All he wanted to do was hike to the old apple tree in the orchard and pick an apple or three.
"Go for the ones up high" a neighbor advised us, "they're more ripe!".
We met Laura on the trail as she walked the property where our tiny house sits in the middle of the Santa Fe National Forest. When we'd seen her earlier across the pond and through the reeds, she called out "hello, neighbor!" A few minutes later she came up the hill and met us on our own hike.
"I live down by the river," she told us, "my cabin is the most...rustic structure on the property. But I've just spent a year in a teepee in the rockies, so this is heaven."
I didn't know which part of this encounter to marvel at: the tall woman with blonde choppy chin-length hair and leather tassel earrings who walked up out of the woods. Alone. Or the apple she was mindfully eating. Or the teepee, or the most rustic structure on the 150 year-old ranch we were temporarily calling home.
Edward, who knew already knew the magic of the apple tree and it's exact location proudly told her both. He was marveling, too. She told us about the ranch and how the trails weave in and around river and creek and pond. She told us she walks the trails most evenings at sunset. And in August, I bet she also eats an apple a day on the way home.
The next day after an excursion into Santa Fe, we had to rush home to have the "Laura Experience". Baker, Edward and I explored the trails, and intentionally (Edward's intention) ended up at the apple tree. He instructed me which apples to pick, based on size and color (a new expert). We took five.
Three for our "snack picnic" and two for the tiny refrigerator in the tiny house. He ran back to put the two in the fridge "for safe keeping" and returned to sit and enjoy the three "plein air".
The Green Apple: loved by Manet, Cezanne, Monet and Georgia O'Keeffe and now Edward Hofland. I told him Green Apples were to these artists the pinnacle of skill: the ultimate. He has good sense. We studied ours carefully and ate it slowly. We sat in the sun, sweat beading up on the boys' noses, loving those apples and when we were finished, we loved throwing the cores into the pond "for the fish". ("Full circle" Edward exclaimed saying something about fish manure.)
This moment was created by another moment: the meeting with Laura: the friend I will likely never see again: goddess of the ancient orchard: taking her walks and eating apples in season. We had to be there for it: to learn and see the mindful practice and to want it for ourselves.
Edward ate apple number four today on the drive to Colorado. I noticed he stored number five in the refrigerator here. This mindful ten year-old nomad packed in his treasure for another day.
"Go for the ones up high" a neighbor advised us, "they're more ripe!".
We met Laura on the trail as she walked the property where our tiny house sits in the middle of the Santa Fe National Forest. When we'd seen her earlier across the pond and through the reeds, she called out "hello, neighbor!" A few minutes later she came up the hill and met us on our own hike.
"I live down by the river," she told us, "my cabin is the most...rustic structure on the property. But I've just spent a year in a teepee in the rockies, so this is heaven."
I didn't know which part of this encounter to marvel at: the tall woman with blonde choppy chin-length hair and leather tassel earrings who walked up out of the woods. Alone. Or the apple she was mindfully eating. Or the teepee, or the most rustic structure on the 150 year-old ranch we were temporarily calling home.
Edward, who knew already knew the magic of the apple tree and it's exact location proudly told her both. He was marveling, too. She told us about the ranch and how the trails weave in and around river and creek and pond. She told us she walks the trails most evenings at sunset. And in August, I bet she also eats an apple a day on the way home.
The next day after an excursion into Santa Fe, we had to rush home to have the "Laura Experience". Baker, Edward and I explored the trails, and intentionally (Edward's intention) ended up at the apple tree. He instructed me which apples to pick, based on size and color (a new expert). We took five.
Three for our "snack picnic" and two for the tiny refrigerator in the tiny house. He ran back to put the two in the fridge "for safe keeping" and returned to sit and enjoy the three "plein air".
The Green Apple: loved by Manet, Cezanne, Monet and Georgia O'Keeffe and now Edward Hofland. I told him Green Apples were to these artists the pinnacle of skill: the ultimate. He has good sense. We studied ours carefully and ate it slowly. We sat in the sun, sweat beading up on the boys' noses, loving those apples and when we were finished, we loved throwing the cores into the pond "for the fish". ("Full circle" Edward exclaimed saying something about fish manure.)
This moment was created by another moment: the meeting with Laura: the friend I will likely never see again: goddess of the ancient orchard: taking her walks and eating apples in season. We had to be there for it: to learn and see the mindful practice and to want it for ourselves.
Edward ate apple number four today on the drive to Colorado. I noticed he stored number five in the refrigerator here. This mindful ten year-old nomad packed in his treasure for another day.
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