17 May 2023 (anniversary)
Kristen Lindquist
anniversary—
the trillium blooming
right where it always does
Book of Days
BOOK OF DAYS: A POET AND NATURALIST TRIES TO FIND POETRY IN EVERY DAY
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Filtering by Tag: wedding anniversary
17 May 2022 (anniversary)
Kristen Lindquist
saying again
those three little words . . .
painted trilliums
Happy Anniversary, Paul! xoxo
May 17: Anniversary
Kristen Lindquist
Seven years ago today my husband and I got married at Children's Chapel in Rockport. Every year on our anniversary we visit the Chapel, which has been a favorite place of mine since I was a child. While I never actually envisioned myself getting married there--unlike many girls, I never imagined getting married at all--there has always been something special about this stone, open-air, non-denominational chapel surrounded by flower-filled gardens, blossoming trees, and tall pines, and boasting a view of the bay.
On today's visit we noted that it was significantly warmer than the day we got married there, when I wore lacy white long underwear under my satin gown. On that day the only things blooming were some tulips and a small flowering magnolia. With spring having arrived early this year, the gardens were lush and fragrant. Pink rhododendrons lined the walkways, forget-me-nots carpeted the lawn, crabapples were already dropping petals onto the stones. On the ocean side, a pine warbler trilled, and we watched a barge slowly make its way down the bay. On the lawn side, parulas buzzed in the cedars. I had a fleeting thought that it would be fun to get married there all over again, with the warm weather gods on our side this time. Renewing vows seems to be the fad right now, after all.
As beautiful as today was, however, I wouldn't trade it for that day seven years ago. As I mentioned in yesterday's post, the theme of our wedding was ravens, specifically the ravens associated with the Norse god Odin: Hugin (Thought) and Munin (Memory). Without getting into the intricacies of meaning those had for us then, I can honestly say that those themes are just as relevant in our married life now. As we revisited the site where our married life began, we remembered the joy we felt at taking this big step together while surrounded by those we loved and who loved us. And we also shared thoughts that could only arise out of sharing more than 13 years together.
Anniversary--
remember the joy we felt?
Let's hold those thoughts close.
On today's visit we noted that it was significantly warmer than the day we got married there, when I wore lacy white long underwear under my satin gown. On that day the only things blooming were some tulips and a small flowering magnolia. With spring having arrived early this year, the gardens were lush and fragrant. Pink rhododendrons lined the walkways, forget-me-nots carpeted the lawn, crabapples were already dropping petals onto the stones. On the ocean side, a pine warbler trilled, and we watched a barge slowly make its way down the bay. On the lawn side, parulas buzzed in the cedars. I had a fleeting thought that it would be fun to get married there all over again, with the warm weather gods on our side this time. Renewing vows seems to be the fad right now, after all.
As beautiful as today was, however, I wouldn't trade it for that day seven years ago. As I mentioned in yesterday's post, the theme of our wedding was ravens, specifically the ravens associated with the Norse god Odin: Hugin (Thought) and Munin (Memory). Without getting into the intricacies of meaning those had for us then, I can honestly say that those themes are just as relevant in our married life now. As we revisited the site where our married life began, we remembered the joy we felt at taking this big step together while surrounded by those we loved and who loved us. And we also shared thoughts that could only arise out of sharing more than 13 years together.
Anniversary--
remember the joy we felt?
Let's hold those thoughts close.
May 16: River
Kristen Lindquist
When I have time to myself to head into the woods and look for birds, one of my favorite places to go is Coastal Mountains Land Trust's Ducktrap River Preserve. While my husband was occupied with writing today, I woke up blissfully late, drove to Lincolnville, and hit the trail. Because of my late start the bird song was winding down for the day. Sun shone on the river, and as has often happened when the trees aren't dripping with birds, I crouched down on the mossy riverbank amid the ferns and simply watched the water.
In the past this exercise of living in the moment has brought me interesting rewards. Once a veery walked slowly out of the woods and came within ten yards of me. Another time a red-shouldered hawk flew low overhead, yelling at me. Sometimes an invisible winter wren will suddenly burst into his enchanting song across the river, the long serenade accompanying perfectly the rushing sound of the river. Often the drumming of a ruffed grouse can be heard like a heartbeat thrumming from deep within the woods behind me.
The river is not deep here, nor wide. Its gravel bed, clearly visible through sepia-toned water colored by tannin from the roots of conifers upstream, appeals to wild Atlantic salmon--the Ducktrap is one of eight remaining rivers that still hosts a (small) indigenous population of this endangered fish. The initial stretch of the northbound trail closely follows the river for about a quarter mile, offering several good vantage points to sit and absorb the beauty of the place. I won't say quiet beauty, because the trail there is still close to the speedway that is Route 52. But this morning was relatively quiet, except for a handful of warblers and the low "quork, quork" of a nearby raven.
The raven's call made me think of my husband--ravens were the theme of our wedding, and tomorrow's our seventh wedding anniversary. I'm sure he would much rather have been on that riverbank with me today, casting a fly into the current where I saw first one, then another fish rise above the surface of the water.
From the mossy banks
I watch fish rise in eddies.
Wish you were with me.
In the past this exercise of living in the moment has brought me interesting rewards. Once a veery walked slowly out of the woods and came within ten yards of me. Another time a red-shouldered hawk flew low overhead, yelling at me. Sometimes an invisible winter wren will suddenly burst into his enchanting song across the river, the long serenade accompanying perfectly the rushing sound of the river. Often the drumming of a ruffed grouse can be heard like a heartbeat thrumming from deep within the woods behind me.
The river is not deep here, nor wide. Its gravel bed, clearly visible through sepia-toned water colored by tannin from the roots of conifers upstream, appeals to wild Atlantic salmon--the Ducktrap is one of eight remaining rivers that still hosts a (small) indigenous population of this endangered fish. The initial stretch of the northbound trail closely follows the river for about a quarter mile, offering several good vantage points to sit and absorb the beauty of the place. I won't say quiet beauty, because the trail there is still close to the speedway that is Route 52. But this morning was relatively quiet, except for a handful of warblers and the low "quork, quork" of a nearby raven.
The raven's call made me think of my husband--ravens were the theme of our wedding, and tomorrow's our seventh wedding anniversary. I'm sure he would much rather have been on that riverbank with me today, casting a fly into the current where I saw first one, then another fish rise above the surface of the water.
From the mossy banks
I watch fish rise in eddies.
Wish you were with me.