Wise & Delectable Things

 And then

the butterfly

rose, weightless, in the wind.

"Don't love your life

too much," it said,
and vanished

into the world.

- Mary Oliver

 

 

I've been working 12hrs/7dys and finally got a day off to do all the things adulting requires

- and -

some gardening in the rain when I spotted a chrysalis on the moon flower.

After I finished all my chores, I went back out to photograph the chrysalis and this freshly emerged Monarch was waiting for me. That’s TWO this year that I know of, after planting the pollinator garden last year. We are elated.

I'm glad I was able to take the cub fishing before the call came last month that it was all hands on deck until further notice.  I checked my email this morning and it looks like they are finally reducing hours to 8 1/2 x 6 dys/wk, which feels like a relief.  I'm looking forward to a normal work schedule, whenever that happens. 

May this note find you happy and well and loving your life as I am. 

 

 

The Silent, Beautiful

“Teach the children. We don’t matter so much, but the children do. Show them daisies and the pale hepatica. Teach them the taste of sassafras and wintergreen. The lives of the blue sailors, mallow, sunbursts, the moccasin flowers. And the frisky ones–inkberry, lamb’s quarters, blueberries. And the aromatic ones–rosemary, oregano. Give them peppermint to put in their pockets as they go to school. Give them the fields and the woods and the possibility of the world salvaged from the lords of profit. Stand them in the stream, head them upstream, rejoice as they learn to love this green space they live in, its sticks and leaves and then the silent, beautiful blossoms. Attention is the beginning of devotion.”  ― Mary Oliver, Upstream: Selected Essays 

Salvia and the web of L.Venusta

The pollinator garden that we started when we moved here is a kingdom of swoon.  The hummingbirds join me as I sip my morning latte.  The Cerulean Warbler is the star singer in the morning amongst a chorus of Chickadee, Bluebirds, Crow, Goldfinch, Robin and Cardinal.  Sometimes the damselflies visit, and that is always enchanting.

In the forest beside the lake, the Wood Thrush is my muse, while the hawk cries overhead and somewhere a Red Bellied Woodpecker.  It's best in the early evening when the frogs sing along too.

Something or other attacked my peas, and I don't think they will make it.  The rest of the garden, however, is hardy as hell.  I see what I can do differently and better, and made notes for next year.

Somewhere in there is Anise Hyssop, Mountain Mint and more...

Lavender, Goldenrod, and various Coreopsis / Tickseed

Pink Evening Primrose

Nasturtium

Delphinium

Echinacea

Scarlet Bee Balm

PowWow White Coneflower

Swamp Milkweed

Butterfly Weed

Datura: Moonflower from Native Plant Festival 2019

Blueberries

Our blueberries are ripening.  I remember when we bought the bushes 6 years ago, how tiny they were then.  Now one of them towers over me.  We had hoped to plant more as hedge when we had our own home, instead of raising them in pots on the deck.

Picking Blueberries, Asuterlitz, New york, 1957 by Mary Oliver

Once, in summer
in the blueberries,
I fell asleep, and woke
when a deer stumbled against me.

I guess
she was so busy with her own happiness
she had grown careless
and was just wandering along

listening
to the wind as she leaned down
to lip up the sweetness.
So, there we were

with nothing between us
but a few leaves, and wind’s
glossy voice
shouting instructions.

The deer
backed away finally
and flung up her white tail
and went floating off toward the trees -

but the moment she did that
was so wide and so deep
it has lasted to this day;
I have only to think of her -

the flower of her amazement
and the stalled breath of her curiosity,
and even the damp touch of her solicitude
before she took flight -

to be absent again from this world
and alive, again, in another
for thirty years
sleepy and amazed,

rising out of the rough weeds
listening and looking.
Beautiful girl,
where are you?

Jai Maa!

"Mother,
Formed from the depths beneath your heart."

- John O'Donohue (To Bless the Space Between Us)

It's my first mother's day without his father.  It's strange.  There is no other way to describe it.  I imagine it's strange for my in-laws too, having lost Sheila in March.

In celebration my son made me a pot of his homemade Ginger Tea.  A recipe he's saved since Kindergarten.  It was delicious.  We took a walk in the forest and saw a school of ginormous carp.  He's now determined to catch one.

Sometimes the Wind

“and sometimes the wind
has touched my cheek
like a spirit.” - Mary Oliver

Today, even with all its dreariness there are these moments with feathered kin that delight us. This is Captain Jack. He is a Chipping Sparrow, and is quite the singer.

Hope

“Hope is the thing with feathers -
That perches in the soul -
And sings the tune without the words -
And never stops - at all -"
- Emily Dickinson 

 I have never known what boredom feels like. I think it is a blessing. This morning I had a visit from Woodstock the Goldfinch and his lady, Goldiflocks. I also had a visit from Skye the Bluebird. I had a bunch of over ripe bananas in the freezer so I made Brown Butter Bourbon Banana Bread. I didn't have any bourbon so I substituted homemade Nocino, and chocolate chips because....chocolate. 

I remembered this one day after 9/11, the Red Cross was stationed on my corner and one of the workers stopped me. She offered me some m&ms. I started crying and said, "No thanks, I don't need them". She said, "I know you don't neeeeed them...you neeeeed food and shelter and rest...but chocolate...is for the soul". I laughed. I didn't think I had a laugh left in me.

The great Alice Walker wrote, "Hard times requires furious dancing", I would like to add chocolate to that, and edible stars to float upon Juniper Tea, and a cup made by the hands of a dear friend in Ireland, and thrifted napkins that I dyed with indigo, and also...also...feathered hope.

"If you want the moon, do not hide from the night.
If you want a rose, do not run from the thorns.
If you want love, do not hide from yourself."
- Rumi

Last night I stepped outside for a sip of moonlight and to take a quick photo of the moon. To put things into perspective I set my sights upon Tycho crater which is estimated to be 108 million years old, then I looked for Mare Serenitatis (Sea of Serenity) and there with gaze fixed on serenity, I spoke the Metta.

May you be peaceful
May you be happy
May you be well
May you be safe
May you be free from suffering

Between Heart and Light

May it be its own force field
and dwell uniquely
between the heart and the light"
- John O'Donohue (To Bless the Space Between Us)

How are you? We are well and grateful for our wellness.  I am helping in ways I can and where I can and when I can.  I'm doing what I know to be good medicine for me to remain steady for my cub.  I can't believe that we lost R in August and now we are living in a pandemic.

I keep vigil for any moment of beauty no matter how small, like the visit from the goldfinch and I let that twinge of joy land lightly in my soul and I stay with it until it flies off to wherever it needs to go next, leaving me grateful for the brief respite.

It sounds crazy, but even though I've lost the part time jobs that took me months to find I care more about our lives right now than I do about a check...and that's not because I don't need an income, I desperately do, but our lives are not a commodity and there is something very wrong with a society where so few have so much, and so many have so little.

I decided that while we are home bound, we will not live by the clock. I've removed all screen time restrictions so my son can connect with friends and stay up late and sleep late which he normally doesn't do.

I put together that standing raised bed, and started my veg garden. I knitted a heavy blanket out of a gigantic yarn, that was on my to-try list for 2 years, using my arms instead of needles so it became a kind of dance or vinyasa. And I made paper blooms to fill vases. I'm trying to learn to sew masks.
I'm making the comfort food that my ancestors made, like my great grandfather's soup from Calabria. I'm making bread, and breaking bread, and keeping the cookie jar full. I'm bowing to the mountain when I finish my morning exercise. I'm opening the windows to let the valley wind sweep through the house so hard it slams door so I'm using large smooth stones that I collected from my late father's favorite beach on the north shore of long island to keep the doors from slamming. I'm using tech to my advantage and connecting with friends on the other side of the planet, their voices feel good in my ears and my eyes tear as we recount our memories across the span of years and ocean.

We are listening to Dan Bern and Lorenzo Bertocchini whenever we can connect. It lifts our spirits and as Lorenzo said, "they are songs but also prayers and we are distant but together".

I keep an led candle lit in the window each night where it will remain until this nightmare is over. I watch all the sunsets. I look for the planets, and whatever constellation I can identify. I make nectar, fill the feeder, and wait for the return of the hummingbirds. I listen for the conversations of birds that I can name without looking, like in childhood when I awoke to the voices of my elders and knew who was awake and at the table.

And when I feel the horror of this pandemic clenched around my ankles, I step out on the deck and breathe deep the moonlight, then I draw a bath, surround it with candles, and soak until the grip loosens and I once again feel steady on my feet. I fall asleep to my son's laughter as he plays games remotely with his friends. I long for the return of my own laughter, but I find myself tearful.

And I think that, just maybe, my tears are not only sorrow for the world, not only a reverence for the acts of beauty and love and courage that I am witnessing within this horror, but also maybe, a kind of salty rivulet of hope that for once this will push us all to a truer and more infinitely tender connection.

Unexpected Joy

“If you suddenly and unexpectedly feel joy, 
don’t hesitate. Give in to it.” - Mary Oliver 



Savoring moments of joy wherever I find them. Today it was a visit from Woodstock F. Goldfinch (the F is for festival). I named him Woodstock when I met him last summer because he flies much like the cartoon character which is amusing to watch and he sings a tune while flying that rises and dips as he does. Today he visited my blueberry bushes and peeped at me thru the window.

Ways to Kneel

“Let the beauty we love be what we do.
There are hundreds of ways to kneel and kiss the ground.” - Rumi 

 I feel like I’m living in a strange and horrible dream. It's hard for me to wrap my head around the fact that my husband died unexpectedly just 7 months ago, and now there is a deadly pandemic. You know those old b/w movie reels of people trying to walk on a shifting floor of a Funhouse? That is kind of what it feels like to me, only not so fun.

I’m remembering my guiding symbol for 2020, Starling, and how the flock can shift directions on cue at a moments notice, creating those beautiful murmurations. I am doing the same...watching, listening, waiting, shifting. I also remember how creating and photography and journaling helped me thru the trauma I suffered on 9/11 so I’m going to retrace my steps, do what I know is my medicine. I worry about my son whose whole life has been turned upside down. It’s super isolating, just the two of us, tho I’ve lifted all screen time restrictions so he can gather with friends whenever he wants. He’s in remarkably good spirits as tho he’s on holiday. This gives me peace.

Yesterday I made tissue paper Forsythia. As one does during Pandemic, lol.  I used to buy armfuls of forsythia branches at the union square green market when I lived in NYC. I had to stop when my late husband moved into my flat because he was allergic - so I started making them. It's easy and relaxing. Because Spring is a season of rebirth and renewal, I sometimes make a ritual out of this, a touch of reverence, and think of something I’m grateful for as I glue each blossom to a branch. Sometimes I think about things I wish to see bloom in the world, as a kind of prayer or meditation.

I slept until 6 which is remarkable and refreshing. I rolled out of bed and onto the mat for my morning ritual of core/yoga combo, and a pep talk whilst facing the mountains. Since I dreamed of hummingbirds Tuesday night, the window feeder is out and ready for the return of our bold Bessie Coleman and the bossy Amelia Mary Earhart II. The nectar is a tad sweeter to restore their energy after a long flight.

“I wouldn't persuade you from whatever you believe
or whatever you don't. That's your business.
But I thought, of the wren's singing, what could this be
if it isn't a prayer?” - Mary Oliver (Devotions)



Yesterday morn I awoke in time to watch the moon set. I was asked to volunteer at Blandy Experimental Farm / Virginia State Arboretum for their Eco Art program. I was delighted that they remembered me and my nature mandala from last year so it was an immediate “yes!”


There was a music therapist from Richmond attending who remembered our family from last year and I sadly informed her that my husband died. I enjoyed seeing her again. She is a joyful, empathetic soul. I enjoyed seeing Leah, the environmental educator. She is a kindred spirit. I enjoyed seeing Sandie Beny & family at the program. And I was grateful to Silvia for allowing S to hang out with the boys while I was at Blandy.

I have a soft spot for farms and arboretums. When I was a wee girl my dad a/o uncle would take me to Bayard Cutting Arboretum. I loved it there so much that I pretended I lived there and was the caretaker. My dad would open the door to the stately house there and exclaim, “honey, I’m home!”, issuing laughter from visitors and employees alike. My favorite tree was a ginormous weeping Beech. I would part the curtain of branches and it was an enchanting hideout from the rest of the world. The last time we were in NY, I took S and Robert there. The tree was still there! We slipped beneath the canopy and my son deemed it magical. I hugged the tree for old time sake as I did when I was a child.

All this to say, for those 2 hours at Blandy I felt the more like myself than I have in months. Like sap slowly rising from my deep roots, I am beginning to feel something shift within the xylem.

Guiding Symbol: Starling

"I want to be improbable beautiful and afraid of nothing,
as though I had wings." - Mary Oliver

And did you see that improbable beautiful sunrise this morning?!?!?!
 

I've entered into 2020 feeling lost. I couldn't even find my guiding symbols (I use symbols instead of words) so I carried Lady Elen and Justitia from last year with me, and I think, in some way, they will always be. BUT...over the last several days my car has been swooped by a murmuration of starlings several times. Without forethought I began adding murmuration images throughout my planner / journal, simply because I love them. Then the other day there was a starling in my feeder so, I decided to make Starling my guiding symbol for 2020.

I have no idea what this year will bring, and I'm still feeling lost and scared, but I hope Starling will lead the way.

Starling:
- travel together (birds of a feather)
- strength, unity, freedom
- art & nuance of communication (clear, expressive)*
- group etiquette
- accomplishes tasks
- sensitivity to others
- protection & hope
*They have a complex and uniquely human component to their language, and can recognize other individuals by their voice. They can mimic songs.
http://www-news.uchicago.edu/releas…/…/060426.starling.shtml

Murmuration:
- takes place in the liminal space of dusk / twilight.
- cohesive, unity, togetherness
- forming larger image to baffle predators, shape shifter
- survival instinct, practical, purposeful
- magical coordination
Photo: transfer print from the exquisite Lost Words Spell Book. Later altered with little gold stars on the heart center of each bird.

Mother-tongue

“Speak to me in the language of Moss and Stone:
The brook and fox-den know well my Mother-tongue. “

- Tom Hirons (Merrivale, Falconer’s Joy)

I awoke to a weather alert of dense fog. After my son left to school, I went down to the lake to take photos. As I sat there at dock, there was a fisherman launching his boat and a kayaker returning from an early paddle. I wonder how they are able to navigate this veil. This fog feels like a metaphor for the way I feel, how I can only see what is directly in front of me so I must move forward slowly because I can't see where I'm going. I wondered what it was like paddling around the lake in all that fog, but in a way I think I already know.

This morning I received an email from the Forest Therapy Guide admissions coordinator. I'm going to apply for a full scholarship. I have no idea how I will pull it off if I get it, but I trust I will figure it out. Leap and the net will appear is what John Burroughs said. He was a naturalist too.

We Were Together

"We were together. I forget the rest." - Walt Whitman

Robert's nephew who lives in Arlington stopped by on Saturday morning with his wife and toddler. We don't see them often so it was good for the soul.

On Sunday we took a hike with Kathi, then spent an hour fishing at the lake, joined by Silvia and her boys. I added a few images to my planner while we sat on the shore watching the boys. My son and I don't take these moments for granted, we treasure them for the gifts that they are as it so often feels lonely here while we find our new way of being.

Early this morning, after Satch went to school, I added some of my dreams to my planner. I am hoping that in spite of our tragedy, I may be able to find a way to make it all happen. For instance...
I dream of hosting Mighty Girl Art at Peetwood Pavillion at Blandy. I took a photo of it from afar so I can hold the image in my mind and heart. I made a transfer print to the August calendar page.
I dream of getting certified as a Forest & Nature therapy Guide. There is an intensive in NY in June, if I can get a scholarship then I wish to attend. Then I can complete the practicum at home in my spare time.

I dream of training to be on FEMA's community emergency response team so subscribed for updates.
I dream of moonlight hikes, and bonfires. I dream of seeing fox again, and more often. I dream of hearing coyote yips with my own ears, and of growing paw paw in the understory. I dream of the return of our Bessie Coleman Hummingbird, and exploring the lake in our yaks. I dream of a community kids hike, and events for our kids in general, something connected with this special place we call home, something that rings true with the name and mission of Rachel Carson.

Being in limbo is hard. It makes me anxious. I'm a creature who craves balance and rhythm, with just a sprinkle of spontaneity to keep it magical.

Watching the boys running back from the lake reminded my of one of my son's favorite storybooks...Roxaboxen.

First Shenandoah Snow

Trees glitter like castles
of ribbons, the broad fields
smolder with light, a passing
creekbed lies
heaped with shining hills;
and though the questions
that have assailed us all day
remain–not a single
answer has been found–
walking out now
into the silence and the light
under the trees,
and through the fields,
feels like one.
- Mary Oliver, excerpt from First Snow

Yesterday was nothing short of magical and splendid and another buoy for my spirit that lifted me momentarily above grief and fear.

Those moments on the hill, soaking in the laughter of our children as they took flight in their sleds - the crunch under my boots, the feathered air in my lungs as I walk over the land bridge to photograph the pink clouds above the lake, and the glorious trees in their white robes.

My son made mugs of hot cocoa, and poured mine into my favorite mug, the one with the owl. I scooped up the clean, fresh snow to make “snow cones”, one of our winter traditions. 8 heaping cups of snow, 1 tsp vanilla, 14 oz condensed milk, mixed thoroughly and scooped into cones.

I need to find my balloons to distribute to all the children for which to make ice lanterns. Where did I put them? I used to leave them in a basket on my front porch for the taking and making.
Today we wander out again for more playful wintry shenanigans. I think I’ll make some homemade tomato soup and grilled cheese for lunch today.

Goodbye 2019, Welcome 2020.

Happy New Years eve, Hogmanay, and Silvester! At the end of the year I try to make a list of moments of beauty that happened during the year to light my way thru the year ahead. I then clean house, put away all the decorations, then I dream up more adventures to begin the circle anew. #hogmanay #silvester #newyearseve2019
1. In January we loaded the car with sleds, and hot cocoa, and met friends at our favorite hill for shenanigans. My son had his winter break sleepover with a pal, and we had popcorn for breakfast at an early matinee with his friends which has become a winter break tradition.

2. In February I finally made the perfect vegan mac n' cheese, creamier and I dare say more delicious than the dairy version. I also found a recipe for the best lentil curry. We broke ground on our home, and helped clean up our LF trail. We went to Eco-Art at Blandy Arboretum.

3. In March we hiked Great Falls again, and saw a Bald Eagle Nest. We watched our home in progress.

4. In April we went to the kite festival in Sherando Park, and took a road trip to visit our in-laws in KC, MO.

5. In May we went to the Baby Goat Snuggle for Mother's Day. Satch caught the first Garter Snake of the season and named her Devi. We closed on our house on our son's birthday which we celebrated as an auspicious moment. We gave him his set of keys, and I captured his happiness in a photo as he opened the door.

6. In June we went to the Native Plant festival where I met my friend and neighbor Kathi. We put our plants in the ground, and found a baby mantis on our porch. Satch and Robert put together his bed that we thrifted on market place. We threw the quilt down in our living room and celebrated with pizza and elderflower lemonade. Then on June 20th we moved in to our own home. That night, the frogs were singing and we recorded them. Satch began archery and won a medal.

7. In July Bessie Coleman Hummingbird sipped from my hand. We had a visit from a Red Spotted Purple and an ichenewman wasp. We watched a Meadow Katydid wash her face on our front porch. And lastly, I felt unpacked enough to take my first kayak paddle on the lake with Robert and Satch. It was near sunset, and beautiful, we saw Egrets.

8. In August, our moon flower bloomed, and we watched a hummingbird moth plunging into the giant blossoms. We had our first back to school bonfire at the lake. We watched the meteor shower from our deck.

And then my husband unexpectedly tragically died, and our world was turned upside down in the most horrific way. At the same time, we were held up by the most loving family, friends and neighbors who supported us and helped us in all the ways needed. This reinforced our belief in the power of community and gave us hope for the world in general. Satch started high school and was happy to report that at his new school, everyone is nice and he's not being bullied. This was our biggest wish after 8 years of being picked on.

9. In September we had a memorial gathering for Robert. Our home was filled with family, friends, neighbors and colleagues. We shared a potluck, memories, and tears. I don't remember much of September beyond that.

10. In October I celebrated my 56th ride around the sun. My son and I went to the lodge, where we were oddly sat a table with three chairs. My cousin, Adelia, came to visit, we climbed Stony Man Summit and had our annual orchard picnic joined by our friends, the Mann family, and our nephew Andy's family. We made apple sauce with some of the apples we picked and froze it for Thanksgiving. We've been doing this since Satch was a tot. We carved our pumpkins and went to the first annual Fall Festival at our lake. It was the first year that Satch didn't go trick or treating, but took joy in answering the door and passing out candy.

11. In November I was visited by my friend Susan who was also a former co-worker and roommate in NYC. She brought bittersweet, and farm fresh eggs, and apples. We shared memories and much laughter over our wild NYC days. Satch and I took our first solo road trip to be with our in-laws for Thanksgiving in KC, MO. We packed delicious food so that we wouldn't have to stop along the way. It was lovely spending time with family, especially the elders for all the reasons. On the drive home, we hit treacherous weather, and witnessed a giant pile up, but we made it through unscathed and grateful. A mysterious parcel arrived from my friend Mary, containing long sold out, and highly coveted celestial sneakers. Friends transformed into Santas, making all my son's wishes come true.

12. In December we did a hard thing, and donated Robert's clothing to a mission that does not sell them, but gives them to men in need. I cried, but I have no doubt that Robert would have wanted that. We had a surprise visit from one of Robert's colleagues and after they left we took a spontaneous drive to Front Royal where we discovered that Jumani was playing and just made it in time. We kept our tradition of opening our home on the winter solstice and were joined by friends and neighbors for a potluck. My son happily opened the door each time the bell rang. We received the gift of light from the Jandas who came to wire us, and now we can not only see our dinner, but we bask in a hygge-esque glow. We kept our winter break cinema tradition and drove to reston to meet friends for the matinee of the new Star Wars Film. We hiked Fox Hollow on Christmas Day with my friend Kathi. We watched a Bald Eagle release at Cool Spring Shenandoah River.

In the beginning of last year it felt as though things were beginning to feel more secure and hopeful for our family. Justisia, Elen of the Ways, and Bridges were my guiding symbols of the year. Some people choose guiding words, I choose symbols. I'm keeping the ladies with me in 2020 since I have no idea where this path is leading me. This is unfamiliar territory and as some of you know, one of my silent fears is getting lost. I kind of feel lost right now. I had all these hopeful ideas and plans, and I suppose they still exist sort of, but I don't know how to get to them because I can't see where I'm going. The forest of grief is dense.

Dear 2019, you were a trickster of the worst kind, but I'm still standing and will not lay down my sword just yet.  Dear 2020, what's good?!?!