The last two weeks have left my stomach in a constant state of turmoil.  Though I am not Ukrainian and only know a few Ukrainian people back home in Missouri, I awaken early with thoughts of President Zelenskyy’s safety driving me to tremors.  I scroll through Reuters, AP, the BBC, NPR, CNN, MSNBC, looking for the most accurate information and the keenest insight in commentary.  I tell myself that I cannot control what Putin does to the Ukrainian people or its democracy but I find myself reading the updates from World Central Kitchen, Doctors Without Borders, and ShelterboxUSA to understand their efforts.  I calculate what i can spare each week to help in any small way.  I post sunflowers on my Facebook page even though I realize such efforts have little meaning.

Yesterday morning I left early for work.  Productivity sometimes calms me.  Since I cannot control the crisis in Ukraine, I reasoned that I could tackle the stack of files on my desk.  I drove through the sweet air of the Delta, where spring already seems possible.  I rolled down my window to hear the song of the geese as the flocks cut through the cloudless sky.  The air danced around me as  I slowed for the hairpin turn just west of my home.  I glanced over to the deep-channel curve in the San Joaquin and gasped.

A ship!  My landlocked Midwestern soul still thrills at the sight of the silent, slow-moving giants.  I pulled into a layby and reached for my camera, aiming its rudimentary zoom lens to capture the turns and forward motion of the heavy freighter.  I clicked, and paused, and shot a few more frames every couple of minutes until the cargo vessel made its way to the closest stretch of river.  I took one last photo and then just studied her as she eased past.  

I started the engine but left the vehicle in park as I spotted the ship in my rear view mirror.  For a few more minutes, I let the wonder of such seemingly effortless voyaging distract me.  When I finally engaged the transmission and pulled back onto Brannan Island Road, my heart felt just a bit lighter.  I did not make it to work early after all.  But I found a few minutes of peace on the San Joaquin, in the California Delta, on a gentle March morning, far away from the terrible toils of war.

It’s the eighth day of the ninety-ninth month of My Year Without Complaining.  Life continues.

There are 41 photos in this slideshow.  If you click on them, you will see the titles.  I labelled the first one “LPG on the SJ 1”.  The numbered photos stop at “LPG on the SJ 40”, followed by, “LPG on the SJ last”.  I mention this so that you can look at this MAP of where I live.  I shot these sitting on the east side of the road right after the 90-degree turn in Brannan Island Road west of Park Delta Bay.  I used my Canon’s zoom lens to see the ship as it made the curves in the San Joaquin.  I was sitting adjacent to the slough which leads to Brother’s Island Marina and Owl Harbor.  I find the experience of watching these ships eerie; it looks as though they are traveling on land or in the shallow sloughs because you are looking across the river islands with a clear sight of the ship’s passage downriver.