I do not hold "The World's Biggest Authority" title, or even the world's most beautiful dogs.. I just talk and write a lot about them! Who knew a Dalmation Pit Cowdog could be so noble?
Wayne and I and Luna went to a cabin in the woods above Mendocino this weekend past. We went with no agenda, except to find and pick huckleberries before the rains came. Wayne had the beginnings of a sore throat, so he had the opportunity to relax with the biggest job being to open the front door in the dusky dark. We went down into the village for supper at the Pub after building a fire to cozy-up the place. Luna had to bark manically at the neighbor dog who was just doing his big-guy job of guarding his flock of white turkeys (a chaotic moment, that one). As we entered the pub we were met with a noisy crowd, one empty table (ours!), warm golden light, and music from the late '60's, early '70's. The waitress looked like one of our girls, and most of the patrons & patronesses looked like they were high schoolers... such a weird deja-vu. It smelled and looked like a bar, circa 1971 in Arcata, Ca. Our conversation was a little limited because of the din, but we had a delicious meal replete with garlic fries and gooood cole slaw, oh, and excellent NY style pickles!
The next morning we had coffee from heaven, and a slow breakfast. Our conversation explored and lingered in the little dark places of our hearts where grief has taken refuge. We played with Luna, and made forays out to the brush to check for berries, and to the woodshed for tiny pieces of wood for the fairy stove. I spent time in the Morning Pages.
Eventually Wayne and Luna went out with a bucket (a cooking pot, really) on the Holy Huckleberry Quest. I continued to write, as I was on a tear. When Luna returned to the cabin and commenced thundering around throwing noisy things, I got up, got dressed, got my own pan and went outside, into the grey drizzling coastal morning. Well, it was noon by now!
We discovered that Luna could be off-leash and stay with us. She crawled through the underbrush like it was her first-calling. She begged for berries, and I showed her how to pick her own, which she did. She leaped over logs and crashed around nearby, playing catch with limbs and chunks of bark. We picked a couple of gallons of berries... yes, this is the perfect task for Wayne, because, as we all know, the best berries grow far above my head.
Before we left for the coast, Wayne and I had gone up to look at and be with, the Labrador pups. They gathered around Wayne's size 15 shoes and each of the pups grabbed a shoelace; it looked as though it was going to be a most interesting Maypole! They flopped over for belly-rubs and bit his fingers, and that is was what got to him! "Meat Pie drew blood every day! Luna never did..." Seriously, that isn't all that got to him, but it made us laugh. We did it. Decided. Said yes to Baby Boy Purple.
At the cabin we talk. We affirm our Life and Love. We laugh. We eat. We sleep. And then we clean up our tracks and slip back out the lane and back to Highway 1 which brings us back to our little house. We will pick up the pup on Monday, live and trust each moment from this spot of Now, of Love.
These are the Huckleberries. Full of all the vital nutrients of the forest and coastal air. Full of long, meditative moments in the brush. Full of childhood memories, and soon to fill up a pie crust with the darkest purple nirvana!
And the new little guy... his name is Emerson.