Honoring everyone who has done military service. Thank you for your commitment to this country.

I can feel my insides wanting to start quieting down, preparing for the winter as we head deeper into autumn. Outside, things are as chaotic as ever. Work continues on the house. Today another contractor came to tear out the small deck attached to our covered porch. They found rot in the wood adjoining the decking with the house (no surprise there), so will have to fix it. I had hoped to have this project completed this past summer, but I try to avoid wishing timing on such things was different. Who knows what is perfect timing? It’s all perfect, so stop messing—so I keep telling myself. It’s a big thought shift for someone like me who has always seen time as her enemy. Everything in its time, not my time.

At work this past week, I’ve been feeling like a squirrel in the fall, rushing around to wrap up projects and promises before starting my new role on Monday, preparing to leave the team. As per usual, Last-minute Lucy here still hasn’t done about half the things on her wish list before departing the team. Maybe it’s not meant to be? Timing? I’m going to stop worrying about what I haven’t done and if I get to it, I get to it. The soul is craving a break from all this doing.

Tonight was the sixth and final online course in tree wisdom, with the Center for Spirituality in Nature. We talked about our spiritual calling and what we’re going to commit to doing (ack, that “doing” word again!) to lessen our footprint and ensure that trees and forests are cared for. Using new wood resources in the remodeling of our house probably isn’t the answer. It got me thinking about all the little oak seedlings that pop up every spring and summer in our yard, forgotten squirrel food caches. I pull tree seedlings out of the ground when I see them in our yard; we can’t have a giant oak growing five feet from the house. Our next door neighbors have a giant white oak about twenty feet from their front door. Their house was built in the 1880s, and the tree was probably there first. It’s a beautiful specimen but causes no shortage of homeowner woes for them. I never liked destroying native seedlings just trying to survive. Who can fault a tree for being a tree? Maybe I should pull the oak seedlings out more carefully, setting them aside to survive elsewhere. No shortage of nearby places I could plant them. That is a “doing” thing I can feel good about.