Every morning, I awaken to the chirp of woodpeckers. Sapsuckers, downy and hairy woodpeckers are constant visitors climbing up and down the crabapple trees. The chickadees can’t get to the feeder because as soon as one species leaves another arrives.
At first, I enjoyed woodpecker presence and their antics but during the last week I have found the escalating chirps disturbing. Some days especially around 4 PM a pileated woodpecker joins the other three; this one is drilling a hole in the side of the cabin.
When my pileated friend started drilling on the house, I was forced to acknowledge that undealt with personal issues were being highlighted by the behavior of these birds, and that someone in me was stuck in denial.
Since my relationship with nature is deeply personal too many sightings of any creature indicate the need to pay closer attention.
I have resisted knowing what I didn’t want to know because autumn is the season I love most. I have been emotionally present to this turning by taking long walks into the forest and around my house to soak in the rapidly vanishing leaf cover, focusing on each succeeding tree species after the first flush of fire on the mountain occurred during the last week of September.
On the last day of the month, I turned eighty, reluctantly acknowledging my fears around aging/dying as I move into another decade and perhaps the last years of my life. I was surprised and strangely relieved when this birthday had passed.
My two dogs, both of whom died this summer had validated my sense that death is a doorway into another way of being and I didn’t have to stay stuck in linear thinking.
This year autumn color has been on speed dial, a most distressing change – September began with cool autumn temperatures -swamp maples torched the sky with crimson and gold – then softer pastels – followed too soon by wheat, ochre, amber and fawn. A few beech trees are still tipped in gold, some leaves still pale green. The moose maples are ashen yellow and papery thin. Baby red oaks are the exception – some are still fiery red.
In the forest hobblebush still holds surprises and beaded red berries pepper the earth where partridgeberry grows. Absentee leaves open forest edges as the multi vase – like branches of the witch hazel trees appear replete with yellow spindles. It’s hard for me to believe this is only the end of the second week in October. Too many leaves fluttered to the ground all at once. Acorns have fallen from trees without their hats.
Even if wells were not going dry the silence of still waters is deafening. The sight and sound of water is ‘life affirming life’ because WATER IS LIFE (no organisms can evolve without the presence of water).
For me witnessing these changes on the run is leaving me with the sense that I can’t catch up. I didn’t realize until the woodpeckers told me that this ‘speed dial effect’ combined with my birthday, another painful neighbor dog loss, and the frightening lack of rain and water was de-stabilizing my psyche. Like the absence of water sliding over moss covered stones I am unable to flow through my feelings. No wonder I feel depressed.
On October 1st my first mentor Jane Goodhall died at 91. Her first and last love was her childhood dog Rusty who set her on a path to become a tireless advocate for nature and impeccable ethologist. Her first scientific study of chimpanzees changed the way many people saw animals. Jane refused to hide behind the myth of ‘scientific objectivity’ by naming her chimps and treating them as equals. Some of Jane’s last words were about how important it was to never give up hope around animal sentience or nature as a whole. Not the kind of hope that is predicated on outcomes but hope that comes from following one’s calling.
Jane also stated that she knew that consciousness survived death, a truth brought home to me after the deaths of my two dogs last summer. I am so ever so grateful to the little canine companion that has joined me.
As previously mentioned, October also began with the loss of another dog that was beloved to me, and just yesterday a woman friend told me that ‘her dog was the reason she got up every morning’ and that this animal had died suddenly. My friend is a Director of Ecology at a prestigious institution.
I don’t think I am digressing here when I say that not enough attention is paid to women who live alone with animal companions, women who are often deeply connected to nature like some of us are. Jane Goodhall credits her childhood dog with the genesis of her love for nature.
I believe the closer we are to animals, plants, and natural processes the more difficult our lives are becoming because we are living so close to the edge of life as we know it. This season in Northern New England has been especially poignant because we are witnessing nature’s desperate attempt to adjust to human induced changes that are occurring too rapidly. Survival of the whole means letting go, allowing the leaves to fall. It’s time to return to our roots.
I’m missing the movement of water. Inside and out. Like the parched riverbeds throughout the country and the rest of the planet I am thirsting for water so that I can flow with these changes. Leaves and needles will fall, winter will come, politics may turn us to cinder, and I will most certainly die.
The woodpeckers are right. Just now I am experiencing the fragility of life. Holes in the fabric of a greater Whole. The other side of this picture is that the wheel of the Great Round keeps turning and witnessing the bare bones of November doesn’t speak to death, just temporary slumber.
_________________________________________
A Tribute to Jane:
Jane Goodhall ‘s last words (excerpt):
“I want you to understand that we are part of the natural world. And even today, when the planet is dark, there still is hope. Don’t lose hope. If you lose hope, you become apathetic and do nothing. And if you want to save what is still beautiful in this world — if you want to save the planet for the future generations, your grandchildren, their grandchildren — then think about the actions you take each day. Because, multiplied a million, a billion times, even small actions will make for great change. I want to — I just hope that you understand that this life on Planet Earth isn’t the end. I believe, and now I know that there is life beyond death. That consciousness survives.
I can’t tell you, from where I am, secrets that are not mine to share”.
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I love them. But I’m prejudiced. As a child I used to watch Woody the Woodpecker lol.
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I too love woodpeckers – they are really fun to watch – all kinds – hairy is still my favorite – but having so many is concerning – because it means we have fewer insects….
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At this point I am looking for people to make a giant survival bunker to save as much of the animals and plants as possible like the Ark.
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laudable intention – but because every living thing is connected – I think we have to turn this whole thing over to nature and let HER take the lead.
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Amen to that. I believe and actually many believe, that the pandemics that have been unleashed on the world was done by the Earth as an antibody against us. There’s even a story about that in Yoruba religion.
Olodumare (God) had a daughter, the Great Goddess ile Oguere.
She was going to reincarnate just like the other Orishas (Gods and Goddesses). But Orula, the Divination and Magic, warned her and the other Orishas. He told them to do special rituals and cleansings before incarnating. So their time in the physical universe wouldn’t be so bad. None of them listened.
Only Orula did this.
Because she was the daughter of the Supreme Deity, she was too powerful to become a mere human. Instead she became the planet Earth itself. And humans began to despoil her and ruin her. And her anger became great. During this time, humans did not grow old or die.
So Olodumare commanded Iku (Death) to come down to the Earth and take as many humans as possible. Back then, the bodies did not decompose. So the dead lay on the earth. And humans despised Iku. One day, Iku was resting in nature. And ile Oguere spoke to him. Asked him how his day was.
“The humans despise me,” he answered, “They love the other Orishas but they fear me, they run and cower because they know what my job is now. Their bodies are everywhere,”
ile Oguere told him,
“At least they run from you. I cannot escape them. They feed on me like parasites. Causing me only harm and pain,”
So the Goddess formed a plan.
“If you kill as many humans as possible, I will feed on their bodies. Sucking them down and re-absorbing them into me. That way at least the world won’t be littered with corpses,”
Iku smiled and said,
“We will need my wife and the darker Gods to make this task easier,”
His wife was Arun (Disease). The other Gods were the Osorbos (bad luck spirits) also known as Ajogun. The “warriors of evil” what many call demons. And they wage war against humans and Gods alike. Epe (Curse) is also one of them.
That’s why we have so many sufferings on the planet. Because it is meant to protect nature and our Mother Earth, from us. Only those humans she finds worthy can be protected. And even then we still suffer at least some of these. There’s a ritual we do every new year called “Feeding the Earth,”
Where we make a huge hole in a barren land. And we cleanse our bodies with food. And then sacrifice that food into the hole and seal it shut. As the animals within the earth eat the food, she eats. And she takes our bad luck and bad energies away.
And blesses us with her healing magic. But this must be done by Babalawos (priests of Orula). Because the ritual is so complicated that doing it wrong, could be fatal. For instance that hole (Jorojoro) must always be closed shut. If not, it’s like an open grave and the Earth will drag our souls to death so we can become one with her again.
That’s one ritual that I would never try to do myself. I would leave it to the experts.
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I personally think that the earth doesn’t respond that way – I think that S/he – Ki – is focused on the big picture and that accepting consequences is Nature’s response to our abuse – but there are stories and this one is scary – I wouldn’t touch it.
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Ha! A lot of stories of the old days are scary as shit. There was even a story concerning one of the first men who became farmers. He abused the earth so much that she opened up a huge casm and swallowed him whole. To be fair, it sort of prepared us for the reality of sink holes.
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Beautiful and profound, Sara.
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Beautiful and profound. Speaks to my heart.
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Hmmm glad it does Harriet! Thanks!
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There’s so much in this post, Sara. You have suffered such deep losses — your dogs, your neighbor’s dog, the lack of water, the hastened autumn, the political turmoil, and your own crossing of a threshold in your life. Many holes. We have had a similar dry autumn here in northern Minnesota, perhaps because we are at a similar latitude. I agree that the connection between animal companions and women can be especially profound — whether or not the women are single. I’ve experienced both, and though I have a human partner, my main partner in every moment of every day is my dog. He and I both experience that. A friend once said to me, “I don’t know why they say that a dog is man’s best friend. A dog is woman’s best friend.” I’m so sorry you have lost your closest companions.
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beth, thank you for the witnessing… deeply appreciated – and yes – this has been a year of losses for me and for the animals plants people etc on this planet – we have now passed the tipping point 1.5 C – so there’s no turning back – I am so pleased that you mention the importance of dogs in our lives as women – I think there are many of us of all ages that feel this way about their canine companions and I am not sure why there is so little written about these most devoted friends – especially on this site…To have a new companion is a joy….I give thanks every day…
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Have you gotten another dog? I hope so. I wasn’t going to get another one after I lost my Charlie in 2019, but six months after he died I did, and yes, he has been a great joy. He rescued me from my immense sorrow.
Writing about the dogs in my life for FAR — something to think about. Thanks.
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Yes, I do have a new dog and she is my joy – especially now with the end of the year insight and the space in between ahead… This little creature is a living being that I can hold close during these dark times -the decision to move on was really orchestrated by my two dead dogs in some way i don;t understand – wrote about it for FAR – called The Doorway….
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I’m so glad, Sara. I missed that post and will look for it.
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Thank you for another soul-deep post, Sara. You express so clearly the grief and uneasiness I’ve felt during a parched late summer, early autumn. May the waters flow and the tears fall and wisdom take root. Blessings on you and your beloveds on both sides of the thin veil.
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your words ‘the grief and uneasiness of a parched summer and autumn’ mirror my own uneasiness that has escalated – not diminished – it’s like the veil HAS become too thin…. I return those heartfelt blessings to you dear Elizabeth – I am wondering if we are voicing an uneasiness that has taken hold of us all????
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I agree there is a pervading uneasiness that we all feel. It needs precise expression like yours.
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and yours too Elizabeth – there must be more of us??
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this is when we see that personal stories matter in times like this
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