Enjoying Sunday morning calm before reality sets in
It was a Sunday morning, a little after seven. I was driving through town. It was the time before the wind began to blow and the temperature would rise. All through town, taking advantage of the cool morning, individuals were walking their dogs. Some appeared a little bleary eyed. (They are not morning people).
Others had earbuds in and were listening, I imagine, to music or podcasts.
There were blocks where the lilacs were blooming and trees just beginning to green out. (A hollyhock by St. John’s Church on Old Pecos Trail growing out of the sidewalk was a foot tall. That’s resilience.)
It was quiet, not a lot of traffic. It was just a beautiful Santa Fe Sunday morning.
The dogs I saw were intently focused on the walk — I believe it is the best part of their day other than the afternoon nap. There are so many new smells, other dogs and a time to be with their favorite person.
In these times, we all — dogs and people — deserve a little morning peace, a quiet walk in a wondrous town.
But soon after, the winds began to blow, the fires blew up again as the temperature rose, and we were back in the other reality of spring in Santa Fe.
As we watched the smoke billow and the moisture sucked out of the ground, our dogs hit the couches or fell asleep under our tables.
As we watched the wind rip through the piñons, I think most of us longed to do the same thing. Pull the covers over our heads, sleep and not wake up until sometime in late June when the rains arrive (we hope.)
Because we are the adults, it is not to be.
There are gardens to protect, water to conserve and work to be done.
And, in the back of our minds, we think about the wildland firefighters on the fire lines, volunteers in the communities and volunteers rescuing animals.
Then, because of the times we live in, our minds go to the war in Ukraine, the politics of Roe v. Wade, the climate crisis and the lingering impact of COVID-19.
It can seem overwhelming, and a thought creeps into our minds: Is this the way it will be forever now? Crisis upon crisis, world without end?
It can sometimes feel like standing outside trying to hold back the wind — an impossible task.
As I think and write about this, our dog Toby, a Great Pyrenees, is sound asleep under my desk, and part of me surely wants to find a pillow and join him.
Yet we are the grownups, and there is aid to be given and work to be done.
Part of the weight we carry right now is the sense that an individual is powerless. Truthfully, in the grand sense, that is probably correct. In our smaller worlds, our communities, and our towns, it isn’t about large world-changing help. It is about little things. One helping hand at a time.
It’s helpful to remember Loren Eiseley’s starfish story:
One day, a man was walking along the beach when he noticed a boy picking something up and gently throwing it into the ocean.
Approaching the boy, he asked, “What are you doing?”
The youth replied, “Throwing starfish back into the ocean. The surf is up, and the tide is going out. If I don’t throw them back, they’ll die.”
“Son,” the man said, “Don’t you realize there are miles and miles of beach and hundreds of starfish? You can’t make a difference!”
After listening politely, the boy bent down, picked up another starfish, and threw it back into the surf.
Then, smiling at the man, he said,” I made a difference for that one.”
When we help, when we are kind, even if it is only throwing that one starfish back into the sea, it is not only a gift to our community.
It is a gift to ourselves. We feel better. We have a lighter step, a more determined outlook.
We don’t get to choose the times we live in.
We can choose how we want to respond.
We are here to help. We need more star throwers.
Take advantage of the calm and beautiful mornings our town offers up.
Breathe in the scent of our lilacs and those moments of stillness.
Enjoy the enthusiasm of your dog on a morning walk.
Then, when the winds begin to blow, know that it is a call to help.