Daily Practices

I have been working on re-establishing some daily practices. I had overwhelmed myself by trying to establish new routines for my entire day, and since my brain just isn't wired that way anymore, that attempt was a colossal disaster. 

So I backed off. I forgave myself for my perceived failure. I regrouped and reconsidered, and decided to try a more gentle approach, going in toes first instead of diving headlong. 

I found something new that interested me - setting a trail camera on our property to keep an eye on wildlife activity. Then I set the alarm on my phone to remind myself to go and change out the SD card. The alarm has a distinctive sound, a clip from John Denver's song "Wild Montana Skies." https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8RRgIP-0pHk It is not a sound I can ignore, and I haven't been ignoring it for about two months now. Every night I change the card, regardless of the weather, or how tired I am or if I have a dozen other things to do. There are no excuses for not completing the task. The lure of a new thing, the alarm reminder, and determination helped me establish that new daily practice. 

At the beginning of August, I found another new thing that interested me. The first foggy morning reminded me of the lore that says that there will be a snowfall in winter for every foggy morning in August. Every year I am reminded of that lore, and every year I say I'm going to keep track, but I never do until this year. I have taped an index card right next to my keyboard on my desk, and it is divided into two columns: August Fog and Winter Snowfalls. Every morning I make a hash mark on the index card if there was fog. Today is August 21st, and so far, we have had 16 foggy mornings here at Bear Path Cottage. Another daily practice in place. 

Somewhere in the foggy morning check, I decided to add my daily walkabout and outside morning meditation back to my practices. Because I already have to get up and get outside to tend the chickens, this was a logical next step. 

There are other daily practices I have reintroduced or created anew. Meditation. Ritual. Writing. It was easier to build off the first one in place than to implement them all at once. A key to my success in maintaining these daily practices is to allow myself some flexibility with time. That flexibility keeps me from feeling like the day is ruined if I don't have Practice A done by a certain time. I have reclaimed my ability to roll with the flow. 

This morning as I sat for meditation, the sky opened up, and a soft rain started to fall. I stayed where I was, under the juniper boughs, undisturbed. I knew that when I went back inside, I would fix a cup of tea and carry it to my desk. I would sit down to mark the fog record, and then I would begin writing. The tea would warm the chill from the rain, and the daily practices would continue to bring comfort and stability in difficult times. They contribute to maintaining a sense of being grounded and centered in a tempestuous world. I am grateful for the circumstances that allowed me to recognize the need to rebuild my daily routines and the life experiences that have taught me how to do so.

Today's tea: Catskill Mountain Tea Company's Winter Cherry

A Glimpse of the Magic at Bear Path Cottage

Time spent out of doors yesterday was a gift from the first mist-filled moment of the day. The slightly cooler temperature and the quality of light were a taste of early Autumn. My body and spirit welcomed the change and the promise of days to come. 

In the early afternoon, I took my flower basket and went to the front gardens to tend to the patch of orange and yellow calendula. I sat on the ground in the curve at the southern edge of the garden, deadheading blooms that had gotten past me, harvesting the good ones. The spicy-sweet scent of the blooms filled the air. My fingers became sticky from the resin in the green bracts of the calendula flowers. The sun was warm on my back and a pleasant breeze was blowing through. I was content. 

Then I heard my husband call my name. I was so immersed in my work I hadn't noticed him approach the nearby garden arch.

"Sheri," he said in the quiet voice that he uses for only the most amazing announcements.
"There is a bear in a field across the street." 

The tone of his voice pulled me to my feet. I looked towards the neighbors' house because it is the site of frequent bear activity. Rhodes saw the direction I was looking and said, "No, over here. In the empty lot, under the trees."

Together we walked to our North fence line, looking for movement or the shadow that is not a shadow. We have hunted bears together for years, but never before at the Cottage. I should have felt thrilled or excited, but instead, I felt as though I were moving towards a holy moment. I knew I was approaching a great mystery. 

Just as I reached the fence, the far upper branches of the apple tree in the empty lot began to shake, and I saw a not-so-tiny black shadow figure playing on the branches. Then I saw another shadow in the same tree, and a third moving in the space between the apple tree and the nearby crepe myrtle. I thought this must be the mother and two cubs who passed through our orchard not too long ago. I smiled, delighted to see them. 

Then she moved. She sat up out of the tall grass, eyes bright, mouth slightly open. I could see her snout moving as she sniffed the air.  I could see her teeth. She was huge; probably 300 pounds of dangerous muscle and beauty, and I couldn't take my eyes off her face. Her coat and the area around her eyes glistened black where the sunlight touched it, but her snout was a soft brownish-tan. Fascinating. Gloriously beautiful. Mesmerizing. 

Then she moved again, and the spell was momentarily broken. I realized I was looking at the momma bear with three cubs, and she was checking to see what they were up to. I had been so focused on her that I hadn't heard the ruckus the cubs were making as they played. They were climbing up and then tumbling out of the apple tree, calling back and forth to each other with voices that sounded like baby goats talking.  One of them would scamper off to murdalize* some saplings, then come bounding back to tackle a sibling. 

Round and round they went, while their momma rested beneath the apple tree, 30 yards away from me. We were separated by two fences, a road, tall grass and brush, and that distance, and I could still feel the power of her presence. 

I know she could smell and hear us, but she did not seem to think we were a threat to her babies or to her. Had she given any indication that our presence disturbed her, we would have moved away. That is the golden rule of wildlife encounters, and we do not break that rule. 

I lost track of time while watching her and the cubs. What an indescribably amazing gift, to be able to observe them so clearly. We used to spend days adventuring in places like Cades Cove, hoping to have such encounters. And here it was, happening right at home. Neither the cubs nor momma bear were ever still. She would recline, then sit back up, looking around and sniffing the air. 

At one point I moved just as Rhodes spoke to me, and she turned to look directly at us again. Our eyes met for an instant. Two momma bears, acknowledging each other from worlds apart. For this momma bear, the mystery was deepened. I don't believe the connection meant as much to her. 

Not long after that, she stood up and stretched. Her cubs had wandered off and were squawling, and she was ready to go and find them. I watched as she ambled away, seemingly in no hurry.

She was magnificent. 

I was blessed. 

*Acknowledgment to the good folks at Appalachian Bear Rescue for coining the word, "murdalize" to describe how cubs treat saplings. You can learn more about ABR's important work here: https://appalachianbearrescue.org/

The Great Re-Grouping

I wrote this in late March or early April. At that time I hoped the collective "we" would do all the right things. That we would manage to collectively be decent, and civil, and compassionate. I allowed myself to use the pandemic to erase 4 years of certain sectors of people in the United States becoming progressively, aggressively, anything but those things. I hoped we could all work together to make things better, especially when we moved from Pandemic to Pandemic + Civil Rights Movement. When I first wrote it, I wrote this line: "Choose who we are when this is over." I realize now, it won't ever be over. There isn''t going to be a continuation of life in the after. Things will have to change in significant ways, and not necessarily bad ones.

Look where we are now. Look, if you can bear to. I can't do it everyday, anymore. I realized it is self-harming behavior, and there's no need to keep traumatizing myself all day long. 

I see enough to still believe there are more good people who want good for all of us than there are horrible people who don't care about anyone. Or ignorant people who fall into any number of mind-numbing psychological pathologies about identifying with the school yard bully. 

However...I remember quite clearly the day my boss and I were in the office talking about the upcoming election and I said these words outloud: "This country will never allow that to happen." But it did. I have never since said something can't or won't happen. 

Realistic optimist? Hopeful pessimist? I don't know if there's a label that fits, or if I'd accept one if it did. I just keep working to prepare myself and my family for whatever might happen. I mourn those who are dying, and grieve for their families. I am outraged that children and teachers are being placed on the frontlines of this pandemic when every bit of evidence says we are putting their lives in danger. I am outraged that my government is not doing its job, and continues to allow a narcissistic, treasonous conman to keep breathing. I will continue to do the work I need to do, but I won't be caught off guard again. We are being swallowed whole. But I'll be damned if we aren't fighting fiercely. 

The Great Re-Grouping.

I have lived alone before
and wrapped the silence and the house sounds
around me for comfort and strength.
But that was different.

My life has often been measured 
in before and afters.
Boxed up, wrapped up, compartmentalized into
Now and Then. 

Some of the durings mattered, 
but they happened in real time, 
in the everyday, in the middle of
life as we knew it and 
they were swallowed whole. 

But this. 
This great Re-Grouping.
This cosmic time-out, go to your room, and
Stay there...

This is a During that will make or break
a person
a family
a community
a country
The World as we know it.
Life, as we knew it.

This is a during we better remember.
It might be our last, big chance to 
Choose who we are now and
Who we will be in the New Times.
If we let this swallow us whole
All will be lost. 
We will be lost.