Creating Space to Repower

 

The winds of November came calling last week.  Cold, driving rain and high winds kept us inside after supper.  We sat by the fire, reading, chatting and feeling cozy. Until, the lights began to flicker on and off a few times before staying off totally.  So, we found the flashlight and my partner lit candles.  We put a pot of water on the gas stove that heats the houses so we could have warm water in the morning.  And then we enjoyed the candlelight and the fire.  My partner who has better eyes than me, read out loud from a book by the light of a flashlight.  I thought about the fact that humans have only had electricity for a hundred years or so, a mere blip, and yet we are so dependent on it.

After about an hour or so, the lights came back on.  We moved around the house only to discover that not all of the lights had come back on.  Only a few circuits were working.  We were not at full power, so my partner figured that something had happened outside.  A cursory circumnavigation of the house revealed nothing.  So, we set up power cords to keep the fridge running and for the modem so we could stream some shows all the while wondering what the problem actually was.

The next morning, the situation hadn’t changed.  We brainstormed ideas.  My big idea was to call an electrician.  My partner phoned a friend who used to work for Hydro but he had to leave a message.  I had to go to the COVID testing centre to get my bi-weekly test in order to visit my father in a long term care facility.  They had a brand new system at the testing centre and the health care worker was just learning it.  I seem to get the same worker every time I go and so we worked our way through the new system with some laughs and jokes.

After that, I went to visit my father.  There is a new system in place at his nursing home and I now have to wear full PPE to visit him.  I had to do my declarations of a negative test, hand sanitizing, gown donning, choosing the eye shield I liked the best and then I watched 3 training videos on PPE use and hand washing.  Finally, I was led to my father’s room by a staff member so I didn’t have to touch anything.  I hadn’t been to my father’s room since the middle of March.  One staff member recognized me and asked how I was doing.  I had been told not to speak to staff members in a loud voice so I mumbled an answer from behind my mask.  Then, I had to explain to my 93 year old father why I was wearing a mask and tell him about the pandemic.  Again.  I played some classical music on my iPod for him and the short visit was over before I knew it.  He seemed to enjoy the visit. He even sang along with the Bach (St. Matthew’s Passion) that I played for him.   If visits go poorly, I am relieved to go but if they are good then I feel sad leaving.  It seems the things we like and dislike are inseparable these days.

I got home but couldn’t get into the driveway because a big Hydro truck with a bucket was in the driveway.  Three workers, one up high in the bucket, were cutting and removing parts of a Black Locust tree on the neighbour’s lawn.  The hydro line for our house goes right through the middle of the tree.  Funny, how I had never noticed this before.  It turns out that as the tree was blowing in the high wind, it wore a hole in the protective coating on the wire which led to arcing.  Had we looked at it last night, we would have seen this.  That is why we weren’t at full power.  The workers fixed the wire, cut away the offending branches and like magic, the power in our house went back to normal.

After lunch, we went for a walk in the forest to let the trees and river sooth my rattled nerves brought on by too much change.  Quite a number of trees had come down in the wind.  Old, dead elms lay where they had fallen, branches splintered and tossed.  One old Poplar had taken a young oak sapling down with it on its final descent. 

The Poplar trunk which is approx. 8" in diameter
broke the Oak sapling on its way down and blocked the trail.

Two days earlier, we had taken an axe, a saw and a pickaroon to the forest to clear the trail of fallen tree trunks so that we can safely ski there once the snow comes. We felt quite happy with our work.  But, now there are more to take care of.  As I figured out how to get over or under the big Poplar, it felt like navigating the system to get to my father.  I could say, it is too hard, the path is blocked and give up.  But, that is not the way in a forest.

The Black Cherry trunk that we cut away from the trail earlier.

The next day would have been my mother’s 92^nd birthday if she was still alive.  She has been gone over 9 years now.  I have a ritual of eating fish and chips on her birthday since that was her comfort food.  It is a good way to celebrate her life and it is delicious as well.  I had been trying to figure out earlier how we were going to do that without a functioning stove.  Usually we go out to a fish and chip shop to eat but during this pandemic, I have switched to frozen fish and chips from the grocery store.  I had been picturing warming them up on the BBQ before the power problem had been solved.  And how luxurious it felt to use the oven once again.

The image of a wire rubbing against a tree branch until it leaked power stayed with me.  Adjusting to constant change in COVID procedures takes a lot of my energy and I often feel drained afterwards.  The hydro men had cut away the offending branches and provided a safe space for the wire to traverse the yard to the house.  I decided to nurture myself for the rest of the afternoon, to give myself space so that my energy could build up again.  

I made a cup of tea in my mother’s honour before walking in the woods.  The White Pines had shed small branches and I picked one up and brought the soft green needles to my nose.  The smell of pine flooded my olfactory nerves.  The smell was comforting.  Perhaps, it smelled like the Christmas trees of the past.  Perhaps, it smelled like camping in pine forests.  Perhaps it doesn’t matter.  The resin comforted me and I brought the branch home.  A small Red Pine branch appeared on the trail at the end of my walk and I breathed it in as well.  Home.  That was it.  It smelled like Home.  

My father is safely locked away in his protective nursing home, my mother is in her elsewhere home, my children are spread across the country in their homes.  And my home now has full power.  The Black Locust has taught me about creating space to nurture myself into full power and the pine trees have signaled home.  The idea of going home is what comes to me when I feel overloaded.  So home is a place where I have the space to recover, fill up, repower.  My teachers, the trees, reminded me of this.  And I took their advice to heart.

Partnerships that Co-create Solutions in Borneo

We often hear from our politicians that we can’t afford to take care of the forests and the health of people, that our “economy” can’t bear it.  And that is probably true from a certain worldview.  But what if there was a way to bolster a local economy while taking care of forests and the health of the local residents? 

The people, forests and wildlife of Borneo have been suffering much loss in recent years.   Health in Harmony which was founded in 2005 by Dr. Kinari Webb to support combined human and environmental work has been engaged in “Radical Listening” to the people in one area of Borneo.  Health in Harmony learned from 400 hours of listening, to the people in 40 communities that logging old growth trees was being done to pay for healthcare.  The people don’t want to cut down these trees but have no other economic option.  The communities identified that what they need is access to health care and alternative sources of income.

Health in Harmony has partnered with Alam Sehat Lestari (ASRI), an Indonesian sister organization that is located in Borneo.  Both of these organizations are predominantly women-led.  And then this partnership has partnered with TreeSisters.

imagecredit:  Chelsea Call

The current reforestation project is going ahead despite the restrictions of the pandemic.  The plan is to set up the former loggers to grow tree saplings.  These saplings can then be sold or bartered for health care and TreeSisters will pay the Health care providers for the saplings and for people to plant the trees.  This provides an alternate source of income and the much needed health care.

The planting will reforest 68 hectares of peat swamp forest in Gunung Palung National Park.  The peat is a carbon sink which is highly flammable.  Fires have been ravaging the deforested area over recent years.  However, a new forest will provide a barrier for fire and a buffer from flooding.  It is estimated that the trees will be large enough for a full canopy within 3 to 5 years and will provide habitat for the endangered Orangutan and thousands of other species.  Ninety per cent of the trees will be for reforestation and ten per cent will be for trees that can be harvested for fruit, nuts and medicine.

imagecredit:  Oka Nurlaila

And so, this project takes care of the local people who will take care of the forest, it provides an alternate source of income, it provides habitat for wildlife and a diversity of plants as well as reducing carbon in the environment. 

The TreeSister website reads, “Health In Harmony shares TreeSisters values. All of their projects are rooted in their guiding principles; all life on Earth is precious, diversity is a strength, and by working together we can find solutions to the crises that face our planet.” 

You can read more about this exciting project on the Tree Sisters website and contribute to it as well.  If we support these kind of innovative projects, they will inspire other communities to do the same and the solutions will build on each other and spread.  The benefits will be both local and global as carbon is sequestered.  This could be our new story.

Transformation Teachers Are All Around Us

The problem with looking into the future is that we imagine it from the experiences of the past.  We search our memories and then plunk them down on something that hasn’t happened yet.  Then we prepare ourselves for the future that we expect and wait anxiously for it to unfold.

Last year, we had a big storm on November 1^st.  The lake rose and its waves crashed into anything that was on the shoreline, rearranging buildings, docks and human possessions. A few trees lost branches but most of the changes were seen in human constructions.   It also snowed and took many drivers by surprise while the wind knocked down power lines leaving us in the cold and dark.  It all came as a rather nasty surprise.

So, this year, I was prepared with snow tires on the car, all the leaves raked up, canoes tarped and gardens put to bed.  And then we got unseasonably warm temperatures and clear skies.  Shaking their heads, people went out in kayaks, walked around in T-shirts and took one last bike ride.  My partner and I have been walking the trail by the lake after supper during this nice spell.  It is of course dark now but there are no mosquitoes and no tourists to contend with.  We can calmly walk along the lake with reflective vests and a flashlight and see the stars spread out over the glassy water.  We couldn’t do that in the summer because of the late sunset, bugs and people on holiday who partied on the trail.  We are very grateful to have this time with the stars.  The Big Dipper hangs over the lake and points to Polaris, the North Star.  Ursa Major, the Big Bear, the Drinking Gourd, the Fisher and countless other stories that people have told about these stars that suggest a picture to human minds.  The Milky Way above our heads reminded me of how small we are and how vast is the Universe that is our home.

I reflected as we walked along the dark, starlit trail on how we have to leave room for good things, things and events that we are co-creating as well as unexpected gifts and pleasant surprises.  Perhaps we can’t expect them, but we could remember that they could happen.  And we have to embrace them when they arrive, fill ourselves up and be grateful.

Yesterday, while walking in the forest, my partner found a piece of birch bark that looked like a writing scroll.  It was curled over on two sides.  I happened to have a pen with me and since Birch was the tree of November to the ancient Celts, I decided to turn the bark into a sign.  “This is an ark.  wearetheark.org”, I wrote.  Wearetheark.org is a group that is pointing out that natural spaces are homes to many, many species, just like Noah’s Ark.  I hung the bark on a convenient Eastern Hemlock branch.  I have no idea of who may see this sign.  But the sign seemed to emerge from the forest and I co-created with the birchbark and then who knows?  Maybe something good will come of it.

We have decided to decorate our backyard with edible bird treats as we approach the Winter Solstice.  I plan to mix peanut butter, suet and bird seed into a soft mixture and then stuff it into pine cones to be hung about the yard with red wool.  I found the suet, have the peanut butter and will buy the seed but I needed pine cones.  This morning, we stopped under a medium sized Red Pine and there were the perfect cones.  They have already opened and spilled their seeds onto the Earth.  I will co-create with them to provide food for the birds, now that their primary job is completed.

I am always fascinated by fungi.  There is something beautiful about the shapes and colours and the part they play in turning a dead tree back into soil.  They tell the story of transformation from one form of life to another.  I noticed white fungi on a fallen Hemlock, brown bracket fungi on a dead Maple still standing and black fungi on a dying Birch as I walked through the forest.

Down by the river, my partner found a tiny nest lying on the ground.  Carefully woven with grass, cedar twigs and birch bark it had been home to new life.  Some tiny, downy feathers still clung to the rim of the nest telling the story of hatchlings now fledged. Dead grass, cedar and peeling bark were all expertly woven into a safe abode that is no longer needed.  These building materials will all become soil again as well.

Standing beside the river, we noticed a dead Salmon wedged up against the rocks.  A few weeks ago, they were all making their way upstream to spawn and bring new life to the river and lake.  Once their final job is complete, they die and become part of the water again unless a bear or a raccoon pulls them out to eat.  I thought of all the tiny eggs resting in the rocky bottom of the river further upstream, waiting to hatch and begin Salmon life again.

In this time of constant change, we are finding new ways of living.  We are transforming ourselves and our communities.  Some of our nests are no longer needed as we fledge.  Some of our structures are being dismantled so that new ones can be created.  There are many beautiful moments of connection between people who used to be too busy to connect.  And despite the seeming odds, good things are happening.  How do we navigate all this change when humans are so comfortable in cocoons.  Perhaps the other than human life has much to teach us about the art of transformation.  Perhaps the lessons and teachers are everywhere around us. 

 

 

Changing the Trajectory

 For the ancient Celts, Samhain was the end of one year and the beginning of the next.  It was a time when the veil between this world and the Otherworld was thin.  It was a time for sweeping out the old and beginning the new.  When the people of these lands were Christianized by the Romans and those who followed, Samhain was appropriated as All Soul’s Day and the eve of this day was All Hallows Eve, or Hallowe’en.

And so, for my ancestors, November would be the beginning of a new year and the beginning of the winter season (there was only summer and winter then), of the darker time of the year.  Here in Canada we tend to dread this time of the year as the days get shorter and the weather gets colder.  And then this year, we are also dealing with a world wide pandemic.  New terrain indeed.

And so, on the first day of November, I went to the forest to walk on the mostly fallen leaves that make the forest floor glow with a yellow, orange, and golden light.  I went to the forest in the rain, with my umbrella and mittens and I walked the usual trail.  At the first divide, the trail I rarely took seemed to beckon.  If I chose to see today as the start of a new year, then a new trail seemed in order.  And so I took it and came to the top of the hill that leads to the Wild Ginger patches.  I could see their still dark green leaves covering parts of the forest floor down below.  But the hill was steep and covered in slick, wet leaves.  Not a trail for today.  We continued on past a grove of Eastern Hemlock trees.  Their blue green shade was calming and soothing. I always feel very quiet and reflective when I am near Hemlocks.  And quiet is like medicine these days.

We kept following the trail to where it had seemed to dead-end at a house on a previous visit.  But, with the leaves down, it became obvious that the trail bypassed the house and yard and so we kept on going.  It took us all the way back to the road where we  had begun but it stopped just before the ditch and made a ninety degree turn to the left.  And there we found two Hawthorn trees growing at the edge of the woods.  I have a special relationship with Hawthorns and since there aren’t very many of them where I live, each new meeting is a cause for celebration.  One of the trees looked healthy and the other had some dead branches covered in lichen.  This seemed auspicious, to take a new trail and find two new trees at the beginning of a new year.

This trail got us back to the car but we hadn’t had enough forest time yet, so we drove to another entrance to the forest and parked there.  After a few minutes, I found a Hemlock branch that must have been broken off by the wind. It was lying in the middle of the trail.  I picked it up to bring home and to listen to Hemlock some more.  It didn't seem done with me yet.

 We took the trail down the hill to the river and visited with it for a while.  It had been raining and the river was full so the water bounced off of the river stones adding oxygen to it that would be good for the fish. I felt happy watching it. Then we climbed back up the hill away from the river and into a bowl-shaped glade that I love. Just as I entered it, the sun found a hole in the clouds and flashed on like a spotlight.  The glade glowed with sunlight for just a few seconds before the clouds moved on.  That one flash of sunlight brought so much joy to me and it brought me right into the moment.  Pay attention!

On the last hill, we encountered two Weimaraner dogs that we had seen before.  Their smooth, grey, muscular bodies were beautiful as they bounded down the hill and around the trees chasing one another.  Their enthusiasm was infectious and they made me smile.  And then we continued on our way back to the trail that led to the road.  One more time, the sun shone through the clouds and lit up the forest.  The White Birches reflected back the light and they gleamed amidst the dark trunks and branches of the bare Maples, Oaks and Ashes.  They lit up as though they were on a stage with spotlights.  The ancient Celts had a kind of tree alphabet that contained the wisdom of the forest.  It was called the Ogham script.  Some of these letters and trees are associated with various times of year.  And the Birch is the tree for the New Year.  Even though my ancestors lived across the ocean, the forest was still communicating with me here in Canada.

The day before, on our forest walk a Raven had called out as it flew over us just as we entered the forest.  It didn’t call out after it had passed us so perhaps it was announcing our presence.  Just as we were leaving the forest, it flew over again and called out, perhaps announcing our departure.  We don’t see Ravens that often, so when we do, we pay attention.  It is a gift.  The forest community is speaking.

Once I got home, I looked up the uses of Hemlock and discovered that you can make a Vitamin C rich tea from the needles.  The new growth in the spring is the best but it can be made anytime.  And so, I broke off some of the little branches and put them in my tea pot to which I added boiling water.  It made a pleasant tea which would be helpful for treating colds and flus.  And it felt good to drink in the forest.

Pat McCabe  https://www.patmccabe.net/  (Woman Stands Shining) is a Dine (Navajo) mother, grandmother, activist, artist, writer, ceremonial leader and international speaker.  I recently heard her speak at an on-line TreeSisters’ event where she suggested that we go back to the old stories and start to tell them again.  This, she said, would automatically change the trajectory into the future.  I found that idea fascinating.  As I walked through the forest, I thought about the old stories that were told on the land that I was walking on.  I thought about the old stories of my ancestors, told in different forests.  These were stories that honoured the trees and the rest of life as teachers. 

And so, I am listening to the trees and the forest.  They are teaching me how to be healthy.  And they are teaching me how to belong to the web of life and how to be in good relationship with the rest of life.  And then I bring that knowledge back into the world of people.  I am remembering the old stories.  And, yes, I am hoping that the trajectory changes.

Here is Pat McCabe giving a Blessing to a Pachamama Alliance conference.