I know I’ve not talked about Casa Mejor here before (although I have mentioned it in other venues), but tonight I was just driven to write about it again. And, no, I didn’t venture out and enchant myself solely because it’s New Year’s Eve, or because I’ve imbibed; I did it because I left work early, and because I had been berating myself each morning as I left for work, about not better appreciating my literal “lot” in life. It’s so tragically easy to ignore what’s right under your feet.
For those of you just tuning in, Casa Mejor is the name of the pace at which Bear (my daughter ) and I live. It’s a meager 7 acres, most of which is taken up by the now-fallow horse pasture, because Spartan died this Spring [don’t be sad for him; he was 31]. In addition, there is a pond, a ravine, your basic grass-and-trees mix, and a small (but adequate for two) house. We name all of the places we live in, because we [used to] move very often, and it helps to be able to refer to them quickly in anecdotes. We tend to use non-English names, but that’s not always the case: we’ve lived at “Mt Carmel,” too, simply because that was the name of our street, and because we were too busy (ok, Bear’s mom & I were newlyweds) to come up with anything witty. Casa Mejor got its name because we moved to Ohio under trying times, and the place we moved to was hardly family-friendly. After nine months, we found exactly what we wanted, and so we moved into the “better house: Casa Mejor.” Better in every dadgum way, let me tell you.
So, can I express to you the wonder that is CM? No more than a poet can describe eating a peach, especially if you have never eaten one. Still, like the poet, I’ll make an attempt; knowing mine will be less worthy than any bard or minstrel worth his bread and cheese (and peaches).
I normally stand at my back door as I leave for work in the morning. From there, I see the very base of the large Buckeye tree rising up from the loam over the septic field of lush fast-growing grass (in the warmer months). There’s a grassy space of only 20m or so, and then the Ravine. It’s full of old-growth hardwoods: red & white oak, maple, ash, poplar, hickory, birch, and elm. Probably more; I haven’t really checked that closely. Now I think that I should. In the summer, they’re a beautiful blind to the setting sun. In the fall, of course, they’re a riotous cacophony of colors that takes your breath away. But in the winter, the acquire a different aspect. Because of their laying mostly in and along the sides of the ravine, their roots lay well below the line of sight from the house or pole barn. Still, they are exceedingly tall. I couldn’t begin to guess how long they’ve been feeding off of the creek that perennially flows through the pond. The result of this is that only the upper portions of the trees appear. I’ve always thought that this would give them a sinister aspect to visitors, but The Bear and I don’t see it that way. These skeletal giants patrol our western border, ensuring our safety even while we sleep. Their susurrant swaying in the early hours helps us back to sleep on uneasy nights. And their stark, forbidding beauty is a constant respite to me whenever I peer out a western window. Lest you think our other flanks are exposed, we sport two 25m, perfectly-symmetrical pines and an equally tall willow. The latter is Bear’s “thinking tree,” and an utter pain the knorts to clean up after. In other words, I wouldn’t part with it for Liberace’s ring collection.
Tonight, more so than ever, the naked beauty of Casa Mejor has driven even ‘lyricless me’ to near-canticles praising it (Those knowing me may weep or vomit, as appropriate). The air is unseasonably warm, but there are none of the night insects associated with the more pleasant months out here. Everything is damp, which only aids me in walking silently–the better to see the wildlife surrounding Casa Mejor before it scurries off. Raccoons and possums are fairly easy to spot, if one is paying attention. If you’re lucky, the flock of turkeys that lives nearby will cross your path, or perhaps you’ll see a whitetail doe and her offspring moving downstream. The rains of the past two days have melted the snow into next July’s dandelions.
Down at the pond, you’ll often see ducks, geese, and, in the early mornings, a single blue heron. Oh, and the fishes make an occasional appearance, trout and white amur leaping to seize some unwitting insect. Tonight, of course, there’s no life above the pond–it’s nearly frozen through. The bullfrogs are conspicuously silent, as befits the season.
Part of the beauty of this place is the constants. Tomorrow, the creek will continue to flow, sluggishly and submerged, through the pond. A beautiful, orange-breasted bird (who I STILL haven’t looked up in my ready field guide) will attempt to break in/make love to my office window in the early morning. The neighbors will politely question any visitors to CM they haven’t heard about, if I’m not home. Spartan’s still buried under that mound in the pasture. Next spring and summer, all of the perennials in all the gardens (I’m so lazy!) will bloom. And birds will continue to crap on the '48 Ford tractor in the barn.
Tonight, however, the most compelling thing is the light off of the fog. It’s warm, so I can’t even see my breath. Yet, the moon’s waning crescent is so diffused by the appellant fog that it appears almost full. It’s both lovely and mysterious. Not so mysterious is the sudden glow from the corner of the tack barn. I know there’s a motion-activated light there, and that some critter (I vote raccoon) set it off. Still, misting through the entire ravine, it looks like the penultimate burst of a big-city fireworks show, in stop-motion. That brings my attention to the dull, pale-orange incandescence of the always-on safety light by the completely unused basketball hoop and the pole barn. That, in turn, somehow causes me to look east and see the flat, murky glow of the nearest neighbors’ holiday lights. OK, that might kill some of the magic, but none of these can defeat the purpose of the winter fog, which is to glorify this winter night, and give hope and respite to all who endure her harsh conditions. It’s a “Get Out of Jail Free” card from Ma Nature Herownself.