The Eye Of The Storm

As I write this, what is left of Hurricane Henri has begun to pull out of our area and there are only some lingering on-and-off showers coming from a still-dark sky. In the distance to the west I can see peeks of whiter clouds and more light starting to push their way over the hills, trying to move the darkness out. They say we may see sunshine tomorrow. I sincerely hope so. We've all been holding our collective breath for the last two days and we all badly need to exhale now.

As I followed the weather reports on the storm, along with everyone else on the East Coast, I kept hearing them refer to "the eye of the storm," and where it was located at any given time. I can remember a hurricane we rode out back when I was a child and the moment when our location was in the eye of the storm. After what seemed like an endless barrage of rain and wind, it went very quiet. The sky took on an eerie, yellowish tint and the wind calmed down to a stiff breeze. My dad explained that this was the eye of the storm, the center, where the storm moved out from in a big circle. It was the calmest part of the hurricane.

With so much activity during this current hurricane season, that explanation has come back to me. It feels as if it is a perfect metaphor for all of the storms in our lives, especially with what is going on in the world at present. We all need to find our own center where we can calm down, take a breath, and look at where these storms may lead us if we don't make an effort to change course. Do we just let the storms continue to circle outward in a never-ending path of destruction, or do we do what we can, whatever we can, to change the course of the storm. Just like the cold front that is now coming in from the west, old Hurricane Henri is being pushed east and back out to sea, and by tomorrow, the sun will shine again. 

The Native Americans have a saying: "even in nature, no storm lasts forever." Maybe all these storms are really Mother Nature reminding us that we need to find our center and figure out how to change the course of climate change, hatred, and division, and let it all blow out to sea while we still can. 

And so it is. 

What Time Is It Anyway?

I have been spending a good deal of the summer reading and thinking about time. The summer itself has been a study in seasonal time with its extreme weather, from dangerous heat in one area, to cold and rain in another. Where I live in upstate New York, we experienced three out of four seasons in the course of a few days: summer heatwave, torrential spring rains, and cool, brisk autumn breezes. After living here for so many years, I've made it a habit of keeping out a few items of clothing to cover all extremes ... yes, I have sweatshirts and sweatpants hanging next to my shorts in the closet!

My understanding of actual time has also been on my mind lately. Surely this last year and a half or so has put the subject of time front and center for all of us, especially if we had to spend the majority of our time indoors. Between surgeries and the pandemic, I spent so much time inside that I would have lost it completely if it hadn't been for focusing my attention on my tiny, tabletop garden, and writing. My garden not only kept me in the moment as I tended to it, but kept me on track with the seasons. Mother Nature has a way of doing that for us when we lose all track of time. I spent the winter making plans for the garden, spent the spring starting to plant and rearranging the garden, and now in the summer I am watching my herbs grow tall, even having to harvest some already to keep them from getting out of hand. Now, in the early mornings, I am starting to feel those first stirs of autumn even though the calendar says we have several weeks yet before we should even be thinking about it. With Climate Change front and center these days, those hot, steamy, dog days of August may still show up, but the cooler mornings and the first, tiny bits of color on the very tips of some of the leaves are telling me a different story.

Time is an concept. "To everything there is a time and a season," scripture tells us. For some of us who have full to-do lists, time flies. For others that no longer go to jobs or have children at home, time lays heavy on their hands. The one thing I've learned these past few months as I've been studying time is this: the only time I need to worry about is the moment I'm in. This very moment I'm in right now is precious and is where my power lies. What will I do with it? Even using it to sit and watch two blue jays soaring across the sky while having a shouting match is precious and powerful. So is using it to write this blog post. I don't need a calendar to tell my body and soul what season it is, nor do I need a clock to tell me when to eat and when to go to bed. Mother Nature took care of all that when she set up the whole sunrise/sunset circadian rhythms system, as well as the seasons that come and go when they will. All I need to do is stay present, stay mindful, and keep a few pieces of all-season clothes handy. Mother Nature will take care of the rest.

And so it is. 

By The Light Of The Silvery Moon

The name of the full moon for August is "The Sturgeon Moon." It was called that by the fishing tribes of North America because that was the time of the year when the species appeared. It has also been called the Green Corn Moon, The Grain Moon, and The Red Moon because of the corn and grain getting ready to be harvested, and because of the reddish hue the moon takes on in the summer haze.

What is this fixation we have with the moon? For generations farmers have plotted their planting and harvesting by it's glow and phases. People have worshiped it, women have danced around it, and many star gazers follow its movement from new moon to full moon, then over and over again, month after month. The moon has many names depending on what month it is: Strawberry Moon, Rose Moon, Honey Moon, Thunder Moon, Buck Moon, and Hay Moon ... and, of course, now the Sturgeon Moon. Do you think we should warn the sturgeon?

All I know is that for all the years I grew up in New York City, it was pretty hard to be able to see the moon let alone follow it's phases. I used to beg to be able to go and visit my cousins out on Long Island where there were fewer lights (and fewer people), and you could lay out in the back yard and watch the evening sky. When I moved to the country, I became fixated with watching the moon's phases and travels across the night sky. After the years I spent reading up and learning about the Native Americans' relationship to the moon, I have taken to calling her Grandmother, and ask her every night as I lay down, and she shines through my window, to take care of me and mine while we sleep and bless the earth while it sleeps as well. She is a great comfort to me because I know that she does not shine only for me, but for all of creation. That gives me such a feeling of connection with the rest of the world. When Grandmother Moon shines down on us, she shines down on all of us. 

So on August 22 when the Sturgeon Full Moon rises in the sky, I will make sure to thank her for protecting me and mine, thank her for guiding the farmers as they harvest the food I will eat, and hope that the sturgeon get away  (what else would a vegan say, I ask you?). 

And so it is. 

To Bee, Or Not To Bee

Yesterday I spent a few minutes outside with my "almost 8 year old" great-grandson (he has already started to remind me that his 8th birthday is only a few weeks away) watching a solitary, tiny bee checking out the fading wild flowers poking up through the grass in his yard. We stood very still and watched how industrious and thorough this little guy was as he sailed from one flower to another. Eventually he took off for a spot across the yard which seemed to offer better pickings. My great-grandson, who has the vocabulary of an adult, was thrilled. "I've never been able to see a bee working close up like that for my entire life. That was amazing!"

Yes, dear one, it is amazing to watch our garden friends at work. I say "friends" because without the bees, we would not have gardens, not to mention a good portion of our food. Over the years that I gardened on a large scale, and even recently, I have taken a closer look at the importance of all kinds of wildlife in our gardens and in our world. A very dear friend recently sent me an article from the June-July 2021 issue of "National Wildlife" magazine about honey bees and how their existence affects other types of bees as well.

It is no secret that the decline in pollinators has become a subject for concern and a number of people are doing their part by creating hives for the hone bees on their properties so the bees will have a safe place to live and produce, but in some ways that may not be helping them, not to mention all the other types of bees that are also important to our food productions and maintaining plant life. For instance, the more honey bees there are, which aren't currently at risk of extinction, the fewer native bees of North America. Most native bees do not live collectively in hives but are solitary bees that live in nests carved out of wood, soil, or hollow plant stems. Bumble bees are especially important because they are the ones who are facing extinction the most and who are the ones that pollinate various vegetables like tomatoes. The culprits? Pesticides, disease, loss of habitat due to over farming and destruction of forests and open land for building and industrial purposes, not to mention climate change. With so many honey bees out there dominating the landscape, the other bees have a harder time foraging for food which in turn also cuts down on the number of native bees. 

So, what can we do as gardeners, wildlife enthusiasts, and just plain old concerned citizens? Plant bee friendly gardens. Plant your gardens with a diversity of native plants that offer blooming and foliage throughout all the seasons. To give them a safe place to nest, leave a few bare patches of soil and, if safe, a fallen log and some dead leaves. Let some thick plant stems stand through the winter without cutting them back. Most of all, never, never use pesticides in your gardens or decorative plantings outdoors. There are plenty of websites that offer natural alternatives and steps you can take to control the insects that eat your garden instead of nourishing it. 

Yes, my dear great-grandson, it is a gift to be able to watch a bee do what it is meant to do up-close and personal. May we all do our share so that you will be able to do the same thing with your own children, and remember dear old GiGi (great-grandma) when you do. Peace and blessings.

And so it is. 

In Celebration Of Contentment

I just celebrated my 72nd birthday over the weekend. That number might not seem like a milestone number to some, but every since I turned 70, every birthday is a milestone to me. It means I survived one more year, and a particularly challenging and scary year at that, but came out on the other side a year wiser, at least I hope so. 

Every year I get myself a gift for my birthday. It's not like I don't get lots of gifts from my family and friends, far from it. What I usually get for myself is something that no one else would think to give me because it's not always in the form of a material object or place. One year I adopted a wolf for a wildlife program sponsored by National Geographic that was working on re-homing wolves where they would be safe from hunters and could be studied. Another year I donated money to have a tree planted in my name in an area that had been devastated by lumber companies that over-cut an area and then left it to die. Sometimes my gifts don't require money, though. This year's gift was like that. This year I gave myself the gift of contentment.

Contentment is defined as: "a state of happiness and satisfaction." I refer to it as "peaceful joy." This year, especially, was one that had folks taking a long, hard look at their lives and coming to terms with what really brought them joy and what was important versus what they mistakenly believed "should" do the trick. I agree with the late Louise Hay, the Queen of Affirmations, who said that the word "should" needed to be dropped from our vocabulary because it always made you feel like you were wrong for not doing something. In fact the whole idea of having to always be productive was what came to mind this year as I contemplated my life. I realized that over the years I had already been gifted with lots of examples of what contentment looked like and felt like, but just as with so many other people, I was too busy looking ahead to see what was right in front of me all the time. So I thought I would try and think back to what those lessons were. As always, the most important lessons in my life came from nature, from the natural world around me. Mother Nature is and always will be, hands down, the best teacher around. So here are some of the examples she gave me of what contentment looked and felt like:

• Getting up at dawn and weeding the garden while everything was still covered with dew, while my animal neighbors, like the rabbits and birds, came out to greet the day with me. Now I greet the day every day instead of just rolling out of bed and heading for the coffee pot.
• Watching the blue heron who stood silently in the early morning and at dusk, in the shallows of the river outside the window of my former home, not moving and not making a sound. I learned that it's okay to do that because you can actually feel a perfect moment if you just stop rushing long enough.
• Sitting by the window on a rainy day and watching the world outside being washed clean. I learned that even in nature, no storm lasts forever and what comes out of it is new and fresh.
• Watching my beloved eagles sitting on their nest of eggs. I learned that endless patience is worth it in return for the rewards at the end.
• Sitting under a tree and just listening. I learned that the birds, the squirrels, the insects, and even the trees themselves are busy leading their own lives with no agendas other than to live, to love, and to survive just like everyone else. They are content with that.

I am a great believer that what we call aging is just a number, and that "third agers," as I call folks over 60, can lead full and rewarding lives, but I also believe that one of those rewards is the gift of contentment. It is the time to be able to finally enjoy each moment, each breath, as the gift that it is without worrying about what needs to get done. I am healthier for having stopped to pet my cat and listen to her purr than for rushing to get the laundry folded or the dinner cooked. The dishes will still be there later.  This perfect, contented moment with my sweet girl is for right here, right now. Who knows if it will be there tomorrow? Happy Birthday to me!

And so it is.

My Greatest Teacher

I've been blessed with many wonderful teachers that have had an enormous impact on my life, starting with those from my elementary and high school days (thank you, Mr. Zimmler and Mrs. Rothoultz), to all-time greats like Louise Hay, Wayne Dyer, Deepak Chopra, Julia Cameron, Natalie Goldberg, and others. By far, however, my greatest teacher, the one that has had the biggest impact on my life, has been the one, the only, Mother Nature herself.

It wasn't until I took up gardening all those years ago that I learned some of my most important lessons. I learned that there is no competition in nature. One flower doesn't try to out-do another. A red rose isn't any more valuable than a pink or yellow one. A pine tree doesn't gloat over the fact that it keeps its greenery over the winter while other trees go bare, nor do the trees that put on such a magnificent show in the autumn feel superior to the pines and evergreens (who, by the way, get their moments of glory at Christmas). Everybody just "is." 

I learned that a weed is just a plant growing somewhere you don't want it to grow. It doesn't set out to ruin your perfectly planted garden. Out in the wild it would just be considered another plant. It isn't purposely aggressive, nor is it something to be treated as a lesser living thing. Anyone with knowledge of natural medicines and cooking can tell you about all the benefits of dandelions, the enemy of gardeners and lawn enthusiasts. Just because you're different, doesn't mean you should be treated badly.

I learned that if you prepare the soil, plant the seed, water and nurture it, and make sure it gets enough light, you can grow just about anything (well, I've never been successful at growing roses, but that's for another blog post). It's the same thing with life: lay the foundation, plant the seed, nurture it, and you can  accomplish anything.

I learned that nothing is forever. Plants die. Trees come down in storms or from disease. We are born, we live, hopefully we flourish, and then we move on to our next adventure. Sounds a bit depressing? It doesn't have to be. For every plant that dies, another flowers. For every tree that comes down, another is planted. For every life that is lived, another is born. "To everything there is a season ..." 

So what does it all mean? That I don't have to compete with anyone. That I don't have to "achieve" greatness, I just have to be me, the best me I can be. No one is any worse or better than me. We are all equal and we all have a right to be here and to live our best lives. We all get to bask in the sunlight, refresh ourselves in the rain, hibernate in the winter, and thrive in the spring. And every morning, if we are truly blessed, we get to say: Today, I begin again.

And so it is. 

The Art of Porch Sitting

The picture above brings back many memories for me from the summers of my childhood. Many afternoons or evenings would find family members relaxing on the front porch after dinner, visiting with neighbors who came by, playing card games, or board games, or sitting on the front steps waiting for it to get dark enough for the lightening bugs to come out. This picture is especially precious to me because it reminds me of the chess championship some of us kids had going on my block one summer. While I never got to be a chess wiz, I credit those lazy afternoons and evenings with teaching me the finer points of focus, seeing the whole picture, and learning to take life one step, one move, at a time.

One of the things that touched my heart during these last 18 months when COVID drove us all inside was how so many people took advantage of their front porches and balconies to stay connected to life and to find ways to interact with each other. Some people shared their musical talents with their neighbors. Some made signs or just waved hello to people. For so many it was a safe place to break out of the confines of our homes and connect with the rest of the world. The sad part of this is that it took a pandemic to get us out there.

Technology is wonderful and it has given us many great gifts, but sometimes I ask myself how many things it has taken away as well. Long before the pandemic we were closeted up in our homes with our faces glued to our devices. Facebook, Twitter, streaming and online shopping kept us away from fresh air, sunshine, and each other. I fear a future world where our children and grandchildren grow up suffering from eye problems from staring at those screens day and night, hearing problems from hours plugged in to ear buds, and no people skills to help them interact with each other face-to-face. While I am grateful that Zoom kept our kids in school in many cases as well as kept people at their jobs, might we start thinking about drawing a line between necessity and addiction? After so much time stuck in front of a screen, wouldn't it be nice now that restrictions are being lifted to move outside to feel the sun, hear the birds, and see each other without a screen separating us? 

So, what better place to start than revisiting our front porches? If you don't have one, get together with someone who does and start a new trend! Make a pitcher of lemonade or sweet tea and invite folks to come up and sit a spell, quenching their thirst for more than a cold drink ... quenching their thirst for togetherness and neighborhood building again. 

And so it is.