November 24, 2010

We experienced a severe cold spell in December of last year that killed or damaged plants that had been living on this property for many years. A small oak tree that my brother had germinated, nursed along for a year, and then transplanted into my garden was felled by that arctic blast. This was a particularly disappointing loss as he had picked up the acorn during his travels in Portugal/Spain and had brought it back to Oregon. Tragic also was the loss of an olive grove I had planted several years ago. That fall was the first time there were olives to harvest…only a couple of handfuls but enough, nevertheless to preserve. The berry vines were damaged. This latest outbreak of frigid temperatures raises a concern in me for what will be taken or damaged this time around. It is happening earlier this year than last and the trees, shrubs, vines, and grasses are even less dormant than last year. The life has not fully left the veins. There is one difference, which is why I am writing about this now, and that is we are not experiencing the strong penetrating east wind that accompanied last year’s cold. I recall several days of clear sunny skies…and a strong east wind that cut like a knife. Wind chill it is called. The thermometer can read 18 degrees but with a wind the actual experience of cold could be that of a temperature of 5 degrees.

It reminds me of how a number is such a one-dimensional reading of reality. My mother is 89 years old. What does that really say about her? I will be 59 in a few days. What does that tell you about me? Our culture is fascinated and driven by numbers. The Dow-Jones industrial average, unemployment figures, the score of a Trail Blazer game, the dollar figure of our paychecks, insurance premiums, the calendar number of this day; numbers are everywhere and their influence continual, subtle, and powerful in shaping our experience of life. I would prefer to pay more attention to the ‘wind’.