The Certainty of Knowledge

 1:30 a.m., clear skies, 32 degrees

The waning gibbous Moon is calling to me right now, and I am tempted to break one of the sacrosanct agreements that hold the Cottage steady: Never wake a sleeping puppy. The sound of the front door opening would provoke either a gentle investigative patrol or a call to arms. Both of those would wake the other South Side human, so I let Love elder Ego and chose to stay inside.

However, that doesn't mean I cannot have some of what I want, and some of what I want is to listen for the calls of my newest neighbors, a pair of Great Horned Owls. I make a cup of tea for the pleasure of a warm drink, move the chair in my room for a comfy listening station, open the window that looks over the south yard, and settle in for a visit with the night.

I heard the Owls at 10:00 p.m. when I went outside to tend the cat trap. Hoo-h’hoo-hoo-hoo. Hoo-h’hoo-hoo-hoo. The female’s higher pitch call was answered by the deeper voice of the male. Their call and response could mean they are marking their territory against an intruder, or they could just be staying in contact while they hunt. I was tonight years old when I learned that although female GHOs are about 1/3 again larger than males, the males have a larger voice box, and that is why their voice is deeper.

Here I am, listening. The laptop is actually on my lap. I am making use of easy access to information to look up the answers to my questions about owls, and suddenly find myself inhabiting a memory room from my childhood. There was a bookcase against the wall in the space where living and dining room joined, and another in the playroom. The first held a complete set of Encyclopedia Brittanica, a dictionary, and some other heavy reference books. The other had a set of junior encyclopedias, books about birds, trees, and wildlife that had belonged to my Grampa Barker, a set of books about the states (with hideous blue covers), and many other books on miscellaneous reference or educational topics.

If I wanted to know something, all I had to do was find the right book to give me the answer. My mother never said, “Don’t touch those,” or “That book is too big for you.” The only rule about books was that if you took a book out, you had to put it back where it belonged when you were done with it. From the time I was four years old and able to read on my own, I had a world of knowledge available to me. All I had to do was reach for it.

What is this witch rambling on about in the middle of this cold night, with her window open as she’s hoping to hear the owls and listening to all the other night sounds? This: for the past couple of years I have been following a New Year’s practice that I learned from Irene Glasse of Glasse Witch Cottage.

It is simply this: “Many years ago, I was introduced to the idea of selecting a single word for each calendar year to act as an intention, touchstone, and big-picture goal. The beauty of a single word intention is that the simplicity means multiple ways of connecting are possible.” ~ Irene Glasse

Ever since my autumn pilgrimage to the north, I have been gently reviewing the way I live my life. Some days, I run it through my mother’s flour sifter; some days, I put it in a simmer pot on the stove. Some days I toss it into flowing water to see what floats away, what swirls in the eddies, what settles on a rock to stay. The pull of the Turning Wheel and even the common calendar year have taken me to the time and place where the results of that review have been settling comfortably into my being. Into my bones, maybe even rewriting something in my DNA.

In the past two weeks, I have been thinking into the coming year. 2024. Goodness. I’m sure it was just yesterday that I was playing four square and hopscotch on the Walnut Street sidewalk.
There is so much happening in this world, in the local community, among my friends, with my family, inside of me. These are uncertain times, and it seems to me that it is best to meet that uncertainty with a combination of the certainty of knowledge (both knowing and knowing what you don't know) compassion, and love.

I’m not making resolutions. I did, over time, create a small list of things I would like to try. Why a list? Because my brain needs the memory assist, and I do not want to wake up in the middle of a next autumn night and say, “oh noooooooo! I meant to try candle making this year.”

 My single word, my simple intention for the coming year, is LEARN. I will be mindfully reaching for that world of knowledge with the same sense of wonder I had as a child. Here in the darkness, still listening for the Owls, I am certain this will be another grand adventure.

With love from Bear Path Cottage.

Sheri

                                                        Great Horned Owl - Bill Rhodes

 

The Remains of December

I have been secret hours restless lately; a combination of circumstances, illness, and medication, methinks. Last night, I roamed the house, front porch, and gardens until 3 am, at one point embracing the drama by wearing one of my sun hats and my long robe and carrying around the perfect walking stick that Rhodes brought home from the wilds of the Outer Banks. I felt appropriately dressed while listening for the owls and other night sounds, but it seemed I was the only creature stirring. Every being with better sense than I was safely tucked away in a cozy snug, not at all sorry to miss the soft rain. 

Secret hours is a phrase from a book I recently read. That two-word combination is a skeleton key that turned a ward in one of the mystery locks inside me, revealing a truth I needed to know. It is certainly well-suited to the workings of my mind and spirit right now. 

I slept a few hours, cozy in my bed, safe in the sheltering embrace of the Cottage. These are feelings I will never take for granted, and I thought about that when I woke and watched the darkness outside the window slowly melt into a soft gray day. The wind is making all the chimes ring gently, and the sound of the rain hitting the roof is sweet and comforting. It is most certainly a day for curling up, resting, or engaging in quiet activities. 

This has been the sweetest Yule/Christmas season I have experienced in a long time, but these are not easy days for me or the gentlemen who share my home. Regardless of our individual spiritual and healing paths, between us, we carry more than a few ghosts who are active this time of year. So, when I eventually moved from the comfort of flannel sheets, the first thing I did was refresh the simmering pot on the stovetop. I added fresh thyme and time, more pine cones, orange slices, cinnamon, a few drops of balsam fir oil, and a spritz or two of grounding spray. I'm feeling serious about tending hearth and home today, and this was an essential first step. 

Rhodes and I shared some kitchen chores, passing the time together with humor and the depth of ease that comes from familiarity and the release of expectations. 11 years into our togetherness, we are finally crafting our own holiday traditions. Preparing easy-access food is becoming a favorite, I think; a way of providing self-care options for each other that do not require constant attention at a time when we might not be able to provide that. 

There's a crockpot of chili going and freshly baked cornbread. There will be some other easy foods: smashed baby potatoes with cheese and bacon, little BBQ sausages, a festive-looking Caprese salad, and sausage balls if I get back into the kitchen to bake them. Plus, there's already an apple mincemeat pie waiting to be sliced. My father-in-law was just prowling the kitchen, looking to see what was on offering today. I think I'll go get that pie out and fix him a dish. 

Hank says, "Get that cornbread right, Mama!"

If these days are difficult for you, be kind and patient. Love yourself. Rest. Cry. Laugh. Immerse yourself in the crowds of your choosing, even if they are held within the pages of a good book or on a screen. Sit quietly by yourself, wrapped in a warm blanket. 

You do you, boo. You do you. 

Much love from Bear Path Cottage.

 

Holding On - A Poem

A re-telling, because I need those pockets today. 

HOLDING ON

Mother keep me mindful…
the first line of my daily prayer
cast upon the ley lines
between earth and water, fire and air.
A breadcrumb trail, a marker
that helps me find my way between
life and death and life once more.

Mother, give me pockets
deep enough to hold my fear and grief
so my hands are free for living when
death comes like a thief in the night
to carry away pieces of my heart.

Sometimes it leaves clever forgeries
With a spark of soul or a breath of feeling.
The synthetic diamond, the depthless sculpture,
the falseness that sends my spirit reeling
until memories become jaded
and all the worlds collide.

Please help me to remember that your body
and mine are one and the same;
that as you now hold their bones
I will hold them, whole, once again
in other worlds and times and places
with the gentle strength of stone.

Sheri Barker
2023

Solstice Approaching

Tuesday, December 19, 2023
21 degrees, clear skies

I am slowly finding my way back from the shadowy, floating adventure lands of some weird deep-level sinus and ear infection/fluid issues, and seriously grateful to friends who shared helpful ideas for treatment. I am also taking note of the number of people across the country who have had similar health issues recently. No conspiracy theorizing going on, just noting facts. 

This morning, I was able to complete all of my regular morning chores in a regular, timely manner, and that nod to my own weird normal felt good. Hamish continues to grow at exponential rates, probably because he empties all of the kibble bowls after everyone has gone to bed for the night. (or, empties the bowls because he is growing!) This means Cat Breakfast is now an emergency situation every morning and must be dealt with accordingly.

So, cats fed, puppy loved on and out the door to daycare, cat boxes mucked, chickens given scratch and worms (extra protein helps them stay warm in the cold weather), chicken waterer thawed, coop mucked, and then back inside for this chicken tender to take a shower and get dressed.

I hope to spend the day ahead preparing for the Solstice. The first step is to slice oranges to dry in the oven. Once those are started, I will focus on crafting a simple, gentle ritual to celebrate the return of the light. 

It is a curious thing to be holding space for faith, love, and compassion in a time of personal grief while simultaneously moving within the larger and collective grief for the world. I can only say I hope that I can continue to be mindful of holding my balance and letting Love elder Ego. 

This unfinished prayer was written last night. I hope to complete this today, as well.

Mother, keep me mindful…the first line now of every prayer,
Cast upon the ley lines between Earth and Water, Fire and Air.
That I may hold the space between stillness and patience,
So I remember to pause before I respond.
That I may hold to my grounding, deep in the earth,
Keeping my balance, knowing my worth.
That I remain open, and willing to learn.
And see the beauty in darkness as well as in light,
And know when to listen, and know when to fight.

Peace, friends, and much love from Bear Path Cottage.

Image: photo of a long ago Solstice altar

Confession Time

In passing conversation this week, a distant friend told me that mentions of the Cottage always read so cozy and sweet. I asked them what that means to them, and they said they remembered not only the energy of another home where they had visited, but how well-kept and neat my house always seemed.

Just in case I have lead you for a merry dance down the path of false impressions, I present to you the current state of the Cottage kitchen.

The re-do meant giving up the storage offered by the china cabinet and the baker's rack, but once the new cabinet and shelves are finished they will allow for a complete and hopefully (nearly) final merging of three households' worth of kitchen goods. Until then, the kitchen will be in varying stages of distress and inconvenience. I can deal with that, and I work hard to make it liveable for my housemates.
I prefer to live in a well-organized home; a place for everything and everything in its place. Clutter messes with my head and energy and requires extra work to keep them both balanced. Merging households has been a tender process taking place over an extended period of time, all the while understanding that grief, sentiment, and even lifetime habits are deeply personal reasons for someone to hold onto material goods. Anyone who has ever had someone else throw away their belongings or tell them they cannot have something they want should certainly be able to understand this. We have been fortunate, I think, that while the Cottage does not offer much actual storage space, it has offered space for things to be held until each of us has been ready to let go of what is no longer needed or wanted. Life happens. If you are able to manage your home so that everything is tidy and neat, and that makes you happy, then hooray for you! But we have to be able to *live* where we live, and sometimes that just isn't Reel or TikTok or magazine pretty. Wait a minute...do you hear that? That's the sound of life going on even though last night's dishes are still in the sink and the living room floor has disappeared. Don't judge yourself or anyone else based on the snapshots you see on social media. Actually, don't judge, period. Life is sweeter that way. Much love from Bear Path Cottage.

The First of December

No snow here, but still James Taylor's sweet voice has been drifting through my mind off and on all day, and matched the slow, steady tempo of my movements as I dealt with outside chores this morning. 

The temperature was not unpleasant, but a light rain was falling when I went out the door in my pajamas and yard sneakers to ask Hamish to come back inside. The adventurous fellow ignores the door for long periods of time, then spends days in a row taking every chance he can get to head outdoors. A few nights ago I followed him all around the neighbors' yards and waited while he explored under a shed before he finally let me pick him up and carry him home. Today he realized he does not like rain, so he willingly came to me for help getting back inside. 

I returned the cat and signed out the dog, who you might recall holds the title of Farm Dog. Morning chores are his thing, and today he helped by keeping predators at bay outside the fenceline while I gave the chickens scratch and mucked the coop. This was a day early (it is usually a first Saturday chore), but I went ahead and applied lime to the coop to help control insects and mitigate the smell of ammonia. 

The chickens are all healthy, and seem to finally be reaching the end of their molt cycles. They are still laying anywhere from 5 to 8 eggs a day, which is good for this time of year. There are currently 22 residents in the flock, and right now I think if I lose any birds this year, I will not replace them. The space we have can support that many birds, but it is a lot of work.

During the Hamish round up I noticed that the chickens' water cups were all empty, which meant the rain barrel somehow ran dry. Hank helped me pull the hose around from the south yard to fill the barrel, and try to figure out what went wrong. There's a tall pipe at the barrel end of the waterer which can be uncapped so I can pour supplements into the line; the bottom has a cap that comes off as well. Only guessing, but I think during the last freeze, when I poured hot water into that pipe, the ice pushed that bottom cap off just enough for a slow leak to happen. Everything is back in place, the barrel is full, and I washed out the water cups and cleaned the steps for good measure. 

The cabbage plants are still alive in the veg garden. I don't know exactly what they should be doing, but they haven't died and that counts, I guess. 

My parents and some other ancestors visited in a dream last night, and today that has me thinking about generational trauma and healing, and how that healing takes place in so many dimensions at so many different times. And of course that can be part of what makes "the holiday season" so hard for so many people. How many times can I say "so many?" 

Be kind to yourself, and to others. Don't overextend, don't do things you don't want to do, don't feel obligated to give or accept or acknowledge. 

Annie Lamott tells us that "No" is a complete sentence." 

Give yourself permission to use it. 

Hold onto your peace, friends, and share it if you are able. Protect the littles, let them have the magic of this season. The world will try to steal it away soon enough. Remember that learning is a process, and gentle teaching gives the sweetest rewards. 

Much love from Bear Path Cottage.