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.

Morning Routine

I am out of bed early these days, whether or not I have slept. I am re-learning the power of being true to my body's natural rhythms; for me that includes being up and productive before sunrise. My creative energy flows best in the early hours, and I love the inherent promises imbedded in the arrival of each new day.

I've just been outside to greet the rising Sun. Today He is dressed in long gray robes that flow down from the sky to drape the mountains that surround me. The rain that is falling is cold on my skin; the jellycoat I love to wear for warmth is not exactly water repellent but I have never minded the rain.

There is enough of a breeze to blow the rain onto our narrow front porch and to cause the rain chains to sway in a little morning dance, and I find myself moving with them in the soft ages-old dance of every woman who has ever held a child on her hip. I love the plink-plink-plink sound of water flowing down the chains, through the lotus cups, and down the chains again. I settle into one of the front porch chairs, my hands and fingers kept warm by my favorite mug holding my currently favorite tea.

It would be easy in this time of year to forget about the land that holds the Cottage and focus on indoor projects only. Days are often cold and wet; going outside often requires bundling up and putting on my wellies. Most green things are tucked away for the cold and dark days, held safe in the body of the Mother where she will either consume or nourish them, so it seems like there wouldn't be much to see. But the getting acquainted with my land and the land spirits who dwell here doesn't stop with the turning of the seasons; neither does growing a relationship nor educating myself about the terra, flora, and fauna for which I have accepted stewardship. Rising before dawn, the first cup of tea, going outside to walk the land or breath fresh air, to check in with the land as I start my day - these things are part of the routine that are necessary to my healing journey.

On this soft gray morning I watch the way the water runs down our driveway. I see where it cuts across the stones into the Cottage Garden and note that I will have to consult my Chief Engineer about doing something to re-route it there. I carry my mug to the end of the porch and stand leaning against the railing, watching to see how the water moves around the lavender bed and I am content with the dispersed flow through the river rocks piled there. The statue of three little bears makes me smile, as it always does. I affirm our plan to put a rain barrel in under the downspout on the corner of the North Wing, and make a note to check out the South and back yards for rain barrel placement as well. Creating plans for the future helps me to feel grounded in the Here and Now.

I move back to the other end of the porch to sit for a while longer, and am pleased to hear the morning bird chorus start its song. First one, then another, then another joins in. They call back and forth to each other as they work to sing the Sun into the sky. From where I sit, the plink-plink sounds of the rain chain provide an under-rhythm to the combined sounds of falling rain and bird song. In this moment, everything feels right. I carry the fluid grace and soft energy of this day into the house with me, back to my desk, and into my healing process.

Peace out, people.

The Winter of My Soul

Funny how long it takes to settle things in a home. In the moving-in process it was necessary to dump all of my stuff - writing materials, books, paintings and paint supplies, craft materials and materia magicae (sorry, Mr. Gray! 37 years out of Latin classes with you and I just don't remember as well as I should!) - onto the surface of the repurposed kitchen table which is now my desk, and envision it all perfect in just a week or two. In reality, although it has been functional for a while now, it took five months to get everything in just the right place.

Earlier this week I was doing the final sorting out, prompted by the need to create an easily accessible morning altar space. This process included going through an impressive stack of notebooks and journals and, because I have lost the ability to stay on task, I found myself reading through each one of them. At the bottom of the stack I found the journal I started when I realized I was in the Winter of My Soul.

Nearly two years ago, close to the end of the first year of life without my youngest daughter in this world, I wrote about wishing I could take a sabbatical for six months or a year. Mostly, I said, I wanted to get away and rest and renew my spirit. I wrote these words:

     "I have alternately felt as though I am lost, drowning, overwhelmed, cannot breathe, cannot slow          down, cannot move fast enough..."

I tried for a while to turn inward with the season. I tried to tend to my own needs, my own healing. I was successful for a short time, but then I let life get in the way. I allowed the expectations and distraction of other people and society to turn me away from dealing with the grief that threatened to consume me. In doing so I shut down all awareness that it was wearing away at me from the inside out.

Events in my life in the past year stripped away all those distractions, and those of you who know me best probably know that I severed the ties of expectations and obligation. While those life changes were immensely liberating and have opened doors of opportunity, they have left me standing face-to-face with the grief that is still raw in wounds that are wide open. This has not been an easy journey, and it is nowhere near complete. I have once again alternately felt as though I am lost, drowning, overwhelmed, cannot breathe, cannot slow down, cannot move fast enough.

A couple of weeks ago I made the decision to follow the seasons in the Turning of the Wheel of the Year, and to turn more deeply inward than I have ever done. To the marrow of my bones I know that it is the right thing for me to do.

When I found that journal yesterday I rediscovered a writing that woke a truth within me the first time I read it, and I read it out loud again as a prayer:

     "When winter comes to a woman's soul, she withdraws into her inner self, her deepest spaces. She refuses all connection, refutes all arguments that she should engage in the world. She may say she is resting, but she is more than resting: She is creating a new universe within herself, examining and breaking old patterns, destroying what should not be revived, feeding in secret what needs to thrive." ~ Patricia Monaghan, Season of the Witch

It is time for me to embrace that truth, and to live in each moment of this season. Self-aware, self-exploring, healing, learning, and turned as deeply inward as I can possibly go. I do not fear the darkness anymore than I fear the light.

I am living The Winter of My Soul.

Mother Love. Happy Birthday, Elizabeth Jean.

Mother Love. Happy Birthday, Elizabeth Jean.

Mother love - the most powerful and visceral proof for string theory and of the failure of time as a linear construct. Wasn't it just yesterday when I first held that quiet, preciously sweet, big blue eyed, so alert and watchful baby? And haven't a billion days and nights of love and worry and joy and pride and anguish and grief passed between that day and this one?

In human measurement, that first day with my babiest girl in this world was 31 years ago today. She was beautiful, born two weeks late in one of the hottest summers on record for central New York. Even though through most of her life she was an absolute joy to be around, she maintained her birth-established behavior and never did anything until she was ready to do it. Sometimes that served her well; other times it destroyed us all.

She became a wise and strong woman, capable of being mindful, but still able to be the joyful and vibrant person who brightened the world with her presence. She was loving and compassionate to others, even when she couldn't be to herself.

I am so grateful for all that this precious and precocious child taught me about unconditional love. 

Every year I give a great deal of thought about what I'm going to write for her birthday. Since she died I have composed a dozen different essays and written four or five poems, and not one of them tells the story the way I want it to be told. Lifelines. Doorways. Winding paths. Darkness. Absolute light. Absolute heartbreak. Absolute love.

For my Beth's 31st birthday, I am going to do my best to make the good things matter. I hope you will do the same. I'm going to spend the rest of the day potting flowers for her memorial garden. Given the history of that garden (the massive deck build of 2017), it seemed fitting to wait until her birthday this year to put the altar and garden in place at Bearpath Cottage. 

~~
Some things my mother heart wants you to know:

Write love notes and put them in your kids' lunches. Take the time to read the bedtime story for the 3rd time when she asks you to, even if she can recite the words along with you long before she can read. Snuggle as often as you can. Listen to his music even when you cannot stand it so that you can talk to him about something that he loves. You cannot spoil a baby by holding him when he cries. Let your child know that holding hands with people that you love is okay, no matter how old you are or what gender. Take pictures. Write a journal. Play with playdough and finger paints and bubbles. Sidewalk chalk is good for everyone. Play hide and seek in the yard after dark. Teach your children about fireflies and faeries. Never let your child think, even for one second, that your love for him or her is anything less than unconditional.

~~

When Beth was a baby, she would take my face between her hands and pull my face close to hers, always in this forehead to forehead position. Then she would say in this funny, nasal tone, "look at meeeeeee cloooooose-lllllyyyyyyy." I never did figure out where that came from, but it was an endearing gesture repeated throughout her life. Rhodes took this photo when we took Beth on a picnic supper while she was in recovery at Cornerstone in 2014. It was the night she shared her process poster with us.

Look at me closely, Elizabeth Jean, and see how much I love you! Happy birthday to you, my beloved daughter. 

First Harvest - Lughnasadh/Lammas

First Harvest - Lughnasadh/Lammas

Blessed Lughnasadh! Blessed Lammas! I hope you experience all of the blessings of this first harvest on both the spiritual and mundane levels. What have you planted that is coming to fruition? Are you growing a garden? Seeking a new job? Building a relationship? Doing the hard work of healing? 

Last night Rhodes and I spent time out doors tending to our gardens, weeding and watering and caring for our little bit of land. The pumpkins and squash are doing well, and the lavender bed is thriving. Yard trimmings of all sort go to the mulch pile under the cedar in the back yard, and the grounds of the Cottage are so fertile that even that messy pile is happy. 

The processes that I use for healing and for coping with chronic illness sometimes include random physical and mental wanderings. There is comfort and inspiration in well-worn rituals and favorite places, and I am fortunate that my wanderings set my feet on familiar paths. I was able to navigate the twists and turns that led me back to the spiritual and self-care traditions that ground me. The work of healing can require complicated processes, but it can also happen with the simplest things. 

Dinner tonight will include a good hearty grain bread and other seasonal harvest items. This is just one small way to celebrate the grain harvest and the turning of the Wheel of the Year. I also use this Harvest Sabbat as a reminder to begin preparations for for the cold months that are coming faster than you think by starting some Eye of Newt....

Just kidding. Kitchen witching yesterday and today, mixed in with everyday cooking. These are cherries in an alcohol base, getting a head start on elderberry elixir. (See separate blog post for elixir and syrup recipes!) Another two quarts of cherries are pitted and in the freezer, to use for making homemade cough medicine or for baking. Corn and peaches are also going into the freezer today. Summer flavors in winter have their own special magic.

May today there be peace within. May you trust that you are exactly where you are meant to be. May you not forget the infinite possibilities that are born of faith in yourself and others. May you use the gifts that you have received, and pass on the love that has been given to you. ~ Teresa of Ávila 

Peace out, people, and blessed be.

~sb

29 Days and Words in Boxes

It has been 29 days since I created a solid piece of writing. I have attempted to maintain my writing practice by journaling, but the last actual piece I completed was done the morning we moved into the Cottage. Leading up to that day there was a last minute flurry of packing things up in the old house and shuffling things around in the new. Because of renovation delays and several other reasons our transition to our new home did not go as smoothly as planned.

There was a carefully laid out Plan A, but as any fan of Leverage knows, you need multiple back-up plans if you want to succeed. Somewhere between Plan D and Plan K we wound up with the guest room filled with boxes and piles of things that don't fit in boxes, two closets and Larry's front room filled with boxes and more piles of things, and boxes stacked three deep along the west wall of the living room. Plans L through R involved shuffling all those boxes around, picking stuff up from temporary counters and niches and dropping it in boxes, then moving those boxes around too. I am habitually a meticulous labeler of moving boxes, but by the time boxes were being reused for the second and third time all the sharpies were misplaced (probably packed in a box!), multiple friends and family members were involved in the Great Box Shuffle of 2019, and accurate labeling became a thing of the past.

What does any of this have to do with my writing? One day last week, when we were finally able to start putting things away where they belong in our new home, I found myself staring at the diminished number of boxes in the guest room. I could actually see the guest room walls and could even see that back corner that I thought had disappeared into the third room, which is a story for another day. Most importantly, I suddenly realized that somehow in all the kerfuffle of the GBS19, I must have dropped all of my words into a mislabeled box, and I had spent the better part of a month miserable without them.

In conversation with a friend I managed to find the pile the word box was buried in, and I've spent the past few days locating and then unpacking it. 

There is a lot going on in my head these days. Suffice it to say that grief, trauma, and therapy are not for the faint of heart. Once upon a time I would have written my way through this process, and I hope to get back to being able to do that. But it wasn't just the difficult words I accidentally boxed up, it was also the ones filled with joy and happiness. I am enjoying unwrapping them all, folding back the tissue paper to see what treasure it has kept safe, holding the words and turning them in my hands with delight the same way I turn the unwrapped ceramic pieces, framed photos, and treasured glassware.

Here are a few of the joyful bits that I've uncovered:

The Juneberry trees were planted in our front yard the day after we officially moved in. Appalachian Creek Nursery helped get our dream of a critter and pollinator friendly yard off to a fine start. When the Wheel of the Year turns back to summer next year we should be harvesting berries from our own trees, if we can manage to save any of them from the bears and the birds. Hopefully there will be a pie or two made with the sweet, juicy, goodness and flavor that is a cross between cherry and blueberry. I might even manage to can a few jars, to save some Summer for the coldest Winter days.

We had the day lilies moved from the rockwall garden down to the northeast corner of our property, where we have already started a Forsythia hedge, and plan to create a wildflower garden. Day lilies, Black Eyed Susans, and Milkweed are on the list, and we are happy to take suggestions for other plants!  

The sunflowers Katie started for us in the little greenhouse on the Mountain have bloomed and brightened many days for many people. Have you ever smelled a sunflower? I never had, until curiosity led me to stick my nose into one of the gorgeous flowers in my own garden and I inhaled a mixture of sunshine and spice, golden honey and citrus, and the scent of Summer already leaning into Autumn. 

I love the sunflowers so much and was so delighted by the success of our corn that I had most of the volunteer plants cleared out of the rockwall garden so I could start more of both. I also put in some zucchini and summer squash. It has been a little more than a week, and there are neat little rows of green plants reaching for the sun. I am thinking ahead with anticipation, sure that those crops will not only brighten our Autumn days but also feed our critter neighbors well. 

The land at Bearpath Cottage has let us know that it is fertile and it seems to want to grow things, and both land and house our thriving under our loving care.

We had a temporary visitor one morning! Oldest son Justin and his fiancee Emily found a baby possum on their deck. After careful observation it was apparent that Mom Possum was not returning, and Emily put a lot of effort into finding a wildlife rehabber to take the little guy who we called Jimmy. Rhodes and I took temporary custody of him until Em heard back from Edith Allen Wildlife Sanctuary in Canton, NC, then we gave him a ride out there. As you can see from the photo, he was certainly too small to drive himself. Things we learned: Sometimes Mom Possums have to leave a baby behind. No one seems to know why. But there are a lot of good people doing the work of helping wild critters that need help, and I am deeply grateful to see some of the best of our humanity showing in these environmentally challenged times.

Regarding the Jimmies in our lives: many moons ago Rhodes and I were having a conversation in which he was trying to recall the name of some financial giant. He was certain the name was Jimmy Diamond, or something like that, and he was close! But I was so tickled by that name - Jimmy Diamond - that I decided then and there that that next critter we adopted would have to be named Jimmy. Years down the road (and just a couple of months ago) we spent 18 hours falling in love with a little lost pup, and we called him Jimmy while he was with us. We knew he would be going back to his people, but we just couldn't help ourselves! When he went home the next day we knew the name was lost to us...until Jimmy Possum came along. We've decided that any critter who comes into our temporary care is going to be a Jimmy; a seemingly odd yet simple reminder that it is okay to love knowing that you will have to let go.

The lavender planted with our little bears continues to thrive, and I have already harvested a few bundles to dry. I am excited to make lavender tea and lemonade, and even to try a recipe for lavender cookies. I'll share those recipes and pictures later. But I will be even more excited when I figure out where to hang my drying rack in this house!

There is still much work to be done here, still so many boxes to unpack. I mean that literally and figuratively. But this place feels more like home than anyplace I have ever lived, and I find affirmations of HOME in so many ways. I'll leave you with one more image; one which conveys the timelessness of these processes, and the timelessness of home.

Peace out, peeps.

~sheri

Moving Day

Moving Day

It is 10:30 in the morning, and except for the cats who are stuck in the bathroom until the movers work their magic and deliver all our furniture and heavy boxes, I am alone in our new home. Bear Path Cottage. My dream come true. We will spend our first night here tonight, but our first sleep here will take place sometime this afternoon when we've made the bed and Rhodes and I and the cats settle in for an afternoon nap. I've been looking forward to that nap for days.

When we took possession of the house two months ago, a nap wasn't at the top of my list for "first thing" in the Cottage, but this has been a long, happy, stressful, joy-filled, exhausting, thrilling, two months. An afternoon nap in the soft green-tinted natural light that fills our beautiful bedroom is absolutely the most perfect celebration I can think of.

The process of restoring this house and filling it with good vibes, love, and peaceful energy has at times been a challenge, and a solid, tangible, touchable metaphor for the painful healing journey I am on. I have learned that the Cottage will not give up the scars it carries from its 37 years of existence, and I have learned that it is okay for those scars to show. She earned her scars just as I have earned mine, and although they don't always reveal their backstory, they are a testament to strength.

If there were a banner across our front porch it might read "This Home was Made with Love." I am (and Rhodes is too) deeply grateful to the family and friends who helped us fill these rooms with love, laughter, music, and memories through the days of transformation. It might be difficult for some folks to understand that moving into this dream and knowing that Beth will never physically be here with us is deeply painful. The built-in memories and hand-crafted touches of love that we are starting with help to ease that pain.

Last night we heard a bullfrog singing his night song somewhere down the road, and when we got back from a riduculously late dinner our yard was filled with fireflies. The gardens are growing, and yesterday we found fresh bear scat in the part of the yard we call the North 40. Our notch-eared neighbor rabbit makes an almost daily appearance in the front yard, and the birds fill the air with song and raucous calls. We are surrounded by nature. We are surrounded by magic. We are doing our best to respond with love.

Six years and three days on the Mountain, and now that we are leaving, we are finally home. Welcome to Bear Path Cottage.

Peace out, peeps.

~sheri

Even When All You Can Do Is Remember To Breathe

There are moments in any given day, and days, and weeks at a time when my grief for my youngest daughter, Elizabeth Jean, washes every moment with tears or finds me standing at the edge of sanity, wondering if I shouldn't just jump. Those moments have been many, of late. I am grateful for the anchors that keep me here. 

She was drifting away for such a long time. I have missed her for ages, and can only hold on to the belief that someday I won't have to miss her anymore.

May 30, 2106 - I didn't publish this one, because it was about Beth.

(Never) Lost
Those who don't know can't know it,
And those who do try hard not to show it.
There is always an empty place at the table,
Always a do the best you are able,
Even when all you can do is remember to breathe.
There is always some old when to remember,
And always an extra chill to November,
Even with extra hearts hanging on your sleeve.
Color the tattoos, run in the sun,
Color outside the lines of your life, Learn again how to have fun.
Live every day to remember how to live every day.
Even when life begins to seem better, there will always be an empty place at the table.

May 30, 2016 - This one, I shared, because it was about Beth and so much more.

Never Lost
The sun rose today and I reveled in its warmth.
The sky was blue, with wispy clouds, and I adored its promise of forever.
I adventured to a place where I walked a mile high,
And I heard the wind singing wild songs through the trees and the wires.
I walked 600 feet into the body of the Great Mother,
Where I felt Her heart beating in time with mine, felt Her love brush away the cold breath of death remembered, and the tears She wept for fallen warriors kissed my head and upturned face.
I talked and laughed with, and hugged and kissed, the man who is my best friend and lover.
I soaked up every minute of living, filling my spirit with Life each time I filled my lungs with air.
I ate ice cream and drank sweet tea and drank in honeyed love,
Because your lives and your deaths have taught me the importance of being in the here and now.
I thought of each of you today, I grieved and cried and smiled at memories of you.
These are the things that keep you safely in my heart.
My faith tells me that you are safe and at peace somewhere on the other side.
Safe in heart, safe in your own heaven,
You are, then, never lost.

Peace out, peeps.

~sb

Reading List (Or, Down the Happy Rabbit Hole)

Random musing: I was delighted this morning to see that the lavendar in the front garden is starting to bloom! This was the first thing I planted here at the Cottage, and I have hopeful plans for a larger lavendar bed somewhen down the road. I love the scent of this flowering plant, and just walking by and brushing the leaves to release the scent or clipping a small piece to carry with me can elevate my mood. I have also been reading that lavendar can be helpful with improving memory and reducing stress. 

I have difficulty focusing for long (and short) periods of time these days. (Thanks, fibromyalgia and PTSD.) The twisted one I live with suggested that I write just the first sentence and end this blog post there. I think not! It has taken me three days to write this, but I will see it through to the end. 

One of the things I am doing to work on healing my brain is reading. Remember books? Those physical objects, bound with paper or cloth or some version of it? I sure do. My love affair with books started before I was four years old, and actually holding a book, feeling the paper, and even the scent of a book can help to ground me. Those things can also send me off into a world of daydreams, but that's not important right now.

In a couple of weeks my pile of unread books will be stacked in a crate on my desk where they can tease my mind every day. I hope that eventually I will be back to my old reading 2 or 3 or 4 books a week self.

What's on your reading list? Please feel free to share in the comments below!

Here's what I have in my To Be Read pile, in no particular order:

• Touch the Earth Kiss the Sky: Allowing the Rational Mind to Welcome Magic & Spirtuality – Diotima Mantineia   (not yet available, but soon!)
• The Boy and The Girl Who Broke the World – Amy Reed (not yet available, but soon!)
• Carrots Love Tomatoes: Secrets of Companion Planting for Successful Gardening - Louise Riotte
• Roses Love Garlic – Louise Riotte 
• Hexology: The History & Good-Luck Meanings of the Hex Symbols - Jacob Zook and Prof. Johnny Ott 
• Hopkins: Poems (Everyman's Library Pocket Poets Series) - Hopkins, Gerard Manley 
• Cassandra: A Novel and Four Essays - Christa Wolf 
• Personal Mythology: Using Ritual, Dreams, and Imagination to Discover Your Inner Story - David Feinstein Ph.D.
• The Heroine's Journey - Maureen Murdock
• Writing Fiction, Tenth Edition: A Guide to Narrative Craft (Chicago Guides to Writing, Editing, and Publishing) - Janet Burroway
• Beyond the North Wind: The Fall and Rise of the Mystic North - Christopher McIntosh
• The Lavender Lover's Handbook: The 100 Most Beautiful and Fragrant Varieties for Growing, Crafting, and Cooking - Sarah Berringer Bader, 
• The Seven Perfumes of Sacrifice - Amy Logan
• Leaves of Grass – Walt Whitman 
• MISTY OF CHINCOTEAGUE - Margaret Henry 
• The Fern Herbal: Including the Ferns, the Horsetails, and the Club Mosses - Elfriede Martha Abbe 
• If Women Rose Rooted: A Journey to Authenticity and Belonging - Sharon Blackie
• The Mythic Moons of Avalon: Lunar and Herbal Wisdom from the Isle of Healing - Jhenah Telyndru                                                     

Rainy Day Peace

We arrived at the Cottage late today. That old rain-on-a-tin-roof lullaby made for a sound night's sleep on the Mountain, and after feeding the cats their breakfast, Rhodes and I both were lulled back to sleep. Our days have been long and sometimes hectic during this time when we are going back and forth between houses, and once or twice a week our bodies make it clear that they require some catch-up sleep. Three more weekends (including this one) before the movers carry our furniture to our new home, and I will be content when we spend our first night here.

The weather has been mostly rainy for the last few days, with a few thunder boomers thrown in for good measure. The gray sky with its various cloud formations is to me as comforting as a warm quilt, and I sometimes close my eyes and pull the sky around my shoulders to wrap myself in peace. 

When we leave the Mountain we will be leaving behind a place that kept us sheltered and isolated during a time when that was what we needed. We are going from living part way up Fork Mountain, where we were surrounded by the forest, to a life in the Swannanoa River Valley, where we have clear views of the mountains all around us. Eventually we will learn their names, but for now I am just enjoying the views and the comfort of their presence. I love the way they look with clouds settling down around them, sometimes just wispy fingers and other times covering them fully.

The rains mean I haven't had to water the gardens, but I am still checking on the plants. There are two Yucca plants near the edge of the driveway, and they have come into full bloom in the past couple of days. I have seen them along the highways in WNC, but never smelled the flowers until today. The volunteer pumpkin in the rock garden has one little baby growing already, so it is a step ahead of the giant Connecticut pumpkin plants growing in the raised bed garden. I found this odd spiky plant in the backyard, perhaps some kind of geranium? If I can identify it I'll move some of it before Rhodes starts building the deck. 

Peace out, peeps.

~sb

The Many Faces of Grief and Mental Illness

After a Lemony Snicket Series of Unfortunate Events type of Monday happened this week, I started writing a piece about the Many Faces of Mental Illness. I wrote in short bursts, but for probably a total of 10 hours between then and now (1:15 on Friday). I also wrote in my head for many additional hours. I started four separate pieces, pouring my heart and soul out along with a great deal of detail, and just couldn't find a solid direction to move in, let alone find a direction to finish a single piece.

After another such writing start today I realized that all I really need to tell you can be summed up in neat little line items. (Note, I didn't say bullet points, because #13, #15, #16.)

That a person who is grieving:

1. Might cry uncontrollably at any time, day or night, without any reason that is apparent to an observer or to that person.
2. Might seem to be functioning normally, even completing normal tasks.
3. Might not have any memory of completing those tasks.
4. Actually might not be able to complete normal tasks on any given day or night, and, in fact, might not remember the task needs to be done. 
5. Might not feel like or remember showering, or brushing their teeth, or remember that they wore that really cool Hawaiian shirt three days this week. 
6. Might not be able to get out of bed some days. 
7. Might not want to eat. 
8. Might eat too much.
9. Might be irritable or crabby.
10. Might lash out in anger that seems irrational or even volatile.
11. Might go into a rage over seemingly inane matters. 
12. Might make rage-y threats against those who harmed their deceased love one. 
13. Might engage in self harming behaviors. 
14. Might feel overwhelmed.
15. Might have suicidal ideation without actually being suicidal, and might actually be able to tell the difference; or
16. Might be suicidal and completely unable to tell the difference. 
17. Might feel hopeless.
18. Might dwell on the past.
19. Might be overcome with guilt.
20. Might not be able to sleep.
21. Might have nightmares.
22. Might sleep more than they are awake, which is not the same as not getting out of bed.
23. Might participate in new activities, which can serve as a distraction. 
24. Might spend hours binge watching television or reading in an attempt to escape their own thoughts. 
25. Might have a sudden aversion to watching television or reading because of the thoughts they stir up.
26. Might do their best to act like everything is fine and normal even when it is not, or even when it is detrimental to them to do so.
    
    Here's where it starts to get tricky, friends. Because a person who is grieving also:
27. Might smile.
28. Might laugh.
29. Might have good days.
30. Might be happy.
31. Might feel hopeful.
32. Might dare to plan for the future.
33. Might have to move forward with normal life decisions, like buying a home when their rental property is no longer available, whether or not they can handle it. 
34. Might plant a garden.
35. Might paint.
36. Might write.
37. Might socialize with friends for happy occasions. 
38. Might love.
39. Might dare to try something new.
    
    And the very trickiest thing of all:
40. Might do any or all of the above on any given minute or hour or day, in any given week, month, or year. 

I know, right? It's crazy, and can be crazy making. But I'm asking you to remember that there is no timeline for processing grief, nor is there a timeline for healing from any type of mental illness, including Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. In my case, its been 858 days since my daughter died, and I've finally run out of the 800 or so days of distractions that kept me from doing the work I need to do to heal myself.

Part of that healing work is happening as a kind of companion planting. Claiming the Cottage and hoping and planning for our future here is as vital to my healing as is continuing in therapy. Every bloom, every rock put in place, every wall painted is a positive step. 

Please do your best to be mindful of what other people might be going through or processing. Please do your best to listen, and to remember to ask "how can I help."

Please do your best to be kind, always. And please, if you need help, do not hesitate to seek it.

Peace out, and blessed be.

~sb

Beautiful June

BEAUTIFUL JUNE

I woke this morning to a chorus of birdsong on the Mountain and the realization that this will be my last June wrapped in the shadows and solitude of the Pisgah National Forest gently nudged at my heart. There is no sorrow in a timely farewell, methinks. Only joy and eagerness, curiosity and yearning. I am ready for this new beginning. 

When I arrived at the Cottage I was greeted with another, slightly different chorus of birdsong. Robins, Wood Thrush, and Mockingbirds abound here. I can hear the Carolina Wrens but have yet to see one. As I set the soak hose in the pumpkin patch garden to running, a pair of Red Shouldered Hawks (Buteo lineatus) added their hunting calls to the music. I watched them circle over head in an ever moving air dance, and thought of an old favorite poem, Gerard Manley Hopkins' "The Windhover." This is an especially delightful read or read-aloud, if you are so inclined. https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/44402/the-windhover

The pumpkin plants are enthusiastic growers, and blossoms have appeared on them and on the cantaloupe plants as well. The corn and sunflowers are tall and strong, and the butternut squash and watermelons are working to catch up to everything else. Even the volunteer squash of unknown variety that is growing in the rock garden is blooming, and this morning I was surprised to find a single morning glory bloom among the hostas and daylilies.

I am enamored with the beauty and magics of all that is Bear Path Cottage.

Here is my own tribute to this glorious month, written June 1, 2016.

Beautiful June

You roll in here so damned sweetly,
Tempting me with your sunny ways,
Summer promises wrapped up neatly,
Conjuring up those dreamy days
Until I laugh and call, Peace,
I will join you!
Does your lure never cease?
You’ve called to me since ere I knew
That school and work would come too soon.
Dreams and hopes grow within you,
Beautiful, dreamy, blessed June!

Peace out, peeps.

~s

b

Healing Down to the Foundation

HEALING DOWN TO THE FOUNDATION

Over the earlier years of dealing with the ouchies life passed my way I lacked the understanding, the knowledge, the education and self-education, the history, the whatever you want to call it, to actually work through a truly meaningful healing process. I spent years thinking I was doing right by myself if I could just "get over" something that hurt. I spent years mostly "getting over" being hurt by burying my pain and never truly dealing with my issues or my pain. Certainly, I was never truly healing.

My understanding of healing began to change when I started traveling along behind my youngest child on what eventually became her Crow Road. Her struggles with mental illness, her attempts to self-medicate that eventually dragged her into addiction, and the darkness and pain that filled the people who filled the worlds she lived in forced me to start searching for the truth about what healing really means so that I could try to help her. Her death in January 2017 forced me to continue that search so I could try to help myself.

I was having this conversation in my head today, and I went and looked at myself in the mirror because, you know, sometimes you just have to say this stuff out loud, and sometimes you have to look yourself in the eyes while you say it. And no, that's not crazy.

"Oh, child," I said. "What were you thinking?" Child me didn't answer; I think she's busy elsewhere these days.

"All right then. Girl, what were you doing all those years?" Girl didn't answer me either. I stood in front of the mirror, staring back at myself in total silence.

"Woman!" I tapped on the mirror. "Are you in there? Have you got your head in this game now?" Opening the door to my emotions these days is always a gamble; I am definitely a work in progress. If Woman was going to answer me, I wasn't sure what to expect. Angry me? Wise me? Grieving me? Slightly crazy me? I was pleasantly surprised when the face that looked back at me from the mirror just smiled that smirky smile we sometimes wear. Yes, she said. Her head is in this game now. Or at least in this moment.

These days I am surrounded by a chorus of change. My husband and I bought a new home. We closed on it just a little over a month ago, and still have a month before we can move in. We are in the process of boxing up, clearing up, and cleaning up the rental we have lived in for six years while we are simultaneously in the process of clearing out, tearing down, rebuilding, and repurposing our new home - the house and grounds that are becoming Bear Path Cottage.

The former is much easier than the latter in some ways, but on the days when my mind and spirit are open and alert I am learning a great deal about myself and the healing process through the process of transitioning a house into a home.

The claiming of the Cottage started with an awareness of the surface changes that needed to be made. New paint, new kitchen, new flooring. In my personal history, when things felt off or if I was stressed or thought I needed a change, it was always the surface things I would tend to. New clothes, new makeup, new hair, new shoes. This is what many of us are taught from childhood.Those changes might have boosted my confidence or made me feel better for a few days, but they never addressed the deeper issues. They simply allowed me to distract myself by putting a Snoopy band aid over my wounds, and then ignore the injury until I could pretend it didn't need to be addressed.

Renovations of the Cottage continued beyond the cosmetic, and we needed to address some structural issues. The roof had to be replaced, and we also had to deal with some related problems in the attic. During the pre-buy home inspection we noticed that there was some poorly concealed water damage in the ceiling of one room in what we jokingly call the North Wing of the house. That water damage tied in with the bad roof report, and while we suspected there might be some additional hidden damage, there was no way to know until we took ownership.

What we weren't expecting was to find the damage in a roundabout way. On the old "long story short" curve of that roundabout, I'll just tell you that the measure tech for our flooring installer informed us that they wouldn't remove the flooring in the North Wing because of the age of the house and concerns about asbestos. (Note: the North Wing was added on to the house sometime after 2000, so, come on, no asbestos in the obviously vinyl plank flooring, but sometimes things happen for a reason, right?) Our friend with all the real estate connections introduced us to a remediation guy (Howard) who came out to test the flooring, just to be safe. When Howard pulled up some of the flooring in the back room of the North Wing, we discovered that we had purchased a house with an existing indoor pool. Just kidding. What we really discovered was that there was no vapor barrier under the flooring (which everyone on our realty team had suspected! AHA!), the flooring was laid directly on the concrete, and not only was the concrete flooring wet, there was some tiny pitting in the concrete that made little puddles that would seem Olympic pool sized to a gnat. We also found that the sheet rock walls had been improperly installed so that water had wicked up into them, and (drum roll, please) all of this was caused by an improperly installed French drainage system. As Rhodes later described it, Howard pulling up that piece of flooring was our "This Old House" Norm moment: just when they've been working and everything is going well, Norm comes in and looks at it and says "Oh, that's not good." In other words, here we have damage that is more serious than we realized or suspected. We can either cover it up again and ignore it, or just roll on through fixing it. If you know us at all, you know that we fixed it, 'cuz that's just how we do.

What the heck does this have to do with healing, you ask. Everything, my friends. It has everything to do with healing.

The roof is the apparent damage, the visual wound. My 28 year old daughter died of a fentanyl-laced heroin overdose. I miss her every day. The sound of her laughter will never brighten the rooms of my new home. She will never help me with the gardens, or bake holiday cookies here, or share a meal with her siblings on our deck. Her death and the grief that it brought is the apparent damage, the visual wound. I went to grief counseling to try to find some means of dealing with that wound, and for a while I thought I had done so. I painted. I wrote. I spoke to other people, I ran a support group, I did my best to help others. But there was some deeper damage there, and once I had taken a look at the damage to the roof I could no longer ignore the poorly concealed water damage. I just couldn't do that.

This is not a place I am ready to talk about just how badly damaged my personal foundation might be, or the ways in which the damage shows. I will say that I am working with a good therapist because I'm actually proud of myself for taking that step. Proud of myself for realizing that I needed help, and making sure I got it. I might be able to see the mold inside the walls, but I hired a specialist to help with the remediation.

I'm still writing. Still painting. Still meditating, still spreading love, still finding solace in nature. Some days, I feel like I'm standing just this side of crazy because grief and anger can drive a person there. But I'm doing the work to make things better. I'm slowly stripping myself right down to the foundation so I can get a clear picture of what needs to be fixed, and understand exactly what I need to work on healing.

The best change we have made to the Cottage was really a simple one, thanks to our window guys. Our bedroom didn't have any windows except for one in the door which will lead to the deck. Rhodes and I planned to put windows in, but Jim the window guy suggested a big change instead of two small ones, and that 45" portal to the natural world turned the bedroom into a sanctuary.

I know it can be a scary thing, but I encourage you to look at your on-the-surface issues. If you are able to do so, find someone who can help you on the journey of looking deeper to find out what it is you really need to work on so that you can take your own healing down to your foundation.

Peace out, peeps, and blessed be.

Sheri

p.s. Not the greatest pics, but here are before and after pictures of the bedroom. I know I haven't shown you much of the Cottage yet! Let the light in, my friends.

Strange Days, Indeed

Strange Days, Indeed

Oh, today, you vex and grieve me. I have friends and friends of friends and children of friends who are struggling with medical and mental health issues, with housing insecurity, with food insecurity, with life. Children are being praised as heroes for “going down fighting.” Children are leading active shooter drills for adults. Women’s bodies are being made state property in Georgia and other places. People are attacking other people from behind the safety of their keyboards and screens and then wondering what is wrong with the world. Our country is going farther and further down the road of despair and madness with the Chief Despot in his new clothes leading the way, and there are people celebrate his refusal to comply with our system of checks and balances. 

Yesterday I had to talk over the phone to a total stranger and explain in intimate detail exactly why I have been diagnosed with the things with which I have been diagnosed. She made appropriately sympathetic noises in a tone that made it clear she didn’t really care at all. While I was fighting a panic attack while talking to her she was probably rolling her eyes and wishing I'd hurry up. 

I am stumbling with my writing because my old fears of failure are rising up during this tumultuous time in my life. Home ownership is not for the faint of heart. I guess it is a good thing that I’m not faint about anything at all. 

Here is the question on my mind: How am I going to deal with all this shit?

And here is my answer to myself: just like I always do. 

I am going to meditate and get myself centered, no matter how many times a day I have to do so. 

I am going to find my balance and keep it as best I can. 

If I continue to stumble I will reach out for help. 

I will continue to show love to others.

I will continue to create as much beauty as I possibly can, and acknowledge that some of it will take time to grow.

I am sitting with my problems, not in them. (Thank you, Elizabeth Jean, for sharing this piece of wisdom so very long ago.)

- I am grateful for the people who truly love and care about me. 

- - I am capable of great love.

- I am grateful for the many kindnesses shown to me.

- - I am capable of being kind.

- I am grateful for the learning opportunities presented by the challenges I face each day. 

- - I am intelligent and wise. 

- I am grateful for all the ways that I am healthy and strong. 

- - I am capable of healing and adapting. 

I am grateful. 

I am grateful. 

I am grateful.

I've got this. Good morning, people. Rise on up and put your shine on. Someone out here needs you. 

https://youtu.be/cuuhsqA95iA

Bunny in Dianthus

Magic at the Cottage this evening. As we sat on the front steps, enjoying our home, a bunny came into the yard and spent some time hiding in the little circle of dianthus in the middle of the yard.

Wild Mountain Laurel

Wild Mountain Laurel

Life in these mountains can be hard on women.
There are hard rock walls and hard rock times and
Rock hard faces in the midst of all this beauty,
But still we grow.

Our limbs are twisted, turned by cold winds and hard days
When the sunlight seemed frozen and the rain was harsh
And we could not find our way home.
But still we grow.

Then comes the day when we find our truth,
We find our way to our own salvation,
Whatever that may mean.
And still we grow.

We realize that our roots run deep and strong,
Running down through the rocks
To touch the earth and water.
And so we grow.

In our truth we find the Spring time of our lives.
The sunlight is brilliant and the rain is nourishing,
Washing over us with warmth and love as we lift our faces to the sky.
And so we grow.

Our feet are planted in the hard rock of these mountains
and in the bedrock of our faith
While we grow into believing in ourselves.
And so we thrive, like wild Mountain Laurel.



Photos by Bill Rhodes

                                                       Mountain laurel (Kalimia latifolia) 

                                                        Mountain laurel (Kalimia latifolia) 

The Spell of Spring

When I was a small child, I wanted to be a writer. I had a voracious appetite for the written word, for the new worlds and information that came to life in the pages of any book I could put my hands on. I loved the rhythm and flow of words, and I loved the magic they created. Before I even knew I was a witch I understood why making magic was called Spelling; because all the power is in the words.

My mother encouraged me to write. I like to believe that she knows what I am getting up to these days. I like to believe that she would be proud of me.

For years I have worked on my writing in fits and starts, floating pieces on social media, and finally publishing one poem in an anthology, My Wandering Uterus: tales of traveling while female. (Thank you Kate Laity and Byron Ballard for making that wonderous project happen!) I have been encouraged and supported by friends and loved ones, and have tested my voice time and again.

And finally, here I am, with not only time on my hands but desire in my heart. In this here and now, in this time of Spring, the seeds that were planted all those years ago, held in some sacred space inside me, held dear and nurtured and loved; those seeds are finally growing, reaching for the Light.

I hope you will continue to follow my writings as I share them with you From the Bear Path; writings (soon to be) from our new home at Bear Path Cottage.

Peace out, and blessed be.

The Beaver Dam Battle

Spring time is bringing big changes to the Mountain, and to the valley below us. We are leaving, of course. We’ll be gone before the Summer Solstice, settling into a new magical home in a new magical valley. The changes made by our absence will likely be long and slow to be seen. 

But down the main road, at the end of the valley, there is a little creature making a big change in very quick time. A North American beaver (Castor canadensis) has altered the flow of a small creek that normally moves gently along, running under a small bridge and continuing on its way.

Our new neighbor has built a dam which created a small pond, and then built a lodge in the pond. The normally well-behaved creek has now changed course and is flooding the hay field that marks its boundaries. From this morning to this afternoon, the water level moved an additional 25 yards or so and is now encroaching on an old barn. Two low waterfalls have appeared, and the water dances merrily along. It still moves under the existing bridge, but it also flows through a tunnel dug by a groundhog who appears to have been ousted by the flooding.

The groundhog tunnel channels the creek well out into the tomato field across the road. We’ve noticed obvious wet spots in the dirt of that field and wondered if it was connected to the water changes. We saw the tomato farmer today, raking the field. The redirected water actually acts like a fountain in the field; he’s had to dig a separate ditch in an attempt to redirect it. Farmer Steve told Rhodes that he enjoys seeing the beaver, but he’d rather see him elsewhere.

The folks who own the hayfield attempted to route the beaver by knocking his lodge and dam apart about three weeks ago. Obviously he didn’t leave; instead he rallied with a vengeance by building an even bigger dam and even bigger lodge. I can’t decide which image of a determined beaver is more accurate: standing atop his new lodge, shaking one raised fist in an “eff you” gesture, or just calmly going about his business of rebuilding. I rather like the first.

They’ll try to get him again, I know, and the next attempt will probably be lethal for him. Beavers are not a protected species, and I suspect any wildlife officer would deem him a nuisance and agree to his extermination even if he was protected.

We’ll keep going down the valley, hoping to see him. Maybe I can have a chat and convince him to move on, but I doubt it. Rhodes and I talk in endless but interesting circles about who was here first, and whose rights matter most, but there really isn’t a solid answer. The kind thing, the right thing, it seems to me, would be to re-engineer the creek below the beaver pond and mitigate the damage from the flow of water. There’s a little wetlands already forming there, and we are seeing new birds and plants. How lovely it would be to keep them. But here we are in a State (country) that frequently cares less and less about helping the underdog, and where there is no money to pay teachers, to house the houseless, to feed hungry children, there won't be money spent to save a beaver.