Embrace the Gray
My family and I have been sheltering in place since March 12th and the only major upset to my schedule has been my missed long awaited breakfast/hiking date with one of my dearest friends. Other than that, life has been much like any extended break from school without the option of camp and playdates. You know - the kids are sleeping late, eating out of boredom, and vegging out in front of screens. However, that will change now that the school district got all of the online schooling kinks out and they must continue on with their education. I too need to get back to my usual routine. Apparently my darling offspring forgot that horses, goats, and chickens don’t feed or clean up after themselves and the garden plots don’t prepare and seed themselves. I think they assumed my only job is to be head short order cook and dishwasher in my kitchen/diner. I do on occasion have to make a supply run and when I do I leave home with my N95 mask, washable ball cap, Lysol spray, hand sanitizer, and massive amounts of fortitude. Grocery shopping has become something of an extreme sport with the objective of getting in and out with the best time while refraining from touching my face and avoiding contact with other people.
The other week (Friday March 27th to be exact) was my last outing. I pulled into the parking lot and prepared myself for battle. First I put on my mask. Then I adjusted the rearview mirror so I could see what I was doing while I piled my hair under the hat. I couldn’t help but laugh when I noticed just how many strands of silver streak my otherwise dark brown curls. Damn! I sparkle in the sunlight like a Twilight vampire. Why haven’t I noticed this before? Well, it all comes down to living in a dimly lit house and not giving my locks a lot of attention. I guess I should have listened when my taller- than- me son was commenting on all my gray hair the one day he was helping me in the yard. When I arrived home from a not so harrowing experience I mentioned to my husband that I have way more gray hair than I realized. He laughed and blamed our inferior lighting for my oversight but assured me that he often feels the same way when he sees his silver streaks.
I find it appropriate to mention my grays during a time when nonessential businesses like hair salons are shut down. I’m sure some of us are missing some very talented colorists during this time. I am not troubled for the simple reason that I am one of the laziest people I know when it comes to personal upkeep. I’m usually not up for anything beyond showering and brushing my teeth. But I can understand that for some people it can be stressful especially living in a society that values beauty and youth over age and wisdom. I sincerely hope that every gray fox out there realizes that the most valuable thing about them is their ability to keep themselves healthy and safe. As much as I’d like to come up with some clever wondering on my mature look, I (unfortunately) didn’t sit down to write about gray hair and growing old gracefully. I sat down to write about the following day because just like my hair it was gray and beautiful and a complete surprise.
Allow me to set the scene. It was a misty, gray, cold morning. The earth beneath my boots was soft and yielding. The pastures were still brown with a hint of green. I was walking back from the horse barn when I stopped to admire my surroundings. I noticed that although it was cool and cloudy the world was very much alive. What a difference a few weeks make! Unlike a late winter day this early spring day was full of bird song and energy. I gazed upon the adjacent field; my eyes drawn to the movement along the ground. Further observation showed me that it was covered in birds but a closer inspection took my breath away. For the first time in my life I saw juncos and robins foraging together. I wish I had my camera because (for me) it was the most magical moment. The land, shrouded in a gray mist, revealed an assembly of the original birds of winter and the quintessential early birds of spring. Time stood still as I absorbed the experience. Then a barn cat ran through the field, scattering the birds and breaking the spell.
All day long my mind kept going back to that moment and the words “embrace the gray” were on repeat in my head. That day had an early and somber start. Duchess, our 12 year old English bulldog, woke us up well before sunrise. She was suffering from seizures and required all of our attention. It didn’t come as a surprise since two months earlier she had been diagnosed with a brain tumor. Concern for her weighed heavy on me as I debated whether to attempt treating her symptoms with another dose of steroids and CBD oil or make the final call to the vet. We decided to see if we could get her through this episode like we did the one from the previous month. After all she pulled through that one and had another month of playing fetch and being adorable. As the day progressed to night it became apparent that she was not going to recover and come Sunday the hard decision would have to be made. Needless to say my mood was as heavy as the mist covering the land and my heart was torn between what it wanted and what it knew needed to be done.
The next morning I didn’t need an alarm to wake me because a loud and persistent thudding got the job done. In a fog I came down the stairs to find the cause of the noise. I discovered my poor sweet girl pushing herself into a corner where I store shopping bags and boxes. I removed her from the corner and could tell that she was in pain. She circled around the kitchen only stopping to press her head against the wall; a behavior not uncommon for a dog suffering from a brain tumor. My heart broke as I watched her pant and pace. I knew that it was time. Fortunately, I have a very sympathetic farm vet who was willing to end her suffering. Together on my front porch we euthanized Duchess. Then my husband and I buried her in the butterfly garden while the rain fell upon us.
Embrace the gray. Why couldn’t I stop saying those words and why couldn’t I stop picturing the pasture covered in juncos and robins? That rainy weekend stirred my wondering mind. I could feel myself becoming irritated because I wasn’t making the effort to explore the significance of it and yet I couldn’t dismiss it either. I had to simply take the time to sit and ponder the meaning behind the grayness of it all – birds, weather, mood – and how it pertained to me. I often find lessons in nature but it is only the special instances that seem to haunt me.
The color gray is the first topic I explored. Simply put it is the intermediate, achromatic color between black and white. It can have a few meanings – wisdom (gray hair) sophistication (business suit) and balance (neutrality). Gray is also associated with lack of emotionality and depression. In fact researchers at the University of Manchester U.K. performed a test with a color wheel including shades of gray. They found that the control group of non-anxious and non-depressed people chose yellow to describe their mood while the anxious and depressed group chose gray. Perhaps the science falls into a gray area (an area between two mutually exclusive states where the border between the two is fuzzy) and is open to interpretation. Regardless of what research and color psychology say I think of gray as a calming color that promotes self-reflection and introspection and there is no more perfect time than now to do it.
When I reflect upon that weekend I feel as though gray was the perfect color because Duchess was hovering between life and death and I was stuck in a battle between my head and my heart. Given the current state of the world, I feel that most of us are living within a gray area. We are stuck in the fuzzy area between the lives we knew and what they will be like once all of this settles. It is as though we are in limbo, peering through a veil of mist, trying to remain calm as we navigate our way through the uncertainty and fear. We no longer have the luxury of black and white thinking.
Gray was not just the color of the day or my mood but also of the tiny birds that concealed themselves before they scattered at the approach of my cat. Juncos and robins are common birds here in the northeast but both are always well received by birding enthusiasts. The former are tiny, gray and white with pink beaks; flocks suddenly appearing at the start of winter to forage for food around shrubs and below feeders. A line from one of my poems reads, “Winter arrives on junco’s wings, gray and white with a hint of pink.” Once spring comes they head off to their breeding grounds in the coniferous forests. The robins start to arrive just as the juncos are heading out. My mom would always get excited by the appearance of the robin redbreast because it meant that spring had arrived. Starting in March you see these dark gray thrushes with their rusty red breasts bobbing around lawns and fields tugging at worms. For some reason I just found the experience of seeing the two species together as significant. I wonder why in all my years of living on this land have I never witnessed them together. Was it just the first time I actually paid attention or was it a sign?
I believe in signs. I wholeheartedly feel that sometimes we are handed exactly what we need but it is up to us to utilize the information with which we are presented. Given the disposition I was in the morning I beheld the juncos and robins I believe that they were put in my path for a reason. Both birds have symbolic meaning in regard to life situations. Juncos remind us that we need to understand more about the situation we are currently in. We should search for the truth, ask questions, and consider all angles of a story. This inquisitiveness may just be the key to surviving our situation.
Robins symbolize a reawakening from a cold sleep which could be something like a stagnant relationship, negative emotions, boring routine, a thankless job, or dying friendship. The robin teaches us to move forward with assertiveness and grace instead of prolonging life’s conflicts. It is this knowing when things should end that will allow us to step towards a new and better beginning. Just knowing the symbolic meanings made that morning all the more impressive and consequently I was able to manage the heart breaking events that followed. When it was time to say goodbye to Duchess I was completely at ease with my decision because I knew in my heart that ending her pain would provide her with the peace that mother nature was taking too long to deliver. That day gave us both a new beginning. She was reunited with her friends on the other side of the Rainbow Bridge and I finally got a worry free night of restful sleep.
Even though the weather has cleared since that rainy weekend and the juncos have moved on to breed, I hold tight to the lessons those gray days have taught me. I know I’m not the only one who will not be choosing yellow on the color wheel to describe my mood. The pandemic has put us all in the gray together. There are so many reasons (from financial to emotional) why people are feeling less than sunny and I don’t think there is a single one that isn’t valid. Many people are on the front lines fighting this disease and squashing their own fears so they can continue to do their jobs. Some are sick and fighting for their lives. Others are home safe and healthy but losing sleep over the possibility that they may lose their businesses. Many parents are now navigating virtual learning for their children while also trying to work a full time job from home; now they have two jobs to do simultaneously. Some people are isolated and feeling the discomfort of being alone with their own thoughts. And I’m sure more than a few are just a little worried about their hair color.
My hope for everyone on the frontlines as an essential worker is that you find a way to traverse this dark time with strength and grace. Small business owners I hope you can weather this storm and rebuild. Parents working from home with your kids I feel you and offer the advice to invest in noise canceling headphones. Teachers I thank you for your diligence and patience especially if you are doing all your work with your own little ones around you. My heart goes out to the people in isolation and I hope there is someone who is missing you and loving you from afar. And to all the silver foxes (and silvering foxes like me) out there I hope you accept your gray because when this is over you will be wiser and more deserving of the color that some people may never get a chance to embrace.
Junco image from Cornell University's allaboutbirds.com
