Going Inkless

From birth, we are all on a quest to figure out who we are and what we're doing here. We start by exploring simple physical things. How do hands work? What does that taste like? We stare at shapes and colors that catch our eye. We touch things and test our muscles. We play with sand and water to understand how the world works. Infancy and early childhood are a series of experiments that increase our knowledge of our bodies. In short, we define ourselves in the physical world. At some point, we become aware of a less tangible realm, and instinctively, we begin to explore in the same fashion. "Who am I" takes on a whole new dimension. Religion, philosophy, culture, history, all are new ways to contemplate our existence. What do I like? What do I believe? Who do I love? These become the focus of our journey, and the answers to these questions shift even for the most steadfast. We waver between accepting the traditional identity offered by family or society...

It began as a border war, a conflict of philosophies that exploded in harsh words between my husband and our neighbor one day. As described in a previous post, ours is a yard kept in a natural style. The more green, the more wild and vibrant, the better. There are deliberate plantings here and there, but we also welcome the weeds and wildflowers that sprout up among them. In spring, our back yard is a carpet of wild violets. In high summer, a lush tangle of vines creeps along the fence and up the birdhouse pole. In fall, the maple tree that shades our deck drops its helicopter seeds -well- everywhere they can fly. Our front yard is kept shorter out of respect for our neighbors' preferences, but our back yard is kept more or less as Nature intends out of respect for Her preference. We are sparing with the mower and clippers, and we avoid the poisons and chemicals many consider a must for maintaining a perfect lawn. Conversely, our neighbor takes pride in his well-planned landscapi...