Play Ball!

Santa Barbara is in full springtime.

The air along my suburban driveway is sweet and heavy with the scent of orange blossoms. The winds coming down the mountain slopes are not the dry furnace blasts of late August and September. The air is the perfect temperature and carries a hint of the lingering moisture of the last rains of winter. The mustard is 4 feet tall, shocking yellow and bright green in the old horse pastures. In a few days, the California golden poppies will shout their arrival with petals wide as they dance in lazy circles.

The manicured grass is bright green. The pure white lines are perfectly chalked. The infield is reddish brown and immaculately raked. The sky is powder blue.

It's a beautiful day for baseball.

Lanky boys in uniforms that quote another century - long red stockings and lettered jerseys - leap and run, catch and throw. Cleats scratch dirt and a small white ball makes a satisfying slap as it punches into leather gloves.

Today I watched the Junior Varsity and my 15 year old son learn to play the game. These aren't the boys who hide in dark rooms after school playing killing games on electronic monitoring devices.

They are boys running free in the sun. They are learning the game of their fathers and their grandfathers. The double play, the line drive and the slide - SAFE at home are built into physical vocabulary and burned into muscle memory.

The naval oranges on the tree in our garden are heavy and ripe. I picked and washed a dozen. I carefully sliced them in 8 sections and poured them into a plastic shopping bag.

My 8 year old boy Toby and I drove around the corner to the ball field where the boys were practicing. I walked to the dugout and offered the bag of cool, juicy slices to the ball players. Hands reached for the dripping fruit and exquisite sounds followed as the ever hungry teenagers gathered the wet taste of a ripe orange into their mouths.

Their coach, a young man, newly arrived in Santa Barbara from Boston stood with the boys and joined the feast. He thanked me. I said, "I just picked them". He looked surprised. He bit into another slice and said, "This is heaven".

After the oranges, the boys went back out into the field. Toby picked up his mitt and tried to be invisible as he found a place at shortstop. His brother stood on the right field side of second base and the other high school boys took their positions. The coach hit grounders to each player. Toby fielded and threw the ball back in; an 8 year old boy taking practice with a real baseball team.

The world is confused and angry and bitter and crazed. Our children are sometimes held hostage because of fearful things that have happened. It will still be that way tomorrow. But today?

Today - was a great day for baseball.

Planting Summer in the Snow

Okay, what happened? last week was sunny and warm in the Canadian Maritimes. The door to Spring was thrown wide open as temperatures climbed into "balmy" territory. Locals were giddy after the long winter. Then it was as if Ma Nature flipped us back into winter, yelling,"Psych"!

On Wednesday the air temperature was hovering near freezing. As a steady wind blew down from the north I bent over the prepared soil in a field I have been fallowing for 3 years. I carefully placed each seed for our potatos, peas, spinach, beets and chard into the moist earth. My hands were numb. I kept working. My back hurt. I kept working. My legs ached. I kept working. Snow and rain in the forcast that night meant finishing all of the field work 3 days sooner than I had expected. After snow and rain soaked the dirt it would simply be mud. Too wet to plant. So I kept working.

Why?

All winter I had been making plans. Placing seed orders, organizing tasks so I could optimize the 2 weeks in May when the farm wakes up. My vision of summer bounty required that certain work be done - no matter what.

My plans were largely destroyed by first contact with reality on the ground. I spent time revising expecations and re-organizing tasks. I juggled my time around weather forcasts and visiting neighbors, production work in the studio and just plain daydreaming. But the real test of my creative vision was on that cold afternoon when my body wanted to quit and accept the consequences. I kept working.

And here's what I learned:

Make plans. Then scrap them.

Reality just is.

It's amazing how powerful an intention can be.

I beleive in what I'm doing enough to be uncomfortable in the process of doing it.

It's about love!


Tomorrow, I will leave for Santa Barbara. My seeds are planted. The weather will soon be warm and summer will come. The fields and flowers will be beautiful. I will pick beans with my wife, I will smell fresh mowed grass, I will watch my children steal sweet peas in the late afternoon, I will meet charming couples from Montreal, freckled kids and their parents from Ontario and smiling locals. I will laugh with friends who come home to the island each summer for wine and potluck suppers at the shore and a pack of kids and dogs will scream and shout into the deep twilight.

Summer.

Sometimes you have to plant it in the snow.