The First Day of September

 I was awake at 4:30 a.m. and thinking how oddly quiet that dark hour seemed when the spell was broken by a bear cub calling in distress. She was somewhere to the northwest of the Cottage, up the mountain I suppose, and her cries were first answered by the deep staccato barks of a dog whose voice was unfamiliar to me.

Hank went out to pace and add his own voice to the night. I walked to the fence line and, standing still, sang my own sounds to weave a new spell.

Comfort. Courage. A summoning of bear. A howl of defiance. Then, “hush now.”

Hank stood next to me, gone quiet. The other dog lost his voice. The cub stopped crying. In a few moments the normal and expected night sounds returned; crickets and whoever else sings under the stars at this time of year. The danger had passed.

I have felt the collective relief stirred by the shifting political energy of the last couple of weeks. There is new hope slipped into the basket with old hopes that have been washed clean and nicely folded. It’s a lovely feeling, for certain. But it doesn’t mean we can let our guard down.

It doesn’t mean the world is suddenly safe space.

It doesn’t mean we have time or space to forget who we are, the power that we have, or the work that is ours to do.

I know who I am, in the dark and in the light and all the spaces in between. Do you?

Good morning on this first day of September. This is a gentle reminder to begin (or continue) getting ready for the shift into Autumn.

I’m writing this morning, but later today there will be cleaning, cleansing, and clearing happening. And I’ve promised Larry a baked custard, so some kitchen witching as well.

Peace and love from the Bear Path.

#onthebearpath #cottagewitch #bearpathcottage #peacelovehope #hank #blackbear

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38Patricia Ballentine, Tanja Bara and 36 others

Blessed Lughnasadh! Happy First Harvest!

I intended to start this morning with a small personal ritual out in the gardens. For me, Harvest is a celebration of earth and fire, and this morning, the natural expression of that came in the form of tending home and hearth.

I'll get outside later and harvest some of the bounty from the gardens while doing my ritual, although my thoughts on that have changed somewhat. I have made phone calls regarding health care for a family member, cooked scrambled eggs fresh from the Cottage chickens, had breakfast with a loved one, and responded to eight AWR hotline calls in the first hour of my two-hour shift. Earth and fire have been present all over the place, reminding me that while the Elements appreciate acknowledgment, we're going to do their work together whether I plan for it or not. 

Death has made her presence known; a deer that was hit by a car and a sick raccoon. I am grateful for people who care enough to seek help for our wild neighbors, and for the folks who choose to do the work that brings comfort or relief from suffering. We cannot move into the harvest season without acknowledging the lives that fall, methinks.

                Hoof and horn, hoof and horn, all that dies must be reborn.
                Corn and grain, corn and grain, all that falls must rise again. 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yZmrjl5J0kE

Sometimes, asking for help takes remarkable courage. Sometimes, accepting it takes even more. I think we cannot underestimate the importance of understanding and acknowledging this truth as we move forward into the changes taking place in our communities, countries, and the world. The seeds of compassion and understanding that fall during this process will grow into an incredible harvest of peace, love, and hope. 

Blessed Lughnasadh, peeps. May you never hunger. May you never thirst. 

Hold the Lantern

 Hold the Lantern

If you cannot be the light,
Hold the lantern.
If you cannot hold the lantern,
Bring the fuel or 
Strike the match.
Serve strong tea to those
Standing in the gap.
Make the sandwiches,
Bake the bread.
Pick the apples.
Bring the tissues,
Tidy the room,
Do the dishes. 
Sweep the floor.
Say hello.
Just do something
to show you care.

Sheri Barker
June 2024

Firewheel Flowers and Choices

 I had an intense but beautiful morning that started with my feet hitting the ground so quickly I wasn’t able to get outside until about 2 pm. Wow did that feel weird.

When I cleaned out my craft supplies not too long ago I found some faery garden items. Putting those in place was my primary mission when I stepped out into this sunny, windy, chimes-dancing day. This mini homestead in the heart of my own mini homestead brings me great joy.

Today I added some extra pebbles and a small pond for the tiny ducks and geese. Can you see the coop next to the red mushroom? Can you see the magical blue water in the pond?

I believe with all my child heart that when humans are not paying attention to this special space it is full of life and laughter. I believe that with the same heart that believed my dolls and stuffed animals came to life at night when child me was sleeping. You cannot prove me wrong, so don’t even bother trying. (Also, not that most of you would ever try to steal someone else’s joy, but if you would do that, stick around so maybe your sad heart will heal.)

Of course while I was outside I paid attention to who is blooming in the garden. The first echinacea blooms are shining. The pink one stands next to the gazing ball and the plant is more than 3 feet high. The daisy circle has returned, a living crown for this little patch of earth. And the bees are dining on all of the flowers, but it seems especially the milkweed today.

I love these gorgeous orange, red, and yellow flowers but always misname them. Wanting to finally get it right, I checked the ID for them. Then double triple quadruple checked because the commonly used name is offensive and we should all know better.

From now on, I will call it Firewheel.

I hope you will too. I also hope you will read this insightful, informative, intellectually and spiritually relevant substack written by Peter Derrico.

Each one of us carries part of the burden of making our world a better place. We simply must take personal responsibility for making change happen when we learn where it is necessary. Being mindful of language choices is one way to do that.

Peace out and much love from the Bear Path.

https://peterderrico.substack.com/.../indian-blanket...

#onthebearpath #bearpathcottage #peacelovehope #cottagewitch #cottagegardens #johntrudell #peterderrico #LanguageMatters

The Middle of May - Growing with My Gardens

Every year, I say I'm done trying to grow vegetables, then I do it again anyway. For various reasons, I like being able to feed myself from my own gardens. I like the process of watching food grow. I like seeing the science and magic come together.

I think people sometimes get the impression that everything in my gardens is perfect and idyllic. I assure you, it is not. (As you can see from the photo below) The south yard, which houses the vegetable garden and the wood shop, and is Hank's primary play space, is generally a disaster area. Once upon a time, I'd have heard the ghosts of parental voices shaming me for the mess and been driven by guilt to keep the space perfect. Fortunately for me, I escaped that fairytale version of life quite some time ago.

I do my best, ask for help when I need it, and pay for help when I can afford it if I cannot do something on my own. I move along as I please. Sometimes, projects get started and then have to wait. Last year we planned to finally build a greenhouse and began the work by setting in a foundation. That took a little longer than anticipated, and by the time the foundation was done, material costs had doubled and were beyond my budget. At last check, the costs had tripled due to corporate greed. I would not pay them even if I could. Before the Wheel turns to Autumn, I will figure out an alternative greenhouse plan. In the meanwhile, there is a big hole covered with a tarp, stacked up wood, and cinder blocks to contend with.

My raised bed dreams for the vegetable garden called for those pretty green modular units from a certain manufacturer. It would have cost nearly $1,000 to trade out all the inexpensive food-grade plastic barrels for those nicer containers. My brain and my ego kept arguing, "But I want..." And this was one of those places where people might not realize it can happen, but Love eldered Ego and kept me from spending that money when it was needed more in other places. I'm not saying there's anything wrong with spending good money for things you want or need. Not saying that at all. But for me, in this situation, NOT spending the money was a better decision. Then someone gifted me three galvanized stock tanks that they were no longer using, and my evolving raised bed dreams are happening, just in a slightly different form. I am happy, content, and excited to see how it all turns out. And until I figure out what to do with them, I will have empty plastic containers taking up visual space in the south yard. Yes, of course, I will set them up more neatly than they are in the below image. Maybe Hank needs an obstacle course on his runway.

Over the last couple of days, I got the stock tanks set in place, transferred soil from the plastic containers into the stock tanks, mixed in some good stuff, put in some plant starts, and planted some seeds. That work will continue for at least another week, as there is one more tank to substitute in. I also have some smaller galvanized tubs that I can make use of as well. And next Monday, someone is coming to help Rhodes install a cattle panel arch at the entrance to the veg garden. Every once in a while, friends, I let my brain slide down the wrong pathways and I get momentarily overwhelmed by the volume of work that must be done. When that happens, I gently reign myself in with the reminder that I can only do one thing at a time, and so there goes my focus until I am ready to move on to the next thing. We are none of us perfect beings living Instagram perfect lives. Beauty and joy are often accompanied by mess and bother, and this is not only okay, it is normal. Thank you for sharing my messy, lovely, wonderful, sad, happy, joyful life. I appreciate the company. Peace out.

The Oneness

The Oneness

I am adrift and grounded on ethereal filaments
connecting Elemental energies to seasonal energies,
my thoughts and emotions and state of being
free flowing along conductors never created but
composed of every color ever imagined and unimaginable.
There was no making involved.
No maker.
Just the organic act of being that has been present
from this beginning.
All thought, emotion, spirit, word, scent, touch, taste,
dream, hope, perception, impression, darkness and light
that ever was or will be is slip-sliding along these
liminal ley lines in every dimension of time and space
in the same moment.
We are immense in our collective individuality.
We are infinitesimal in our oneness.

Sheri Barker
April 12, 2024

                                                               Golden Ragwort

Ostara Blessings - The Unfolding

Tuesday, March 19, 2024
Noon.43 degrees. Wind gusts up to 19 mph.

The Unfolding

Spring is unfolding
in her own way and time.
Daffodils, cold winds, and sunshine. 
Snowfall and tornadoes.
In some places, the snow melt
will bring flooding.

The patterns are shifting. 
We all know this. 
But as Earth's reclaiming unfolds
with this new season,
She still invites us to join her,
to help her, to grow and bloom with her.
To notice beauty. To heal. To love.

~~~

The Vernal Equinox is here. It is time to sow new seeds, and to feel and see the awakening of that which the earth has held safe over the cold days of winter. That which you have held safe within you is also ready to reach toward the light and grow. 

May this day bring balance to you, rebirth to your hopes and dreams, and abundance to the harvest in times ahead. 

Blessed Ostara!

With love from the Bear Path,

Sheri

The fairie roses are coming in strong and healthy this year, with new green growth already climbing the arch. I am eager, but patiently waiting the gorgeous pink and white blooms! 

Beauty and My Mother

 My mother left this world behind 16 years ago, but I began this day solidly in her presence. She was here with me while I sat and talked with my husband about the day ahead of us and about our children. Her smiling, enraptured presence stayed by my side as we enjoyed Patricia Ballentine’s presentation, “The History and Magical Practice of Beauty.”

In the last months of her life, mom seemed to open herself to seeking beauty and expressing her interest in it as she never had before. Of course, I must acknowledge that she may have been like that at other times in her life that I didn’t recognize or see. When I was a small child she loved purple, and she loved cranberry glass. I remember her pastel pink jewelry box and the lipstick she wore when she was going to meetings or a party. Later, she loved oil lamps and making crafts with my dad. But towards the end, the search for beauty was more personal and more of what she wanted for herself.

I first noticed this with her deep interest in the television show “How I Met Your Mother.”
What really held her attention were the wardrobe choices for Alyson Hannigan’s character. Mom spent all of her life buying inexpensive clothes, most of which could double as work clothes. She chose tee-shirt style tops; casual, loose-fitting elastic waist pants with pockets; and simple jersey dresses with pockets as well. But all of a sudden, she was interested in fashion, and commented about how she would like this or that piece that “Lily” was wearing, and didn’t Alyson look beautiful in that outfit?

While I recognized that I was seeing something different in my mother, it took me years to understand that she had been expressing pieces of her own healing journey even as she knew she was moving closer to dying. Perhaps it was that knowledge of imminent freedom that released her from the childhood and lifetime hurts that caused her to stifle her sense of self-expression and her longing for beauty.

I would give nearly anything to have more time with her, and I am grateful for the effort she makes to share herself with me now.

There were not enough yesterdays held dearly in the there and then. Jean Marie Hill Barker, b. December 25, 1938, d. March 9, 2008.

At various times during my life, I thought my mother didn't love me; I couldn't stand her; she was my best friend; she was annoying, funny, cute, and horrible, but I needed her, and she needed me.

For most of our lives together, we did not understand each other because we did not know how to communicate. We never really fixed the communication part, but during the last 27 weeks of her life, we somehow began to understand each other. What a gift.

Hey Bean. I see you now with my heart instead of my eyes, and these years later, oh how you shine with true beauty! I miss you as much as ever, more than ever, and not at all because I carry you with me.

Photo: my mom with her mother in a photo booth at Sylvan Beach, mid-to-late 1950s. Jeannie and June. 

The Fourth of March

 It is currently 63 degrees with clear blue skies here at Bear Path Cottage. I just spent a few minutes outside, taking pictures in the gardens and making plans for working this afternoon. Sometime in the last three days, the forsythias all went from buds to blooms, and that little hedge of yellow is a cheery sight!

In early April of 2019, we were waiting to close on the purchase of the Cottage. I was still recovering from my knee replacement surgeries, and Rhodes and my eldest daughter, Katie, constructed a little greenhouse on the deck at the Mountain. She took clippings from the humongous forsythia growing on the Mountain for 20 years and then started 30 forsythia slips for me. To my surprise and great happiness, those survived my care in the greenhouse and have thrived growing on the northeast corner of the Cottage proper, where my father-in-law helped me plant them. Every bright yellow blooming branch will always be a reminder that it is okay to ask for help when you need it and okay to accept help when it is offered. 

The other early yellow bloom in the garden has been shining bright for a few days. In 2022, my sweet friend Wendy sent me a box of daffodil bulbs she had dug up from her gardens. I planted them between the Juneberry trees near the road edge, and for the last two years, they have been bright lights of love and happiness, and some of the earliest blooms of Spring. 

I love having this garden reminder of my dear friend. I think of them as "Wendy's daffs". They stir memories of happy times, good conversations, and hopes of seeing each other again. Wendy's love of her home, gardens, cooking, and family is nothing short of phenomenal and helped me believe that my own dreams of home could come true. (If you read this, dear ladybug, that hippy you're married to ain't so bad either! So much love to you both!)

Spring always wakes the extra deep layers of hope within me. New growth and life are stirring, and old growth is stronger for having come through the winter. Over the next couple of weeks I'll be spending a lot of time outside, talking with the land spirits and observing the way water, air, and light are moving over the land. I don't have any new projects planned for this year, but I need to stay in tune with this tiny ecosystem so I can continue to support it. 

We lift each other up every day. And on the most challenging days, through the darkest times, we offer each other safe space and understanding. This is how love wins. 

This is how we save the world. 

The sweetest thing I saw in the garden this morning was a pair of Mourning Doves. They were walking around together, probably looking for nesting sites. They didn't pay much attention to my presence, other than to walk in the opposite direction from me once they saw me. One had the biggest coral pink blaze on its shoulder that I've ever seen on a dove. So beautiful. I love that they feel safe here. 

I love that I feel safe here, and that I have the opportunity to share portions of this magic with my friends. 

Peace, and much love from Bearpath Cottage.