The Shine

A couple of weeks ago I was writing an article about witches and pagans and turning inward during the dark part of the year. That gave me pause to think back over this year and in doing so I realized that I actually started that turning inward process round about July, and this year I have gone further inward and traveled farther to Other places than I have ever done before. 

This was not a deliberate attempt to disengage; my actions were instinctive and the journey itself was the only destination. Disengaged just happened to be one of the places I landed. 

The pause to think also led me down a thought road to the conclusion that the depth of my journey and the degree of disengagement both helped me make it through a time of year that is often extremely difficult for me. I hope this awareness does not change the process as I move into January's emotional storms. 

I have talked publicly and honestly about a lot of heavy emotional, mental, and spiritual stuff since 2011 when I first shared my thoughts about my youngest daughter's struggle with mental health and addiction. At first I wrote because I needed to get it all out of my head, and then because I hoped it might help someone else if they could see that there were not alone. The issues are different now, but I still write for both those reasons. 

I think it is important to be honest and real about the way grief, depression, and anxiety sometimes knock me down, and just as real about the fact that I always get back up. Always. I want everyone else who is struggling to know that it is possible to do that. I want people to know that it is normal to have a less than Hallmark holiday perfect life, that it is normal to talk about it, and normal to ask for help carrying the stuff that gets too heavy. That is it normal and real to enjoy a moment or an afternoon or a day and then have some random word or song or thought send you hurtling into the brick wall of an anxiety attack, then find your way back to good space. 

Life is like that sometimes. PTSD is like that sometimes. Grief is like that sometimes. Even love is like that sometimes. 

I watched my father drown himself in depression-fueled grief over his misguided and anxiety driven perceptions of every mistake he ever made in his life. I sometimes take similar nose-dives, especially related to my parenting failures and mistakes. But a huge difference between me and my dad is that I have learned how to do the work to get out of those riptides and he never did or never could. I will always believe that inability to heal is what killed him. 

Shadow work is not a walk in the park, but it is an important part of the process of deep healing. I am grateful for those who showed me that it is possible, and for those who help me along the way. I am doubly grateful for whatever or whoever it was that brought me into this world with a spirit that was never afraid to search for answers, knowledge, and magic.

These days I share a lot about the happy aspects of my life; Rhodes in his many forms of being, my kittens, my gardens, my spiritual path. Even though there are days I don't want to get out of bed, days when anxiety holds court, days when I cannot stop crying, I always look for the better, brighter side. I won't ever deny that the dark side exists, but I don't ever let it beat me, either.  

Part of defeating the darker aspects in any persons life and of this world is keeping them out in the open and shining light on them. When I ask folks to "rise on up and put your shine on" I am asking them to be a part of the light that helps keep darkness at bay or at least shows it for what it really is. 

That doesn't take a falsely manufactured megawatt smile, or a bubbly, gushing personality. It just takes being. 

Even the softest light pushes back the darkness. 

Peace out.

Moore Cove Falls - a Test of Conviction

It has been a long time since I was in the woods long enough to see a ridgeline set on fire by the light of the sun sliding down the sky behind it. The mile-high feeling of exaltation, the utter joy, and the sense of triumph upon seeing that sight were worth more than 100 times the aches and pains my body was processing when I got home.  

It seems like a thousand lifetimes ago before my body was sidelined by health issues, that I spent endless hours in the woods. Hiking, walking, sleeping, sitting in a copse or under a tree by the edge of whatever body of water, meadow, or point of interest caught my attention. Those places were where I felt most connected to the elements, the divine, and to myself, and I lost the kind of access to them that I most needed when my body and I failed each other. 

In the time that I have been at Bear Path Cottage, I found new ways to create and strengthen those connections. Much of that happened because my physical health limited the ways by which I could move. Those limitations forced me to become creative in adapting to new ways of getting things done, invariably lengthening the time my body was in direct connection with whatever physical or spiritual element I was working with. I learned to be more patient with myself and to rest whenever I needed to.  

These many months have brought healing and strength back to my body, and I am slowly working on building endurance. I have also been working on releasing the fear of reinjuring my knees and having to start the whole process all over again. That has been as much, if not more, of a challenge than the physical recovery. 

On the surface, it seems a contradiction that I am responding to the call to adventure into the woods instead of burrowing further into solitude in this season of turning inward. But part of the work I have done these past few years led me to embrace the centuries-old truth as written by the Japanese poet Basho: "...every day is a journey, and the journey itself is home." Home is not just the walls and the roof that give me shelter; home is the point at the center of my being that connects me with the divine. And sometimes, the journey to that point takes me along a meandering path through the woods. 

Over the past few weeks, I've set my weekly adventures with my husband to include walking in forested places that had easy, mostly level paths. It was great just to be moving outdoors, but I knew I wanted and needed more than access to relatively safe spaces. This week's Monday adventure was an intentional acceleration of my path to recovery, though I have to admit Rhodes and I both forgot about the stairs at the beginning of the path to Moore Cove Falls. Or maybe they weren't there before; my last visit to these falls was in 1999 or 2000. 

Not so long ago, the sight of those stairs would have ended the journey. I would have been physically unable to go up them or come back down. And for about half a second on Monday, my mind tried to tell me to turn around; that if I was already meeting this unexpected obstacle, what else was ahead? I knew the decision I made then would be a defining point in my recovery and in my life. So, be quiet, brain, said I. This is a challenge, not an obstacle. And I went on.

Although the trail is officially designated as an easy hike, it was somewhat challenging for a person with mobility issues. But once I was up those stairs, I knew I could do it. I employed the biggest lesson I learned over the course of shaping the gardens at Bear Path Cottage: just take it one step at a time.

The day was beautiful, the weather was pleasant, and the air was fresh and clean. Before long, I stopped thinking about the challenging parts of the path as I was drawn into connections with the elemental energies that surrounded me. Every rest stop was an opportunity to spend time *with* the forest, not just in it. Studying the rock formations, studying the amazing variety of leaves, listening to the wind and the water and the movement of forest creatures  - all of that made the experience that much more complete.

It wasn't easy, and I am deeply appreciative of the support and encouragement my hiking partner provided. One of the best things he did was to go ahead on his own, then wait up for me or wander back to see how I was doing. That probably sounds weird, but it showed me that he recognized my growing confidence, and I love him for that. 

I made it to the falls and lingered there for almost an hour. I spent some of that time talking with Rhodes and watching the falls, and some of it in meditation. I spent all of it in gratitude.

I walked back out in gratitude, and when I saw the sunlight like fire on the ridgeline it felt like a gift from the elementals. My heart and spirit were happy and content. Two days later, the body aches are gone but I'm still carrying those feelings with me. 

Next September I will be making the 5-mile loop hike around Nick's Lake in the Adirondacks. I will be ready. I can do this. 

Chicken Time

Daylight Savings Time doesn't matter much to me these days. I know so many people hate it when we fall back and darkness falls earlier, or spring forward and lose an hour of sleep, but Rhodes and I are both retired, and most of our days don't run by the standards of time as most people see it. I've talked about this enough times that most people who know me probably get the basics: we sleep, eat, work, and play on our own schedules. 

There is, however, one major exception to that: my father-in-law lives with us, and we have dinner together every night. He prefers to have dinner between 6 and 7:00 p.m., so dinner prep and dinner time revolve around that schedule. We don't always make it, but we try. 

At certain times of the year the conflict with that schedule doesn't come from any human source, but from the 11 feathered bodies in the backyard. 

I have kept chickens for about a year and a half now, and one thing that hasn't changed in that time is my concern for losing birds to predators. Our chickens are part of our Cottage family, and I hate the thought of them dying in some terrible, frightening manner, so their "free-range" time is more of a "supervised-range" time. Through trial and error, I have figured out that they are happiest when they range right before they go in for the night. 

Every evening, 60 to 90 minutes or so before sunset, Rhodes or I go sit in the yard with the chickens while they roam around eating green plants, hunting bugs, and playing chicken games. I use that time to read, talk with friends, do barn chores, meditate, write, or just be in the swing, watching as the light changes and darkness moves in.  

With daylight savings time having rolled in, this means that I am out the door no later than 4:30 for chicken time, and when it comes to chickens it isn't a human time construct issue but an actual sunset issue. The chickens have their own circadian rhythm that sends them looking for their shelter a little before the sun sets, and our automatic coop door works on the basis of available light and has been closing at around 5:40 p.m. 

For some reason going outside "earlier" makes it seem easier to have dinner prepared on the nights it is my turn to cook, and with the cooler weather, I sometimes use chicken time for looking up make-ahead casseroles that Rhodes can just pop into the oven while I am out with the birds. 

Dinner conflicts, cooking, adjusting schedules, and all else aside, no matter what time of year it is, that time outside every evening is always a best part of my days. There isn't any rushing it; even with the automatic door, I still have to make sure that they have all gone into the coop. Sometimes cloudy days or rain can mess with the birds' sense of timing. Recently I came home from running errands and went to check on them within half an hour of the sun having set. It was a rainy day, and I found most of the chickens huddled and miserable on the steps by the closed door. They were sitting ducks for any predator that might have wandered by. 

Sometimes they are all in 10 or 15 minutes before the door closes; other times the last one squeaks in just before I hear the beeping alarm and the metal door slides down. Both of the Smokey Pearl chickens, French Broad and Miss Frizz, are unimpressed by stories of the monsters that wait for them in the dark and frequently push their luck by going in at the last possible second. 

Bottom line, chicken time is my outdoors, fresh air, slow down and breathe point in almost every day, and I am grateful to have it. 

I have also learned that having a light on inside the coop when dusk starts to fall encourages my chickens to move into the coop and helps them get settled. I often feel that way about going inside, too. 

The light in the window draws me every time, and most nights when I come in and step into the hallway and see the light coming from the kitchen and smell homecooked food my spirits are lifted even more. 

Witchtober Ending

 The last Friday of my month-long celebration of Witchtober came dressed in full-blown mountain autumn splendor. I traveled into the west that morning, to the land where the breath of slumbering dragons rises to meet the clouds, and the fiery colors of autumn burn even brighter, swaddled in gray and white mist. 

I chose that day for a last traveling adventure for the month, and my partner reminded me about the statue of Harriet Tubman that is on display at Bridge Park in Sylva, NC, until mid-December. Two days before Samhain was a perfect time to go and pay tribute to one of our country's great Gone Befores. 

The "Harriet Tubman - Journey to Freedom" sculpture was created by Cashiers, NC artist Wesley Wofford. (https://www.woffordsculpturestudio.com) The 9-foot tall, 2,400-pound work of art has a presence simply because of its size, but the power of this work goes far beyond that. There is movement and strength in even the tiniest detail, and I could not resist the compulsion to look at every one of those details. Rhodes and I lingered for more than an hour in the chill air and light rain, viewing this sculpture from different angles, sitting with it, and talking about the statue, history and current affairs, and about the great work of Harriet Tubman. 

Of course, this piece is timely in so many ways, a bold and beautiful reminder of the significant shifts happening within our society as the patriarchy tumbles all around us. And I will admit that it amuses me to see this placed in a park that is located near the setting of a controversial statue that honors the "heroes of the Confederacy." 

If you are within traveling distance to Sylva, I encourage you to make time to go and see this incredible work of art and to honor the remarkable woman who inspired it. 

When we left Bridge Park, we decided to make the journey home a meandering adventure. We were in search of pumpkins and apples, and the beauty of the landscape had hold of our hearts and minds. We drove on winding back roads through areas that were a mix of orchards, cornfields, small housing developments, and pasture. We marveled at one beautifully kept farm and then realized it was the NC State Mountain Research Station.

In our wanderings, we found a little out-of-the-way store that was a cross between a farmstand and an Amish store. I was wowed by how many local products they carried: Hickory Nut Gap Farms, Joey's bagels, a dozen other names I can't remember right now, plus tons of local produce and dairy products. We left with good ingredients for a couple of home-cooked meals, and we found our pumpkins. 

The whole month of October was full of wonderful, witchy things. I'm actually sorry to see it end this year. 

Boo-ya, Motherfucker

 In my dream I heard Mary crowing And someone behind me whispered “Three times. It’s three times, right?” Then laughed with an ugliness That woke me up In that way you wake up inside a dream But not into your here and now. Still in the dream, I picked up my hoolahoop filled with salt and built energy with a swaying of my hips that set that salt circle spinning. I laughed my own laugh then, one of Power and joy and strength. Then I was spinning inside the Spinning hoop, long hair flying, Twirly skirt flying, bare feet flying Until my body rose and my voice rose In an undulating, rising sound of woman’s power. I could see everything. Everything. One last yell. I clapped my hands together and felt the Surge of power from all the silver rings I used to wear In the same moment that I stomped my foot. The hoolahoop exploded. Salt and power flew everywhere. I spoke the words because words are spelling and spelling is power. “Nothing negative is welcome here.” And then, because I am who I am, “Boo-ya, motherfucker. Be gone.” I woke into this here and this now With those last two words on my lips. Mary is crowing. I have things to do. ~Sheri Barker October 26, 2021

Autumn Adventure

Do you know anyone else who is as delighted as I am to find bear scat? Or am I just a weirdo?

I went on a wonderful adventure today, and while walking along a path through a wooded picnic area I saw the most enormous pile of bear scat I have ever seen. I am pretty sure I woo-hooed with delight, and if that bear was still anywhere in the area,  he probably laughed at me. 

I wish I could have seen him, safely and from a distance, because based on the size of this pile of scat (photo of scat next to a man's size 11 foot), that was one massive American black bear. Although I stayed in that area for about an hour and a half, I never felt more than lingering bear energy, so he must have just been walking through. 

Of course, bear poop was not the main goal of the day's adventure. Autumn is my favorite time of year, and I love to celebrate all of the beauty it displays. I was pleased that Rhodes was available to spend the day with me, and I had a good time sharing scenery, music, road food, and conversation with him. 

Rather than getting on the Parkway in Swannanoa, we drove east on 40, then up 221 through Linville Gorge. This brought us close to Wiseman's View, where we have ventured several times to view the Brown Mountain Lights (https://youtu.be/ffBRPMPXE-w) and without a doubt, the entire gorge area is one of the most magical places in the world. 

We stopped at Linville Caverns but decided there were too many other people there and we didn't feel comfortable going on the tour. We spent some time exploring the creek and rocks, and the earth-vibe there is intense. I am looking forward to going back there in a couple of weeks; the tour of the cavern is an amazing experience and this is the perfect time of the year to take that little journey into the earth. 

We picked up the parkway just north of Linville Falls and the scenery along the way was spectacular. I have absolutely zero luck identifying grasses, but especially in the fall, I love the way the grasses with the creamy-white feathery tops soften the edges of the landscape. In certain settings, they even add a bit of the mystical. 

Today the world was a sea of evergreen and blue sky, gray and brown rock formations, and every shade of orange, red, gold, and brown I have ever seen, plus some river water brown and moss gray and green. These are the colors and this is the season of some of the best memories of my life, and every year I like to add images and memories to the visual quilt I carry in my mind. At times when I am cold or sad or just in need of comfort, I can pull that quilt to the front of my mind, and wrap myself in it until I feel warm and safe. 

                                            Lake Julian Price

                                                        That Carolina sky                                                         

                                  A view of Grandfather Mountain from the Blue Ridge Parkway

Farther down the path where I saw the bear scat I found a perfect spot for some deep meditation. A small rhododendron thicket next to a creek formed an open crescent moon, and snugged into that was a tree stump which was surrounded by a blanket of moss. I sat in front of the stump and spent some time enjoying the scenery and mentally cataloging the sounds I was hearing -  water flowing in the creek and the way it bubbled over the rocks; leaves falling, pinballing through branches and other leaves, skittering along the ground; squirrels and birds and other small wildlife; the wind through the branches. 

I was then able to use those newly familiar sounds to transition into meditation. 

I stayed in that space for quite time, then brought myself slowly back to the here and now. After doing some stretches and making sure I was grounded, I walked on down the path in search of Rhodes. I found him about 50 yards away, enjoying a nap under some trees. It was lovely to see him so relaxed and content in the forest. 

We took a roundabout way home after having lunch in that park, and I saw some parts of Tennessee that I have never seen before, including the beautiful Watauga Lake area. We also encountered some pretty fierce rain, which created a perfect bookend for the Carolina autumn day: sunny and bright on one end, wet and misty on the other. 

This was a grand day, but I am grateful for the warm bed into which I am about to pour my very tired self. 

Tonight I hope for dreams of autumn splendor; of creeksides and golden fields, of bears and deer, of cornstalks and pumpkins, bowls of warm soup and cups of hot tea. 

Birthday On the Bear Path

Two days ago, as has become my tradition, I started the celebration of my actual day of birth where we all begin life - in a space between the here and there, between the now and then, between the beginning and the end. Not by design, but in answer to a gentle invitation, I kept one foot in that space and the other in this one from the early hours of the 16th until I watched the first blush of color rise in the sky this morning. That experience was a neatly wrapped gift from the divine.

As midnight fell into my birthday I was sitting in the front garden, light-bathing under the waxing gibbous moon. Flowers in sunlight are a beautiful thing; flowers in moonlight are a whole different world, and after completing a deep meditation I lingered outside, conversing with the Moon and the flowers about my birthday, about Autumn, and about many other things.

15 minutes or so after I came back into the Cottage, mama bear and her cubs came strolling up through the tiny orchard. Watching the video, the first thing you can see is her shadow cast onto the embankment by the headlights of an approaching car. Then there is the floating eye-shine parade, as she moves along with the cubs coming behind her. She was actually well ahead of them, and as she reached the edge of the driveway turned twice to make sure the car wasn't a threat to her cubs.

Seeing these bears well and healthy, chubbifying their way towards the winter months, was a grand present. Being able to witness their journey always brings me a great deal of joy. As I've spent the last two days walking in between worlds I had a lot of time and a good many reasons to muse about bears and why I care so much about them, and about the whys and hows of all the things I wish for and wish not.

That lead to a great deal more thinking about how walking the Crow Road merged with being On the Bear Path; how living with grief is moving towards living from a place of healing. I hope to share more about that soon. The grief I carry is never going to be a gone thing; it is never going to go away or get better. But it does not hold me in a place of stasis or stagnation; in fact, it frequently brings change and growth and continued healing, and I am learning how to give grace and compassion to myself when I have need of such things. I am embracing this new year of my life with courage and hope, and looking forward to strengthening foundations and empowering transformations as I continue my journey On the Bear Path.

Springtime and the Bears are Blooming

Bears in the Western North Carolina mountains probably don't realize that the recent warm, sunny days are part of the Spring of Deception. As a matter of fact, their behavior indicates that bears don't give much credence at all to memes about the seasons. 

I almost can't believe it, but it really is almost spring, and in this region, that means the bears (Ursus americanus, American Black Bear) are coming out of their dens. Males first, then females with their yearlings, and finally females with cubs of the year. They are all hungry and searching for food.

Humans are among the only predators for black bears and also the greatest source of danger to them. If you live with bears, please be mindful of how your behavior impacts their lives. Bears who become habituated to humans and human spaces as a source of food often end up being killed. This is the time to take bird feeders down and to make sure trash is secure. Be mindful of what goes into your compost pile. Do not leave pet food or human food unattended. DO NOT DELIBERATELY FEED BEARS. They do not need help finding food. 

Please be alert when driving. Thousands of bears are killed by cars every year. If you see one bear near or on the road, please slow down or even stop to watch for others. It can take a mother bear (sow) several minutes to usher her cubs across a road.

If you live in North Carolina and have concerns about a bear, you can call the NC Wildlife Resources Commission at 866-318-2401. If you live elsewhere in bear country, please research and make a note of the number to call in your area so that you have it handy in case of emergency. 

I have lived in Bear Country for years and have had several encounters with them. I never cease to be awed by their power, their beauty, and their intelligence, and when we decided to purchase this home, I was thrilled to know that we would still have bears for neighbors. Not only did our human neighbors confirm this, but the bears let us know by leaving calling cards in the yard. One friend messaged to me "Only YOU would be happy to see bear poop!"

I do not feel threatened by the proximity of bears; what makes me uncomfortable is the habits and behaviors of humans that change bear behavior or cause bears to become habituated to humans and human homes as sources of food. Rhodes and I work hard to educate ourselves (and anyone who will listen) about safe and peaceful co-existence in bear country. 

If you live with bears or just love them as much as I do, you can learn a lot about bear behavior by following Appalachian Bear Rescue's efforts on their website or Facebook page. I am willing to bet the cubby and yearling residents' escapades, and even the curators, will make you smile or laugh at least one time. Please note: DO NOT CONTACT ABR about a bear that might need help. They cannot offer assistance; cubs come to them through dedicated wildlife agencies.

Finally, the website Bearwise.org is without a doubt the best resource for information on living in bear country. Here is a direct link to their article about Seven Tips for a BearWise spring: https://bearwise.org/seven-tips-for-a-bearwise-spring/

Be wise. Be safe. Be kind. And please, be a good steward of the community in which you live. 

IMPORTANT BEAR LINKS:

North Carolina residents: https://www.ncwildlife.org/Blog/what-happens-to-orphaned-black-bear-cubs-in-north-carolina

Best website for information about living in bear country: https://bearwise.org/

https://appalachianbearrescue.org/

Slip Slidin' Away

 I'm somewhat adrift these days, but not in a bad way. I don't know what other folks think of it, but this song by Paul Simon has always been, to me, an anthem of hope and belief in myself. 

I'm reclining in an existential unicorn tube on a spiritual lazy river, wearing cut-off jean shorts, a tank top, and my favorite sunglass. I smell of that coconut-scented sunscreen I used in my teenage years. My fingertips are trailing in the water as I drift along. Occasionally I bump into something or someone and stop for a few moments, and I enjoy the contact, but I know I'm going to keep moving towards where I'm supposed to be. 

It may not seem like it to anyone watching, but I finally know where I'm going, and this is the right path to get me there. 

Peace out. 

https://youtu.be/iUODdPpnxcA

"Slip slidin' away
You know the nearer your destination
The more you're slip slidin' away

God only knows
God makes his plan
The information's unavailable
To the mortal man
We work our jobs
Collect our pay
Believe we're gliding down the highway
When in fact we're slip slidin' away

Slip slidin' away
Slip slidin' away
You know the nearer your destination
The more you're slip slidin' away

Slip slidin' away
Slip slidin' away
You know the nearer your destination
The more you're slip slidin' away
Mmm"

February Romance

 When trying to build or assemble or design something, I never had trouble stepping back if I hit a wall and started to feel frustrated. I'd go for a walk or sit down with a cup of tea and a good book; basically, I would hit the pause button and give my mind time to untangle the problem and find a new approach.

After my knee surgeries, I took that skill to the next level and became a goddess supreme at working out ways to accomplish whatever I wanted to get done. I even learned to accept help, although I admit I will never be comfortable with that. Two of the most important pieces of that adaptation were developing deeper patience with myself and acknowledging and accepting that it is okay to stop and rest when rest is needed.

Despite all of that, it took this long winter for me to figure out that I could address my creative walls and limitations in the same way. Who knew? I have long held the practice of letting Love elder Ego when dealing with other people, but it was no easy task to apply that principle to myself.

I've been writing for nearly 50 years. This winter, I renewed my love of the process and my love of language. I'm feeling pretty darn happy about that.

Sunlight on Skin

For all of my working life, my morning routine was guided by getting ready to go somewhere. At first, that involved getting myself and three children out the door every morning, then later, just myself. For most of that time, I had to dress according to someone else's standards of professional attire for women, which always included pantyhose or stockings. Do you know what I especially don't miss in these days of retirement and pandemic? Those stupid pantyhose. 

My routine changed a bit after the kids were grown, and when I was going to the gym or swimming in the morning before work, but I still had to choose the work outfit before leaving the house for the day. I would leave the house in sweats or swimsuit, but within a couple of hours would be dressed in "real clothes." Except for my last five years of work, which was in a union office with a boss who was an actual human being, I was never comfortable in that particular skin. I felt like I was playing dress-up to conform to the expectations of a society I did not want to belong to. 

It has been two years since I retired. My closet contents have changed considerably in that time; my morning routine considerably more by virtue of the fact that I no longer have a routine when it comes to dressing and doing my hair. I have the freedom to do whatever pleases me, in whatever order it pleases me. I don't take that freedom for granted. 

My days have sometimes gone a bit wonky during this time of pandemic isolation. I know many people who make jokes about staying in their pajamas or sweats or underwear all day, days on end. If I engaged in that behavior, it would be a red-flag level of depression. Most days, I get dressed in clean, comfortable clothes. If I'm working outside, sometimes I change two or three times a day. But there are random days when I choose to spend the day in sweats or warm, comfy pajamas. I think that is a good, healthy self-care choice. 

Then there are days like today when I slept through my alarm, so I rushed outside to let the chickens out after pulling my coat on over my sleeveless, t-shirt nightgown and slipping my bare feet into my wellies. It was only 34 degrees outside, and I thought I would just hurry out then hurry back in. But the instant I stepped into the sun, I knew I wanted and needed more time outside. I just wasn't ready to get dressed. After tending the chicks, I followed the sun around to the South yard, where I sat on the east-facing porch of Rhodes' workshop. 

Sitting in direct sunlight, I took my coat and wellies off. Sun on as much bare skin as possible without being naked, bare feet in the dew-soaked grass, I was warm and comfortable and content. My monkey mind tried to tell me that I needed to get busy, to get dressed, and start my daily chores and writing, but I made a deliberate choice to turn that voice off. I gave myself the gift of 10 minutes of intentionally listening to birdsong, visually exploring the different shades of blue that filled the sky, noticing how the sun felt on my skin, and truly, madly, deeply feeling the connection between my feet and the earth beneath me. 

I've carried the joy inspired by those 10 minutes through this entire day. More and more, I realize that the seemingly endless horizon of time in these days of isolation is not a gift. That the pockets of intentional, focused, unplugged, wilding time are one of the real treasures to be found in these difficult days. And by making sweet use of them, I am shedding more expectations than I ever thought it was possible to carry. 

The Third Room

 In 2019 when Rhodes and I began the process of looking for a home, we developed a habit of wandering through each home independent of each other before walking through together. Each of us would sketch a quick layout of the house as we went through so we could refer to it later when talking about the potential use of space. To be clear: we made those drawings on our own, separate from each other, without any input. 

We fell in love with the Cottage the first time we saw it. We each recognized all the potential this little home had and knew that it just needed some TLC. We were thrilled that in addition to the in-law space on the north side of the house, there were enough rooms on the south side for a living room, study, art or meditation room, and guest room, besides a generously sized bedroom. 

We compared our drawings after we got home that night and talked about the space for hours. We knew we wanted this magical house to become our home. 

There's a copy of my drawing attached here. You can see the three rooms down the hall from the living room. The drawing Rhodes made looked much the same as this one, just more technically correct. And neater. And it showed windows and doors. You get the picture, yes? 

We went back for an open house the next day. Still delighted by everything. 

Then two days later, we went back with our realtor. Again, we wandered through on our own, then met up in the living room, both with drawings in hand and puzzled looks on our faces. The third room, the one labeled "Art Room" in my drawing, was gone. Vanished without a trace. We compared our drawings, compared our mental notes from the previous walkthroughs, and we both clearly remembered the third room. We also clearly remembered the three doors on that side of the hallway - one for the closet, the weird door with the pet door in it, and the Third Room door. The door into what we thought would be the guest room faces directly onto the hallway, not off to the side like the others. 

We haven't seen the room since our second visit to the house. We each saw it separately, drew it in our layout sketches, and remembered it quite clearly. 

Almost two years later now, and we still talk about the Third Room. Items that go missing in the Cottage are probably in the Third Room. When the cats act weird, they've been in the Third Room or smell something in there. Sometimes I can hear people talking or hear an oldies radio station, and I'm pretty sure that's where they are. 

Most of the mysteries at the Cottage are outside, in the gardens, and on the grounds. There are a few of them indoors, too, but none quite as big and daring as the disappearance of an entire room. 

It should be a creepy thing, but it isn't. It just feels like the Cottage has a secret, and wanted us to know it had this secret but now doesn't want to share. I sometimes wonder who lives in that space, or if it is some kind of traveler's rest space and different beings come and go.