How To Do Gratitude

     The obligations I feel towards this small property remain endless.  Research: septic systems, plumbing for the Hog Shop, windows for the Hog Shop, everything renovation for the Hog Shop.  Still-to-do: a burn pile of scrap lumber, trash to be collected and hauled off, mowing around the fruit trees and berries, completing the conduit for electricity to the pump, trenching a line for water to the Shop, juniper cutting on top of Whitman's Rough, preparing the family burial plot, smoothing the road, et cetera.  All this is to say that one is never without obligations as long as there's an "owner" of the "property."
     But obviously this land is more than mere property to be "improved" upon.  Our improvements may be named this so as to excuse ourselves from any higher obligations to nature.  For if we regard nature as the backdrop for our business, its value depreciates and all our petty concerns for PVC pipe, Romex wire, invoices, tax appraisers, and passable roads become more than justified.  Someone once said that the best way to offer thanks to a creator is to fully enjoy the creation.  (Liken it to the baker's joy when he sees the bread-eater close his eyes, lay his head back, and smile with a mouthful of whole wheat dough.)
     Gratitude to Earth or God or Life consists mainly in our useless enjoyment of stone-gripping larvae, the downy surface of new sycamore leaf, a black bass darting into shadows, the iridescence of wasp wing, and the invisible thermals that lift vultures along a ridge line.  
     So when I drove the truck to The Creek to water the orchard, I had to consciously lay aside tools and walk slowly through the Stonefield and alongside spring-born waters.  Making ourselves do what we want to do--what is best for us--requires continual reminding, after all.

Clouds and stones imitating one another.

Courtesy Harlin's Version: "Photography when the best so far still takes you only so far . . ."