Notes from the Wetland

Behind Centennial Farm, the "over-fifty-five" (an age restriction) co-op in which I live, is a wetland, declared so by the Michigan Department of Environmental Quality, thus protecting it from development (and, indeed, from any alteration). Most of it is a grassy flood plain, with a few trees here and there, and at least one small pond. From our living room, we can look out over the wetland under many different weather and seasonal conditions, and it has become a favorite view of unspoiled nature. Judith and I have taken hundreds of photographs of and in the wetland, giving it the distinction of being one of the most-photographed features in our combined portfolios. Its beauty draws us, but also it symbolizes for me a condition related to my own: mostly free to be whatever it is, "retired" from the world of commerce and exploitation. That's a bit of an oversimplification for me, of course. I still have to pay my taxes and the association fee to the co-op. The wetland just sits there in its rocking chair, watching the seasons come and go. What retirement has given me is the time to let my mind wander. I can't think of a greater gift from growing old. When I reached the age of social security, I stopped looking for work to do for money and began writing for myself. After a modest career of writing for the marketplace, I have been free to use my gift, such as it is, to explore questions some of which I've wondered about all my life. I was fortunate, a few years ago, to get into a group of writers at a nearby senior center who met every week to share their ideas and stories and poems with each other, without assignment or expectation. The group inspired me to write something every week. It was as though I had a regular column in a newspaper in which I could say anything I wanted to. After about five years of this practice, I had turned out a lot of words, and in the process got comfortable with expressing my thoughts. There were times when my essays left the group totally befuddled, but they continued to encourage me. Now that the group has disbanded (I was one of the younger members), I continue to write essays whenever topics catch my attention. This book reflects my latest efforts and my latest ideas about life and the universe, ideas sure to be replaced as time and my reading and thinking go on in the wetlands of my mind. For the most part, the essays here are in chronological order. They weren't written as "chapters" in a book with a single theme. My mind wanders, as I have said. No doubt I have repeated myself more than once in these pages. Don Skiff, August 2009