things to be found in frustrating situations. She’s right. I would have missed hearing the owls and counting stars if I’d stayed in bed. I truly enjoy sunrise, when I’m up to see it, even though getting out of bed is the hardest work I do on any given day. Saturday’s sunrise was magnificent, and unusually long lasting. I watched it from the living room of a house my parents built that’s located on the edge of a meadow my grandparents chose for the headquarters of their homestead.
January is for reading poetry, and I’ve been spending time among the pages of a book by my old friend Joan Hoffman. She was younger than I am when she wrote, “I am seriously trying to sort thoughts and feelings and figure out who I am and why, and what lies ahead. I love the sky and the way the hills are; the seasons and incredible continuity sweep me away. I think maybe I’m supposed to count the stars before I die…and feel very small when I stand atop the highest point on the ranch, overcome by each yesterday.”
Last Saturday morning, in the lull between winds, and on the cusp of morning, I was overcome by each yesterday and the continuity of living close to land that has cradled and challenged our family for parts of three centuries. I guess you could say I found the good, and it’s my intention to hang onto it.