Combating Leaves

One morning, not long ago, I awoke with a new understanding of an expression I had heard before.  Overnight my rectangular patch of green grass had transformed into an actual “blanket of leaves.”  You can imagine my surprise when I looked out my kitchen window and could not see one speck of green anywhere in my yard.

To be completely fair, there had been some patches of leaves on the grass in the days leading up to this, but nothing to inspire me to go outside and remove them.  Just a few harmless leaves, why disturb them?  But on this one morning, there was no denying it; I had to get rid of them.  I looked up.  It wasn’t readily apparent that my great silver maple had dropped any leaves at all.  This was a tad troublesome, as it looked to me like there were at least 100 trees worth of fallen leaves on my lawn already.  More was coming, of that I could be sure.

As I pondered the new vista out my kitchen window, I realized this was the first year of my life that I have ever been solely responsible for leaf disposal.  In my adolescence my parents owned a blower and had sufficient space to simply blow the leaves off their grass into the adjoining forest.  And while I certainly appreciated the blowers’ efficiency, I am embarrassed to say that for all these years I have viewed raking leaves as quite a romantic pastime.  It’s like a postcard for a picture perfect fall day: colorful autumn leaves drift slowly from the stately trees and a woman wrapped in a woolen sweater and bright knit hat peacefully rakes leaves in front of her white picket fence.  Hot chocolate and perhaps an apple pie await her indoors.  Beautiful, yes?

My husband, who grew up in leafy New England and knows better, happily handed over raking duty to me.  I bundle up my daughter and grab that ancient instrument of leaf removal, the indomitable rake.  There is a certain finesse to raking leaves I hadn’t realized before; a rhythm, a pattern.  At first I am simply enjoying hauling them into a pile to let my two-year-old leap into.  She shrieks with laughter.  I take pictures. 

After only a short time she loses interest, much faster than my own child self imagined.  When I was her age we lived in southern California and although we had one magnificent tree in our small backyard, the ground was mostly a slab of concrete and bounding into piles of fallen leaves never entered our sphere of play.  I’d always imagined that for a child it would be enormously fun.

No matter.  I turn up the intensity with my dear rake.  A wind has picked up and I notice my ever-growing pile of leaves has begun to flitter back across the lawn.  My daughter is banging at the door to go inside.  I do what I can with the piles I have made and go inside to reevaluate.  To my dismay there is no hot chocolate or freshly baked apple pie.  I’m starting to feel a little gypped. 

The next morning I awake to find a brand new “blanket of leaves.”  We repeat the process except this time my daughter loses interest after only a few minutes and I’m left alone, silently cursing this ancient instrument called the rake I had so adored just yesterday.  My arms and back are a little stiff, but they are calling for snowfall tonight.  And although I don’t know what happens to a blanket of leaves when snowfall covers them, I’m pretty sure its not good.  I’m thinking of chucking the rake and asking my neighbor to borrow his leaf blower.

After days of this repeated pattern I look around with satisfaction.  A terrific windstorm has hastened the process and just the last few holdouts cling to the silver maple in my backyard.  Whenever the wind finally loosens the last remnants of a once vibrant fall, I suspect they will be spared the rake for this year. 

Previously published in "The Star," Grand Coulee, Washington. November 30, 2011

Traditions to be thankful for

Much of the holiday season is made up of rituals. Each family has their own unique rituals that carry them through the cooking, baking, gift giving and decorating. Yet there is one aspect of the holiday season that is ubiquitous across America, the Thanksgiving dinner. One night of the year all of America sits down to the same meal, with only slight variations. The food has become a nationwide ritual that is the fulcrum to the holiday itself.

Compared to Christmas, or even Halloween, the Thanksgiving we know is a fairly new tradition. Our ancestors brought with them remnants of harvest festivals they surely celebrated in their own country, giving thanks for a good crop of food to last them through the winter. And although we all know the tale of the first Thanksgiving feast between the Pilgrims and the Indians, the modern day holiday that we celebrate in such continuity was only solidified as a national holiday during the Civil War, and settled on its current date in 1941 by President Roosevelt. Regardless of its origins and relative newness, Thanksgiving is ingrained into modern life and many, myself included, find it one of the most enjoyable holidays.

The very word gives us direction into how to celebrate the day. Give thanks. Simple and clear. Find something in your life, no matter the situation, and be glad for it. Most people spend the day celebrating family and nourishment in some form. For family doesn’t always have to be a unit in the traditional sense. At dinner tables across the country people will be sitting down to celebrate the families that they have made in addition to the families they were given. Family can be a loosely defined word. How many people in your life can you be thankful for, blood relative or not? The list may be short, but I bet it is fiercely cherished.

One year, my family decided to chuck the traditional celebration of cooking, football and turkey-induced comas and decided to spend the long weekend in New York City. Although the Thanksgiving Day we celebrated that year was in itself a nontraditional celebration, our ritual activities were in fact the embodiment of the Thanksgiving holiday. We braved the freezing streets and watched the larger-than-life balloons float past during the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. (Infinitely better in person than on TV, I might add.) We saw the Rockettes fling their symmetrically long legs high in the air during their annual Christmas Spectacular. We saw the tree in Rockefeller Center in all its twinkling glory. We didn’t see much football that year, and the turkey and stuffing wasn’t as good in a restaurant as it is in my mother’s kitchen. But every year when I see the parade on TV, I get a little tingle and remember what it was like as a teenager to stand there with my family, and I’m glad for nontraditional celebrations.

There is one ritual that we did observe that year, along with everyone else. At the very end of the Thanksgiving Parade, the marching bands’ music had faded around the next corner, and the balloons had long drifted off into lower Manhattan (or out of the TV screen). Anticipation for what awaited at the end of the parade built. Then finally, at long last, Santa in all his red velvet finery appeared in his magnificent sleigh. And at that, with the appearance of one float, the Christmas season arrived. Something more to be thankful for on this day of giving thanks.

Previously published in "The Star," Grand Coulee, Washington. November 16, 2011

The curiosity of greener grass

I’ve always thought that envy and jealousy were learned emotions. Somewhere around the adolescent years it seemed a desire for another’s life or possessions entered into the picture. As you grow up, the wisdom in the statement “The grass is always greener on the other side” makes more sense.

It turns out, I wasn’t quite right. Just about the time my daughter started crawling I noticed that babies seemed to have a fair amount of desire for another’s possessions. The surest way to get a kid crawling across the room was for another kid to have hold of a toy. At that stage I started to wonder at the “grass is always greener” statement. How many squabbles do parents break up in their lives over children fighting over a possession? Do they want it simply because the other one does too?

Could it possibly be that we are born with envy? Toddlers have an especially healthy dose of this trait, although sometimes I wonder if it is simply curiosity in disguise. Lately my daughter has discovered food envy. Anything on my plate inevitably looks better to her. With repeated exposure she would even reach for my raw broccoli, as long as it was on my plate. Try serving it to her on her own plate and its just a little tree to play with. Unsure if this is wise, I fumble on about how good it is that we are learning to share and let her take my food. It appears this is a family trait. My parents confess that when my brother and I were children they took to ordering things at restaurants for us that they wanted to eat, knowing that whatever they had, we would want.

As Thanksgiving approaches, it makes me think about the grass-is-always-greener statement again. In simplified terms, Thanksgiving is a time to take stock of what is already present in our lives and be grateful for it. Our grass is our own, even if our neighbors may seem to be greener. I can’t help but notice that just after we all come to terms with what we have, the next month we turn around and spend an entire month coveting things that we do not have but wish we did. It may be a flat screen TV or wishing for a far off loved one to be with us. But either way, I cannot help but wonder if we would start the year off in a healthier mindset if those mental activities were reversed.

The more I excessively dissect the “grass is always greener” sentiment I have come to the conclusion that I cannot believe an emotion like envy is something we are handed at birth. I’d like to believe that bad habits are something we learn. So perhaps instead what I witnessed as I watched my daughter race across the floor on her chubby knees was simply raging curiosity. And as we grow it is our task to turn that emotion into something healthier. Is our need to have something better, something perhaps our friends already have, what drives us to be smarter, faster, better? This year, should we be grateful for our innate curiosity, sometimes disguised as envy? If it will spur a just-learning baby to propel herself across a room, what else could envy teach us? If our neighbors grass truly is greener than ours, perhaps admiring it and asking what sort of products he uses on it will simply make our own grass that much brighter. That’s not necessarily a bad thing, is it?

 

Previously published in "The Star," Grand Coulee, Washington. November 2, 2011

Mysterious joy of Halloween is renewed

As October creeps along there are signs of Halloween everywhere.  Enormous displays of candy deck the aisles of the grocery store, neighborhoods are decorating their houses, the air is getting chillier and the darkness of night is advancing quickly.  I find children all over town giddily anticipating the festive night.  But it’s not just the children of the area that are looking forward to Halloween—it’s adults too. 

What is it exactly that adults love so much about Halloween?  Perhaps it is the chance to revisit a creative and silly side of our own childhoods.  Imagining that a dark autumn night holds something mysterious or scary is thrilling, even to those of us who are all grown up.  Or perhaps it is simply the fun of handing out raw sugar to other people’s children and imagining the good times that follow.  One night a year, children on a sugar high are adorably endearing.

Before we moved to Grand Coulee we lived in a section of our town in New Mexico where everyone had a couple of acres of land; beautiful, but not conducive to small children walking between houses on a dark October night.  The first year we lived there, fresh out of youth, my husband and I excitedly put out the Halloween decorations and filled bowls with candy, eagerly awaiting the first trick-or-treaters.  Sadly, we were sorely disappointed.  Not a single costumed child showed up and we were left alone watching scary movies with far too much candy to split between two adults. 

The delightful mystery of Halloween was lost from our lives for a few years.   Halloween is a holiday seemingly created strictly for children, and until we had one of our own it was too easy to treat the day as a non-event, a day to simply get through on the way to the more monumental holidays of the next few months.

Consequently, after a hiatus of many years, Halloween celebrations have reentered my life as an important date on the yearly calendar.  As a parent, I feel it is my solemn duty to give my daughter the simplistic childhood version of what a holiday may mean.  Therefore, for Halloween I give her pumpkins, costumes, and candy.  Unlike other holidays, the child version of Halloween is not much shallower than the adult version.  What is Halloween other than a guise for a night of fun and indulgence?  All that’s required these days is a costume, however simple or elaborate it may be.  Even the idle threat of the “trick” has long been discarded among most American children who rightfully assume that it is their due, without any sort of song, dance or entertainment, to receive their “treat.” 

I’ve been told that we live in an area of town that gets an enormous amount of trick-or-treating traffic.  So, for the first time in many years, we have pulled out the old decorations and stocked up on massive bags of candy.  They mysterious delight of Halloween has returned, even if I don’t expect any kind of “tricks” to entertain us during the night.  The guise of it all is enough to find the night alluring and special.  Keeping the bulging bag of raw sugar closed until the big day is, alas, a challenge reserved for the adults among us.

Previously published in "The Star," Grand Coulee, Washington. October 19, 2011

Activities for all in the fall

With the passing of the Autumnal Equinox and our march into October, fall is officially upon us.  October has always been my favorite month of the year.  Even as a child I looked forward to fall and the fresh back-to-school activities.  Its as if the heavy lid of summer has come off and everyone has more energy and a lighter step.  Now is the time to get things done, finish up any last minute projects that you had slated to finish before the end of the year.  The crisp days of fall beckon me to get off the beach and accomplish something before the frozen days of winter send us indoors.  The promise of a hot cup of cocoa and a good book by the fire entice me to be productive and enjoy the fresh outdoor air before old man winter arrives.

This October marks the one-year anniversary of the first time I saw Grand Coulee.  It’s the first change in weather that my senses recognize.  Last year during this month we spent a long weekend to see what offerings the area had for us.  It was a gorgeous weekend, crisp and clear, and Halloween decorations happily speckled the neighborhoods.  As the weather has turned this year, I remember that weekend and the feel in the air of the same back-to-school freshness that we were to get by moving here. 

Summer in Grand Coulee has a marvelous array of activities that kept us very close to home.  With the coming of fall, the beach towels have been washed and stored away until next summer, but by no means are we headed indoors just yet.  Festivals and fairs dot the landscape of eastern Washington almost every weekend this fall.  Head in any direction from Grand Coulee and you might find a town square filled with vendors and music, parades and food.  A couple weekends ago, I stumbled upon the Autumn Leaf festival in Leavenworth and a routine Saturday drive turned into an unexpected day of merriment.  Heading in the opposite direction is a scenic train day trip along the Pend Oreille River.  The trip takes only an hour and a half and is rumored to be spectacular.  There is also the promise of a number of different Oktoberfest celebrations in various parts of the state for those with Bavarian backgrounds or simply the love of good beer.

New to me this month is the unbelievable bounty of the apple harvest.  Driving near Wenatchee recently I couldn’t help but be overcome by the enormity of the process of picking nearly 60% of the nations apples.  On first glance, to a newcomer, it doesn’t seem like the valley could hold that many apple trees.  But the further I drove and the more I looked, I noticed apple trees growing in every nook and cranny that could possibly support a tree, and even some that seemed unlikely.  There is nothing that says fall like biting into a crisp apple, the smell of a fresh baked apple pie or cool apple cider. 

This fall offers many exciting day trips and new things to uncover for someone spending their first autumn in the area, like myself.  But I suspect that there might also be some new things to see for those who’ve been here a long time.  If long hours spent in a car aren’t appealing, there are numerous trails of every difficulty around the Grand Coulee area.  That crisp fall air is perfect for a short day hike.  With the quantity of fun fall activities to do in the area, there is likely to be something for everyone. 

Previously published in "The Star," Grand Coulee, Washington. October 5, 2011

The evolving family dinner table

Each night, families across America sit down to their own version of the family dinner.  I have no doubt that the character of those dinners have shifted as families have expanded, grown up, and moved out.  At our house, the dinner table has changed drastically in the past two years going from spoon-feeding a baby to a chattering, messy toddler. 

When my daughter was about six-months old I, like mothers all over America, busily prepared to start solids.  I saw this moment as one of the firsts in my life as a parent to extend some measure of shaping of her future life.  I was solely in charge of what she would put in her mouth.  Now was the time to present her with the right choices.  My strategy included fresh fruits and vegetables, a variety of whole grains, low-fat proteins and high-fat cheeses and yogurts.  I had grand plans for her culinary life.  Of course, I was not to exclude some fun.  That’s what grandparents are for, to slip her the occasional lollipop or cheese doodle, so I didn’t have to and it would be a special treat.

With the night of the first meal upon us, the organic, all-natural rice cereal was carefully prepared and the camera was at the ready.  At the end of the experience, we had about 40 new pictures to add to the first-year baby book, two, or possibly three bites of mushy rice cereal in her belly, and a heck of a mess to clean up.  I was so proud.  We were off on the right foot.

Of course, nothing goes as planned.  I quickly learned that my grand culinary plans could be chucked, along with the blended, frozen cubes of homemade baby food.  As soon as finger foods entered our life, it was clear I no longer had sole responsibility for what she ate.  She now made her own choices.  It was at this stage in the game, when bowls of spaghetti and plates of afternoon snacks arrived that other preferences became clear.   Perhaps it is simply the stage of childhood we are in, or maybe it is a personality trait, but she now takes almost an hour to fully finish her meal.  Which is not to say she will finish her plate.  Toddlers are graced with the ability to stop eating when they are full, not when their plate is clean. 

Our family dinner table has shifted enormously over the past two years.  We now sit at the table for a long time each night, when before we might sneak in our meal while watching the baseball game on TV.  I apparently have little control over what she eats anymore.  I provide the alternatives, but she ultimately will choose what goes in her mouth.  Mac n’ cheese and chicken fingers are a much larger portion of our overall caloric intake.  But, like each new step in the life of parent, I’m trying to take it all in stride.  What the next two years will bring in the shape of our family dinner table, I have no idea.  But whatever it is, I’m sure it won’t be anything I expected or planned for.

Previously published in "The Star," Grand Coulee, Washington.  September 21, 2011

The garden’s main crop: joy

Each spring my family and I faithfully plant our small little patch of yard designated for vegetables. I always find it a hopeful project. Barring floods, droughts, personal injury, relocation or disaster of any kind, I am promising my little patch of earth that I will care for it gently and lovingly until fall, when it will feed me.

Harvest time has arrived, and as usual it has caught me by surprise. I unexpectedly spent the frantic days leading up to a recent vacation turning as many apricots as I could into jam. As suspected, by the time we came home some busy little animal, or animals, had plucked the rest of the ripe fruit off the tree, scattering the bald pits around my lawn. As this is our first spring in Grand Coulee, I was childishly enthusiastic about all the fruit on our inherited apricot tree. It was a lovely surprise, and one that will supply something sweet all winter.

The personal vegetable garden has recently made a comeback with young families across America. Not since our country was urged to plant Victory Gardens during World War II has there been such a surge in locally grown produce. Perhaps it is some combination of both economic and environmental disaster that has inspired us to think locally. Farmers markets dot main streets all across the country, offering easy access to fresh, locally grown produce for those who don’t have the time, space, or inclination to plant a garden of their own. Grand Coulee has recently begun a summer Saturday Market where locals can gather to buy fresh produce, locally made products and catch up with their neighbors.

The key to a successful vegetable garden is to plant only foods that you actually want to eat. The promise of a lush red tomato will not entice you out to weed or fertilize your garden if you don’t like tomatoes and can’t find the time to turn them into tomato sauce. I like to keep it simple. Tomatoes, onions, garlic, basil, and zucchini are always in our garden. Rotating crops have been known to include summer squash, oregano, parsley, carrots, pumpkin, cilantro, peppers (both hot and sweet), and the occasional jalapeno. On any given day in late summer, our kitchen is awash with the potent scents of simmering tomato sauce and spicy pesto, canned or frozen for the winter.

Preserving what you have grown in your garden can seem like a daunting task, but it’s only as big of a project as you’d like it to be. Freezing is often an easier solution than canning, although freezing uses substantially more energy as you have to take up valuable freezer space for your preserved foods. Recipes abound on the Internet for canned tomato sauce and frozen pesto, zucchini bread and jams. Start small. Eat everything you grow the first season. Try planting one tomato plant in a pot and see what it is like to care for. A warning: eating a tomato fresh off the vine will taint your image of store-bought tomatoes for the rest of your life!

This year, my daughter has established an extreme fondness for our cherry tomato plant. We usually just plant one because each cherry tomato plant can reap an enormous amount of tomatoes. But this year, she’s the only one in our family to have sampled any at all. She gets to them first thing in the morning; while my brain is still focused on coffee and breakfast, she’s out the door wondering which “baby tomato” is ready to eat. If I wasn’t committed to a vegetable garden before this summer, I am now. Being able to offer my daughter food right out of our backyard is enormously satisfying.

I take a delightful joy out of preserving the foods we grow in our garden. Opening a jar of tomato sauce made from our tomatoes to sprinkle on spaghetti in the darkness of winter somehow makes this simple meal more enjoyable. As I open the jar I am also reminded of the late summer days of harvesting and preserving and look forward to all the fun we will have planting, tending, and harvesting next year’s garden.

Previously published in "The Star," Grand Coulee, Washington. September 7, 2011

A day at the beach brings out our inner child

Beach season.  Hot afternoons, warm evenings and cool, refreshing water.  Since my family and I moved to Grand Coulee last winter, I had been enticed by the promise of lazy, warm days on the beach.  Almost every afternoon since those promised warm days have arrived my daughter and I load on the sunscreen and head to the beach for some fun in the sun.  As the water in Lake Roosevelt rose and pushed the beachgoers into a small crescent of shore, people watching became one of my most interesting summer activities. 

I found as the summer season progressed that people seem to undergo a transformation when they get to the beach.  Except for young children, people of all ages seem to shed some level of conformity when their feet hit the sand.  It seemed to me that the toddlers and younger children were the only ones acting predictably: up to their necks in sand and inquisitively exploring their surroundings.  I saw teenagers building sandcastles and parents playing with their children.  Grown men and women were swaying joyfully on the swings.  We bare our imperfect bodies in bathing suits that in any other setting would be considered scandalously inappropriate.  It was almost as if everyone was so far out of their normal, everyday element that predictable behaviors didn’t apply.

It was the teenagers who first caught my eye.  Rarely do you see a child past the age of 12 simply playing.  Is it the absence of other entertainments that allow them to enjoy the things they used to as younger children?  Combating boredom is an effortless thing these days.  There are cell phones, social networking sites, email, computer games, video games and possibly, if you’re lucky, a book or a school sport.  In the absence of these possibilities, it seems as if the imagination rose from the ashes, and before you know it, there they were: conducting a sand castle competition, swimming out to the dock and swinging on the swings.

As I watched the rest of us join ranks with the young children, it made me wonder what it is about the beach that brings out the child in all of us.  If we were all half as active as we are at the beach, America wouldn’t have such an obesity problem.  If we interacted with our children as much on a daily basis as we do at the beach, perhaps there wouldn’t be as many problems in our schools.  It’s almost as if a day at the beach grants us the same freedom as a vacation does.  On vacation some of our everyday comforts are stripped away, leaving us the time and attention to focus on activities that are simply for pleasure.

I think being at the beach reminds us on a very deep level of being one of those sand covered kids we see at the beach today.  It reminds us that simply getting dirty and playing, then jumping in the cold water to rinse off is a rush of simple joy that is deeply satisfying. 

For much of my childhood I lived in a beach town.  My summer afternoons and weekends were spent in the sand and the sun playing with my parents and little friends I would meet down by the water and then forget the next day.  I grew up hearing stories about my brother and I purposefully throwing our peanut butter and jelly sandwiches in the sand, picking them up and eating them merrily.  This summer, I watch my daughter eating a sandy nectarine and know that if we were at home and she ate something that dirty, I would be appalled.  But at the beach, there’s much that we do outside of our comfort zone and regular day activities.  And you know, I think I like it.

Previously published in "The Star," Grand Coulee, Washington. August 24, 2011

Summer softball satisfies

Like many Americans, summer, for me, is synonymous with baseball.  All my life I’ve been a baseball fan.  Some of my brightest memories as a child are sitting in the stands with my dad at Dodger Stadium.  My brother and I would drag along our mitts with the full expectation that if a foul ball came our way, by golly, we were going to catch it.  We would order a legendary foot-long Dodger dog and let my dad finish most of it as we’d already moved on to the Cracker Jacks and peanuts.  At that age it was mostly about the food and spending a fun night under the bright lights with my dad, but when I think about those magical nights now I know a lifelong love was forming. 

When I moved to Grand Coulee and heard about a summer softball league, I was eager to play.  There is something wholesome and carefree about playing baseball on a hot summer night.  It also takes some guts.  Not everyone played sports in high school and not everyone is blessed with superior hand-eye coordination.  I played sports in high school, but unfortunately the superior hand-eye coordination skipped me over.  One of my biggest lessons of the summer was that just because you love something, doesn’t mean you know how to do it.  Putting theory into practice is a difficult thing.

This year the Grand Coulee summer softball league had over 180 players in the league.  I roundly applaud all teams and all players.  It’s not always an easy thing to make room in a busy schedule to get outside simply for the fun of it.  There are commitments to juggle, mitts to find, injuries to nurse, kids to take care of, lawns to mow and countless other justifications.  Yet still people came out every week to play with their team to have fun, get some exercise, meet new people and possibly win a game or two. 

Based on what I saw on the field this summer, I would say most teams landed somewhere in between “just out to have fun” and “out to win,” but I think all teams had the intention of doing both.  As an athlete most of my life, I’ve always had a healthy competitive spirit.  In fact, I think most people do; everyone likes to win.  With that in mind, was it possible to simply “have fun” playing softball?  If you are competitive, even in the slightest degree, is it possible to have fun if you are losing?   At what point does competitive spirit become a disadvantage to having fun?

I’ve always believed that competitive spirit is a great attribute to have.  It can inspire you to do better than you thought you could, motivate you to push harder and encourage you to continue when you thought you were through.  Perhaps, as with many things, there is simply some give and take.  For the sake of something that is strictly for fun, competitive spirit is great as long as it allows you to be a good sport, lose gracefully, and still enjoy your night. 

I also fervently hope that there is a way to be competitive without seriously injuring ourselves.  This season in the Grand Coulee softball league there were many minor and some major injuries.  Is it necessary to slide into base when we are just out here to have fun?  Even the best slides will probably result in a scrape and some bruising.  And occasionally, a bone is broken. 

It may be the end of the softball season but it doesn’t necessarily mean it has to be the end of getting outside and playing in the sun with our friends and neighbors.  And who knows, maybe that carefully cultivated competitive spirit will come in handy again next year.

Previously published in "The Star," Grand Coulee, Washington. August 10, 2011

Early sunrise adds new surprise

About a month or two before midsummer, when each morning brought the sun earlier and earlier to my bedroom window, I started getting up and going running. As a new resident of the area, I was warned about how early the sun would rise and that black-out shades were a must. The black-out shades went up, but the sun still found ways to slip through the cracks and land squarely on my eyelids. One morning I decided to just get up, put on my running shoes and head out the door. I’m up anyway, I thought; I might as well use the time wisely.

To be fair, this isn’t a new habit I just picked up. I was a rower in college in New England and got up well before the sun most days. Probably because of my time on the Connecticut River, or perhaps in spite of it, I find exercising with the dawn to be immensely satisfying. More often than not, you have the streets, or the river, or even the gym to yourself. The workout seems somehow easier, the body still asleep, the mind not fully awake.

As my feet hit the pavement on my first early morning run in Grand Coulee, I couldn’t believe my eyes. I had been living here for months, but that morning everything looked different. The cliffs were sharper, the lake stiller. The soft early sunlight brushed the tops of the trees, somehow making them look taller. It wasn’t exactly quiet. I had a number of dogs that greeted me as I passed their yards, but the town seemed so peaceful as to be almost magical. I think I was surprised because I find this area to be so peaceful anyway. What was really the difference?

A handful of early morning runs went by. Soon, I had a good idea of why I loved seeing our town at this time of day. I believe it comes down to perception. Everything looked different because I saw it in a different situation. I wasn’t driving, I wasn’t on the way to somewhere else; I wasn’t talking to someone or listening to music. It was an entirely different way of experiencing the physical environment in which we live. And because I experience it differently, the perception of that physical environment is totally different. Walking the streets of a busy city at night can have the same effect. It might as well be a different city altogether.

I notice that children have a similar reaction to perception. Moving toys to a different location when they are not around is almost like buying them a brand new toy. In a different spot, it looks totally different and freshly exciting, providing volumes of new exploration.

After my revelation about perception, it made me wonder what else would change if simply viewed at a different time of day or in a different location. Would an angry person in the checkout line look happier if met in the parking lot? Would an argument change dimensions? Would a joke told in one scenario be funnier than if it had been told in another?

How much of what we see and experience is simply the luck of perception? Is it possible that things we either love or hate could have had different outcomes if we’d first experienced them in a different environment? It makes me stop and wonder. After all, what is love or hate besides perception?

Recognizing that it may be just a change in perception that makes me appreciate my early morning runs doesn’t actually lessen the joy one bit. I still love to get outside with the dawn, and as long as the sun is up early, I will be too.

Previously published in "The Star," Grand Coulee, Washington. July 27, 2011