A plateau, geographically speaking, is defined as an area of relatively level high ground. The South Rim of the Grand Canyon, for example, is part of the Colorado Plateau, at an average altitude of about 7000 feet above sea level.

Plateau can also be defined as a state of little or no change following a period of activity or progress. “Progress” is a relative term, but it seems possible that a person could “plateau” in terms of their beliefs about any number of things. Perhaps doubt creeps in. Or one somehow just comes to know all one needs to know. It’s this sort of plateau from which a person is tempted to lob all manner of ill-informed, narrow-minded sludge and venom.

The view from the South Rim is expansive and breathtaking. I’ve never been to the North Rim. I see, though, that on average it is about 1000 feet higher.

It would be good to check that out some day.

A memory from school days long ago is the daily wake-up calls from my mother, who would faithfully and gently shake my shoulder and tell me it was “time to get up.” Getting up was a matter of necessity, not always welcomed. I’m sure there was a sense of routine about it, though I don’t remember all those details. In broad terms, it was getting dressed, a quick bowl of cereal, brushing teeth, and then out the door to catch the bus.  One morning, a pheasant crashed through one of the living room windows and landed on the floor half-way across the room. That was not part of the daily routine.

In any event, early morning has become the best time of day, especially at this time of year when the birds start singing at 4:30 or so, and the din of morning commutes is still a ways off. The mind is relatively fresh, even before coffee!

On my way to a meeting the other evening, this came into view as I left the house. Cumulonimbus, I think. It loses something when it’s reduced to a thumbnail on a page, but it was downright breathtaking in person. Pure majestic, imposing, billowy awesomeness.

This is what it looked like from a little further down the road. Wonder what was going on underneath it.

Sometimes all you have to do is step outside.

We didn’t get to pruning the rose bush in our yard this year. I’m sort of glad about that. It’s an explosion of blooms, and pleasing just to look at.

We received maybe 6 or 8 strawberry plants last year, and the runners from these eventually rooted, adding another 6 or 8- somewhere in there. As of a few days ago, they are beginning to yield their fruit.

A modest yield thus far, but we’re just getting started. We’ve never grown strawberries before, so there is much giddiness. Fresh from the garden- a real treat.

UPDATE: The squirrel assault has subsided somewhat (I think the signs worked). But we also planted a round bed of Evening Primrose last year. It’s growing nicely and we look forward to the show. And so does the family of rabbits that will at some point emerge from said bed. Yikes.

In one view of a perfect world, everyone would get to pursue their passion and pour themselves into their work. What a great gift it is when this is how things work out. Some people, of course, are just driven- by what I’m not sure. They always put their best foot forward, put their nose to the grindstone, and all the rest of the applicable cliches. For whatever reason, they accept nothing less for themselves, expect nothing less of themselves.

I remember taking a Lifesaving course for one of my phys. ed. requirements in college. I passed the course, but just barely. And it wasn’t long after that I was wondering how confident people would be if they knew that someone who got the equivalent of a 70 on a test, someone of average ability, was responsible for their safety.

Mediocrity rises above nothing. It gets by.

It’s been awhile since it mattered whether or not I impress anyone else. But I guess I’d still like to impress myself.

I look forward to my morning coffee the way others anticipate a long-awaited vacation. It’s what gets me out of bed some mornings. Cold brew is my latest go-to. Less acidic, pretty smooth, stealthily bold. The euphoric boost from the caffeine lasts about 10 or 15 minutes, so it’s imperative to capitalize on this little window of opportunity and get as much done as possible.

Sorry about the smudge at the top of the frame. Guess I’m still learning how to take pictures with my phone.

I harbor mixed emotions about squirrels. On the one hand, they are industrious, persistent, and agile high wire artists who sometimes meet an unfortunate yet most likely spectacular demise by short-circuiting a transformer and rendering entire neighborhoods powerless. On the other hand, they bury things in the wrong places, like in our raised garden beds. They burrow and dig (well, more digging than burrowing) in search of their stash of acorns and black walnuts, and in the process lay waste to large sections of perfectly good rows of spinach. I’ve pondered various courses of action: build a wall, post a guard, erect a No Trespassing sign. I’m aware of their prowess when it comes to bird feeders. So currently I have no plans to do anything, hoping this will be a short-lived battle of attrition- that their search for winter’s storehouse will move elsewhere. Shortly.

In the meantime, our attention turns to straw bale gardening. After flipping one of the bales over, I noticed the beginnings of some sort of bee’s nest (?), surprisingly intact and sort of perfect. Took my mind off the squirrels.

I’m not sure what constitutes a pilgrimage. I guess my trip to Israel would count as such. But my roughly semi-annual trips to Gettysburg feel almost like a necessity. The place calls me back year after year. I go to the same places. I take the same pictures…! Regardless of the program being offered at the seminary, I make sure to take time to get to Little Round Top and the 20th Maine monument. If I’m lucky, there will be no one else around, which heightens the senses and aids the feeble attempt to grasp the chaos and violence unfolding on this very spot on July 2, 1863.

It’s just woods and rocks now- a mix of hardwoods, pines, redbud. Low stone walls built in the approximate locations of the originals. An exposed, treeless face. Honeysuckle tucked between the rocks. Birds singing, squirrels scampering.  Peaceful, even.

But oh, if the stones could speak.