Being Present

It was very hot and muggy this weekend, but G/Son and I got up early to go to the farmers’ market. On our way out the door, he spotted one of our neighborhood cottontails, breakfasting on my neighbors’ lawn. We spent a long time watching her, as G/Son crept closer and closer. Eventually, he got inside her circle of comfort and she took off for the next yard.

At the farmers’ market, we bought tomatoes, corn, peaches, and a bar of handmade soap that G/Son picked out for his mommy. I always give him some money to spend “on his own,” and he made a bee-line for the lady who sells donuts, fresh and hot from her little donut machine. She threw in an extra one and G/Son was delighted.

When we got home, we sat inside the car and watched a momma cardinal and a bright goldfinch hang upside down and pull sunflower seeds out of the now-drooping heavy heads of the sunflowers. G/Son pointed out the other goldfinch, eating seeds from the centers of the black-eyed susans that bloom so reliably and last even through the drought.

That evening, just before bed, I read G/Son a wonderful book called What Does It Mean to Be Present? I asked G/Son when, during the day, he’d been most present and he said, “Well, Nonna, of course it was watching the bunny and the birds because you can’t do that and think about any other kind of thing or want to be any other kind of place.”

I think that’s about right.

Picture found here.

4 responses to “Being Present

  1. What a cool kid!

  2. What a wonderful g/son. What a wonderful life!

  3. Yes. Exactly as it should be.

    Thank you for the book recommend, it sounds like one that should belong in my children’s library.

  4. He is a wonderful kid and I do have a wonderful life. I worry about what his life will be in this world blasted by global climate change, but there’s little that I can do about that. What I can do is help him to store up good experiences and an awareness of the natural world. Moma Fauna, it’s a v lovely book that I found in the bookshop at Longwood Gardens.

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