Coming Home:  The Goddess Rises…(part 2) by Sara Wright

Part 1 was posted last week, you can read it here.

I have been conversing with plants most of my life sensing the reciprocal nature of green beings and treating them as equals, so I was delighted by the bean’s behavior, although not surprised (western science has finally caught up with Indigenous knowledge as new studies indicate that plants listen/ and respond – see Gagliano, Simard). My magic bean is thriving, and every morning I make a promise to Scarlet Runner that the day will come when s/he will finally be free to climb to the stars… Relationships like this one sustain me.

 Opening the door to mist ‘Mary’s Garden’ is entering another magic realm. Ferns I never planted are unfurling. Two hemlock seedling have emerald bristles on the tips of their needles, Partridgeberry is spreading, twin flowers are appearing, unknown seeds are sprouting, fungi come and go, lichens abound, some cascading from pieces of old wood. One old piece of pine bark supports the tiniest fungal trumpets. This terrarium is a source of endless enchantment and comfort on the coldest winter day.

Most important this lively place has become a living dream link to a protected forest I long to be part of but cannot traverse during winter months. All the mosses, lichens, hemlock seedlings, and pieces of bark are buried in the richest detritus and soil that I gathered with such care in that forest just before the snow set in. What I find so compelling is that now that the ground is bare, and green shoots are appearing in my outdoor garden my love for this terrarium pulls me through the doors with the same urgent call. Every plant in that small space is asking only to be seen…and I am happy to oblige. What I have learned this winter is that terrariums if kept long enough have very distinct seasons; each is just more subtle. I have kept terrariums before but always returned the plants to their homes in the spring. Mary’s Garden will be my first exception. Unless the plants outgrow the space, I will not be returning them to the wild. This garden has kept me attached to the forest I long for…

A Bridge forged in Love.

 I cannot wait to visit Hemlock Hollow, touch the peeling bark of aging yellow birches, sit against the swaying pines, listen for the birds who like me find refuge there as I climb granite ledges by the river to sit and listen, lean into learning from my elders. I will cross bridges to converse with beavers who work so diligently to create the ponds that will support forest folk, from water bears to moose. I will sit by flowing waters among the mosses that glow like emeralds even in the dark. Entering the protected forest, I offer a prayer of the deepest gratitude sometimes on my knees. No matter how despairing I may feel about the times ahead, as soon as I enter the invisible green veil a cloak of peace descends.

Until recently this protected forest belonged to a family from Massachusetts who had the foresight and the financial resources to begin to buy up land in Maine beginning in the 70’s. (most recently these most generous hearted people have leased their land to the local land trust). They protected roughly thirteen thousand acres of forest, seeps, streams, and rivers, and in doing so purified the waters that feed all life in the lower parts of this state. Some of these recovering forests are the richest ecosystems in the area, full of springs, bogs, vernal pools seeps, streams, rivers, complete with gorgeous mountain views and old abandoned mines…in this place I call home the trees were harvested sustainably leaving plenty of rotting logs to nourish the soil, which is allowing the forest to heal.

Because of these woods I have discovered a Refuge, a place where an abundance of rare plants and wildflowers can be found. The forest floor and thick understory support all manner of plants and shrubs and spring flowers – partridgeberry, hobblebush, viburnum, clubmosses, and an incredible array of fruiting fungi. The underlying mycelial networks is teaming with insects, bacteria, and microbes we know nothing about but make up 2/3rds of life on this planet. Lichens and mosses thrive along the banks of seeps streams and rivers. Wood frogs, green frogs, leopard frogs, peepers, red efts, and salamanders can be discovered with little effort. Ruffed grouse, wild turkeys are hidden in the green, vultures and hawks peruse the skies in open places and can almost always be seen, the former year – round. A few of the songbirds that live here can be found nowhere else. Weasels, mink, beavers, porcupines, squirrels, raccoons, coyotes, moose, deer, bobcat, lynx, wolves, and bears make their homes in this refuge. It’s almost the end of April and by now, thanks to the mercifully brief heat wave the paths are clear. I can’t wait to find the first trailing arbutus, bloodroot, wild violets, jack in the pulpit, marsh marigolds, spring beauties, twin flowers and oh so many others! Without this place ‘to become one with all that is’ I wonder how I would survive, because on some days the grief I am experiencing over the loss of our precious forests along with plunging species diversity is overpowering. I am witnessing the destruction of a vibrant ecosystem that once defined the state of Maine.

Returning to this beloved forest is like returning to the Great Mother that birthed us all. Being here allows me to believe that no matter what humans do the Earth will live on because Life is bursting out of every rotting log. And most important, for a time, I can take refuge from the future by living totally in the present.

Nature saves and nurtures those who love her…