Along the roadside, broad swaths of Queen Anne’s lace and chicory grace the landscape as far as I can see. They take my breath away with their exquisite beauty. The delicate white petals of the Queen Anne’s lace paired with extraordinary blue of the chicory evoke not only awe, but tenderness, gratitude, and memories of my mother pointing out these favorite flowers every year as they came into their full flowering in the heart of summer in northern Michigan. How she loved the blue and white, made even more beautiful by their contrast with each other.
In a recent FAR post, Sara quoted Janet quoting Teresa of Avila: “If we learn to love the earth, we will find labyrinths, gardens, fountains and precious jewels! A whole new world will open itself to us. We will discover what it means to be truly alive.” My mother opened that world to us, teaching us to love and appreciate each wildflower as it came into its season. She taught us to love them as friends who came to live among us at different times of year, each with its special gifts.
Apple trees have always been dear to my heart and of course, they are associated with the goddess. What follows is a little story where the goddess is made manifest.
Torn Apple Heart
Three years ago I had a beloved apple pruned – I do not normally prune trees, believing that to do so may harm them, but because I once trusted a young boy who also loved trees, I allowed him to make a few cuts that spring.
Last year my apple struggled and dropped her apples too soon.
I worried.
This year rain has been scarce except for monsoons that first drown the trees, leave roots barren, with most of the moisture rushing down the hill to the brook. When I noticed so many many apples on too thin young branches I became uneasy….
It’s almost mid August; since mid July we have experienced the hottest summer I have ever endured.
I personally think the quality of endurance is underrated. Remember Celie in The Color Purple? After living through hell this woman became who she was meant to be. Sometimes endurance does seem to be the way through. Just now the Woman’s Movement seems to be quite dead, but perhaps if we can just endure in time this situation may shift. That at least is my fervent hope.
Endurance and the Long Winding Road
From the day I bought this property almost 40 years ago I walked down this lovely road with a sense of the deepest pleasure. The trees were young then. In spring wild cherries burst with pure white or rosy pink blossoms, the bark of each a different hue, emerald pines bore startling white candles, chattering poplars multiplied, pale gray and pearl white birches leaned in for intimate conversation, smooth barked red maples graced open spaces all lemony lime in spring – leaves and needles etched against cobalt blue. The trees were healthy then.
Intolerable temperatures, the air dripping with humidity, unable to sweat, my body catches fire. My aging mind shuts down.
How to find hope in the ruins, not just personally but all around me in dying leaves rife with holes or chewed to bits in late July, flowers shriveling under a merciless sun. A solitary frog croaks from somewhere inside a garden gone wild. Silver swords create an impenetrable bower protecting toads and frogs from within. The scent of bittersweet butterfly weed draws in flaming orange fritillaries, monarchs, bees, a silvery white butterfly with two spots on her wings. A few spikes of scarlet bee balm burst. Flames erupt, crimson, salmon, lemony lilies and golden nasturtiums seduce with sweet nectar. Hummingbirds hover, chirping madly between these and red mint…my breathing is labored – shallow – my body waterlogged and swollen. Together the dogs and I doze lazily, our bodies aching for
The forest is bursting with berries, blue lily beads are just one of a multitude of seeds…Astonishing pearl bells adorn mounds of shining wintergreen that shimmer across the forest floor. Soon those berries will blush, bead up, cry scarlet. Three leaved trillium wear peaked red caps. Deep orange bunchberry clusters surprise the unwary -who is expecting this bountiful feast on a woodland floor? Partridgeberry beads are lime green except for those from last year. Soon too these will be adorned in flaming berries that will last all winter… I’m waiting for the cucumber plants to show their colors. Lemon lime whirls catch the slightest breeze. Cattails, and milkweed pods are sending puffs of cotton on the wings of the slightest breeze. Bull frogs call from the rushes; fish intent on the next meal, break the surface of the beaver pond creating a ripple that spreads across the still waters circles upon circles widening into blue glass. Blue headed vireos, red eyed vireos and the hermit thrush sing from green bowers hidden from sight. Hemlock cones have dropped their black microscopic eyes under each parent carrying the knowledge that kin will look after their own. Acorns are dropping a bit too early; their caps still green, but some creature will have a feast, or the microbes will devour these seeds enriching the soil for next year’s sprouting.
Seeding up…. Thousands of years ago women began gathering forest bounty – always asking for permission they took only what they needed. That the forest will return the favor is a given – gratitude the exchange – Seed Saving is an ancient practice that women originally learned from dreams, animals, and the trees that were their neighbors. At that time all were kin….
This year I collect hemlock seeds, the beaked hazelnuts that edge the forest are ripening – almost ready to split…I rattle wild columbine spires releasing the seeds, collect salmon rose hips for a nourishing tea… scatter wild poppy seeds. I am still waiting for elderberry to grace the ditches with deep purple berries. The birds and I keep an eye on ripening clusters and share the bounty between us.
My cultivated garden takes care of itself these days…. Planting vegetables gives me no pleasure – too many years of work, giving to others – too much work that restricted my freedom to come and go. The forest floor is medicine now. Appreciation of every gift grieved or given never goes unnoticed…but it is the joy of watching each plant offer its prayer for the future that keeps me returning … home.
I’ve been told that most children in the United States learn to write haiku in third grade. At the very least they learn that haiku is a traditional poetic art form using seventeen syllables divided into lines of 5 – 7 – 5. The idea is to capture a moment in time. The famous Japanese poet/priest, Issa (1763-1828), focused on creating haiku using his love for nature in the process.
I did not grow up in the American school system, so it wasn’t until I took an undergraduate Zen Buddhism course that I learned to appreciate and have fun with creating this particular kind of poetry.
In the following haiku, I try to capture the moment I experienced the natural scene in front of me. Taking a photograph and then writing an accompanying haiku can be a meditative exercise. I keep striving to make that exercise a daily happening.
Ominous dark clouds Follow me around the lake Pushed by a brisk wind
What follows is yet another story of how patriarchy is destroying our culture through the lens of personal narrative. This is a pattern we must uncover, reveal for what it is and refuse to participate. As bell hooks once said, “your silence will not protect you”. Especially from insanity.
I was gone when the U-Haul moved out.
For almost 19 years Ugly neighbor lied, manipulated, tried to steal land, stole my young balsam trees, ignored covenants on our deeds and most recently started to set off explosives.
Six months after moving in here this guy cut down my trees and built a bridge over the brook on my land. It never occurred to me that he did it. Oh, I wasn’t accustomed to this sophisticated level of manipulation. When I approached Ugly neighbor (alias ‘nice guy’ with a fake halloween pumpkin smile) to tell him what I believed someone else had done, I discovered he built the bridge; he cut down my trees. Stunned, it barely registered when he said “I did it for you.” WHAT???
Accustomed to the old fashioned ‘respect your neighbor policy’ I had no frame of reference for the hell that was coming my way.
I have this image in my mind of standing on one of those moving floors at the carnival. It is hard to get your balance because it is constantly shifting.
The world is constantly shifting at the moment.
It is unsettling.
You think you have found your equilibrium, and then the next experience or conversation occurs. Financial upheaval. Health concerns. People dying.
The fear calls.
Three months officially out of my second marriage, I am still in a transitory period. Juggling as I normally do so many things and people. Which ones will I catch? Which ones will I let go?
Every morning I wake up and stand on my deck with my arms thrown up to the sky in gratitude. I love my deck and my old 1961 home. The deck needs care. I have replaced a couple of boards, but there are many more in need. I wonder if it is even savable at this point.
I let that thought come and go. It is okay for now. It holds my weight.
Nothing lasts forever, and this does not make my top ten list.
The client that I had for seven years on and off is now gone. With my veteran husband gone and now that we have moved to Alabama, I am officially no longer a small Illinois Veteran Owned Business so I will officially no longer be part of their budget.
My main priority right now is finding a job and income. It can be overwhelming. I do not want to sell myself short as I have done the large majority of my life. I also do not want to be in a job that I am struggling. I want to find, like the new relationships in my life, ones that are just the right blend of challenging, interesting and rewarding: ones that fit into the puzzle of my life. The adventure.
At times it seems a high order: especially in the shifting sands of the world at the moment.
Every morning after greeting the sun on my deck, I go into my sunroom and meditate.
The view out of my back window is of crepe myrtles, pines, a maple tree and a corn field. Birds fly past. My cats lie lazily on the chairs. My stones and statues and other precious items surround me.
Isn’t this moment enough?
Isn’t it enough to be happy in this moment?
I start to stress about money or people, overthinking, analyzing and panicking as I am wont to do and then I stop myself.
I remind myself.
It is already here.
The people I want in my life. Who truly see me. Who I see. The ones where we support each other. Allow each other. Touch each other physically and mentally.
They are already here.
The means to pay my bills in ways that fill and align with my soul.
It is already here.
They both just need to catch up with me. Turn a corner, and they will be there. All I need to do is ‘encourage’ the things I want in my life, and let go of the rest.
Step by step. Breath by breath.
The future is already here.
Yesterday I returned from my Land in Appalachian mountains of North Carolina: ten acres of unrestricted land with a bog and a creek on one side and a mountain on the other.
A few days ago, I bought the land. When the check cleared, I was left with $20 in my bank account. I had a momentary panic wondering what I am doing.
But then I left that thought behind as well.
It is the third time that I have been there. It is the first time that I went alone.
I sat. I listened. I meditated. I got lost in the woods climbing up the small hill and forest that is already beginning to feel like home. I napped in my hammock, took off my clothes, sang, danced, cried, touched myself. Said hello and thank you and I will take care of you. Take care of me.
Almost half of my land on the right side is bog or a wetland: nature protecting itself, impassable and overgrown by invasive porcelain berry plants. The last time I came my friend tried to get to the creek and did not even get close: his feet sinking into the earth a foot, a huge smelly fly ridden animal bed, plants everywhere. The real estate description suggested putting in a pond to drain the bog so that you can use the land.
No. Protect the bog. Protect our earth. I deeply respect that side of my land knowing that it is cradling precious carbon needed to maintain the balance of life. I talk to it and tell it that I just need a small way in to get to the creek so that I can have water and a shower. A small path.
I find another way down a road to the creek. A snake scurries away in the water. The neighbor says good, I see that you have a machete. You will need it. I would suggest a firearm as well.
We shall see. I feel the fear and respect that I carry.
This is the Wild. She is often unforgiving. I get that.
But I believe that we can come to an agreement and a relationship.
It is one of the balls that I am juggling at the moment. To get to the land from Alabama, I drive along the Ocoee River, rushing water and rocks, majestic steep mountains forming a gorge. It leads to my land, out of the gorge, up a small highway, past buildings that nature has reclaimed, no chains, few stores and onto a dirt road.
‘Home’ pops into my mind several times.
Home.
BIO: Caryn MacGrandle is the creator behind the Divine Feminine App which has been connecting and inspiring women [and other genders too] throughout the world since 2016 as a directory to find Sacred Circles, events and resources. Women find the app each and every day, and it currently has almost 8000 users from around the world. Caryn has also hosted Sacred Circles and events for the past nine years and is passionate about the power of a Circle to heal individuals and the world. She has participated in numerous online and location events such as the World Parliament of Religions in September of 2021 in which she presented a workshop on Embodying the Goddess: Creating Rituals with Mind, Body and Soul and just recently a webinar/panel with Dale Allen presenting Dale’s Indie film award winning “In Our Right Minds: Leading Women to Strength as Leaders and Men to Strength without Armor.” Each and every day, Caryn (aka Karen Moon) works tirelessly towards her belief that the most important area to first find equality and balance is the divinity found within yourself.
In Maine the 4th of July…The bottom line is that women don’t create the chaos and unbearable noise that men do. It comes to a ‘head on the 4th – a time to create misery for all people who are peace loving – just more indication of the breakdown of our culture… I fear that patriarchy may live on until it destroys all we know.
Refuge (before bombing)
A symphony of phoebe song a river of stone blessed by rain…. Beech leaves beckon,
Feminism and Religion 