The Secret of Slush

 

In March, my partner and I like to hike the trail from Orillia to Midland and back.  We do this in segments.  Each day, we drive to a part of the trail, park the car, hike for a while and walk back.  Then the next day we do the next part of the trail.  In total this is about 97 km.  This has been a COVID adaptation and this will be the third March that we are walking it.  It gives us a doable mission for the day and a sense of accomplishment as we wait for the snow and ice to melt away.

On day one, the trail which is also used by snowmobilers, was hardpacked and solid.  It wasn’t slippery and walking was fairly easy.  On day two, however, the snow had started to melt and the snow pack collapsed with each step.  The snow was getting slushy and my winter boots weren’t as waterproof as I would have liked so my feet got wet.  The going was slow and all my attention was on my legs and feet.

It reasons that in the late winter/early spring there will be times when the snowpack melts and collapses with each step.   Afterall, this is a transition time between the seasons and transitions are always awkward and somewhat difficult.  This is what walking in a transition feels like; what was solid gives way with a jolt into something slushy and cold.  Winter boots are not gumboots and your feet get wet.  But gumboots don’t have enough tread to walk on the icy patches.  There is no perfect solution but to put plastic bags over my socks before I put them in the winter boots.  Not a very good fashion look but one I remember from my childhood.

As I trudged along, stepping, sinking, and extricating over and over again, it occurred to me, that this was the perfect metaphor for the world right now.  We are in a transition from one way of being to another.  So, the slush taught me, it stands to reason that navigating each day is going to be somewhat confusing and challenging.  

For example, I belong to a group of storytellers who used to hold events in person as did everyone else.  Two years of meeting on zoom and occasionally outside has given us the confidence to hold a larger event on-line.  As we struggle to learn registration platforms, ways to receive donations, ways to promote the event and the grand finale of the webinar platform for the final event, it has at times felt like trudging through a melting snowpack.  We have had to enlist the help of those who are more proficient in these platforms to sort out technical issues and climb a steep learning curve.  Only our belief in the importance of the event has kept us going for the past three months and the fact that we are each tackling different jobs that all require learning and then reporting back to the group.

On day three of our hike I was shocked to discover a bare trail of earth and limestone screening.  The earth had melted a little and I could feel the bounce of it under my feet which stayed dry.  I was so happy that I did a little dance.  The smell of the warming earth made me smile.  I walked along easily enjoying the give and take of the Earth beneath my feet.  It wasn't that the Earth felt solid but more that it felt responsive and rhythmic.

One of my jobs for the storytelling event was promotion.  I worked with one other member and we divided up the list that had been created when we applied for a grant months ago.  I made my own list of organizations and people that I am connected to.  The other member visited libraries and grocery stores as well as sending the press release to various media outlets.  We both noticed that people were keen to pass along the information.  There was an enthusiasm that was palpable.

Two years ago, we had planned the same event which featured an Elder from a local First Nation telling the story of a significant Indigenous archaeological site that is 5000 years old.  This was in March 2020 when everything suddenly shut down.  In June 2021, the unmarked graves of 215 children were discovered on the grounds of a former Indian Residential School in Kamloops, BC.  Shortly after that more graves were located with ground penetrating radar.  The numbers went up and up.  Many Canadians woke up, started to pay attention and learn more about the actual history of Canada.  And now, nine months later, many non-Indigenous people are looking for ways to honour that truth and ways to learn more.

As we sent out promotional materials, we heard back from people that they thought that this was a really important event.  They emailed friends, colleagues and shared posters.  They sent it out to their own networks.  I imagined the mycorrhizal filaments of the forest floor lighting up as the information spread across the lines of relationships that had grown during the two years of an ever-changing landscape.  What started off as two women promoting the event became dozens of people promoting the event.  The number of registrations kept going up in little bursts as new groups of relationships lit up.

The past two years have been hard slogging, a bit like walking in slush.  What felt solid repeatedly collapsed and people have become fatigued with the uncertainty.  But what planning this event has taught me is that the world has indeed changed over this transition.  And it will keep on changing, I am sure.

When we finally got to the on-line event, the Indigenous storytellers captured the audience’s attention and formed relationships across the interface of devices.  People reported feeling as though they were sitting with a group of friends.  People’s hearts and minds were touched by the ancient stories brought to life by the storytellers.  It was beautiful and humbling.  It felt like walking on the bare earth with the give and take of hearts beating together.

Crossing the Ash Bridge

 

World Tree Ash with its Ogham script and 3 keys surrounded by a halo of sunlight

Although it was nearly spring, the forest floor was still resting under a beautiful white blanket of snow.  Anna had her ice cleats strapped to her winter boots and she used two hiking poles to help her stay balanced on the uneven and sometimes slippery surface.  She was searching for an Ash tree in the forest.  Last winter, most of the Ash trees had been cut down by the people who managed this county forest.  The Emerald Ash Borer insect that burrows under the bark of Ash trees had killed or damaged many of the Ash trees in the area and the other Ashes had been cut down to prevent the spread of this insect.  Anna was hoping that the loggers missed at least one tree because this was March and the Ogham tree for the month was Ash.  The old Celtic word was Nuin and it represented the letter N.

She had learned that In Norse mythology, Ash was the World Tree called Yggdrasil and this was the tree of the god Odin.  Its roots were in the underworld, while its branches supported the heavens and the Earth was in the centre.  Yggdrasil acted like a bridge between above and below.  In Celtic cosmology, Ash connected Abred, Gwynedd and Ceugant or the past, present and future, this time bridging time. The Teutons revered Ash as well and once the Germanic tribes entered Britain, the Ash replaced Birch as the maypole representing the sun that was the centre of the sacred dance of life.

When the path forked, Anna took the turn away from the logged area and clambered down the steep hill.  She knew that there were Yew, Cedar and Alder trees down by the river so she cut instead through the deciduous trees. There were no leaves on the trees in the winter and so searching for Ash’s compound leaves wouldn’t work.  No male and female flowers on the same tree were present.  Even the Ash seeds in their aerodynamic seed cases that had hung from the branches just like a ring of keys had long since flown away.  Only the distinctive bark of the Ash would help her find what she was searching for.

The snow was deep and her progress was slow but she sensed an energy pulling her forward.  Each branch had two or three inches of snow balanced on it and the bare deciduous trees were beautifully highlighted.  Anna had been reading about epigenetics during the long winter nights.  This was the science that looked at the coating that could occur on top of DNA.  There was a theory that this is how ancestral traumas were coded in the body – through the coating.  The DNA was not changed by traumas, so the theory went, but the coating prevented the expression of some of its coding.  Anna imagined the DNA with its coating might look like the branches with their coating of snow.

The spring sun was warm and there was a light breeze wafting through the trees as well.  Every now and then, a big plop of melting snow would fall from a tree and slide down Anna’s shiny winter parka.  “Just like water off a duck’s back,” she thought.  That would be a nice way to go through life she mused, just letting everything goooo.  Anna took a deep breath of the cool forest air into her lungs and let it go with a whoosh. “Yes, just like that,” she murmured.   Feeling more relaxed, she walked on until suddenly, a big wet plop of snow landed on the back of her head before making it’s cold wet way down the back of her neck.  Anna gasped.  “Ahh, yes, some life events land on you and stick,” she reasoned.  That feeling was very familiar to her.

Chuckling to herself, Anna looked around her, scanning for the deeply grooved bark of Ash with its tell-tale diamond patterning.  Turning, to look back from where she had come, her eyes locked onto a tree that she had just passed.  Perhaps it was the one that had let go of the snow that was now a warming wetness on the skin of her upper back.  She put her hand forward and touched the bark.  It was deeply ridged.  And then she picked out the diamond shapes that made her laugh out loud.  She had been looking for Ash and Ash had tapped her on the back with a big plop of snow.

Anna stuck her hiking poles into the deep snow and took off her warm mittens.  She placed the palms of both hands on the trunk of the tree and introduced herself.  She explained that her ancestors in a country far away across the ocean had revered this tree’s ancestors and that she had come to renew her relationship with Ash.  She felt the tree’s energy expand in a way that felt like an affirmative answer to Anna. Then she turned around and leaned her back onto the trunk of the Ash tree.  She closed her eyes and felt her energy field merge with that of the tree.  In her mind’s eye, she let herself travel down the trunk of the tree into its roots under the ground.  It felt warm and nurturing there and she imagined that she could connect to her ancestors in that space.

Then she felt herself rising back up through the trunk into the branches and upward into the sky where she was greeted by the Sun.  She breathed out the Earth energy into the sky and then took a deep breath in.  Down she descended once again.  This time, she could feel her ancestors there.  She remembered the snow on the branches and how the sun and wind had cleared them of their load.  She held out her hands and asked her ancestors if they had anything that they wanted to let go of.  She felt her hands get heavier and when they could hold no more, she let herself move upward through the Ash trunk into the sky.  Once there, she held her hands out to the sun and let the light and the wind clear the load that she held there.  Once her hands felt empty, she descended once again.  Over and over, she allowed her hands to be filled and then travelled to the sky to release them until there was no more to transmute.  She thanked her ancestors and slid up the trunk and back into her physical self.  She could still feel energy rising and descending through her spine and her body felt light and mobile.  She noticed that her heart felt light and open as well.

Anna remembered that in Ireland and Wales all coracle slats and oars were made of Ash for protection.  Even the Vikings whose ships were made of Oak, used Ash for all the magical parts, again for protection.  The word Ash and it’s Latin name Fraxinus come from words meaning spears.  She glanced around looking for an Ash stick that she could use to walk with but the snow covered any fallen branches.  Then she remembered that there were many Ash sticks where the loggers had left any wood that they couldn’t easily sell.

Thanking the Ash trees for their collective wisdom, Anna made her way back through the snow.  True, she had her own footprints to walk in now but still, she felt lighter than she had on her way in.  Could it be that she had let go of some of that genetic coating?  Using her poles to clamber back up the hill, Anna reached the packed down path and found her way to the logged area.  From the big piles of Ash branches, Anna selected one that was the right size to be a walking stick.  The strong flexible wood was perfect.

Carrying her two hiking poles in one hand and her Ash walking stick in the other, Anna made her way out of the forest.  Her spine was tall and straight and she knew that just like the Ash tree, she also connected heaven and earth.  She knew that she could be strong and flexible as well and that this would indeed protect her.

The Renewal of Spring Relations

 

Although the days have been getting visibly longer, it has stayed cold where I live and there is still a few feet of snow on the ground. This is the “cabin fever” time of year where I live.  I start craving the colour green while outside everything is black, brown, and white with the occasional blue sky.  Seeing people (even on zoom) who are wearing green clothing lifts my spirits.  I can feel energy building inside of myself and I am ready to be outside for longer periods and getting my hands into the soil.  I long to smell the earth warming up.  I couldn’t even describe this smell, but when I do smell it, my heart races.

We have been watching the weather closely, waiting for the temperature to be above freezing in the day and below freezing in the night.  This is the time to tap the Sugar Maple trees that grow between us and our neighbours down the hill.  This week it has been around -12 degrees Celsius but today it made it up to zero.  And for the following day, a ridiculous plus 14 degrees was predicted.  So, this was the day to tap the four Maple trees.

We called our neighbours who have two small boys to come and take part in this spring ritual.  They clambered up the snowy hill to our yard at the top and we chatted for awhile since we’ve all been indoors and socially distanced way too much.  Then my partner showed the little boys how to drill the hole through the bark of each tree and they took turns putting in the spiles and tapping them into place with the little hammer that the older boy used with enthusiasm.  The boys took turns hanging the buckets and putting on the lids.

It was all very simple and yet magical at the same time.  Two families gathering around the large Sugar Maples to renew our relationships with these relations.  The young mom climbed into one of the trees and watched from above while the boys slid down the hill and clambered back up again.  Simple, late winter rituals that give us the strength to continue through a few more snowfalls.

The following day was, as predicted warm, sunny and windy.  We went for a long walk along the trail that goes into a nearby town.  As we passed the dried brown cattails from last summer, we heard the bright trill of a Red-winged Blackbird.  We walked down to the ice to get closer and turned our heads listening intently.  There it was again… and again.  Our heart thrilled to that trill.  The birds know that it is time to return.  The males come back first, set up housekeeping and start to call.  Spring is emerging.

With a smile on my sun warmed face, I continued along the trail.  Every now and then a warm gust of wind would caress my smiling face. After the icy blasts of February, this gentle gift goes straight to the heart.  Once of those wintery blasts had knocked down a large Poplar tree onto the trail.  I rubbed one of its leaf buds back and forth in my fingers and then held the sticky resin up to my nose.  I inhaled the strong familiar scent into my lungs.  Yes, it was a Balsam Poplar and its resin was one of my favourite spring smells.  And I was smiling again.

Each new sensation brought me into the moment.  Chickadees called out from the trees along the trail and at one point, we saw two Pileated Woodpeckers moving up the trunk of a large tree.  Crows called from somewhere farther away.  Hope was renewed.

Once we got home, I went to check the sap buckets and was delighted to find that the trees were dripping.  We brought some of the sap inside to drink as a spring tonic.  The taste of that sweetwater transported me to all the springs that have come before on this circle of the season.  In a few days, if the sap runs, we can begin the boiling down process to make syrup.  We have invited our neighbours to come and see the ritual, the magic of evaporating water to get the first spring offerings from the trees.

Two days ago, we were driving down a back road from the forest that we walk in.  Ahead of us were two trucks parked in the opposite lane, nose to nose.  Two older men were standing on the road chatting.  “Oh,” I said. “The robin we saw last week was the first sign of spring and this is the second.  You know it’s spring when two old men are standing at the side of the road chatting!”