Seven Years - A Journey Through Grief

 Seven Years – A Journey Through Grief

We’ve all seen the faces in newsprint and on the television screen,
Empty, hollow, tear and mud-streaked,
Defiant, angry, hungry baby-bird beaked mouths,
Bodies bent, shuffling, picking their way
through the muddy remains after a flood
the likes of which no one has ever seen before.

It is the same with tornadoes, fires, hurricanes, and earthquakes.
Every storm that nature hurls against the fragile structures of human life
Leaves somebody sifting through ash and mud, bones and blood,
Looking for some tangible something to hold onto;
Some touchstone, some key we believe we need to unlock truth and memories.

Your life and death brought storms bigger than anything nature has ever wrought,
and oh, baby girl, there was nothing natural about it.
I spent a long time moving through the broken, messy, shattered pieces
of your being, your existence, of myself
With that same defiance, the emptiness, and hunger,
looking for the touchstone that would bring you back to me.
I wallowed in mud baths of truth.
I built a temple of ash and made mosaics from scraps, but they were as empty as
Vision boards made from magazine cutouts run through a shredder,
Memories clouded by smoke from the fires of my anger
And held at bay by floods of rage.

I cannot tell you how it happened, but
something finally shifted on this dirty road to healing.
I don’t care what they say, there is nothing pure or holy or
 light-filled about grieving a life when terrible truths tarnish its memories.
But somehow, the light comes if the rage burns away
before it nukes the seeker's soul.

And so, it did, and so it is, and
so here I am, finally and clearly seeing
the light of her love brightening the darkness.

Mid-January: Deep Winter Visits

Sometime in the early morning hours during our first deep freeze of the year, the pipes for the chicken watering system exploded with enough force that it knocked the whole thing askew. The crack and boom sound roused the dog, who in turn roused the Cottage Engineer, who in turn determined that with an outdoor temperature that felt like -3 degrees, an investigation into whatever caused the noise could wait until daylight. So it did, and the photo below shows what that investigation revealed on a cold morning last week.

Ouch. Best estimates: the shut-off valve from the rain barrel was frozen partially open, and although it seemed like the water supply had been turned off, it was not. Ouch again, and oops. These things happen, and we just move forward. Fortunately, the heated waterer in use inside the coop can serve as a temporary backup with the minimal additional cost of labor (mine) to fill that water source every day. Since the staff here at BPC are elbow deep in the kitchen redo, I'm grateful to have the time that gives us to re-think and re-engineer before we rebuild the watering system. 

This photo was taken when the coop and barn were first built. It shows the Engineer in deep thought about some project design. I am holding space for this forward for the water redo. 

I just came back inside from tending the chickens. It is currently 8 degrees and feels like -6 with the wind chill. Most of the girls were still in the coop; nobody was in a hurry to go out in this cold. Hank stopped at the back door and looked up at me as if to measure my sanity. Sorry, pup. If you want out, this is the only way to go. Two nights ago Hamish scooted through the back door when Rhodes and Hank were coming in. I spent 30 minutes tracking him all around the neighborhood before he finally allowed me to pick him up and carry him home. This morning, he looked toward the door with absolutely zero interest in traveling through it. 

It snowed all day yesterday, resulting in a sparse dusting on the ground here at the Cottage. This land is tucked into a sweet little geographical bowl, and weather systems are often funneled around us by the mountain ranges to the north and south. I would love to experience a good, heavy snowfall; it has been two years since a measurable amount fell here. Goodness knows we need the precipitation, but She also knows the many ways in which people and domestic animals suffer in wet, cold weather. Perhaps she is doing a kindness here. (note: silly, ridiculous, hopeful wishing on the part of this writer.)

No surprise that I am choosing to spend the remainder of this cold spell emulating the black bear by denning in. I will consume and produce words, do some hearth magic, and periodically fall into a state of torpor. I do not know for certain whether bears are grateful for their dens, but I am for mine. I'm going to go refill my tea cup and create a flexible map for the balance of this day.

With love from Bear Path Cottage,

Sheri

The Simmer Pot

 I spent all day trying to write the whole truth about this simmer pot, and I just came to the conclusion that I can't.

But what I can share with you is this: I started the day in a slow, quiet way after a challenging night. Magic is often a complex and complicated thing, but sometimes, for some practitioners, it is a matter of acting on instinct and intuition.

Too many humans, for far too long, have separated themselves from their instincts and quieted their intuition. I'm not going to school you on how to fix that. You know if those things are missing in your life, and if you want to change that you will figure it out.

In the middle of the night last night, my intuitive reaction to a less-than-friendly presence was to keep my bedroom light on so that it would literally and symbolically push a certain darkness away. I also put away laundry and tidied up because chaos cannot thrive in neat spaces, and order helps balance shadow and light.

I woke after sleeping a few hours, intending to get right to my morning chores. However, when I went into the kitchen to give Hank his medicine, I saw the bowl of fruit on the counter, and in a flash, instinct told me to create a simmer pot with specific intentions.

I do not usually lay the ingredients for a simmer pot out on a cutting board; I just chop them up and put them in the soup pot.

Today, though...today I was moving on instinct. I sliced the fruit and laid it out neatly, then began combing through the bottles and jars in the spice rack and the apothecary shop housed in the corner cabinet.

The standard ingredients I used were apples, oranges, cinnamon, and star anise. Then some echinacea and bee balm, and a dozen other ingredients from last year's Cottage gardens. I put the whole thing together nwater in the soup pot.

It has been simmering all day. Occasionally I added water and additional spices. At one point I dropped a stone from a sacred space into the water. Every time I went into the kitchen I stirred the pot, and sometimes I went into the kitchen just so I could stir the pot because intuition gave me someone else's name and I needed to add them to it.

If you want me to add you or someone you care about, just say so in comments or send me a message. I do not need any details or reasons why. Just keep in mind this pot has good intentions and don't play the fool. You won't like the consequences.

The pot will simmer until its work is done. I guess I will, too.

Start improving your communication skills, especially pertaining to how you communicate with children. And set aside that damnable and damning attitude of "i went through X when I was a kid and it didn't hurt me" before something comes and rips it right out of your spirit when it tears your heart out of your chest.

Peace. Dear goddess, please, for all of us. Peace.

#onthebearpath

#bearpathcottage

#cottagewitch

The First of January

7 a.m., 30 degrees. Foggy, misty morning here in the river valley that holds Bear Path Cottage, with the clouds down low on the ridgeline to the south. 

I made a pot of oatmeal for breakfast with apples, cinnamon, and maple syrup. Last week, I was thinking about simple ways to refresh the love, health, and other positive energies in the Cottage. Every time I prepare food or even a cup of tea, I add some magic to what I'm making. That's Kitchen Witching 101 stuff: if you are already doing work, make double use of the energy. 

But there is a difference between adding magic and intention to something I am already doing and doing something to create or refresh magic. I don't want to make cooked breakfast every day, but doing it once or twice a week will be an enjoyable part of a morning. Added bonus: food is one of my love languages, and my husband and father-in-law know that. I hope warm oatmeal bellies = warm hearts.

While I was stirring my cauldron...ermmmm...my saucepan this morning, my mom popped into my heart. I have memories of her making oatmeal for breakfast on cold winter mornings in a batch large enough to feed seven kids. She would scoop it into our bowls at the table, thick and lumpy and sticky. Mom was not the best cook, and indeed, mornings were not her best time, but she wanted our bellies to be warm before we left for school. 

                                       My mom and my Gramma Barker in the kitchen.


The good thing about her oatmeal was that once we made it our own, it was tasty stuff, partly because it was one of the only foods we were allowed to play with. I would use my spoon to shape my oatmeal into a mountain, then dig a little lake at the top and draw rivers down the side. Then, I'd pour the milk slowly until it filled up the lake and flowed down the sides of the mountain. Eventually, there would be an island of oatmeal floating in a sea of milk, and I would sprinkle sugar on the mountain like rain or snow falling. 

Mmmmm, what a soft, sweet lead into the day ahead. The chickens need tending and some extra care today. Our Vikings have been flying up to the roof of one of their shaded areas, so it is time to trim wings. Cats need tending, and the pup needs time with me before he heads off to work as a shop dog. There are also a few household chores to do, and then I will be painting the new shelves for the kitchen. Oh, and I have to deliver a work order to the Engineer. 

Will I get it all done? Maybe. Will the world stop turning if I don't? No.

But yaaaa'll, I am so excited about this kitchen redo. She will be so pretty when she is done! 

Oh goodness. I cannot forget to bake some cornbread for my FIL. North Carolina born and raised until his family moved to Big Stone Gap, Virginia, he likes to have black eyed peas, greens, and corn bread for his New Year's lunch. (And I like to do little things to make him happy.)

I hope the New Year is gentle with you and that you are gentle with yourself as you move through it. 

This day is just one more new day that offers possibilities. The entirety of 2024 did not arrive at 12:00:01. 

Practice pausing before responding or taking action. Drink water. Drink tea. Eat foods that nourish your body when you are able to. Embrace interactions that nourish your mind and spirit.

Look for the candle in the window when you feel lost. Be the candle in the window when you feel strong.

Most of all, be easy when you can. 

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