The Oklahoma Panhandle, between Guymon and Boise City, a landscape that brings new meaning to the word 'level.'

the Oklahoma Panhandle between Guymon and Boise City

When I smacked my face with the car door last Monday evening in Guymon, Oklahoma, my first thought after “I can’t believe I did that,” and “Holy Toledo, that hurts!” (only I didn’t actually say “Holy Toledo”) was “I’ve got to slow down. I’m trying to do too much.”

With 400 miles to drive the next day and the first hundred traversing the western end of the Oklahoma Panhandle, one of the flattest landscapes I know, I had plenty of time and space to think about that last observation.

What responsibilities and to-dos could I let go of?

The most obvious is selling my beloved house/guest cottage/studio creative complex. I had planned to handle the sale myself, since I know the place better than anyone else, and honestly, a real estate agent’s commission amounts to a pretty big chunk of change for someone who has had essentially no income for the past several years.

But I’m not a real estate professional. And sales is not my forte, as evinced by the fact that I’ve given away many of what may be the most valuable books in Richard’s extensive library, preferring to pass them to friends who would appreciate them or donate them to our public library rather than sell them.

Sangre de Cristo Range, east of Raton, New Mexico

Sangre de Cristo Range, east of Raton, New Mexico

Okay. Selling the house/cottage/shop is one rather large responsibility I could shed. What else could I let go of?

I pondered that question as the Panhandle gave way to the rumpled black basalt flows and volcanic cones of northeastern New Mexico, and finally to the first views of the snow-streaked Sangre de Cristo Range, the mountains I follow home.

Well…. I could ask for more help with the final push to finish my beautiful-but-not-quite-ready-to-sell place. Thanks to my friends Maggie and Tony Niemann, plus Bob Spencer and my nephew, Andrew Cabe, a lot of the finish work is done. There’s just the master bathroom and then all the “fluffing” details. Which is still a lot.

The tiny house with windows!

The tiny house with windows!

Beyond those two things though, I got stuck. No one else can write Bless the Birds, the memoir I’m immersed in. Or mastermind the launch of the landscaping-for-wildlife project for Terra Foundation and Audubon Rockies. Or give the talk at Denver Botanic Garden in just over two weeks. Or keep tabs on the myriad details involved in construction of the new tiny house. Or….

The next morning, I woke in my own comfy bed remembering Christian McEwen’s book, World Enough & Time, which I reviewed last August. One of the things I learned in reading McEwen’s book is shedding to-dos and responsibilities is only part of making “enough” time. The other and perhaps more important part is pacing.

I could choose to race frenziedly through each day, telling myself that once I got through this crunch, I’d take some time to rest and recover. (That’s my usual M.O.) Or I could choose to recognize that this isn’t a temporary crunch, it’s simply a full and interesting life. And I need to find the time each day to breathe, rest, and take care of myself.

It’s that old saying about life being what happens along the way, not the end of the journey. Oh, yeah.

It is good to have an end to journey toward; but it is the journey that matters in the end. (attributed to Ursula K. LeGuin)

I’ve spent the week practicing pacing my journey more deliberately. Every time I feel that panicky need to race through something just to get it done, I remind myself that this isn’t a temporary crisis. It is the journey.

Sitting in the doorway of my tiny house yesterday evening, dangling my legs over what will be the deck, this is what I saw--a gift of taking time to just be.

The view from the doorway of my tiny house yesterday evening, as I sat and dangled my legs over the space where the deck will be, a gift of taking time to just be.

And I rest when I need to rest. I stop and breathe. I look around me and appreciate that I am here. Now.

I’m accomplishing just as much, and appreciating more. I’m finding more grace and delight and outright joy. And I’m less overwhelmed and burnt out.

Also, I haven’t fallen, smacked myself in the face or injured myself in any way. I think I’m making progress. :)

Normally, I’m a voracious and eclectic reader. Right now, with two intense writing projects, plus consulting on the launch of a new program on landscaping for wildlife, finish carpentry at this house and beginning construction of the new one, at the end of my workday, I go to bed.

Still, I do have some great books on my to-read stack. Here are three capsule reviews of three books I enjoyed so much I wanted to share them with you.

Journeywoman: Swinging a Hammer in a Man’s World by Kate Braid

Kate Braid slinging studs for a house.

Kate Braid slinging studs for a house.

It was the summer of 1975, and Kate Braid needed to earn “a chunk of money, fast” to return to college in Vancouver, Canada. How would she get it?

‘Up north.’ Actually, until the words came out of my mouth, I had no plan at all, but in 1975, whenever a guy wanted money in British Columbia, he went ‘up north’–to Kitimat, Smithers, Prince George–and came back with pocketfuls. It was boom days in northern BC…. If a man could earn big money up north, why couldn’t I?

Braid and a woman friend bought camping gear at an Army Surplus store, hitchhiked their way north, “and for the next two weeks applied at every sawmill, paper mill and fish processing plant between Williams Lake and Prince Rupert.” At each one, “the foreman took one look and said, ‘Sorry, girls’….”

The two did finally find work stacking lumber at a planer mill. That summer spent “dancing with lumber,” as Braid puts it, gives her a taste of the world of working with muscles and wood, a world she eventually joins as one of the first women in the overwhelmingly male trades. Braid’s book is a portrait of a time, and a cracking good read. (Read the full review on Story Circle Book Reviews.)

Middlewood Journal: Drawing Inspiration from Nature by Helen Scott Correll

The cover gives a taste of Helen Scott Correll's eye, and her sketching talents.

The book cover gives a taste of Helen Scott Correll’s eye, and her art.

You know the sort of book you can pick up, open any page, and be enchanted? Middlewood Journal is that kind of book, because Helen Correll is that kind of observer. The book is a year’s record–in journal entries and gorgeous sketches–of Correll’s daily walks from her house, the Middlewood of the title, through the surrounding countryside of South Carolina’s Piedmont. Correll’s surroundings aren’t grand or particularly wild. But through her eyes and talented hands, they are compelling.

Full disclosure: I wrote a blurb for this book. It begins, “Warning: Middlewood Journal is addictive.” I stand by that claim. It is, in the best possible way: that of inciting wonder.

The Women Jefferson Loved by Virginia Scharff

Jefferson's Monticello, with two of the women he loved on the lawn

Jefferson’s Monticello, with two of the women he loved strolling the lawn

I picked up this book because I’ve admired Scharff since we became friends in grad school. I kept reading because her view of Jefferson through the lives of the women who in many ways defined him is fascinating. A professor of history at the University of New Mexico, Scharff is a dogged researcher, a creative thinker and an outspoken feminist. She’s also a witty and trenchant writer, as this passage about Jefferson’s mother’s reaction to his early revolutionary views shows:

What was a mother to think, as her son and his compatriots tacked toward treason? Jane Randolph Jefferson had been born in England and reared among British gentry in Virginia. She valued the fine things connected with the mother country. … In ordinary times her men might hold any number of bold ideas or unconventional philosophies, but such notions would have fewer real consequences.

The Women Jefferson Loved brings alive the five key women in Jefferson’s life: his mother, his wife, his daughters, and his mistress, who was also his slave. It’s a great read, and a window into the women–and men–of an extraordinary time.

*****

And now that brag:

Every year Story Circle Network, a national association of writers of memoir and life-stories, picks a blogger for the previous year to honor with their “Super Star Blogger Award.” This time around, it’s me, for this very blog. I’m deeply honored. Thank you, writing sisters!

And thank you, community of readers, for walking this journey with me.