Pondering The Trail of Tears

I mentioned in my last post that the land we had come to love so much had been sold.  I have mourned this.  I even held out hope that the land was purchased to preserve it, but alas the developer has wasted no time in getting the equipment to continue the construction (habitat destruction).  In fact, a cul-de-saq that had been overgrown with weeds (wild carrots, mugwort, dandelions, etc.) has been cleared again.

I have thought about the events leading here.  I have thought about my feelings.  In spite of the short term of our relationship with this place, I can commiserate with the Native Americans who were displaced.  Mind you ... there is no REAL comparison between my short time here and the generations of People who learned to read, love, and work with the land of their ancestors.  But, I can imagine the sense of devastating loss. 

How does one recover?  I have no choice in the matter, as the native tribes had no choice, because I do not have the capital to do anything about it.  It would have been an easy decision, if I had deep enough pockets, to purchase the land to preserve, and encourage, the wild nature of this fantastic place.  Now, I must pull together the shredded remains of the relationship and start again with a new place.

For me, the process is simply spiritual and emotional.  It does not pose significant difficulty on me physically.  I have a job and access to all of the modern conveniences to be able to simply purchase necessities from the grocery store.  I will eat.  The natives were not so lucky ... they did not have access to money, although they may have been given some food stuffs.

So, how does one adjust?  How do I adjust?  I do not intend to stop learning and growing.  This is  not the end of my quest to seek the sacred wisdom of the land, lovingly held by the Earth and her People, reserved for those who truly care to find it.  Certainly, the displaced indigenous souls could seek counsel of their tribe shaman and his network of spiritual support.  I am sure that there was a lot of soul-searching, but there must have been other hints and clues for those people so closely tied to the land.

We have had the experience of trying to forage in a new place only to find that the ecosystem was so completely foreign to us that we could find nothing.  Perhaps, that was not the case for the indigenous folk who lived semi-nomadically, moving from one ecosystem in the winter to another for the summer, seeking the things that they would need to thrive.  So, what other clues did they have?

The answer ... an answer ... hit me.  I already knew it, but knowing something is not the same as owning it, using it.  Thomas Elpel, author of "Botany In A Day", emphasizes the use of plant families as a means of plant identification.  Plants within a family are often used for similar purposes in diverse cultures.  In fact, I have read of this idea in a couple of books.  In one book, a botanist, seeking new medicines in the Amazon, relates that he recognized plants that belonged in a certain family and that the Amazonian people used these for uses similar to those in his region. 

I will concede defeat.  There is simply too much at stake for the planet and the people on it.  We have lost too much wisdom already.  I will continue to search and grow.  This is, after all, my path.  It is my place to serve the purpose I have agreed to for this life, even if I cannot remember what that purpose is.

I have been on the land and asked for signs and guidance on supporting it through this transformation.  On a single walk, after opening my heart for support in this lesson, I witnessed a beautiful red-tailed hawk glide into land on a tree branch.  I moved in for a closer look and the hawk vanished without making a sound.  I continued to stroll down the path musing over the sighting, the gift that was given.  As I neared the road, I felt a presence to my left.  I looked and found myself looking straight into the face of a white-tailed deer ... OK it was 30 yards away.  I told it that I was no threat and, after a moment, it darted off.  While I poured over the encounter, I noticed that the deer had been surrounded by a posse of turkeys ... at least a dozen.

It has been over a week since the incredible gifts I was given.  I still have not interpreted their meaning.  It could have been a simple thanks for communing with the land and explaining what was bound to happen.  It might have been  a signal that things would be OK, that the creatures where still there and would find a way to live even in the midst of the sprawl.

Even still, I know that I am blessed and I am grateful for all that has been given.  I am also honored to be able to share the little I have come to learn.  Perhaps, this is required for my further growth.  Regardless, I look enjoy the time I have on this MooseBoots trail.

Heart Wrenching News

My heart sank at hearing the news.  I was completely devastated.  I had worked so hard to develop of loving, nurturing relationship.  Outwardly, I simply smiled and offered that it must have been a huge weight off of her shoulders.

Wendy and I have spent a lot of time together, roaming the woods, visiting the fields, writing our book.  We have shared our lives, growing, learning, seeking wisdom.  We have seen incredible sights.  We watch in wonder witnessing natural beauty spring forth from the newly thawed soil, sprouts claw to the sky, leaves unfurl to gather the warm loving sunshine, buds burst forth into vibrantly colored flowers, flowers fade to desiccated pods holding the promise of life.  The truth is that we had come to love the land and her inhabitants, with whom we gratefully worked and played. 

Things change ... it is a fact of life.  Wendy told me a few days ago that she felt a change coming.  Quite unexpectedly, the tension broke loose ... serendipitous happenings.  And, I am left to piece it all together like a large jigsaw puzzle, with a photo of the night sky framing a sliver of a waning moon.

"I sold the development last Friday ... finally."  As I said, my heart hit the floor.  "I know it has been really hard for you.  It must be a huge weight off of your shoulders."  Selfishly, I thought of all of the things Wendy and I had done to support this amazing place, the things we had experienced and learned.  This is our favorite place to forage, to hunt, to re-connect with the Earth.  It is our school, our cafeteria, our church, and our home.  And now, or soon (within a few years), this blessed sanctuary will be reduced from 25 acres of wilderness surrounded by a sea of subdivision to piecemeal 1/2 acres parcels of tamed (tortured), suburban humanity (likely complete with McMansions for the pretentious "owners" to look dissatisfied at our efforts to homestead our little piece of heaven).

"We have to move", I told Wendy as soon as we were out of ear-shot.  This comes on the same day that I was contacted by a company wooing me to accept a position that I turned down in June, and by a former co-worker who recognizes my worth and wishes to coax me to relocated an hour northeast along the coast.  It also comes as difficult times have hit the dance school my daughters attend ... not that the school has been terribly financially sound for a few years now.  Change seems to be brewing.  It is all just a question of how long do we have to react before the choice is no longer ours.

Tonight, I mourn to the land.  I mourn for our society that places so little value in anything other than that which brings value in the form of money.  I mourn for the raccoons, the opossum, the fishers, the squirrels, the deer, the hawks, the great blue herons, the geese, the turkeys, the chipmunks, the fox, the stinging nettles, the Japanese knotweed, the oaks and maples, the hemlock and pines, the blueberries, the bunchberries, the wintergreen, the partridge berries, and all of the other Beings I have yet to meet ... that they will lose their homes to be displaced by people who wish only to live on the land and not with the land.

Of course, change happens.  And while I mourn, I rejoice the moments we have shared with Nature, the Universe, and this wonderful place.  I cherish the time we have been given and the remaining time we may have.  I hold to the knowledge that every journey holds turns and twists, unexpected events that push us to realize our full potential as healers, teachers, lovers, and friends.

Thank you to the spirits of this place, that we have come to love so dearly.  Thank you to the Elementals who have helped us along our journey to grow and reclaim a piece of the heritage that we have lost through the generations that have gone before.  Thank you for the divine spark within each of us that pauses to watch as the lone hawk darts to avoid the protective mother birds, striving to give each of their young a chance to experience life on this remarkably beautiful Earth.

May you find peace in this life, and all of those to follow.

The Tattered Remains Of Who We Once Were

Recently, I have been pondering the ways that we, as civilized people, destroy our environment, ourselves, and all of the things around us that offer support, sustenance, nurturing, and life.  Perhaps this is a result of our recent whirlwind trip to Pennsylvania then through Kentucky, and North Carolina only to turn around and head back home.

Over the years, I have researched  the native people in my area.  I am often quite frustrated by the lack of concrete information about the true nature of their lives before white settlers disrupted their way of life, their villages, and the bloodlines.  Anecdotally, few of the natives who still claim their heritage have a real understanding of the meaning behind their culture and the relationship with the land that now supports us all.  Their wisdom is dying through the loss of elders and the lack of interest in the younger generations of people to continue to remember the teachings passed down through the millennia.  Thankfully, there are a few folks, like Kerry Hardy (author of "Notes On A Lost Flute:  A Field Guide To The Wabanaki") trying to preserve some of the information.  Unfortunately, each author has a specific focus and saves on the tiniest, shards of the whole story.

Mr. Kerry has done a admirable job in trying to fill in some of the holes, but his focus was on discovering the lay of the infrastructure we have now as compared with that in the 1600s (pre-contact).  He uncovers a lot of "trivia" about their diet, their migration patterns, and their interaction with the environment.  By the way, I term it trivia, because in a single book, it would be impossible to fill in all of the details about every aspect of native life in those times.  As I said, he does a fantastic job and what he covers would create the foundation for an interesting museum about the people who lives here before the arrival of European settlers.

In a similar vein, Tom Wessels (author of "Reading The Forested Landscape: A Natural History Of New England") speaks about the landscape in the New England both before and after the arrival of white settlers.  His particular bent is reading the landscape to understand what has been.  His book is an extremely interesting read, as is Mr. Kerry's, but again there are mere fragments of the knowledge I feel is critical for us.  The knowledge to change our way of interacting on the land to being in relationship with the land. 

We can not continue to exploit her forevermore without overstaying our welcome.  She simply does not have unlimited resources and neither can she provide when we destroy all of the natural landscape to build our homes and workplaces.  As you may have gathered from all of this, I feel strongly about this.

Lately, I have been thinking specifically about the seasons.  I have tried to imagine what it might be like for the inhabitants of our area to live here.  In particular, I wonder about their sources of food.  This should come as no surprise given that our new book, "Browsing Nature's Aisles" (which is available to purchase over on the sidebar), has hit the market and we have just returned from speaking at the Mother Earth News Fair. 

I have been thinking over the passing of the seasons that we have experienced through our learning and growing ... starting with the sugaring, the spring greens, the tender young shoots, the berries, the nuts, and the wild game that surrounds us.  It occurred to me that this same cycle has been repeating for countless generations of people.  Initially, I was saddened by our loss of connection to nature and her cycle of wonder.  That was until I realized that we, modern day, work-a-day people still live with this.  Of course, our reliance on oil and our massive distribution infrastructure do a good job hiding it. 

Many people still go out and spend time in the wood, even just to camp.  They feel the primal pull to connect with Mother Nature.  We are, regardless of what some may think, animals that have developed relying on her.  We have simply learned how to bend her to our will, even to her own detriment.  We pick berries, we gather nuts, we hunt!  Our bodies, in spite of our best efforts, still react to the nature world ... our disconnection makes us sick (nature deficit disorder), our reconnection heals us (forest bathing).

Perhaps all of this was why, a few years ago, I felt the pull to take up hunting (bow only still).  This year, I have added migratory waterfowl to the list of potential sources of meat.  But in all of this, I have been more careful to observe not only the habits of the prey I seek, but the way the environment changes around us, for the better or the worse.  I have tried to become more aware of not only the plant and animal species with which I share the planet, but the interacts they each have with the Earth and the other creatures who share it.

One day, someday, I hope to have the opportunity to learn first hand from those who remain that remember how to live with the earth.  I wish to share it with those who will listen and take note of the wisdom.  Maybe I already have begun, with all we have learned about foraging and the released of "Browsing Nature's Aisles" and I did not recognize it.  I still have much to learn.  I know that the Universe, as it has done each time I have asked, will provide a suitable teacher (two legged, four legged, or otherwise) at the optimal time and place.

Water make the river
River wash the mountain
Fire make the sunlight
Turn the world around
Heart is of the river
Body is the mountain
Spirit is the sunlight
Turn the world around
We are of the spirit
Truly of the spirit
Only can the spirit
Turn the world around

-Harry Belafonte, from an African Story





Be well, kind, and tread lightly wherever you are.