The First of February - Imbolc 2024

This day dawned clear, bright, and cold, and I was surrounded by fire and ice as I walked around the orchard and the Cottage garden, with the rising sunlight dancing on frost-kissed plants. I felt a little ripple of excitement in the earth beneath my feet, as if it, too, wanted to rise up to celebrate the growing light on this day halfway between the Winter Solstice and Spring Equinox. This was the first day I have allowed myself to begin looking at the work I will need to do to ready the gardens for Spring, and there is much to do. The priority and (hopefully) only expense will be adding another variety of apple tree, and I think I will need to purchase a 3-year old tree and have a nursery install it. That will likely happen in May or June. Time to start saving the egg money. And just like that, I am transported from frosty morning to thinking of new growth and new buds, and hoping for an apple crop to harvest. 

This morning's harvest was a simple one; I plucked the tall, whispery remains of last year's pink muhly grass. I thought I might make a Brigid's cross with them, but it did not take long for Mojo, Hamish, and Lily to find the stalks on my desk and remind me why I don't keep dried florals anywhere the cats can reach them. They are far too tempting to play with and nibble on. I used them on my altar for my solitary Imbolc ritual and later tonight will burn them in the firepit outside in a small closing ritual for the day. Yes, it is true. Witches like to burn stuff. 

Black bears have started stirring from their dens in this area, and on this day I welcome their return while honoring the Great Bear Mother. History has twisted the strands of her storyline, but I feel no need to sort them out. She and I know each other in this here and now, and that is enough. 

In this region, sows started giving birth in January. Appalachian Bear Rescue has already received four tiny neonate cubs which breaks their record by three. One of those fellows has already passed; they are delicate little beings. The first two cubs were abandoned when their mother was frightened away by the noise from a chainsaw. Some folks were clearing up a downed tree in their yard and had no idea that the sow had denned in the tree. They waited as long as possible to see if the sow would return, but it was getting dangerously cold for the cubs, so they were taken in to rescue. The second two cubs were found by firemen whose firefighting equipment had disturbed their den, and were also taken in to rescue when the mother did not return. If it is at all possible to place these cubs back with their own mothers or with a foster mother, Appalachian Bear Rescue will make sure that happens. 

Here is a link of a video clip published by BearSmart that shows bear activity inside a den: https://fb.watch/pXVjKVJVKT/ and a link to the related article on their page https://www.bearsmart.com/about-bears/north-americas-bears/

There are more frequent stories of bear conflict with humans and in human neighborhoods. More disturbing to me is the increase of internet posts containing false information about bears, often intended to provoke a malicious response by community members. Please use discernment when reading posts, comments, or articles online, and contact your local wildlife agency if you have concerns about bears in your area. It is possible to coexist peacefully with bears and other wildlife, but humans have to make an effort to make that happen. 
Information is available on the BearSmart website, and also at https://bearwise.org/

Mmmhmmmm. Mama Bear channeling Great Bear Mother, perhaps. 

The rest of my day passed quietly, speaking with loved ones and doing chores. I went out before dark to check for eggs, and found a broody Raquel in the nest box sitting on this perfect, light-brown treasure. It seems a fitting end to my hearth and home focused day, and I am grateful for the gift. 

Blessed Imbolc, friends. Keep moving toward the light.

With love from Bear Path Cottage,

Sheri

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 Untrimmable Light of the World

Spring is busy going through her wardrobe, pulling garments out of the cedar-lined closets built by a bored neophyte godling who was a carpenter in another life. She looks at each piece and laughs or sighs, delighted and wooed by the richness of texture and color. 

"So much green. There is so much green," she says. "I love every bit of it!"

She tosses a light shawl on the branches of a tall oak tree, then drapes a dress across the top of a willow. Another for the elderberry and the roses. This ecstasy of viridity goes on through multiple turnings of the earth, and in between exploring shades of green, she rummages through drawers full of color. A patterned yellow, orange, and white scarf flutters over the top of the daffodil greens, and a pair of purple gloves call the creeping phlox into being. 

She pauses over her ancient jewelry box, running her fingers over the carvings. It is worn with age, and she reads the runes by touch rather than by sight. The godling peeks over her shoulder as she lifts the lid and nearly swoons himself right out of his feigned boredom. Such richness of color and power that so quickly now become hyacinth, crocus, snowdrop, and speedwell; the fresh green of buds on sweet cherry, the earthy tones that color the eggs of every creature that lays. The red gemstones on the wings of the red-winged blackbirds, sapphire jays, carnelian cardinals, and tawny gold Carolina wren. 

This is the tale of springtime's spiraling arrival at Bear Path Cottage, as seen through the eyes of the resident witch. 56 years ago, I came into this world with this garden in my heart, and the runners have been spreading and bulbs have been multiplying for all this time. With every growing season I spend with this land, the richness of the garden increases. This is what I was born for. 

My days are filled with reminders of patience and sudden blooms of joy. Reading the words of kindred spirits like Mary Oliver is part of that joy and also part of the root system that inhabits my being.  

I say to myself,

how can you help

but grow wise

with such teachings

as these —

the untrimmable light

of the world,

This is one of the rewards of being mindful, slowing down, and looking and listening. For seeing the untrimmable light of the world. I am part of a world filled with magic and wonder, and for that, I am grateful.

Peace. 

Mindful by Mary Oliver
Everyday

I see or hear
something
that more or less

kills me
with delight,
that leaves me
like a needle

in the haystack
of light.
It was what I was born for —
to look, to listen,

to lose myself
inside this soft world —
to instruct myself
over and over

in joy,
and acclamation.
Nor am I talking
about the exceptional,

the fearful, the dreadful,
the very extravagant —
but of the ordinary,
the common, the very drab,

the daily presentations.
Oh, good scholar,
I say to myself,
how can you help

but grow wise
with such teachings
as these —
the untrimmable light

of the world,
the ocean’s shine,
the prayers that are made
out of grass?