GRIFFY TRAIL PHOTOS as we near Spring Equinox: A Walking Meditation

March 18, 2026

Two days from now, after a number of failed early attempts, Spring will officially have sprung. Several times, in February and March, local temps have sheared from over 70° to below freezing. OVERNITE!. These shifts driven by strong cold winds. And when it’s that cold out, Scampi simply refuses to walk; in which case, I set off on my own.

So, finally, this morning, we drove ten miles north to Griffy Lake loop trail, into the wild after the tumultuous weather of the past three days finally calmed down.

Yes, after two full days of refusing to walk in the extreme cold, Scampi leads the way.

But then, within a few minutes, I got preoccupied. By ice over frozen mud, indicating just what we’ve been through this past week. And especially, the graceful curving patterns made by the ice!

And oh wow, look! — a single human footprint in frozen mud under ice.

Not all who wander are lost. At least not all rivers or streams of water, indeed, not any! Since when did nature run in straight lines? Or turn 90° corners? Our geometry is but an abstraction upon the fertile suchness of this wandering trail, this wandering stream. The map, folks, is never the territory.

Scampi’s had enough of my peregrinations. Come on Mom, let’s go!

Okay, okay! But I couldn’t stop myself from stopping again, at one of the “beaches,” to see if I could spot a geode, and of course, directly in front of me! Didn’t even have to look around . . .

Nature constructs bridges here and there, all of them temporary, like all of us are temporary . . .

From the front . . .

from the back.

In nature, especially before spring has sprung, I am continually reminded of death. Once a tall, straight, stalwart denizens of the forest, wind brings trees down, one after another, after another.

Aside: I’m reminded of one day in a car with my new in-laws, whom I was meeting for the first time. Jeff Joel and I lived in a yurt in Teton County, Wyoming; they lived in a giant house in northern New Jersey. Jeff was a wanderer by nature; Amos was a entirely civilized, and not only civilized, but lauded globally.

So we four were together in the car, heading into Yellowstone, when Amos, looking up from the map finally, and out the window into the forest, wondered, out loud: “Why is it so messy? Why don’t they clean it up?”!!

We come up over a rise. Aaah . . . the place where I always take a photo, whenever on this very familiar trail.

Okay okay. Finally we are on our way back, with Scampi very far ahead. I asked him to please stop, so I could take a photo, with him centered beyond the place where a newly uprooted tree has fallen across the path, only to be cradled by a smaller one on the other side.

I never did see any real signs of spring . . . until, stopping by the side of the trail and squatting down to pee, this! Tiny flowers!

 

 

TENDRE PRESS live: “Dance of the Decades”

March 17, 2026

Once I was fully immersed in this massive recap project, I began to realize that it was one way that a woman of advanced age (now 83) could recognize, and even enhance, the fruits of growing old, rather than just getting old.

Actually, I had been primed to develop this attitude since my 30s, when I recognized that “the body is primary.” The origins of this attitude were practical: Having “failed” after one year at the professorial job I landed after graduating with a PhD in philosophy from Boston University in 1973 — judged as “too experimental” for a college that labeled itself experimental in then hippie California — I decided to follow my bliss, which meant that my recent fascination with astrology might one day “pay off” for me as a consultant. However, I knew I wouldn’t get rich, and I certainly couldn’t count on a steady weekly or monthly income. Instead, I had to gear down; live as simply as possible and trust the universe. Plus: keep my body in shape, since I couldn’t afford health insurance!

Yes, that’s how “the body is primary” mantra began. And for me, at this point in my increasingly long life, daily practice includes two full hours of what I call “physical culture” — 4 mile walk, yoga, chikung, tai chi.

So far, with a body that cooperates, the sky’s the limit!

I aim to challenge mind and heart and spirit in diverse ways, all for the sake of continuously opening space. In other words, I’ve always operated on the necessity of eventually breaking any frame, even that of my current “identity” at any point in life. Here’s an essay I wrote back when I realized that I had morphed into a “violent peace activist.”

OPENSPACE IS A VERB

Oops! Just noticed that the above essay is not yet in the tendrepress.com archive. Lots more essays to add there. I estimate 400 in all.

What’s wonderful about tackling such a legacy project when one is growing old at 83, is that the wealth of memories just never stop flowing, flowering, resonating. Simply, I have never, ever, experienced, on an ongoing basis, such a rich territory to explore. And exploration, as a double Sagittarian, is my middle name!

Here’s my Dance of the Decades, from tendrepress.com.