Writing About Place #WriteOut for @writingproject - This Time I Took a Turn with a View from the Inside

Every year, when prompted about that one location that centers me, that gives me pause for reflection and a need for introspection, I typically write about Loch Lebanon, which is a Walden of sorts where I had the fortune to spend time as a child. This was Grannie Annie and Grampy Spence's camp, our home away from home, which was actually Lebanon Reservoir, a tiny spring-fed, man-made lake near Colgate University, outside Hamilton, New York. How lucky I was to have such a location as a boy. A diving board, a deck, fishing poles, a fire pit, a porch patio, and acres of land to have kick-ass softball games. My grandmother seemed to name everything: the chipmunks, the ducks, the trees, and the stars that bathed during the day (which was actually the sunlight trickling off the water). We swam regularly, hiked to the candy store on the other side and back, and counted dam cars. I loved seeing Monarch larvae working its way through milkweed.

My allergies were something else when visiting, but I loved every second I spent there, laying beside my grandmother as she took a swatch from a willow tree and waved it to shoo the flies. The outdoor world (and wine) (and Southern Comfort) was a way to survive.

Yesterday, I discussed with teachers that this has always been my go-to place, but my mother, Chitunga, and I visited while he was at LeMoyne and the site was not anything like I remembered. We sold the camp when I was a freshman in college. The property we loved was let go, unkept, and not merely the nirvana I remembered when we visited. In my head, I always want it to be the oasis that it once was...just like my Aunt Rena's house on the St. Lawrence River. 

Times change, though. A good lesson to learn.

I don't live on a lake, but I live 4.4 miles away from the Long Island Sound which helps to keep the aquatic-drive of this Aquarian satisfied. It's become my new location of serenity...walking on Short Beach or chilling out on Walnut Beach. I can't afford water property and, because of undetected water damage, I had to replace the front porch of my home this summer. It is a small location, to small to entertain, but cozy enough for reading, writing, and thinking. Since I had to spend the money (I compared it to building my own beaver den), I've chosen to make the best of it. I can watch from inside my windows and make note of nature and the outdoors (on brisk days like this one, when I feel a bit cozier inside). 

This guy refuses to turn on the heat. If I still had a wood-burning stove, I would be feeding it right now. Who brought the crispiness back? Weren't we just sweating with August humidity?

Glamis the Wonder Dog is always at my side (usually begging to go outside). She seems to like this new space, too (she'd better. I'll be paying for it for a while), especially since she discovered she can bark and see from the porch without having to run inside to utilize the bay window to do her barking. 

This space, this place, is rather new...lots of light, views of the neighborhood...and an extension to typical inside living. I've already noticed the rhythm of squirrels and chipmunks. I'm not sure where they go, but they run from the trees and woodsiness across the street, scurrying to my yard every morning. I know that there's an abundance of chipmunks nation-wide this year because of last year's mild winter (reproduction has a few more cycles without the heavy snow), and these are the first I've seen in my neighborhood. There are also many red-tailed hawks, and on occasion a bald eagle shows his might in the skyline. We've had a incidents with bobcats and fisher cats in the area, and even a few bear - all bio-indicators for a healthy ecosystem (one that grew more abundant with the onset of Covid-19 and less traffic along the I-95 corridor). I've adored the wide variety of warblers, woodpeckers, and nuthatches, too. My backyard, a butterfly and hummingbird sanctuary, has shown tremendous life and I love watching the varieties that frequent the plants.

I don't think I'm writing today to name a new location, but I am stating that place is everywhere. Perhaps the goal of #WriteOut is to allow kids and teachers the time to notice everything around them - to chart life, rhythm, wonder, and possibility. Perhaps it is to pay attention to the details presented to us everyday.

And I have to include my dog. After our day of Reading Landscapes: Writing Nature activities - a program sponsored by National Parks and the National Writing Project, I finally had time to take her for a walk. It was dark out already, but I wanted to move, too. I've been intent on allowing her dog-time and to go on a sniff-bonanza as she feels fit, especially after the long office-hours I keep - it is her memory, after all. But about 3 miles out, I had to stop and ask her, "Seriously? This is walk time. Exercise! Do you really need to pee on every blade of grass (Whitman didn't) and fallen leaf you find?" I also told her this is our time to move, not to urinate (she had all day for that in the backyard), but then I realized, "Wait, Crandall. This is her nature. She doesn't live to record each and every day on a blog. She lives for the moment, and to make sure she knows where she's existed while she has life at this time. This is her way of marking I WAS HERE." 

So, I decided to pee alongside her. 

No. That's a joke.

Instead, I let her be a dog, while I could be an aching, middle-aged man trying to figure out why, like her, I  feel a need to mark territory, whether it is with posts like this or squats underneath the Sycamore trees.

My conclusion? There isn't one...just that we are human, we have the ability of craft, paints, art, and words. While our time on Earth is limited...the creations at our fingertip are endless. She has her bladder. It is beautiful, too.

Ah, then let us mark today with kids and colleagues, so there's possibility they will be able to continue marking meaning tomorrow. And hopefully it will be in rhythm of a beautiful world and not the destruction of it.

I am no different than the taggers of trains and buildings. I am Glamis, the Wonder Dog, too. It's just that I don't have to lift my leg.

I write.