Uprooted.

Photo copyright Aji, 2022; all rights reserved.

Yesterday afternoon during a (very hot) break in the rains, we limped out to the south boundary to see what happened to our beloved old gnarled red cedar. From our vantage point at the front of the house, it looked as though either lightning or a vortex of wind had landed squarely at its center, taking out the top and turning most of the trunk into cup-shaped splinters. Instead, what we have is the tree uprooted entirely, and having landed on its side, the branches creating the open effect from the other side.

As you can see, "uprooted" doesn't mean much here; it's been long-dead, so the "roots" were about as shallow as it gets. But it's cause for genuine grief, because the birds have loved this tree and made such use of it forever, for rest, to hunt, to sing, simply to be. They are still making use of it, even though it's on its side, so we left it right where it is, even though it's partially atop the barbed-wire fence.

It's not all that's been uprooted. Behind me, spread out on all sides? Dusty, chalky red dirt, no topsoil, and no growth. The farther half of the field behind where I stood used to raise the country's best alfalfa; the nearer half was full to overflowing with abundant chamisa and sage.

All bare.

The last three days' rains have fostered a little new sage and cedar, but I nearly wept standing out in the middle of it all. Five years ago, it was a wholly different land. And we can't say with any certainty that it will come back in our lifetimes, because the chemical composition of the soil has been so badly altered.

We also have more rain on the way. We may get a little today, but it's tomorrow and Wednesday that are cause for worry. Not, for the most part, for us directly, for there will be massive flooding and debris flows in the burn scars surrounding us at a distance, and that will mean more damage for people and place.

Meanwhile, I still need to step up the work of making the other kind of rain. By that, I mean sales, which we need to make consistently, always [and especially now that I've just shelled out in cash for all the bills for our second-most expensive month of the year, plus a bunch of costly medical stuff, all to the tune of the medium-high four figures. Yes, cash.]

So links are here:

• Sales here; 
• Testimonials here; 
• Amazon wishlist here (priorities are first and foremost, the other ladder, the Thermacell lanterns [the flies are already out, so the mosquitoes won't be far behind], and the liquid soaps, which we can't get locally but prevent our hands from cracking and bleeding given that we're forced to wash them fifty times a day);
• Patreon here;
• Ko-fi here.

We're still hoping to put aside enough for a new well when the ground thaws enough to drill in the spring, too, Nah, we've given up on the well. No one's available to drill before the latter half of summer, and the tax burden means we would never be able to afford it anyway. But it's perhaps even more of a good time to make a purchase, because Uncle Sam is a vindictive colonizer, and my current stress levels about paying it all are off the charts. And there's lots of fabulous work, so please share all of the links. 

All content, including photos and text, are copyright Wings and Aji, 2022; all rights reserved. Nothing herein may used or reproduced in any form without the express written permission of the owner.