Hylda and the Elder Mother

Hylda had been hiking all morning along the bank of the river.  She had stopped over and over again to look at the plants that grew along the path.  She greeted each one by name and stopped to admire what she found special about each one.  It was late spring and the Red Baneberries and False Solomon’s Seals were flowering.  The Coltsfoot flowers were gone but their leaves were emerging along the side of the trail.

The sun was high in the sky and she was getting very warm.  She spied a large Elder Tree up ahead.  It was covered in the beautiful white flowers that grew in umbrels all over the tree. Each tiny flower had five white petals and five long stamens reaching out to the bees that spread the pollen. Stopping to breath in their beautiful scent, Hylda decided that this would be a fine place for lunch.  Spreading out the jacket that she no longer needed for warmth, she sat in the shade of the Elder Tree and slowly ate the food that she had brought with her.  The scent of the Elder flowers was so heady that she found herself breathing deeply.  With the food in her stomach, the warmth of the sun and her deep breathing, Hylda soon curled up on her outspread jacket and fell asleep.

It wasn’t long before a kindly old woman stepped out from within the Elder tree.  She wore a green dress that was bordered at the neck line with Elder flowers.  Her curly wild white hair gave off the perfume of the flowers.  Her eyes were a deep blue.  Smiling, she took Hylda’s hand and indicated that they should start walking.  The woman followed willingly.  She felt like a little girl holding her mother’s hand as they walked along.

The Elder Mother and Hylda followed the river which curved to the right.  As they rounded the bend, the woman could see people ahead of them standing by another Elder Tree.  The people were dressed in clothes from a long, long time ago.  Together they sang out “Lady Ellhorn, give me of thy wood, and I will give thee of mine, when I become a tree.”  The Elder Tree was covered in berries and one of the women began picking them and putting them in a rough basket.  “I will make a tonic for my sick child with these,” she told the tree.  One of the men cut a length of wood from a branch of the tree.  “I will use this to blow on the fire and to make a whistle,” he told the tree.  Another woman took a piece of bark.  “I will use this to bring down the swelling in me old dad’s legs,” she told the tree.  “Our Elder Mother surely takes good care of us all,” she murmured. 

Hylda thought she caught sight of the kindly old woman smiling from within the branches.  But when she looked beside her, the Elder Mother was there, smiling just the same.  She tugged on Hylda's hand and they walked past these folks as though they were invisible and followed the serpentine curve of the river.  Up ahead, Hylda saw a priest standing with his back to an Elder Tree.  He was speaking loudly to a small group of women.  The women were dressed in clothing from long ago as well but not as long ago as the first group.  “Witches live in this tree.  Stay away from it or the devil will take up home on your roof!”  He cried.  “If you take any wood from this tree, you will be cursed!”  The women turned and sadly walked away from the priest. Hylda looked at the Elder Tree and saw the kindly old woman in its branches begin to shrink in size until she could barely be seen.

When she looked beside her though, the Elder Mother was still large as life but she was not smiling anymore.  Tugging on her hand once again, the Elder Mother drew Hylda forward.  Around the next bend, she could see a group of women dressed in the same kind of clothing as herself.  They were standing in front of a huge Elder Tree covered in dark purple berries.  The berries were so heavy that the umbrels were now upside down as the berries dangled over the earth.  “Elder Tree, would you allow us to pick some of your berries to use for our health?” one of the older women asked.  She began nodding her head as if hearing an invisible voice.  She placed something from her hand onto the earth under the tree.  The women very carefully picked one umbrel after another and put them in baskets.  They traded recipes for Elderberry Syrup, dried Elderberry tea and Elderberry wine with each other as they picked.

Hylda looked at the Elder Mother who still held her hand.  The Elder Mother was smiling.  She let go of the woman’s hand and disappeared.  Looking at the Elder Tree and the happy women, Hylda saw the broad grin on the face of the Elder Mother in the tree before she receded behind the leaves and disappeared once again.

Suddenly, with a jolt, she was under the first Elder Tree again, lying on her jacket. She looked up to see the Elder flowers but they were gone.  Instead, she saw dark purple berries hanging down towards her.  Standing, she looked around her.  The spring flowers were gone.  In their place were bright yellow goldenrods and purple asters.  The sumacs were turning red.  Confused, she turned back to the Elder Tree.  She thought she saw the dark blue eyes of the Elder Mother deep in the foliage.  One of the eyes winked at her.  Picking a few berries, Hylda popped them in her mouth.  The juice woke up her tongue and she felt more alive than she ever had before.  A deep gratitude filled her heart and she felt at home for the first time in a long while.  She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. 

When she opened them again, she was lying once again under the Elder Tree.  The sun was much lower in the sky.  Shielding her eyes, she looked up at the tree and saw the milky white flowers reaching up to the sky like clouds.  Getting to her feet, she saw the spring flowers along the trail once again.  She picked an umbrel of sweet smelling Elder flowers and put it in her hair.  Smiling like the Elder Mother she began walking back up the trail.  She wasn’t going home though.  She was already there.

What I Learned from the Loon

My partner saw it first, about one hundred feet away from our big cedar freighter canoe.  He pointed it out to me but I wasn’t wearing my distance glasses and I couldn’t make it out.  He kept telling me where it was over and over again, as it made its way through the water.  It was getting closer and closer and then suddenly, my eyes and my visual cortex connected and I saw it.  A single loon quietly gliding through the water. 

The loon passed by our boat without even looking at us and continued toward a small bay in Canary Island which was named for the abundance of Wild Canaries or Goldfinches.  We were planning to go into the same bay before we saw the loon, but now we didn’t want to disturb it.  So, we stayed where we were and watched. The loon just continued on its serene journey.

I thought about how iconic the loon is to people in Ontario and other parts of Canada.  It is a symbol of the northern lakes, of the wildish spaces that people build cottages in, of getting away from the city.  The loon’s haunting call on a lake will stop most people in their tracks.  Somehow, every sighting, every call, is a gift, a kind of magic.  I wondered why it is that Canada Geese and Cormorants don’t seem to have the same magic for most people.  In fact, they can elicit quite the opposite response.

 I wondered if loons feel so special because there are so few of them that we see.   If we had large flocks of loons everywhere, would they seem so beautiful?  Apparently, they do flock in the winter on oceans and only come back to our north to breed and raise their young.  Here in Ontario, we don’t see them in flocks so we think of them as solitary birds or breeding pairs with young ones.

Or perhaps it is the long mournful cry and the echoes that occur on a still lake, especially at night. Here are two examples of their calls: 

Loons swim with their bellies under water so they are quite low already.  They have solid bones and can squeeze air out of their feathers so that they can sink into the water even further if they need to become less visible.  They are also very adept at diving and swimming under water, propelling themselves with their webbed feet.  Their legs are positioned quite far back on their bodies which makes them excellent swimmers but very awkward on land.  They only come onto land to make nests, lay eggs and hatch their young.  Then then spend the rest of their lives on the water or flying.  To get up into the air, they need a long stretch of water that they dance over before finally taking to the air.  They cannot take off from the land.

I kept watching the loon.  It had such a quiet, solid presence in the water.  If it sensed danger, it would simply sink down or dive and swim away.  It was in its element.  It calmly went about its business.  We wondered if there was a female loon somewhere on a nest or if this was a single loon.  Males and females look alike so we couldn’t tell what gender this particular loon was.

I liked the calmness of this bird and the fact that it didn’t care that we were nearby.  It knew that it could protect itself easily in case we became a threat.  I liked the solid feel that it had as I watched it.  I wondered what it would be like to mimic that loon as I went about my business. 

A few days later on a hot humid morning,I decided to swim in the lake before the boat traffic picked up.  The water was glassy and inviting.  The local residents’ association members were raking dead water plants that had washed up on the beach.  They volunteer to take care of the beach so that it is clean for those who wish to swim.  The water plants are piled up higher on the beach and my partner and I often come down with big bins to cart some of it home for our gardens.  It makes great mulch and compost. They have also adopted the corner space between the walking trail and the road to the beach.  Small gardens with perennials in them keep sprouting up and a bench has been added so that walkers and cyclists can take a rest overlooking the beautiful lake as well as the sunset.

But I was there to swim.  I swam to the end of the swimming area and made a ninety degree left turn to swim south along the shoreline.  There were a few boats on the water with me but they were far away.  I could hear the birds’ morning song in the trees along the shore and the gentle lap of the water as I did my slow breast stroke.  With only my head above the water, I felt like the loon swimming low.  I imagined myself making my way through life, supported and calm.  I know that some people don’t like to swim in lakes because they are afraid of all the other life forms that are in the lake.  I like to swim in lakes because then I feel connected to all the other-than-human life that is at home in the lake.  I take great pleasure in the privilege of being there with them all.

I thought about the fact that our bodies are roughly three quarters water.  I thought about the water inside of me and the water that I floated in.  It felt like I was in “my element”, as they say.  Then I remembered that according to Deepak Chopra, on an atomic level, we are ninety-nine per cent air.  We are made up of electrons whizzing around protons in space.  So, it would follow that while on land out there surrounded by air, we are also in our element.  The chemical elements that make up our physical bodies, such as oxygen, carbon, hydrogen and nitrogen come from what we ingest from food, fluids and breathing.  So, it would follow that when we are connected to Earth, then we are also in our element.  So, what about fire, the fourth element?  Well, the Sun is fire and its energy is transformed by plants into matter which we also eat, so in the sunshine, we are also in our element.

If you watch the news, the world seems to be full of strife and anxiety.  There is much to be concerned about and action should be taken on many issues.  It is easy to feel hopeless and afraid and become paralyzed or to grab at quick fix solutions.  What can we learn from nature when we design solutions?  What can I learn from this loon?

When people are scared and worried about scarcity, they often act badly and blame others for their fear.  When people are calm, they can use all of their intellect and intuition to create solutions.  Is it possible to mirror the loon’s calm alertness and feel supported by our environment?  Is it possible to know when to call, when to dive, when to fish, when to sink?

As I swam, I realized that I was being supported by the water all around me.  I float quite easily at this point in my life.  I needed to look around me for boats to stay safe.  I needed to decide where I wanted to go and then just navigate through the water calmly.  If a boat had come too close, I could simply swim to the shore and stay away from it.  I tried to feel “in my element”.  I embodied the feeling of support and my ability to navigate.  I loaded these sensations into my nervous system so that they would be available to me when the going gets nerve wracking.  I know that I can use my voice as does the loon to find my kin, my kindred spirits, my community.  I call up the density and peacefulness of that loon when I feel anxious.  I take slow deep breaths and remember the feeling of being in the water.  As I turn off the “stress response” I can once again access all of my intelligence and intuition and I can make good choices for myself, my kin, my community and my world.  And I am grateful for what the loon taught me.

How Wolves Change Rivers

When wolves were returned to Yellowstone Park in 1995, they not only changed the ecology of the park but the course of rivers as well.  Watch this lovely little video to find out how:

Since everything is inter-related, adding or subtracting one species can have a ripple that changes everything.  The more that we can understand this, the more care we will take in our interactions with the other-than-human life that we share Earth with.  These stories are incredibly complex and we have much to learn about our place within them.

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.