The month of August drips through my fingertips like an endless, steady rain. Now, three weeks into the month I'm aware that my tales of life in the woods are rushing down the ridges and ravines along with the flow of water. It's time to stanch the flow and tell a story, maybe two....
In mid-August I attended the 25th annual T'ai Chi Chih Teachers' Conference in Nebraska City, Nebraska. The conference was held at Lied Lodge & Conference Center, just a brief walk through the woods to Arbor Day Farm. My travel companions and I arrived a day early in order to explore Arbor Day Farm. It was a marvelous adventure.
I won't lie: my trip to Nebraska overflowed with information, stimulation, and excitation (there was an excess of food, conversation, TCC refinements, and continual energy flow). But our half-day exploration of Arbor Day Farm was a highlight of the trip. For here, in the middle of a hot, muggy day, I found a spot that reminded me of my home in the North Woods of Wisconsin. At Arbor Day Farm trees are a vital part of the landscape and economy. Tourists and visitors travel to this destination to learn more about the key role trees play as they preserve our atmosphere, our natural world, and our daily lives.
Lied Lodge is intimately tied to the mission and principles of Arbor Day Farm. When guests enter the Lodge reception area, they are greeted with a large banner that recites in 12 different languages: Plant trees. Trees are, in fact, an integral part of the architecture and design of this lodge. Tree trunks are planted in guest rooms and hallways; their presence brings the hotel to life and infuses it with an energy that sets it apart from more traditional lodgings.
The walls in the lodge entryway are inscribed with quotes and sayings about trees that travel along the ceiling and down the hallway. These quotes sing the praises of trees and acknowledge the vital role they play in the health and sustainability of our natural world.
Arbor Day Farm continued this theme in a kid-friendly, playful, educational, and instructional way. We climbed a five-story treehouse that placed us high in the canopy of trees and gave us a beyond-human view of our surroundings. This treehouse also contained a pavilion filled with kids' projects that explored the bounty and beauty of nature: a segment of bee hive, skeletons from woodland creatures, and much more.
We walked the woodland trails and joined in explorations that lined the paths: identifying animal prints, ID'ing smells, learning how to recognize a variety of trees, and playing a wooden xylophone in the kids' area. When we returned to our starting point, we enjoyed a fabulous film, "Trees in the Movies," that included visual excerpts from major motion pictures such as Shawshank Redemption, Lord of the Rings and Forest Gump, in which trees played a starring role. Another conference participant told us later that the movie, Avatar, would have greatly expanded this forest feast.
Before leaving Arbor Day Farm we stopped at the greenhouse to pick up our free Colorado Blue Spruce to plant in our own yards. What better way to share the message of Arbor Day Farm than through a tiny seedling that, as it grows, offers shade and oxygen, life, and beauty to our own small piece of the planet?
Saturday, August 21, 2010
Saturday, July 31, 2010
For the Love of ... Silence
I wrote the following essay in April 2010 for inclusion in the book, Love Stories of the Bay. Local artist and graphic designer, Ros Nelson, conceptualized this project back in 1994; the book quickly coalesced after Ros invited local residents to join her in this 2010 collaboration.
Over 40 authors contributed to this collection that covers the gamut of life here on the Bayfield Pennisula in Lake Superior: discoveries made during walks in the woods, a 1,700 mile canoe adventure, butterflies, a great blue heron, a first love, a full-moon boat ride, and much, much more.
A portion of the proceeds from Love Stories benefits the Bayfield Regional Conservancy (http://www.brcland.org/), a not-for-profit regional land trust serving Ashland, Bayfield, Douglas, and Sawyer Counties in northwest Wisconsin. Please visit http://www.blurb.com/ to order your copy and to help us preserve the beauty and the spirit of this lovely bit of heaven on earth....
November 2002. From the moment we unloaded our possessions after hauling them up our quarter-mile driveway into deep woods in the Town of Russell near Little Sand Bay National Lakeshore, my partner and I knew that we would call this place home.
While we settled into our house we embraced the silence of our oak-maple-poplar-birch-cedar-hemlock property. After too many years of city living it soothed and comforted us. Aware of our magical surroundings we declined to hook up a television set and gratefully snuggled into the quiet. Soon, however, we grew irritated with the subtle white noise of our modern-day household: hot water heater, propane furnace, wood stove fan, ceiling fan, and refrigerator motor all sounded louder and more distracting than we’d ever realized.
Eventually our hours, days, and weeks quieted. The temperatures dipped below freezing, daylight disappeared, snow blanketed the landscape, and most living creatures—ourselves included—were invited into hibernation, quiet sleep, and peace.
In the midst of this silence I found space for thoughts and feelings, conversations, long hours of reading, for writing and contemplation -- for me. I didn’t take this gift for granted since virtually everyone I knew rush-rush-rushed through their lives at a hectic pace. No time for family. No time for meals together. No time for sleep. No time to breathe.
I continue to live wrapped in the protective cocoon of these woodlands because, true to my introverted nature, I enjoy the quiet, the changing weather patterns, the hidden sprouts that pop through leaf-covered earth in spring, the brilliant hugeness of green that surrounds me during summer, the peaceful drift of color that floats onto my front step as trees shed their leaves in fall, and the pure winter whiteness that drapes itself over house, trees, and driveway during long stretches of winter. Not only do I enjoy the beauty and quiet of nature, I thrive on it.
In this silence I’ve become better acquainted with the neighbors who inhabit this forest with me. I hear the leaf-crunch footsteps of deer as they graze their way close to the south deck of my house. I recognize the thud of a bird hurtling itself unwittingly into one of our glass windows and I rush to comfort it.
One spring before trees were fully leafed out my partner’s and my work-at-home day sparkled with excitement as we watched a wolf and then a black bear saunter along a path that circled our house. Later, during an afternoon break from my computer work, I walked outside and gazed up to view an eagle gliding overhead.
A common spring sound, the putt-putt-putt of male ruffed grouse flapping their wings in courtship, reminds me of my farm girl beginnings; the sound is reminiscent of a tractor starting. If it weren’t for the prevailing silence, I likely wouldn’t notice these sounds that quietly arise from my wooded yard morning ‘til night.
I feel pleased and honored to observe the lives of my nonhuman neighbors. During daily walks my partner and I search a nearby dirt road for tracks left behind the previous evening or during an early morning outing by a variety of winged and four-footed creatures that use this road as their pathway too.
Several years ago we glimpsed an ermine, still dressed in winter white, racing along a downed tree trunk. During a recent spring walk we spied a porcupine at the top of a tree near the marsh chewing its way through a branch it had snapped off.
In late spring 2009 we encountered painted turtles crouched along the dirt roadway near a small stream and wetlands. They laid their eggs next to the road, covered them, and retreated. We never saw the babies that emerged from these eggs but in some small way we felt like doulas urging these mothers on as they birthed a future generation.
Of course, these silent ventures into nature inspire an even greater appreciation for this beautiful natural world that surrounds me. Each spring I welcome the return of ruby-throated hummingbirds. Their miniature bodies and territorial battles provide hours of entertainment as my partner and I eat our breakfast on the deck beneath them and watch and listen as they race, swoop, and buzz around us. Spring also heralds the return of our beloved Eastern phoebes. We’ve come to know them intimately because of the nest they build over our kitchen window where they hatch two broods each summer.
Even though my partner and I pay the monthly mortgage we feel as if this 25-acre plot of earth, sky, and trees here on the Bayfield Peninsula has been gifted to us. Could it be that some special grace placed us here so that we may live each day drenched in peace and silence while we listen to the wind rush through trees, hear the howls of coyotes at dusk, and wake to a precious chorus of birdsong each morning?
Author Deng Ming-Dao captures the essence of silence—and my experience with it here in my woodland home—with these words from his book, 365 Tao, entry 261:
Over 40 authors contributed to this collection that covers the gamut of life here on the Bayfield Pennisula in Lake Superior: discoveries made during walks in the woods, a 1,700 mile canoe adventure, butterflies, a great blue heron, a first love, a full-moon boat ride, and much, much more.
A portion of the proceeds from Love Stories benefits the Bayfield Regional Conservancy (http://www.brcland.org/), a not-for-profit regional land trust serving Ashland, Bayfield, Douglas, and Sawyer Counties in northwest Wisconsin. Please visit http://www.blurb.com/ to order your copy and to help us preserve the beauty and the spirit of this lovely bit of heaven on earth....
November 2002. From the moment we unloaded our possessions after hauling them up our quarter-mile driveway into deep woods in the Town of Russell near Little Sand Bay National Lakeshore, my partner and I knew that we would call this place home.
While we settled into our house we embraced the silence of our oak-maple-poplar-birch-cedar-hemlock property. After too many years of city living it soothed and comforted us. Aware of our magical surroundings we declined to hook up a television set and gratefully snuggled into the quiet. Soon, however, we grew irritated with the subtle white noise of our modern-day household: hot water heater, propane furnace, wood stove fan, ceiling fan, and refrigerator motor all sounded louder and more distracting than we’d ever realized.
Eventually our hours, days, and weeks quieted. The temperatures dipped below freezing, daylight disappeared, snow blanketed the landscape, and most living creatures—ourselves included—were invited into hibernation, quiet sleep, and peace.
In the midst of this silence I found space for thoughts and feelings, conversations, long hours of reading, for writing and contemplation -- for me. I didn’t take this gift for granted since virtually everyone I knew rush-rush-rushed through their lives at a hectic pace. No time for family. No time for meals together. No time for sleep. No time to breathe.
I continue to live wrapped in the protective cocoon of these woodlands because, true to my introverted nature, I enjoy the quiet, the changing weather patterns, the hidden sprouts that pop through leaf-covered earth in spring, the brilliant hugeness of green that surrounds me during summer, the peaceful drift of color that floats onto my front step as trees shed their leaves in fall, and the pure winter whiteness that drapes itself over house, trees, and driveway during long stretches of winter. Not only do I enjoy the beauty and quiet of nature, I thrive on it.
In this silence I’ve become better acquainted with the neighbors who inhabit this forest with me. I hear the leaf-crunch footsteps of deer as they graze their way close to the south deck of my house. I recognize the thud of a bird hurtling itself unwittingly into one of our glass windows and I rush to comfort it.
One spring before trees were fully leafed out my partner’s and my work-at-home day sparkled with excitement as we watched a wolf and then a black bear saunter along a path that circled our house. Later, during an afternoon break from my computer work, I walked outside and gazed up to view an eagle gliding overhead.
A common spring sound, the putt-putt-putt of male ruffed grouse flapping their wings in courtship, reminds me of my farm girl beginnings; the sound is reminiscent of a tractor starting. If it weren’t for the prevailing silence, I likely wouldn’t notice these sounds that quietly arise from my wooded yard morning ‘til night.
I feel pleased and honored to observe the lives of my nonhuman neighbors. During daily walks my partner and I search a nearby dirt road for tracks left behind the previous evening or during an early morning outing by a variety of winged and four-footed creatures that use this road as their pathway too.
Several years ago we glimpsed an ermine, still dressed in winter white, racing along a downed tree trunk. During a recent spring walk we spied a porcupine at the top of a tree near the marsh chewing its way through a branch it had snapped off.
In late spring 2009 we encountered painted turtles crouched along the dirt roadway near a small stream and wetlands. They laid their eggs next to the road, covered them, and retreated. We never saw the babies that emerged from these eggs but in some small way we felt like doulas urging these mothers on as they birthed a future generation.
Of course, these silent ventures into nature inspire an even greater appreciation for this beautiful natural world that surrounds me. Each spring I welcome the return of ruby-throated hummingbirds. Their miniature bodies and territorial battles provide hours of entertainment as my partner and I eat our breakfast on the deck beneath them and watch and listen as they race, swoop, and buzz around us. Spring also heralds the return of our beloved Eastern phoebes. We’ve come to know them intimately because of the nest they build over our kitchen window where they hatch two broods each summer.
Even though my partner and I pay the monthly mortgage we feel as if this 25-acre plot of earth, sky, and trees here on the Bayfield Peninsula has been gifted to us. Could it be that some special grace placed us here so that we may live each day drenched in peace and silence while we listen to the wind rush through trees, hear the howls of coyotes at dusk, and wake to a precious chorus of birdsong each morning?
Author Deng Ming-Dao captures the essence of silence—and my experience with it here in my woodland home—with these words from his book, 365 Tao, entry 261:
Seek silence.
Gladden in silence.
Adore silence….
Once you find deep solitude and calm, there will be a great gladness in your heart. Here finally is the place where you need neither defense nor offense—the place where you can truly be open. There will be bliss, wonder, the awe of attaining something pure and sacred.Hmm. Yes. Shhh.
Friday, July 9, 2010
What I Learned from My Goose ...
Two weeks ago our goose, Lucy, was forceably taken from us. She and her companion, Ander, were swimming in a small pond near the house when a fox (we think) grabbed her, wrestled her to the ground, and began to drag her deep into the forest.
Luckily, I heard Ander's cry of alarm, saw him run hurriedly past the house, and immediately knew that something serious had happened to Lucy. I raced out of the house, ran to the edge of the pond, and glimpsed a portion of Lucy's body as she struggled with her captor in the tall grasses, weeds, and ferns. Instantly I began to clap my hands and yell Lucy's name. As she disappeared I continued into the forest, yelling and clapping as I ran.
Finally, Frances, who had been upstairs, dashed out of the house and joined me in the pursuit. By this point I was frantic. I felt shock and disbelief that this sweet, lovely goose friend who I'd known and lived with for 15 years was headed toward an untimely and painful end. Soon she would be dinner for a creature of the wild. Yet somehow my noise and activism did make a difference.
Frances followed Lucy's trail of feathers into the undergrowth and eventually found Lucy about 50 feet away from the pond, sitting quietly, bleeding, and struggling to breathe. After Frances carried her back to the house we began the difficult job of locating an emergency vet on a Sunday afternoon. After numerous calls we succeeded.
Frances held Lucy on her lap as I drove. After our arrival the vet quickly evaluated Lucy's wounds and suggested that we immediately start injectable antibiotics, anti-inflammatories/pain meds, and fluids under the skin. She also gave Lucy a steroid to help her deal with shock from the episode. Lucy had two major puncture wounds: one under her wing on the left side of her body and the other in her neck had pierced the larnyx. It was unclear whether Lucy would be able to swallow but it seemed that it was worth a try.
For the next week Frances and I served as primary caregivers for Lucy the Goose. We moved her into our porch and slept with her at the foot of our bed. I gave her Reiki energy work to speed her healing process and Frances was the head nurse who bravely injected the drugs and held open the beak as we delivered food and medicines. We started by injecting medications twice daily, then began to syringe baby food and blended vegetables down Lucy's throat. Eventually we gave Lucy oral meds by syringe. Throughout it all Lucy was gentle, uncomplaining, and immensely patient.
As Lucy began to show improvements and gain energy she started to participate more actively in her own self-care. After a follow-up trip to the vet we stopped at Lake Superior hoping to entice her into the lake in order for her to wet her wings and remove the blood that remainded on her body. The lake was too rough and the waves too forceful but the next day Frances constructed a homemade wading pool for Ander and Lucy. After their swim both geese groomed for hours and, as a result, no blood remained.
By Day Four Lucy tried to eat a bit of romaine lettuce. On Day Five she nibbled a bit of cracked corn. When she ate the corn, she honked out a loud, disturbing sound that seemed to indicate that something was stuck in her throat. But she persisted. The next day the honk was less frequent. The day after that there was no sound at all.
Through it all Ander was a patient and supportive partner. It seemed that just by spending time together his actions inspired Lucy to join in eating and grooming activities that she may have shunned if alone. Ander stopped eating much food himself after Lucy's capture and it wasn't until Lucy's appetite and eating increased that Ander's did as well.
Lucy gently groomed her puncture wounds and, after carefully fluffing and arranging her feathers, held her wings slightly puffed out away from her body in order to allow air to circulate into the area of the wound in order to aid in healing. She slept and rested frequently and gradually increased her intake of both food and water.
Today when you look at Ander and Lucy you would have no clue as to the dramatic life and death struggle that occurred a mere two weeks ago. And so it goes....
This is what I need to remember when I have my own major health episode in the days? years? to come: 1) trust others to help with the healing process; 2) be patient with the sometimes aggressive strategies that may be useful as a first step to recovered health; 3) rely on my partner and friends to inspire/encourage/model behaviors that are healthy and healing for me; and 4) prioritize my own needs for rest and my abilities to offer myself nurturing and self-care.
For, as Lucy reminded me, though medicines and health care providers may be key ingredients in my recovery, I am my own healer.
Luckily, I heard Ander's cry of alarm, saw him run hurriedly past the house, and immediately knew that something serious had happened to Lucy. I raced out of the house, ran to the edge of the pond, and glimpsed a portion of Lucy's body as she struggled with her captor in the tall grasses, weeds, and ferns. Instantly I began to clap my hands and yell Lucy's name. As she disappeared I continued into the forest, yelling and clapping as I ran.
Finally, Frances, who had been upstairs, dashed out of the house and joined me in the pursuit. By this point I was frantic. I felt shock and disbelief that this sweet, lovely goose friend who I'd known and lived with for 15 years was headed toward an untimely and painful end. Soon she would be dinner for a creature of the wild. Yet somehow my noise and activism did make a difference.
Frances followed Lucy's trail of feathers into the undergrowth and eventually found Lucy about 50 feet away from the pond, sitting quietly, bleeding, and struggling to breathe. After Frances carried her back to the house we began the difficult job of locating an emergency vet on a Sunday afternoon. After numerous calls we succeeded.
Frances held Lucy on her lap as I drove. After our arrival the vet quickly evaluated Lucy's wounds and suggested that we immediately start injectable antibiotics, anti-inflammatories/pain meds, and fluids under the skin. She also gave Lucy a steroid to help her deal with shock from the episode. Lucy had two major puncture wounds: one under her wing on the left side of her body and the other in her neck had pierced the larnyx. It was unclear whether Lucy would be able to swallow but it seemed that it was worth a try.
For the next week Frances and I served as primary caregivers for Lucy the Goose. We moved her into our porch and slept with her at the foot of our bed. I gave her Reiki energy work to speed her healing process and Frances was the head nurse who bravely injected the drugs and held open the beak as we delivered food and medicines. We started by injecting medications twice daily, then began to syringe baby food and blended vegetables down Lucy's throat. Eventually we gave Lucy oral meds by syringe. Throughout it all Lucy was gentle, uncomplaining, and immensely patient.
As Lucy began to show improvements and gain energy she started to participate more actively in her own self-care. After a follow-up trip to the vet we stopped at Lake Superior hoping to entice her into the lake in order for her to wet her wings and remove the blood that remainded on her body. The lake was too rough and the waves too forceful but the next day Frances constructed a homemade wading pool for Ander and Lucy. After their swim both geese groomed for hours and, as a result, no blood remained.
By Day Four Lucy tried to eat a bit of romaine lettuce. On Day Five she nibbled a bit of cracked corn. When she ate the corn, she honked out a loud, disturbing sound that seemed to indicate that something was stuck in her throat. But she persisted. The next day the honk was less frequent. The day after that there was no sound at all.
Through it all Ander was a patient and supportive partner. It seemed that just by spending time together his actions inspired Lucy to join in eating and grooming activities that she may have shunned if alone. Ander stopped eating much food himself after Lucy's capture and it wasn't until Lucy's appetite and eating increased that Ander's did as well.
Lucy gently groomed her puncture wounds and, after carefully fluffing and arranging her feathers, held her wings slightly puffed out away from her body in order to allow air to circulate into the area of the wound in order to aid in healing. She slept and rested frequently and gradually increased her intake of both food and water.
Today when you look at Ander and Lucy you would have no clue as to the dramatic life and death struggle that occurred a mere two weeks ago. And so it goes....
This is what I need to remember when I have my own major health episode in the days? years? to come: 1) trust others to help with the healing process; 2) be patient with the sometimes aggressive strategies that may be useful as a first step to recovered health; 3) rely on my partner and friends to inspire/encourage/model behaviors that are healthy and healing for me; and 4) prioritize my own needs for rest and my abilities to offer myself nurturing and self-care.
For, as Lucy reminded me, though medicines and health care providers may be key ingredients in my recovery, I am my own healer.
Saturday, June 26, 2010
Bite by Byte
Hmmm. I just reread the past four or five entries in Under the Forest Canopy to revisit topics I've addressed over the past several months. I'm surprised--and self-conscious--to discover the length of these entries.
Why? I ask myself. In this era of email, texting, and instant messaging why do I devote hours to my blogging when many people are perfectly happy to pound out a quick entry or text message and then move on with their lives? Why write out full, complete sentences when others are content to employ abbreviations and shorthand?
Since I don't own a Blackberry, cell phone, or other electronic device I'm not privy to the communication style of the day. R u? :-) The previous letters and symbol constitute the extent of my knowledge and understanding of texting terminology. And, I have to admit, it took me months to translate :-) or the more commonly used :) (Did I guess correctly? Are these a sideways version of the old smiley face from my youth?)
I'm beginning to wonder: Is the current mainstream culture too far removed from that of my childhood? Am I growing too old and cynical? Have I joined the generation that clings to the habits and behaviors of the past instead of encouraging myself to expand and grow into the cultural norms of the future?
Perhaps this is who I am: a person who enjoys taking time to think things through, who reads often and extensively, and who plumbs the depths of my thoughts, feelings, and spiritual aspirations. Perhaps it's okay to write long dissertations on the importance of sparks, freedom and exploration, or the need for a deep, abiding connection to the Earth.
Perhaps my blog offers me the opportunity to think and feel things deeply when the world around me ratchets up its speed to an inhuman and inhumane pace. Perhaps no one actually reads this blogging journey. And perhaps it doesn't matter because--just perhaps--this writing is for an audience of one: me.
I had two good, long, in-depth conversations with friends today via phone. Consequently I know there are others in the world who are interested in delving into the depths of the soul. Unfortunately the pace of the world is accelerating so rapidly that it's hard to imagine that many people have space in their lives for anything other than a wild rush to work, appointments, family gatherings, exercise classes, and even, vacations.
Since moving here Under the Forest Canopy time has become my friend. Without a myriad of friends and activities to distract me I prioritize my life around making sure to allow plenty of time for sleep, good food, exercise, and meditation. My life has distilled itself down into a simple formula made popular by various spiritual gurus: Be Here Now (Ram Dass) and The Power of Now (Eckhart Tolle), for starters. I've lived enough years and lived through enough experiences to realize that what really matters is being happy right now in the present moment.
Of course, in some moments coming soon (I hope!) I'll be happy to indulge myself in eating some Stuffed Grape Leaves (Greek Dolmades) that Frances and I made earlier this afternoon. I'll happily live in the moment, bite by bite....
Why? I ask myself. In this era of email, texting, and instant messaging why do I devote hours to my blogging when many people are perfectly happy to pound out a quick entry or text message and then move on with their lives? Why write out full, complete sentences when others are content to employ abbreviations and shorthand?
Since I don't own a Blackberry, cell phone, or other electronic device I'm not privy to the communication style of the day. R u? :-) The previous letters and symbol constitute the extent of my knowledge and understanding of texting terminology. And, I have to admit, it took me months to translate :-) or the more commonly used :) (Did I guess correctly? Are these a sideways version of the old smiley face from my youth?)
I'm beginning to wonder: Is the current mainstream culture too far removed from that of my childhood? Am I growing too old and cynical? Have I joined the generation that clings to the habits and behaviors of the past instead of encouraging myself to expand and grow into the cultural norms of the future?
Perhaps this is who I am: a person who enjoys taking time to think things through, who reads often and extensively, and who plumbs the depths of my thoughts, feelings, and spiritual aspirations. Perhaps it's okay to write long dissertations on the importance of sparks, freedom and exploration, or the need for a deep, abiding connection to the Earth.
Perhaps my blog offers me the opportunity to think and feel things deeply when the world around me ratchets up its speed to an inhuman and inhumane pace. Perhaps no one actually reads this blogging journey. And perhaps it doesn't matter because--just perhaps--this writing is for an audience of one: me.
I had two good, long, in-depth conversations with friends today via phone. Consequently I know there are others in the world who are interested in delving into the depths of the soul. Unfortunately the pace of the world is accelerating so rapidly that it's hard to imagine that many people have space in their lives for anything other than a wild rush to work, appointments, family gatherings, exercise classes, and even, vacations.
Since moving here Under the Forest Canopy time has become my friend. Without a myriad of friends and activities to distract me I prioritize my life around making sure to allow plenty of time for sleep, good food, exercise, and meditation. My life has distilled itself down into a simple formula made popular by various spiritual gurus: Be Here Now (Ram Dass) and The Power of Now (Eckhart Tolle), for starters. I've lived enough years and lived through enough experiences to realize that what really matters is being happy right now in the present moment.
Of course, in some moments coming soon (I hope!) I'll be happy to indulge myself in eating some Stuffed Grape Leaves (Greek Dolmades) that Frances and I made earlier this afternoon. I'll happily live in the moment, bite by bite....
Sunday, June 20, 2010
Lean toward the Light
Speaking of sparks (see previous blog entry dated June 14, 2010) ... I just encountered another one while looking through a book that Frances checked out yesterday from the Bayfield library.
Roberta, the librarian, suggested Frances bring The Flavor Bible home because she thought Steph would enjoy it. She was right, of course. The subtitle reads: The Essential Guide to Culinary Creativity, Based on the Wisdom of America's Most Imaginative Chefs by Karen Page and Andrew Dornenburg.
The first page of this book contains a wonderful quote by Albert Schweitzer, printed just below a picture of suspended kitchen utensils: tongs, a slotted spoon, a ladle, and another unknown item dangle above these words as if to say, Words may come first but it is the art of cooking good food that deeply satisfies the hunger of the soul. Said Schweitzer:
A later quote in The Flavor Bible (p. viii) reads:
Back to Phyllis Theroux's book, The Journal Keeper, which I mentioned in my previous blog. I found Theroux's account of her life interesting, compelling, and deeply satisfying. This led to my later query as an on-again, off-again journal-keeper: If Theroux can publish a journal that inspires and motivates her readers, why can't I?
Actually, I am already publishing my virtual journal through a daily T'ai Chi Chih (TCC) blog, Rooted in Earth, Suspended from Sky. I originally intended for this blog to be like a circular New Year's Resolution: I'll write a daily blog if I perform a daily T'ai Chi Chih practice, and I'll commit myself to a regular TCC practice if I write about my practice every day. Amazingly, it works.
Both my T'ai Chi Chih practice and my writing energize and inspire me. Yet I soon discovered that these interlocking commitments accomplish something more: they provide me with a public obligation and commitment that I cannot ignore, I'm encouraged to read inspirational, thought-provoking writing in order to stimulate deeper thoughts and realizations about my practice, and--most days--I look forward to both my TCC practice and my writing!
Theroux's book has been enormously inspiring to me and part of that inspiration is due to the fact that she reveals a writing process and thought process that is similar to my own. In her final chapter she outlines her guidelines for how to keep a journal (pp. 274-75):
Roberta, the librarian, suggested Frances bring The Flavor Bible home because she thought Steph would enjoy it. She was right, of course. The subtitle reads: The Essential Guide to Culinary Creativity, Based on the Wisdom of America's Most Imaginative Chefs by Karen Page and Andrew Dornenburg.
The first page of this book contains a wonderful quote by Albert Schweitzer, printed just below a picture of suspended kitchen utensils: tongs, a slotted spoon, a ladle, and another unknown item dangle above these words as if to say, Words may come first but it is the art of cooking good food that deeply satisfies the hunger of the soul. Said Schweitzer:
At times our own light goes out and is rekindled by a spark from another person. Each of us has cause to think with deep gratitude of those who have lighted the flame within us.Too true! Often these creative sparks flash like lightening bugs all around me. If I'm not looking for them, or if I hesitate to instantly capture them for safekeeping, they inevitably float into the darkness and disappear. I've learned this lesson all too well as I've cast about for writing topics and then allowed life events or fear and uncertainty to paralyze my agile mind and its free flow of words or otherwise tame the burning glow of my writing.
A later quote in The Flavor Bible (p. viii) reads:
When we no longer have good cooking in the world, we will have no literature, nor high and sharp intelligence, nor friendly gatherings, nor social harmony.As I've known for years, and as Chef Jehane Benoit (1904-1987) concurs, Good cooking is an art, as well as a form of intense pleasure.... (p. viii)
--Marie-Antoine Careme, Chef (1784-1833)
Back to Phyllis Theroux's book, The Journal Keeper, which I mentioned in my previous blog. I found Theroux's account of her life interesting, compelling, and deeply satisfying. This led to my later query as an on-again, off-again journal-keeper: If Theroux can publish a journal that inspires and motivates her readers, why can't I?
Actually, I am already publishing my virtual journal through a daily T'ai Chi Chih (TCC) blog, Rooted in Earth, Suspended from Sky. I originally intended for this blog to be like a circular New Year's Resolution: I'll write a daily blog if I perform a daily T'ai Chi Chih practice, and I'll commit myself to a regular TCC practice if I write about my practice every day. Amazingly, it works.
Both my T'ai Chi Chih practice and my writing energize and inspire me. Yet I soon discovered that these interlocking commitments accomplish something more: they provide me with a public obligation and commitment that I cannot ignore, I'm encouraged to read inspirational, thought-provoking writing in order to stimulate deeper thoughts and realizations about my practice, and--most days--I look forward to both my TCC practice and my writing!
Theroux's book has been enormously inspiring to me and part of that inspiration is due to the fact that she reveals a writing process and thought process that is similar to my own. In her final chapter she outlines her guidelines for how to keep a journal (pp. 274-75):
.... I am not a fan of those who urge you to dump whatever comes to mind upon the page. No, no, no. Your journal should be a wise friend who helps you create your own enlightenment. Choose what you think has some merit or lasting value, so that when you reread your journal in years to come it continues to nourish you.
Some days I can think of nothing worth writing down. Fortunately, I am not alone. By my chair, I keep a small, revolving collection of essays, spiritual autobiographies, poetry, and other writers' journals to inspire me. When I'm out of fuel, they pull me out of the creek and into a broader, deeper river.... if you want your journal to have any lasting value, for yourself or others, I can only think of one rule to follow: Lean toward the light.I'm leaning, Phyllis, I'm leaning....
Monday, June 14, 2010
I'm Just Walkin'...
Oh, life is an amazing journey! And I’m encouraged to discover that often all it takes is a good book, film, or personal story to spark my excitement and sense of adventure. There’s no doubt that one person’s travelogue can be the take-off point for another person’s leap of faith. And me? I’d happily slip into the shoes of either of those people.
I started a new book several days ago—The Journal Keeper, A Memoir, by Phyllis Theroux—and by page 21 I was at the computer with fingers to the keyboard. This book follows Theroux through six years of her life, 2000-2005. I knew that I’d be intrigued and interested in her story because it’s the story of a writer and details how she frames her life in the context of her thoughts, experiences, words, and inner wisdom.
After I read the following paragraph I closed Theroux's book and scurried into my office:
Today I read an article about Matt Green, a 30-year-old who is walking across the United States from Rockaway Beach, NY to Rockaway Beach, OR. Green quit his job as a civil engineer in NYC and set off across the United States in March with no agenda, no goal (other than to reach the west coast), and one overwhelming desire: to experience the landscape and people along his path with openness and appreciation.
Many curious onlookers have asked Green why? Is he raising money for a favorite cause? Does he hope to win a race or set a new record for the fastest crossing of the U.S. by foot? Either of those reasons they could understand. But Matt’s desires are simpler, less driven by the pursuit of tangible goals and more focused on an inner desire to experience life at its truest, most basic level.
Similar to William Least Heat Moon’s written record of his travels in his book, Blue Highways or John Steinbeck’s Travels with Charley, Green is recording his life through the photographs he snaps during his daily adventures on the road. Interestingly, Green provides two reasons for this undertaking on his website, one short, the other long. His long explanation includes a quote from John Steinbeck’s book, Cannery Row, in which Steinbeck describes a character who loses a love and then sets off on a long walking journey across a number of states. When onlookers ask this lonely traveler why he’s walking he truthfully responds that he wanted to:
Though acquaintances have expressed their trepidation about Green putting himself at risk by traveling solo across our broad, diverse nation, he’s not willing to let their doubts and fears stop him. "Playing it safe isn't really that safe," Green concludes. "If you do that, you miss out on a lot of the great things life has to offer.” By quitting his job and leaving friends and relatives behind Green is learning how it feels to be truly free.
For a newspaper article and film clip detailing Green's travels, visit: www.dailygood.org/more.php?n=4137 Better yet, visit Matt's website to view his photographs and track his progress: http://www.imjustwalkin.com/
I started a new book several days ago—The Journal Keeper, A Memoir, by Phyllis Theroux—and by page 21 I was at the computer with fingers to the keyboard. This book follows Theroux through six years of her life, 2000-2005. I knew that I’d be intrigued and interested in her story because it’s the story of a writer and details how she frames her life in the context of her thoughts, experiences, words, and inner wisdom.
After I read the following paragraph I closed Theroux's book and scurried into my office:
We are driven to deliver the truth inside us, no matter what we do to avoid or bury it. How to deliver it is the challenge. It is not just about using our reason although, like a diving board, we must use it to its limit, running to its very end. But then we must leap—like a spark—into the air. It is that spark that illuminates the understanding, makes the heat and the difference. (p. 20)How could I resist Theroux’s argument and invitation to dive into my own writing, my own story, my own truth?
Today I read an article about Matt Green, a 30-year-old who is walking across the United States from Rockaway Beach, NY to Rockaway Beach, OR. Green quit his job as a civil engineer in NYC and set off across the United States in March with no agenda, no goal (other than to reach the west coast), and one overwhelming desire: to experience the landscape and people along his path with openness and appreciation.
Many curious onlookers have asked Green why? Is he raising money for a favorite cause? Does he hope to win a race or set a new record for the fastest crossing of the U.S. by foot? Either of those reasons they could understand. But Matt’s desires are simpler, less driven by the pursuit of tangible goals and more focused on an inner desire to experience life at its truest, most basic level.
Similar to William Least Heat Moon’s written record of his travels in his book, Blue Highways or John Steinbeck’s Travels with Charley, Green is recording his life through the photographs he snaps during his daily adventures on the road. Interestingly, Green provides two reasons for this undertaking on his website, one short, the other long. His long explanation includes a quote from John Steinbeck’s book, Cannery Row, in which Steinbeck describes a character who loses a love and then sets off on a long walking journey across a number of states. When onlookers ask this lonely traveler why he’s walking he truthfully responds that he wanted to:
… see the country, smell the ground and look at grass and birds and trees, to savor the country, and there was no other way to do it save on foot. And people didn’t like him for telling the truth. They scowled, or shook and tapped their heads, they laughed as though they knew it was a lie and they appreciated a liar. And some, afraid for their daughters or their pigs, told him to move on, to get going, just not to stop near their place if he knew what was good for him.Green doesn’t require a reason for undertaking his cross-country walking tour, his motivation is a desire to experience life as it unfolds by watching the landscape as it flows around him at three miles per hour, footstep-by-footstep. Each evening Green stops at a farmhouse along his path and asks if he can pitch his tent in the homeowners’ yard. This request elevates his experience even more because, by relying on the goodness and generosity of others, Green creates community, builds understanding, and links the united states together in one long chain of communication and connection.
And so he stopped trying to tell the truth. He said he was doing it on a bet—that he stood to win a hundred dollars. Everyone liked him then and believed him.
Though acquaintances have expressed their trepidation about Green putting himself at risk by traveling solo across our broad, diverse nation, he’s not willing to let their doubts and fears stop him. "Playing it safe isn't really that safe," Green concludes. "If you do that, you miss out on a lot of the great things life has to offer.” By quitting his job and leaving friends and relatives behind Green is learning how it feels to be truly free.
For a newspaper article and film clip detailing Green's travels, visit: www.dailygood.org/more.php?n=4137 Better yet, visit Matt's website to view his photographs and track his progress: http://www.imjustwalkin.com/
Friday, May 7, 2010
Deeply Rooted ... Again
So much for Cinco de Mayo. It's Siete de Mayo and right now, at this very moment, a combination of rain and snow are falling upon our roof and into our yard. It makes sense, then, that today I revisit a post I made on December 20 of 2009. In "The Link between Humanity and the Earth" I wrote about several books I was reading at the time, one of which, Deeply Rooted: Unconventional Farmers in the Age of Agribusiness, I quoted.
I mentioned that I would likely carry that book along with me to Baltimore while I visited my sister over Christmas. I didn't. There were just too many items to haul on my back and tote in my hands. I opted for thin, lightweight magazines as carry-ons instead.
I didn't finish reading Deeply Rooted until early March. It wasn't that I didn't like it but, rather, that it touched me deeply and I needed time to soak in the words, thoughts, and feelings of these farmers that Lisa Hamilton profiled. I keep a journal in which I record my thoughts and impressions about books I've read. Here's what I wrote about Hamilton's book:
I mentioned that I would likely carry that book along with me to Baltimore while I visited my sister over Christmas. I didn't. There were just too many items to haul on my back and tote in my hands. I opted for thin, lightweight magazines as carry-ons instead.
I didn't finish reading Deeply Rooted until early March. It wasn't that I didn't like it but, rather, that it touched me deeply and I needed time to soak in the words, thoughts, and feelings of these farmers that Lisa Hamilton profiled. I keep a journal in which I record my thoughts and impressions about books I've read. Here's what I wrote about Hamilton's book:
What a wonderful, encouraging, inspirational, educational, salutational read! Hamilton excels in telling the stories and highlighting the trials and triumphs of three very different farmers from three very different parts of the US: African-American Harry Lewis, a dairyman in Texas; Virgil Trujillo, a tenth-generation rancher in New Mexico; and the Podolls, two white brothers in North Dakota who are breeding new varieties of plants.I felt such gratitude that Lisa Hamilton was willing to take on such an enormous task that I sent her an email of thanks. I visited her website, http://www.lisamhamilton.com/, and wrote, in part:
I loved this book! though it took stamina to read. Truly, it is the story of my father and my father's father. It is the tale of farm families who are so rooted to the Earth, so spiritually sustained by the land that grew them, that they continue to search for ways to stay on that land and outlast--or outwit--the culture of corporate farms that seeks to plow them under.
Hamilton is an excellent writer. She skillfully weaves together these diverse--yet similar--people of the Earth who speak up for a cause greater than money and no less vital than the survival of our Earth, her resources, and the survival of humanity.
Thank you for being a voice for the people in the world who go about their work quietly as they raise our food and tend to the land. Thank you for reminding us that there are still farmers who do their jobs with a strong--dare I say, spiritual--awareness of the Earth that nourishes them (and all of us).I was startled, and yes, surprised to receive an email in response from Lisa Hamilton some five weeks later which made me feel glad that I had taken the time and made the effort to convey my thanks. She concluded her email with these words:
Thank YOU for the work you do in the world, too, for without your words and pictures, your hours of listening and learning, following and questioning, and coming to know the ethics and values of these brave souls, agribusiness and the media might thoroughly convince us that there are no other options left in the world of farming....
I must also tell you that your timing was wonderful--uncanny, even. I received this during a period of muddy thinking, when I had become unclear or unsure of what I was writing about and why. Your words helped remind me that I already knew the answer--I already knew what really mattered to me--I just had to believe in it. So thank you for that!I've read hundreds and hundreds of books over the years and enjoyed and cherished many of them. This was the first time I actually followed through and wrote an author. Lisa's response reminded me that we can all use a good word now and then as we offer our work to the world. I'm happy that my words made a difference to someone whose words made a difference to me! How's that for a "what goes around comes around" moment?
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