making my almanac 📚

the space around me and what we find in it

at my local pond, summer 2022.

greetings, greetings to you, dear reader.

july felt like one of the slower months of the year, albeit my calendar reminding me of the obvious truth: july has never been a slow month of the year for me, if only because i pass another revolution of the sun. last week marked my 25th revolution.

as the days begin to shorten (with increasing frequency, by one minute to two minutes to three minutes to four minutes), i’m aware of the ways in which the world around me is changing: august, the month of rest and respite and vacation, for most of those i know, has me peering out from behind the computer screen to stillness in the hills and ponds and roads.

the people will return, the tourists hopefully won’t… until next season.

and in the nine months that i’ve lived in this apartment in the valley, i’ve taken to noticing the other aspects of life around me, trying to watch and listen so closely i almost lay my head down on the ground.

the weather forecast says we are due for rain of various degrees over the next ten days. i am reminded that one of the skills i developed in my childhood was learning to smell when the rain is coming. learning to watch the sky for when the snow is a day away.

and in my desire to commit to a place, a land, and a people, i have made notes in increasing and decreasing frequencies over the past nine months, the majority of which came at the front of springtime, when i was most alert to the changes around me.

i’m listing the almanac emerging from my notes app for you, in hopes that i continue it, in hopes that it sparks something within you for paying attention, in hopes that as long as i have access my eyes are open.

🫙✨ april 15 spring peepers are chorus frogs 

🫙✨ week of 4.18 dandelions emerge

🫙✨ april 20 yellow blooms first here: first the forsythia bushes, all along the roads, then the daffodils. the pinecones from the immensely tall conifers start to drop at around the same time

🫙✨ april 22 first bumblebee, dandelion // staring up at a chickadee in a tree 

🫙✨ april 29 counting eels in a local river: 671 eels, 6 elvers, 45°F outside, 11°C water, herring splashing upstream, rising tide — previous day recording: 7701 eels, recorded by a local group of high schoolers

🫙✨ may 8 flock of baby geese thursday after practice

🫙✨ june 21 the sun rises at 5:16am and sets at 8:32pm

🫙✨ july 21 turkey babies!

i’m sure there’s much i’ve missed in between these lines, but i am happy that i have a list, because it reminds me that i can pay attention to the things that matter most to me. i can give my time and my eyes and my ears and my body to the space around me, in hopes that i find myself in it, too.

i hope you start your own almanac of sorts. to see what you pay attention to. where you find yourself in between the changes. i’d love to hear about what you find.

onward,

sara

p.s. humans glow in the dark… did you know?