Random

By Christine Tailer HCP columnist I grew up in a world where the streets were all numbered in a perfect grid. They started at the lower end of the island and marched north in orderly fashion. Even the avenues were numbered from east to west, though on the far east side, where the island bulged out a bit, they were known as Avenues A, B, C, and D. It was difficult to get lost. I didn't need a compass to get around. Perhaps that is why I am so thrilled with the randomness of our creek valley life. I believe that there is nothing more beautiful this late summer time of year, than golden hay bales. They lie scattered across the upland fields, stretching across an expanse of green to woodlands on the far side. Then there is the beauty of the meandering creek. It always beckons me to sit by its side. I find it curious that it's named Straight Creek. It's anything but straight, and its course seems to change with every flood. This changing is part of the valley's magic. It signals new fossils to find, new fishing holes to explore, and new private ice-skating rinks on which to fall. The rocky shore where we stood to skip rocks across a deep pool last summer, has now become a ledge rock shelf several feet above the water. It's a perfect bench where I can sit and watch the water flow by. It has occurred to me that our homing pigeons would make perfect city dwellers. They fly in flawless formation, circling high above the valley. Perhaps that is why so many pigeons inhabited my 17th Street childhood. I have memories of the pigeon man who lived up towards Second Avenue. He had coops of pigeons on his brownstone rooftop. He would let them out to fly high above the city every evening. When he waved a broom stick in figure eight patterns, they would follow his direction. I imagine they liked the order of the city grid below. The valley's turkey vultures, however, are not so organized. Although these birds soar overhead in groups or pairs, when one veers east, the others veer west. When one swoops low, the others climb even higher. They follow the random course of the creek valley fields as they ride the varying air currents. Then there is the large run at the north end of our land. It empties into a deep pool just before it joins the creek. I always stop by on my summer walks to enjoy the cool air that flows down its deep ravine. It provides us with our own off-grid, creek valley air-conditioning. We just have to walk to get there. Today, as the dog and I passed by on our morning walk, I heard the random chiming of small kerplunks. I turned my head in time to see several frogs, long legs trailing behind them, diving into the water. I smiled with the sight of them, wishing I could have captured their splashing melody. Their kerplunks were randomly timed, as were the notes of each splash, dependent on the depth of water into which they dove. And just now, as I sit still in the shade, I saw a butterfly pass by. I was amazed by the flightiness of its passing. It moved through the sunshine with zigs and zags, no clear direction, until it landed on a flower. It occurred to me that the random nature of its flight might just have a reason. Perhaps the zigs and zags make it more difficult for a predator to snatch it out of the air, and then another thought occurred to me. Perhaps all of these random aspects of our creek valley life also have a reason. They bring me random joy when least expected. Christine Tailer is an attorney and former city dweller who moved several years ago, with her husband, Greg, to an off-grid farm in south-central Ohio. Visit them on the web at straightcreekvalleyfarm.com.