a little bit feral

It’s that time of year. The kids next door to us went back to school today. Their photo on Facebook showed neatly pressed khakis, matching blue polo shirts and scrunchies, new lunch boxes, sneakers and backpacks. As they were headed out, full of promise and excitement for the new school year, I was still in bed, musing about the day that stretched ahead. See, I’m not quite ready for “back to school,” or “back to work…” I’ve still got to shake that “little bit feral” that I picked up over the past three months of sabbatical followed by a month of vacation.

I had a glorious time in the wild this summer. I enjoyed four long backpacking trips on the Appalachian Trail. My section hikes were challenging and each one delivered just the right amount of sweat, scraped shins and dirt rings around the top of my socks to satisfy my grubby inner biophilic. It’s hard to explain, really, but the appeal of climbing tall rocky grades, wandering under the canopy of the summer’s leafy trees, splashing my hot face in cold pools of water, and falling asleep in my tent to the thrum of cicadas and the conversation of owls gives me a thrill. I also spent many hours sequestered away in “Viriditas,” my prayer shack in the woods. This micro cabin with its tiny wood stove offered me a comfortable but rustic sanctuary to sit and reflect. Outside of each window there were nothing but green leaves, and the occasional falling acorn or scampering squirrel on the metal roof kept me from wandering off too far into my own thoughts. I wrote, rested, and prayed my way through most mornings in the prayer shack on the days that I was home. Back up at the “big house,” I also cooked delicious meals and enjoyed a slower pace of life.

I got a lot done- lots of downsizing and “Swedish death cleaning” going on in our house- and, sorting through the last seven decades, I managed to commit several ideas and stories to paper (or laptop). I did a remarkable amount of writing, but I did it on my schedule and, most importantly, in shorts and t-shirts. If I had to put shoes on, I reached for my camo crocs. Yeah, feral. Maybe more than a little bit.

Now, there were a few breaks that required me to be shod and run a comb through my hair: I had a trip to Mexico with our girls and my niece, which was followed a month later by the wedding-to-end-all-weddings at Grace Cathedral in San Francisco where our daughter Harriet and her now husband Ryan were married. That trip alone stretched my fashion sensibilities: in one 48 hour period I had 4 costume outfit changes requiring different shoes for each event. I was surrounded by lithe, glowing, dewy, young women. I was agog at the beauty.

I went shopping this afternoon. In spite of the fact that I spent many days climbing up and down mountains and sweating through every pore, the “throw-caution-to-the-wind” and summer-long enjoyment of cookies, ice cream, gin and tonics and sauvignon blanc at any and every opportunity seems to have caught up with me (or at least my waistline). And so, I found a few things today to get me back in the grown up groove as I head back to work next week.

One of my friends from my Canon-days in the Episcopal Church in Connecticut used to subscribe to a hard and fast rule for her “back to school” (or “back to work after the summer”) period of time: No Open Toed Shoes or Sandals after Labor Day. Wow. She meant business!

I don’t think I’ll show up in my crocs and I’ll likely to comb my hair, but for now, that’s the most I can promise.

See you very soon.