dancing in the sun

 

It’s 53 days to spring. While I love the quote I first read at Lucille’s in the Pinelands,

 

"Life isn't about waiting for the storm to pass; it's about learning to dance in the rain."  

 

I’m ready to dance in the sun.  And I write this knowing full well a winter storm is on the way. The melt will follow. So I invite you to let your mind roam over what you find sweet, enticing and beautiful about winter ending and spring getting ready to stop by your house.

Me, I’m often captured by shadows and dry river beds, sliced red onions and the moment just after you saw an eagle glide. I'm hoping we all become better stewards of the land. Whether that means supporting your favorite environmental organizations or working to clean up the rivers near your home; or being careful about what you put into the water via the drain or runoff; whether it means working toward intelligent and compassionate policies; or standing with the people that are teaching us how to be better stewards of the earth. Many countries, including ours, are creating policies to save/protect and preserve 30% of the land and water by 2030. But we all know policies are just ideas until they’re embodied and enforced. Keep an ear and an eye out for making the reality of protecting our natural resources from development, overuse and bad practices – and you’ll be doing a lot to protect the diversity of all of life. Doing that, as it turns out, benefits everyone.

When we fall in love with a place in nature it just might be because something we’re connecting with is connecting with us. A bond forms. You might not have words for this relationship when it’s not a person. But if it were a person you loved, someone in some way vulnerable you wouldn’t allow practices that harm or threaten this being who might not be able to speak up for themselves. That’s the kind of stewards we can all be. Feeling the connection to your part of the world is a good start if you don't know what else to do right off. 

I hope all your days are trouble free and your world is good to you and yours. Pretty soon now the storm will pass and we’ll be dancing in the sun.

 

 

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bird dreams, riding hope

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Dreams of protecting wildlife

 

Dreams of protecting wildlife have to account for the paths in the prairies and woods. We have put more things out of balance than would have been done on their own. I want to learn how to live with my wild brothers and sisters who are the skies, lands and bodies of water; who are also known by and serve as bridges to other worlds and our halfling selves.

          Mrs. Teale had shared an article with me from High Country News about the Tongass, our largest national forest spanning across native lands. The U.S. has tried to manage these lands without giving the eleven native tribes a voice in this governance. What is lost in this use of power is all the intricacies of a lived connection with the land and what is needed to keep its vitality. Marina Anderson, the tribal administrator for the Kasaan, said, “Cultural needs — for generations to come — are not quantifiable. “The Forest Service asked me, ‘How many trees do you guys need left for canoes and totem poles?’ ” Anderson said. “They understand that we need old growth: tight grain, beautiful logs, straight-grain logs. What they don’t understand is that we don’t have a number for them.”

          We have to get down to the weeds, the native and historical, the well-worn and travelled paths of migration. There’s a lot of weaving here. Anyone that has a cherished hand knit blanket or article of clothing knows how hard it is to repair should the turbo spin of the washer or some accident pull it apart. And so it goes with our country’s traditional paths and ecological interconnections.

 

 

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conjugating joy

 

 from bird dreams, riding hope

The last time we talked on the cell I told Mrs. Teale that it just dawned on me that, ‘Although I don’t know how to conjugate it, joy is a verb. If I were in French or Spanish class the teacher would have me list all the ways that joy can be expressed grammatically. Here’s one example, ‘I am going to the wetland to joy.’

She responded with ,”To joy means to love. Love is a liquid that pours into you. Sometimes you see or hear the source and you put your being right under the joy faucet so that you can fill up.”

 I said, ‘Like chocolate fountains. But birds, the wetlands, the waves on the beach. I drink them in all the time. When I was Smiley I probably wasn’t aware that I was steeped in joy.’

“And summer.”

‘I know. I was lucky.’ Then we both paused.

‘Actually, I was so lucky. So blessed. And now, you’ve got me, I’m here trying to conjugate joy still woman!. OMG!’

 Joy is a corridor too. A long-held, ancestral trail, time honored.

So, I was lousy at grammar. If you’re reading this, that truth might be evident. But I have always been fascinated by verbs and grammar folks love to conjugate verbs. I know that sounds racy. With the time I have, and where I am, a long time outside of the nest, if I need to conjugate joy for all my various selves, I can get to the wetlands, and after that, I’m not so sure. I can stay put, like I often do and see joy rise as a heron lifts off the mud, or watch for the surface sprinkles of the bait fish. How do I conjugate the joy I feel? One site on the web notes that we conjugate the verb for each person. We have six different persons in English.  Who knew? 

If I’m down, or downed, I can get all woozy bluesy or country corn trying to muster something, to whip some energy up from the deep blues I got myself into. I’ll tell myself to find my way back to Smiley. So, a few things about that. I know something Smiley didn’t. She was in love with the beach and summer; watching the guys play basketball, in that otherwise abandoned playground, in the hot sun, riding her bike around Ocean Grove and up and down the streets gazing at all the summer homes in Bradley Beach. When she got a little older, she found Jacques Cousteau. She was in love with him. She wanted to be on the Calypso as part of his crew.  For Odysseus, who I call the O man, Calypso was his captor. He wanted to go home, and it took the gods intervening to convince Calypso to release him. For Cousteau, the Calypso was his ship. His home was on the water. 

I sometimes think that for me, for all of us, who often pay it no never mind, we all have our homes on the water. I mean, this is the watery planet. My smiles come in waves. Sets. Riding joy, riding the waves. I tell myself it’s the same good feeling the dragon’s get riding the dreams of birds.

Every way that I can conjugate joy, is a good way. Oh, all right. A few guidelines. I know we know these parameters but they bear repeating. Be kind. Don’t interfere with any animal migrations. Respect their paths. Respect the elders who deserve respect. Don’t do anything by rote. Be easy on the earth. Love all water, it is our life and home. Every drop has a memory of blue whales. Find what you love. Conjugate joy.

 

 

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bird dreams, riding hope

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