How Do We Tell Shared Stories from the Past?

Original statue

The concrete pedestal that supported the tall Samuel de Champlain monument is now empty.  In 2017, Parks Canada which owns the monument, took it down to clean it.  The City of Orillia asked for time to consider its future and has spent the past year or so discussing this in a special committee made up of city, federal, Indigenous and local community representatives.  They held public consultations and recently gave their report to Parks Canada.

The Orillia city council recently voted to have the monument put back in its original form and to have it accompanied by “something that better reflects both its historical context and current sentiments toward reconciliation”. (Global News)

Not everyone was pleased with this decision.  Many still feel that the statue is disrespectful to Indigenous peoples.  In researching the history of this statue, I found out that it’s original purpose in 1915 was to improve English/French relations by honouring a French explorer.  That is why Champlain is dressed in full court attire including a cape and spurs.  The age old English/French discord imported from Europe is what the monument is about.  

European/Indigenous relationships is not what the monument is about.  If it was, then the importance of Indigenous support to the newcomers would have been evident in the design of the statue.  The plaque on the old statue read in part, that the statue was “erected to commemorate the advent into Ontario of the white race.”  You only have to look at the size of the figures and their position in the monument (the standing priest and fur trader loom over the four sitting Wendat men) to understand that this is about the advent of white men.

Small red dresses and ribbons were tied to the fence

On Canada Day this year a protest was held at the place where the monument once was.  The pedestal is surrounded by a seven foot high wire fence.  The Indigenous protesters decorated the fence with ribbons in the Anishinaabeg colours for the four directions; yellow, red, black and white.  They also pinned small red dresses to the fence in memory of all the murdered and missing Indigenous women that have been harmed by those who hold colonial worldviews.  

Orange Shirt Day symbol

There was an orange Tshirt to symbolize the Orange Shirt Day that remembers all the Indigenous children who lived and died in the Indian Residential schools.  There were four large pieces of cloth in the four colours as well.

My partner and I walked around the whole fence.  We noticed that some of the red dresses and ribbons had fallen off. My partner repaired every bit of it and retied one of the big cloth corners that had come loose.  

It seemed to be one way to show respect for those that were not okay with the statue coming back in its original form.  I loved how the ribbons and dresses made the wire fence more beautiful, more vibrant.  And when the wind blew, the ribbons danced in it, brought it to life.  The sun made the ribbons shine brightly.

A few weeks later, I met one of the organizers of the protest at a local Steampunk Festival.  She had a table at the festival to explain the Red Dress campaign to festival goers.  She proudly showed me her copy of the Final Report of the National Inquiry into Murdered and Missing Indigenous Women and Girls that she had received at the Final Ceremony in Hull earlier this year.  We told her about repairing the fallen pieces and she told us that the pieces they left there had been vandalized a few times already.  She also told me that when the statue was still in place, people had used the eye sockets of the Indigenous people in the statue to butt out cigarettes.

This ongoing debate about a statue is happening across Canada.  These statues become focal points for the story we are telling, the story that is called history.  Who do we venerate?  How bad do actions have to be, to stop venerating someone from the past? Some people feel that we should never speak ill of the dead.  But then how do we learn from the mistakes of history?  How do we tell both sides of the story, or the many sides of the story?  Can a statue created a hundred years ago tell the story of today or do we need something new?

I will keep following this story because it is part of our new story in Canada.  It is important that we listen to all the experiences that came from our history, not just those of the victors.  It is important that we work together to figure this out and that we wrestle with our own versions of the history of this land that we now call Canada.  We have to remember that art is very powerful and it speaks its own language.  We also have to remember that we have creative people among us who can create new ways of telling this complex story.  And we have to be able to imagine the story from all the points of view in order to really know what happened and then what choices we will make for the future…. together.

Sharing Places

I was shopping at the Orillia Farmer’s Market recently when I came across a booth that had a banner reading “The Sharing Place Food Centre.”  I was curious so I stopped to speak to the two young people who sat behind the display table.  They explained to me that the Orillia Food Bank had changed it’s name to “The Sharing Place Food Centre”  when it moved to a larger new building.  They told me that the organization had partnered with the big supermarkets in Orillia who were now donating surplus  fresh produce to The Sharing Place.  They received 20,000 lbs of produce in July of this year. 

This means that people who don’t have enough money to buy healthy food can now receive fresh fruit and vegetables.  Frozen meat is also being donated before it’s expiration date.  In addition to this, they have stopped doing a needs assessment for customers and allow anyone who feels they need a food bank to come and shop.  The Sharing Place is also providing cooking classes to teach clients how to make healthy meals and a garden club.  On the home page of their website is the quote “A healthy community through access to nutritious foods.”

photo from the Sharing Place websiter

 The young people told me that the supermarket staff are happy that they no longer have to throw good food into the garbage while there are hungry people in the same town.  I imagine the supermarket owners are also happy that they don’t have to pay to dump the food.

I felt very encouraged by this story.  It seems to me that someone had the imagination to do this differently.  It must have taken some leg work to partner with the supermarkets and to change the way the food bank did business.  They want to take away the stigma of using a food bank and restore dignity and health to people who can’t afford rent and good food.

I was told that other food banks were coming to The Sharing Place to get fresh produce for their clients.  There is enough for the Sharing Place to share with the other food banks.  I hope that others will adopt this model once they see it in practice.  It seems to be a win, win, win model.  Food is not wasted, it is diverted from the garbage system, people can be healthier and have better lives which creates a stronger community.  I have heard it said that we have enough food to feed everyone, but not enough to waste.

Later the same weekend, I decided to take a long swim in Georgian Bay along the shore.  The water was flat and warm and the early morning sun called me down to the lake.  As I returned to the beach where I had started, I heard voices and shovels hitting the stoney earth.  I could see people moving around at the top of the twenty foot drop off from the walking trail to the beach.

I pulled my dress on over my bathing suit and climbed up to the trail.  My partner was there talking to a group of people who were digging new flower beds.  These were the Talpines people, local cottage and home owners who had decided to create a perennial garden above the beach so that families who haven’t got cottages can have beautiful flowers to look at when they come to the beach. 

Part of the garden above the beach

The group had raised funds to buy perennial plants and acquired some support from the local Township to get a bench.  These people were very friendly and introduced themselves to us.  They were having trouble digging up a large stone, so my partner went to fetch his pickaxe.  I love gardening so I started to weed one of the beds they had planted a while ago.  People stopped as they walked or biked on the trail to see what we were up to.  The members took turns talking to the visitors and explaining what we were doing.  People seemed surprised to learn that the group was doing this to make the beach more beautiful. 

My partner and I helped to bring up mulch from the pile left by the township, weeded, watered, brought up logs and stones from the beach and generally fit in where needed.  It was a lot of fun to work with creative people who were enjoying creating beauty for the community.  The garden design was left to the member who was an artist and everyone someone just found their place.  It was peaceful and lovely to be a part of this group.  The artist finally asked one cyclist who stopped by to take a group photo of us with the flowers.

I don’t know the whole story of how this garden was conceived but once again, I could see the work of people who could imagine the area looking different, looking beautiful.  And then they set about doing the work to make it happen.  I have seen many people sitting on the bench looking over the garden to Georgian Bay and the setting sun.

The group has more ideas to enlarge this creation and they are excited as they talk about their plans.  Creating bring endorphins and creating with other people brings even more.  This will no doubt improve the mental health of those involved in creating it and those that enjoy the flowers.  It is a win, win, win project.

Perhaps these creations seem so precious to me because the news is filled with a different story.  But in the midst of all the trauma, are people with imagination who are just getting on with creating new stories.  And I want to be with those people.

Imaginal Butterfly Cells Inspire Imaginal People

The fuzzy, serrated leaves of poppies had sprouted up all over the lawn on the southwest side of the house that spring and he didn’t want to kill them, so the lawnmower was kept in its shed.  Perhaps it was the stunning beauty of the red flowers that were yet to grow and bloom.  Perhaps it was that poppies are as close to a sacred flower as one could get to Canadians of a certain age who have lived through countless Remembrance Days in schools, churches and at war memorials that were prominent in every town.  Nevertheless, he allowed them to grow and blossom in freedom, even though it broke the code of grass separated from “gardens” that most people in the small town observed.

Once the glorious petals had done their job of attracting pollinators, they fell, one by one until the grass was covered in red.  The seed pods grew and he couldn’t just cut them down knowing they contained the very stuff of new life.  And so the lawnmower stayed put.

To his surprise, new plants started emerging amongst the poppy stalks.  As he watched, they grew and became obviously Common Milkweeds.  There was news of declining Monarch Butterfly populations on the radio and in the press and people were being encouraged to grow milkweed plants so that the butterflies had a place to lay their eggs.  Monarch caterpillars eat only milkweed and the species cannot survive without it.  Milkweed was labelled at that time as a “noxious weed” by most municipalities, so growing it was kind of illegal.   But the story about the plant was in flux and people were changing their minds about it because Monarch butterflies were as close to a sacred insect as you could get for Canadians.

/Common Milkweed plants in flower

And so, he left the plants alone.  They grew and their hundreds of tiny pink flowers opened and filled the air with a sweet, pleasing scent.  He watched for butterflies to appear but only saw one or two that whole summer.  Perhaps the news of declining populations was correct.  They used to be everywhere when he was a kid.  The flowers became seed pods filled with silky strands and oval shaped brown seeds.  He left them alone and needless to say, the lawnmower was not used until the late fall.

The next spring, more poppies popped up and he loved them.  But the main event became the milkweed emergence.  The rhizomes of the original ones shot up new stems and brand new plants emerged as well, perhaps from the seeds that he left on the plants to fall and blow where they might.  Perhaps new plants emerged in far off places as well.  He imagined delighted butterflies encountering them along their migration route.  That summer, more butterflies showed up and he watched the leaves of the plants for chew marks.  He was delighted to find one caterpillar happily munching along a leaf.  He left the plants to go to seed and collected some seed pods to share with other people.

Now, five years later, there are about one hundred milkweed plants in that side yard.  They have flowered and the air is so sweet that you can smell it from the sidewalk as you walk up the long driveway.  Many Monarchs can be seen wafting over the plants and with the sun shining, it feels like a dream, somewhere to go to in a meditation, something that conjures up feelings of peace and serenity.  

Monarch caterpillar eating Common Milkweed

Always on the lookout for caterpillars, this year he has been astonished at the number he has found.  By carefully lifting up leaves and getting down on his knees, he has found tiny ones, little ones, medium sized ones and ones that look like they might just explode.  He has noticed that they seem to favour the tiny young plants that grow in the shade of the cedars.  Perhaps these are more tender for tiny caterpillar mandibles.  The caterpillars seem to eat a bit of a plant and then move on.  Perhaps they have an agreement not to kill any one plant.  Perhaps their relationship is one of support.  The toxic milky substance inside of the leaves and stems is what makes Monarch caterpillars and butterflies taste bad to predators who have learned to leave them alone.  And the caterpillars only eat plants in the milkweed family without decimating the population.

Now, he is on the look out for a lovely green and silver Monarch chrysalis that may be hanging from leaves.  They blend in (on purpose) with the surroundings and so they are hard to spot.  But he has good eyes and is determined, so the hunt goes on.  Oh, and you know by now where the lawnmower is.  It is fascinating to know that when the caterpillar goes into the chrysalis, all the cells go into a kind of green mush and then reorganize into a butterfly.  The cells that have the genetic coding for the adults have been called “imaginal cells” by scientists.  They direct the formation of a butterfly from green mush.  Amazing!

\I think the mouth is at the far end

He is hoping that if he can find a chrysalis and he keeps checking it, he might be able to view the emergence of the wet butterfly.  He can imagine that happening and is eager to see it for himself.

Curious to know what the current status of the Monarchs is, he learned that  that this year, according to Andrew Rhodes, Mexico’s National Commissioner for Protected Natural Areas, ,there has been a 144% increase in the Monarch population overwintering in Mexico this year (CBC website).  Experts believe this is because of increased protection of habitat where the butterflies winter and the planting of milkweed along their migration route by people who care about them.  People who had the imagination to imagine a different world, where Monarchs and Milkweeds thrived.  People like him.  Perhaps they were all the imaginal cells of this new story of restoration, this new story of diversity instead of a monoculture lawn.  

Some of these people planted milkweed in their yards.  All he did was leave the lawnmower in the shed and get out of the way of life that was ready to regenerate.  And there were enough people to make a difference.  I imagine that it isn’t a very large percentage of the population that have done this, but it is enough.  I don’t know, but maybe all the cells in the mush of a chrysalis aren’t imaginal cells.  Maybe all people don’t have the imagination to imagine a different future.  But those that do, can make all the difference.  Imaginal people are creating this new story.

Each Day a Lifetime

These days are 

Daylily filled.

Everywhere I look,

Orange heads nod in the warm breeze.

Each day on each plant

A  new blossom appears.

A whole floral lifetime

Lived in one day.

Orange petals 

with red bands,

Warm yellow centres become bright beacons 

for pollinators

But just for today.

These are the 

berry days of summer.

Fragrant, sweet honeysuckle blossoms

Sipped by bees and ants are now bright translucent Red and orange berries,

Food for the Cedar Waxwing

We watch it precisely pluck berries

One, two, three and then fly away.

There is fruit everywhere.

Red Osier Dogwood’s white floral umbrellas

Pollinated by insects now nourished

Became growing green berries that turned

Back to white ripe fruit with black eyes.

Perfect for the Robin red-breast

Perched on the bouncing red-wood stems

Over the lapping waves of the lake

And filling its crop.

Wild or maybe just feral

Black raspberries metamorphose

From white flowers to green fruit

Then red but still hard and

Oooh it is hard to wait until

Ripe and purplish black

Soft under the fingers

Carefully picked and popped

Into my mouth  becoming a

Ceremony and celebration.

The Power of Art to Tell a New Story

Well, I am taking a holiday this week.  I am staying home, which happens to be on Georgian Bay where people go for their holidays,  Since I am trying to do “holiday” kinds of things, my partner and I decided to take the 2 ½ hour boat tour on the Miss Midland.  This takes you from the Midland town docks, through Severn Sound, all the way around Beausoleil Island and back again.  We have done this trip in various segments in our own little boat and so it was nice to sit on the top deck and let Captain Steve pilot us through the many shoals and some of the 30,000 Islands.

Along the way, a prerecorded informational soundtrack was played.  This dealt with the names of various islands, the industries in some of the towns and some of the history of the area.  The script seemed dated as a few newer attractions were not mentioned but I’m not sure when it was written.  When the script dealt with the First Nation in the area and the Indigenous people who had lived here (and still do) for thousands of years before Etienne Brulee and Samuel de Champlain arrived four hundred years ago, the narrative was a bit sketchy.  Since I have been trying to learn the actual history of the area, some of the “information” was in my opinion, generated from within a colonial mindset.  Important facts were left out and some facts were told in a sanitized way that washed the European settlers clean of anything we might not approve of now.  It occurred to me that the script needed updating to reflect what we now know happened.  I am considering writing to the company that runs the tour to suggest this.  Thousands of tourists from around the world and from across Canada take this tour during the summer months and the misinformation is not helping the reconciliation movement.

The next day, my partner and I stopped at a local gas station and restaurant in Port Severn, just off of Hwy. 400.  We got our hamburgers and went to sit in the large dining area that was empty and quiet.  We have been there before and so I was surprised to see a new mural on the wall of the dining room.  We left our burgers and went to inspect it. 

New mural in Port Severn highway rest stop

On the left hand side, the artist, Tim Nijenhuis had depicted Samuel de Champlain arriving in the area and being greeted by Chief Aenon,the leader of the Wendat people,  who had lived in this territory for thousands of years. 

Detail of mural by Tim Nyenhues 2019  Port Severn ON.

This reminded me of the statue that was installed in nearby Penetanguishene in 2015 to commemorate this meeting in 1615. Sculptor Timothy P. Schmalz created the statue as an apology for the statue in Orillia from 1915 which has Champlain high above the fur trader and priest who are above the crouching Wendat men.

The Meeting statue by Timothy P. Schmalz in Penetanguishene, ON, 2015

Statue of Champlain on top, on left, a fur trader looking down on two Wendat men
 and on the right a priest holding up a crucifix above two Wendat men.  1915 in Orillia, ON.

You don't have to be an art historian to see that the narratives that these three pieces of art are telling, are quite different. I thought about the power of art and culture to share and propagate these narratives.  In the Penetanguishene statue, Schmalz has the two men holding a wampum belt to represent the agreement to share the land and not interfere with each other.  In the Orillia statue, Champlain is much larger than the other men and the statue has an obvious hierarchical structure.  But now, thousands of visitors will stop by and see this new mural in which Champlain looks a little confused while Aenon holds out a welcoming hand.  Or perhaps you might see a different narrative there.  I am only guessing.

To the right of the two men are depictions of the original Big Chute Marine Railway and Port Severn, where the restaurant is located.  Flying above them are four flags.  From left to right they are:  the Annishinaabe flag, the Haudenosaunee flag, the Metis flag and the Canadian flag to represent all the people who currently call this land home.

Anishinaabe flag on left and Haudenosaunee flag on right

Metis flag and Canadian flag

Visitors may have to use their phones to fact check what they are seeing.  I didn’t notice a plaque explaining the mural but there may have been one.   I saw one child posing between Champlain and Aenon to have his picture taken.  Now that's another interesting thing about murals.  People can kind of join in and take a selfie with Champlain and Aenon.  This is a new opportunity for people travelling up and down Hwy 400 between Barrie and Sudbury.

I know someone who loved the Orillia statue of Champlain when she was a little girl some sixty years ago.  She has fond memories of stroking the faces of the Wendat men and thinking them beautiful.  As a child she missed the fur trader, priest and especially Champlain who was high in the sky.  I wonder how children who are now posing between Champlain and Aenon will remember this mural.  Perhaps it will become iconic for them.  But it is telling a new story from our shared history and that new story will be the one they remember.

Artist Tim Nijenhuis' signature on the mural.

Grassroots Growth and a Round Dance

In early July, I attended the Mariposa Folk Festival in Orillia, ON.  My partner and I had a booth in the not-for-profit area of the festival promoting the Moose Hide Campaign.  The story of this campaign is described beautifully on the website:

Paul Lacerte in centre with drum

On an early 2011 August morning, an Indigenous man named Paul Lacerte and his daughter Raven were hunting moose near the infamous Highway of Tears, a section of highway between Prince George and Prince Rupert, BC, where dozens of women have gone missing or been found murdered.  They had brought down a moose that would help feed the family for the winter and provide a moose hide for cultural purposes. As the daughter was skinning the moose her father started thinking…They were so near the highway that has brought so much sorrow to the communities along its endless miles, here with his young daughter who deserved a life free of violence…That’s when the idea sprang to life!  What if they used the moose hide to inspire men to become involved in the movement to end violence towards women and children?  Together with family and friends they cut up the moose hide into small squares and started the Moose Hide Campaign.(Moose Hide Campaign website)

Now, 8 years later, over a million Moose hide patches have been distributed in Canada and beyond.  The campaign has a new goal to distribute ten million patches.  My partner and I are helping in our small way to do that, to be part of this grassroots movement.  This allows us to have many conversations with men and women about the possibility of change.

As I sat at the booth, I began to wonder what a grassroots movement would look like if I tried to draw it.  I pictured a small patch of grass sending out runners underground that gave birth to blades of grass shooting up from the earth into the sky.  This would not be a linear drawing but more of a circle radiating out from the original roots.  And it would grow exponentially as well as more grass roots spread into more runners and more blades of grass.  And it would be tough to squelch.  If you have ever tried to grow a garden, you will know how grass is persistent and just pops up everywhere.  And then of course, there are grass seeds which are carried by the wind over great distances.  If they land in disturbed soil, they will take root and start spreading where they have arrived.  I thought about the Moose hide patches being mailed all over Canada and areas beyond and then being distributed in those areas.  I imagined the grass spreading and covering the land. 

After two days of working at the booth, we finally packed up the tent and table and sat down at the Main Stage to listen to the music and have some supper.  The second act that we listened to was a local band called Digging Roots.   David Newland describes them on the website as “a Juno-winning First Nations power couple Shoshona Kish and Raven Kanatakta [who] have built their sound on a unique musical marriage of unvarnished truth and unconditional love.”   You can check out their video For the Light here if you’d like to get a better sense of them. 

At the end of their Mariposa Festival  set, they invited the audience to join in a Round Dance.  You can learn more about Round Dances here:

   

One young woman started it and Shoshona invited everyone to join in.  People joined hands as the leader wove her way through the crowd.  The dance started really near to where I was sitting, so my partner and I jumped up and joined in at the end of the line which was only about ten people at that point.  As we moved through the audience other people jumped up to join in as well.  We didn’t make them wait until the end of the line though.  We simply dropped hands and made space for them.  The interesting thing was that as the line moved, at times I became too stretched between fast people in front of me and slow ones behind.  When I dropped hands to welcome other people into the circle, the pressure was eased.  Imagine that.  Adding more people to the circle takes the pressure off of the few.  The more people, the better.

Well, the circle grew larger and larger.  By the time I had made my way to the front of the stage, there were hundreds of people in the line ahead of me.  It felt so good to open the circle, to extend the generosity of space to people as we passed them by.  This dance is not about hierarchy.  There is space for all of us.  I noticed the joy on the faces of the dancers as the leader wound her way into a spiral and we faced other dancers.  In the video linked to above,  Adrian LaChance says, among other things, that the Round Dance is about healing through movement.  It certainly felt wonderful to join together with other festival goers in this dance over the lawn, over the grass, over the grassroots.   When the dance ended many of us extended our arms high into the air sending love from our hands to the band onstage.  This was the highlight of the weekend for me.

All weekend, I had explained to people that my partner and I were just taking our place in the circle of people working to end violence towards women and children.  I invited guests to the booth to be a part of the circle as well.  I had used the image of the circle to describe the grassroots, non-hierarchical model of the Moose Hide Campaign and now I had experienced the same thing physically.  The more people who joined in, the better.  There was less pressure on the individual as we all took our place. There was room for us all, we moved together and joy, not fear, not violence, was the result.  It seemed that as soon as a ceremony, a model was provided, we figured out how to make space, how to work collectively, almost like we had done this our whole lives.  Maybe it is in our DNA and the invitation released it.  I don't know for sure.  But, it felt like the new story that we are writing together, one in which there is space for all of us.

What the Water Taught Me

It finally feels as though summer is here.  On the Friday of the first summer long weekend, we woke up to cloudy skies, warm air and no wind.  After checking the weather forecast which predicted rain in the afternoon, we headed down to our dock to take the canoe out.  No wind makes it possible for us to venture out further into Severn Sound which is part of the eastern most section of Georgian Bay.

Happily aboard our 18 foot freighter canoe, we made our way with the help of our 2.5 hp motor into the bigger water until we reached Canary Island.  We said hello to the nesting Ospreys on the marine beacon tower and cut the motor.  Then we paddled through the channel in Canary Island.  The first thing I noticed was that I couldn’t see into the water.  The sun was at the exact height that caused the sky to be reflected in the water’s glassy surface.  When I looked down at the water, I saw sky, because of the angle of the light.  I knew that later in the day when the sun is lower, the angle makes it possible to see down into the water where there are rocks, plants, fish and a sandy bottom.  But those were now invisible to me. 

This made me think about how our point of view, or the angle we take when viewing something affects what we can see.  I thought about people who are busy creating an identity for themselves  who keep you looking at the bright shiny bits.  These identities feel like shields to me and I wonder what is beneath or behind the carefully constructed and energized images on the surface.  I know that there could come a time when they feel safer and the shields go down so that what lies below may become visible.  In this world of images, it takes some wisdom to realize that what is shown on the surface, may have nothing to do with what lies below.  It made me think of politics and how politicians want you to see the constructed image instead of what is really there.  The water and sky were teaching me.

A little further on, we came across the exoskeletons of dragonfly nymphs still clinging to bulrushes.  The nymphs crawl up the bulrushes and clamp on somehow and then the adult dragonfly emerges, dries its wings and flies away.  I pondered my own transition from mother and caregiver to older woman.  It seems that the old casing or trappings must be left behind in order to fly free.  That is just the way things work.

Looking down at the surface of the water again to see if the angle of light had changed, I noticed hundreds and hundreds of shadfly larvae casings floating in the water.   The shadfly or mayfly is also a metamorphic insect.  The adult females deposit from four hundred to three thousand eggs into the water.  The eggs sink and may not hatch for up to a year.  The nymphs that hatch go through a series of molts as they grow.  They may take up to several years before emerging from the water, leaving their exoskeletons behind and flying as immature adults who molt once more after a day or so into full adults.  The adult phase is purely about procreation and they live for a few short days, mating, laying eggs, never eating and then dying.  We noticed that there were many dead adult mayflies floating alongside the exoskeletons of the nymphs.  I thought about the millions of shadfly eggs lying on the lake bottom waiting for the conditions to be right so that the nymphs could hatch.  I thought about all the seeds we plant on a daily basis with our words and actions.  Who knows what grows from them?

Shadflies belong to the Order Ephemeroptera, clearly linked to the word ephemeral which was a medical term meaning to last only one day. Once again, I thought about perceptions.  We call these insects flies because that is the stage that we see.  In reality, they spend most of their lives as nymphs which are nearly impossible for us to see.  But there were the floating adults corpses and nymph casings on the surface of the water that looked like sky.  While down below, is where their lives are really lived.

A little farther on, we stopped to pick up some boards that had washed up on the rocks.  Lost from some human construction elsewhere on the lake, they had beached here.  We will use them to add to our dock.  I was holding the canoe steady as my partner loaded the wood and had time to look under the water.  Yes, the angle of light and the shadow of the canoe made this possible!  Lying on the lake bottom, I spied a bright white egg.  Fishing it up, we discovered that it was a map turtle egg that must have been washed out of a nest.  The turtles are up laying eggs on the shores these days.  We brought it home and will attempt to hatch it.  It is probably too late, but we will give it a chance.  Here was the beginning of the life cycle, visible to me because of its size and the angle of light. 

I spent last Sunday playing with my partner’s four-year-old grandson.  I spend hours sitting with my 92 year old father and less time talking on the phone to my adult children.  My friends are around retirement age.  Each stage of life requires special vision if the person is to be seen.  You can’t just look at the surface to know what is beneath.  Beneath the outside casing of all of them can be found wise, sensitive, creative souls.  The water is teaching me how to see, how to wait until the depths are visible, how to look beneath the surface.  Only then can the whole story be revealed.