Coming Home:  The Goddess Rises…(part 1) by Sara Wright

The beginning of spring flies in on wings and croaks at my feet.

In four days, the landscape transformed from a dirty white shroud into a palette of heavenly browns. The goddess is manifesting on the first flights of the geese and ducks to open ponds, finally freed from ice. Crocus, emerging sage green bloodroot spikes, trillium, bloodroot, the arrival of phoebes, white throated sparrows, turkey convocations, the mating of the wood frogs, and the tiny amphibians we call spring peepers sing up the night.

 Yet spring in the speed lane is deeply concerning. Temperatures skyrocketed instantly from mid 30’s to 80’s. Although the rivers and streams are still running there is no overflowing water. A few nights ago, we had the first round of light spring showers; then temperatures cooled down and now it is cold again. Many threatened wood frogs, salamanders, red efts, and toads were forced to migrate to ditches and vernal pools, their only breeding places, without warm rain; how this will affect these most vulnerable species remains to be seen. At present the earth is still moist but this drying trend is especially troubling since it has been consistent for several years. I am keenly aware of why the ancient pre -Christian goddess was first celebrated in the spring as the Rising Waters because adequate rain/flooding is the Source of all Life.

 Once, the mountains of Maine were sacred to Indigenous peoples, and throughout the world some mountains are still considered sacred – but not here. As thousands are stripped of their trees the lumber yards are overflowing with the bones of the dead.  Ironically, Maine is still advertised as the “Pine Tree State’ and if you research the Literature, you will find that Maine is considered the most heavily treed state in this country. Yet at present, we have less than 4 percent of trees that reach the age of a hundred years and .1 percent of old growth forest left. What is never mentioned is that many of the trees that remain are either tree plantations or hardwood saplings; Our once deep green pined mountains have turned dull brown for most of the year. And trees are harvested so quickly that most never make it beyond twenty to thirty years. A tree that makes it to 100 years is considered an ‘old’ tree though it is still a youngster. Many are taken when about six inches in diameter. The logging machine is feeding the house shortage, as well as supporting expensive new homes. Personal greed has escalated to the point where quarter acre lots are even being stripped of their trees for a few dollars. Some, like the owner of a local store don’t even know what they are going to do with their pillaged land; they just want to ‘open it up’. This, to me is insanity, especially because this place sells products like worm cultures and organic fertilizers.

Local Silence is deafening. This rape of the mountains is willfully ignored by locals, who blame the out of staters that rush in to buy property that is ‘ripe’ for development. Not a tree left to get in the way. Strip as many trees as you like but don’t let a ‘foreigner’ in. Discrimination is rampant. Logging used to be done sustainably by men who cared about their trees and knew how to cut sustainably so generation after generation could support their families with the trees that were left behind, trees that also nourished the next generation of seedlings. Trees, forests, and families all thrived. But today we are all at the mercy of capitalistic greed and the logging machine. In Maine no tree is allowed to reach maturity unless it is on protected private land.

The Tree of Life is part of every mythological story I know of and yet this state has decreed that every tree will be used commercially as fodder to further human goals. No one ever mentions the fact that the next generation will not know that lush green pine– treed mountains once existed unless they see old pictures. The goddess in her tree aspect is being murdered as I speak.

At this point I must confess that I will be relieved when the hardwoods leaf out, for then for a few months I will be spared the visual reminder of ongoing rape – at least in the places where trees still exist.

 I feel so helpless.

 The wise old plant woman in me turns inward. These days I spend more time with my household plants including trees (Norfolk Island pines), because I have some control what is happening to these green relatives of mine. An antidote to the disappearing forest and the destruction of the ecosystem around me.

 Spending hours nurturing, attending to every plant’s need, starting new cuttings from flourishing vines, visiting my wild woodland terrarium “Mary’s Garden”, and having conversations with a magic bean plant sooth my aching heart.

 I am currently in daily conversation with the Indigenous Scarlet Runner bean I just mentioned whose old seed insisted upon rooting after I accidentally moistened it. These beans climb towards the sun but cannot be safely put into the ground for another seven weeks. My magic bean grew out of her/his first pot in three days (male and female parts of the flower are on one plant hidden away) and since repotting, the plant has taken over a southern window with new shoots appearing daily. To keep the bean contained, each morning I twist shoots around themselves threading one into another, apologizing profusely.  When I began this practice, the bean objected mightily to my interference by snapping her tendrils back! Day after day I explained that I was doing this because s/he had no place to go if s/he climbed above the window. Then one morning the bean let me twist delicate vines without resistance. I could feel the shift. I thanked the bean for her/his cooperation. Now I repeat my daily twists without feeling resistance or witnessing the bean’s attempts to bounce back. Always saying thank you.

Part 2, next week . . .