Water

Sweet water

happy tears

pouring down their rattle song rushing

snake river, falling

minerals

moving Earth wet

living belly warm

womb fluid

given in

abundance

landing in our place

space filling up round

quenching wells

swelling seeds

deep under

thunder rocks

of soil drinking

gulping mouthfuls

pushing out through veins tiny

rivers inside roots

boots covered muddy

joy

day of rain splashing

every where you are

we are

water ways, life's

liquid maze

amaze me sweet water

pour my goblet

all the way, all the ways

full

My heart in the palm of your land.

In the center of the chaos, stress, and struggles of life, there remains a special place. It's a place that breathes new life into me the moment I set my feet on the ground. This place is a tapestry of forest, meadow, wetlands, and every kind of terrain you might find in New England.

In the mornings, If I get there early enough, the mist curls around the mountains like a morning steam facial; the leaves reaching for the kiss of moisture. The trails are sometimes flooded, and the cherry trees are the biggest I've ever seen. Aside from my own home, it's the land I've watched over the last three years. I've watched the Nettles cover fields, and the poison Ivy grow angry patches along the mowed edges. The Groundhogs have reproduced three generations and are now the animals which greet all the newcomers as they arrive. The landscape has blossomed a million wild roses, and given heaping pots full of ramp stew. It's given deep mentorship to the most extraordinary people I've ever met.

Along the high waterfall, the red efts hide under their log huts, while the solomon's seal flickers in the cool shade of the hemlocks. The birch saplings bear the sweetest leaves for chewing. The wintergreen crawls along the edge of the cliffs like green lace along the mossy shawl. In the forest circle, the dewdrops linger like little fairies on a sleep-in morning. The bobcats leave signs but never show their face. I know the bear are not far.

The edge lining the river rolls into a thorny stand of black locust... so tall it's only a matter of a strong storm before they timber over. The beaver have abandoned this small valley, moving upstream to riper lands. They've dammed the brushy area where the kingfisher lives, along with the snakes, turtles, frogs, and songbirds. The great blue heron makes her way up and down the river way. In the beaver's wake are stands of coppiced willow, cattail, and stately blue vervain. The cottonwoods lay across the water.

It's here - despite the conventional pressures of making business work - of striving to impart this same sense of wonder to children - where my heart opens. Despite my profound hatred of winter and my longing to include dance in my life again - on this land my heart opens. The generosity of the Mugwort and the sound of the tumbling waters and a place where my beloved medicines grow everywhere.... lining the walkway as if welcoming me home, how could I not?

It's the land I know the best out of all the places I've been .... and it never ceases to astonish me. I don't know if I'll ever be able to serve this land, the way it serves me.

Who knows what seeds I'm planting. Who knows where it will take me?

I should

just plan to work during bad weather.


I'd get A LOT of work done.

The weather here is ridiculous. Not anything suitable for a nature girl. As I speak the rain pours down, just as it has done 80% of the last two months. In May, it rains anytime any day. In June, it rains during the afternoon and/or evening. Since the rise of global warming, the storms are more frighteningly strong and more often.
I know - it's not Alaska, and it's not Davenport Iowa dealing with a flood.

But it's a ball and chain nonetheless, to the herbalist trying to study plants and trying to merge with the Earth.

I wanted to sleep outside.

I wanted to grow some vegetables.

But between the rain and the short growing season, forget it.

WHY do people live here anyway? I have to ask. Unless they have a low mortgage and a very high income - oh, and love to work overtime - there just doesn't seem to be a life.

I ask my self daily: where do I belong? Where is home? Where will I be living my purpose most fully, blissfully?

As I stated in my last post, I get no clear answers. I LOVE the small but brilliant community I have found here - the people. But we live so far away, with no real closeness or co-existence. No Eco-village or "I can bike to your place" - everything requires a car, or a trucker, or a plane. There is NO getting around the rise of gas. It's not just cars - it's everything. The source of my computer to talk to you right now, the trucks for groceries, the heat and water and toilet and .......... you name it. And because we are so trapped in oil-ville, it has sufficiently - and ironically - rendered us immobile. We can't SAVE enough to change it. Sometimes I really hate this place. It makes me so angry.

What's a green girl to do? Move away? Ignore this land? Ignore her calling? It's not just me you know - I have a family.

And even with a wonderful, loving, close family - I am starving for intimacy and depth. For accountability and reflection, for direction and leadership, for a place who will welcome me into my power without jealousy, critique, or judgement. And without raping my wallet to say I have accomplished something wonderful.
I love this land - for three months of the year. Does that make any sense? To be able to be actively engaged with the land, for 1/4 of the year? The rest stuck inside?

IT IS TIME FOR A CHANGE