Sunday, June 22, 2008

Filling the Well

There are times when sitting at a desk and pounding away on a keyboard can start to suck away your soul.

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Times when you've had enough of page after page of Times New Roman text.

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Times when there's really, really nothing on TV.

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And it's been wisely written that the best way to refresh your mind and replenish your creativity is to "fill the well." This is usually accomplished by going somewhere and experiencing something colorful, something fun, something simple and beautiful to renew your perspective.

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Yesterday, Steven and I moseyed down to my new favorite place for filling the well.

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Nestled off the road, seemingly in someone's backyard, its magnificent and quaint, all at the same time.

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We got there just as they were about to close (around 6 PM), but they gladly let us wander around and take pictures. A couple other customers were there too, and no one seemed antsy about staying open plenty longer until everyone had their fill.

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It will come as a shock to all of you, I am sure, to discover that my credit card remains intact and I did not buy every single plant, tree, shrub, and herb on the premises.

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(Mostly because they wouldn't fit on our porch.)

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And lest you think I went and got brave all of a sudden to take the picture below, I will confess that all of my "bee pictures" were terrible -- I forgot to bring the zoom lens and so any decent pictures of the bees would require the photographer to get right up in their grill. Which I had no intention of doing. Heroically, Steven stepped in and summoned the depths of his bravado to snap this one:

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Not half bad, dear. (Also, even though they didn't sting you doesn't mean they can't sting. They are perfectly capable -- they were just unmotivated. And I was not about to motivate them.)

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A tangential note: One Easter, awhile back, my younger brother Matt brought home some baby chicks from the pet store. They were adorable little yellow puffs of Easter-ish fun. My family, never being the type to turn down a new pet (or three), quickly adopted the little baby chicks as members of the family. One Easter or so later, the baby chicks became full grown chickens who, at sundown each day, would roost on my dad's head as he sat on the back porch drinking coffee.

Unfortunately, one of the baby chicks turned out to be not a chick but a dude, who grew up into a rooster. My parents soon discovered, to their dismay, that a rooster's instincts will indeed remain strong even in the backyard of a suburban neighborhood. After the umpteenth wakeup call at sunrise, Mom and Dad decided that it was time for their chicken-and-rooster brood to leave the nest. The Huff Chickens were sent off to a farm, and we were never really sure where they ended up.

I said all that to say this: Mom and Dad, I am happy to report that Steven and I have located your chickens!

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They are living happily at Heather Hill Gardens. Fat and plucky. :) They told us to send you their love, and also they would like another shipment of chicken feed, please.

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Hi Huffs -- no worries, all is well up here.

Between following a herd (flock? gaggle?) of chickens around, risking life and limb to capture bees-on-film, and soaking up all the delicious colors of summertime flowers, I'd say my well is pretty well filled to the brim. Which must mean that its time to put my nose back to the work grindstone. Ha.

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(Happy early birthday, Mom and Matt!)

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