Cut Down ... Multiplying

Felled maples of the Holleran Family Farm, New Milford, PA

The mild El Nino-influenced winter brought on the maple syrup season early this year. About the time I was starting to see tap lines strung through woods, news of what was happening near New Milford, PA reached me. For the Holleran family whose sugar bush had been in annual use since the 1950s, it was a race with the chain saw crews at work along the proposed route of the Constitution Pipeline. If it ever clears legal obstacles in New York, it would pass within two miles of me here in Lightspring Glen, carrying gas from Pennsylvania's fracking pads through five counties of Upstate New York to a terminus near Albany. While New York frack-tavists succeeded in bringing about a fracking ban in December, 2014, the build-out of fracking infrastructure, primarily pipelines, is still a very serious threat...and a threat not just for New Yorkers. This insidious octopus of pipelines is reaching out its tentacles all over the Northeast.

A bit of background:  In order for the Constitution Pipeline to be built, it needs the NY Department of Environmental Conservation to issue water quality permits. As can be imagined, there's been a heated campaign to oppose this and to date these permits have been stalled. With this go-ahead far from guaranteed, Constitution went ahead anyway (essentially illegally) and began clearing trees in Pennsylvania, much of the land of its 25-mile route there taken by eminent domain. To give the devil its due...minimal though this may be...they were doing so in compliance with the regulation of felling trees before March 31st so as to not impact Spring bird migration. A few landowners had opposed the seizure of their land including the Hollerans whose livelihood was threatened.

[An article that covers all of this in excellent detail is here:
https://stateimpact.npr.org/pennsylvania/2016/03/11/williams-delays-construction-of-constitution-pipeline/?_ga=1.133806406.957926641.1426682455 ]

The story of the Hollerans' plight and that of their endangered maples began to spread and dozens of people came to hold daily vigils through most of February. I so wanted to go but was recovering from a fractured tailbone, and so could only send supportive thoughts and prayers and keep up with news via social media. One night I left a note for Megan Holleran, the family's eloquent spokeswoman, thanking her for her valiant actions on behalf of her trees and told her she was an Earth Warrior. The story garnered national and international attention. Ultimately all legal appeals were exhausted and the chain saw crews were given the green light. The wholesale carnage of the family's maple trees took place on March 2nd and 4th. Megan requested that only a few chosen people come to hold witness with her. Hundreds if not more of us held our own distant witness on that mild late-winter day. I took my drum and went out among the hemlocks and hardwoods of my own small woods giving voice to our shared sadness and grief. 

The destruction was horrible enough as the five acres of maples, 90% of the sugar bush, were brought down. But as Megan posted that evening, as much as she had steeled herself for it, it was nearly impossible to bear the sight and sound of the chain saws and the maples crashing to the ground one after the other. Adding to this excruciating grimness was the presence of three armed security men toting rifles, fingers on the triggers. Given the several weeks of peaceful protest and the Hollerans' always-civil and cordial interactions with authorities and Pipeline personnel, this militant presence was both an outrage and insult. I sat looking at all these images coming through Facebook deeply shocked and almost sickened. In all my years of environmental advocacy, I had never seen anything close to this.

How I wish this was the only story to tell here.
In the early hours of March 3rd far to the south in Honduras, the internationally applauded environmental and human rights advocate, Berta Carceres, was assassinated in her home. Just last year she received the prestigious Goldman Environmental Prize for her thirty-plus years work on behalf of the native Lenca communities fighting for their territorial rights and combating environmental assaults to their land including illegal logging. One of the reports described her death as her having been "cut down".  http://www.ibtimes.com/slain-honduran-activist-berta-caceres-family-heads-washington-call-independent-2339884

While we here were still reeling from the news out of northern Pennsylvania, on March 7th, the day before International Women's Day, Berta Carceres' funeral was held in La Esperanza east of the Honduran capital. A Facebook post showing her family bearing her coffin on their shoulders included this caption:
The Honduran people in the thousands celebrated her life and protested her death. They shouted: "Berta Carceres Vive- la Lucha Sigue sigue, Berta is alive, the struggle continúes. Berta Carceres no morrió, se multiplicó. Berta is not dead - she multiplied."

Berta Carceres is an Earth Warrior who is no longer among us. To be an Earth Warrior requires fortitude, persistence, bravery...and hope. Megan Holleran exhibited all of these and more during the weeks of struggle to save her trees. The end result perhaps was inevitable, but the story of this valiant effort by her, her family, and hundreds more of us, continues to ripple out. 

Let us not lose heart. Let us multiply.

Onward....

Berta Carceres, Earth Warrior

 

Falling to Earth

Lightspring Glen's vintage dairy barn built in 1900

Just one week away from celebrating the second anniversary of arriving here, I had a rather unexpected set back. And while this is somewhat a departure from my usual blog post, I want to honor this un-looked for experience, part of my now two-year residence here at Lightspring Glen.

December 9th was an oddly mild day for this time of year and Angus-cat had been missing for most of it. The worry got to me by 3 o'clock. And with only an hour until it would get dark, I went out to look for him going first to check a favorite spot of his in the hayloft on the barn's upper floor. The photo shows just how far I managed to tug the heavy door open when I lost my balance and sailed as gracefully as I could to the ground, a good eight feet below. As soon as I knew I was going to fall I did my best to go limp, a quick recall from long-ago horseback riding days. The more relaxed you can be when you hit the ground helps to minimize the impact.

I landed sprawled heavily on my right side and for a long moment lay stunned gazing at the gray sky and the barn above me. It was the weirdest sense of disorientation lying there looking up at the world. Flattened. I felt strangely compelled to yell loudly several times, a sort of guttural outburst, half mad at myself, half just to register my distress. That done, I took some deep breaths and began to carefully assess what parts of me were working okay and not hurting. Actually nothing hurt for a while, the likely effect of shock. I sat up cautiously...no dizziness...then managed to carefully stand up and lean against the barn keeping all the weight on my left leg. Immediately I knew that something was really wrong with my right hip and leg and that walking was not possible.

I lowered myself back to the ground. With absolutely no one around, my neighbors away, I needed to do something. (And no Angus appearing to offer sympathy....good thing he didn't show up just then!) I determined to try crawling gingerly towards the house, a sort of slow-motion crab-scuttle that got me to the backdoor steps and inside in about fifteen minutes. I was pretty exhausted but able to boost myself into a kitchen chair and reach the phone to first call my daughter and then 911.

With my daughter for company on the phone, I waited patiently for the ambulance to arrive still blessedly feeling no pain. It is my absolute belief that there are no accidents and even this literal one was going to be bringing lessons and gifts. The first gift was the welcome appearance of the four fabulous EMTs, all Sidney Center neighbors. They came into the kitchen with their warm smiles and calm reassurance that I'd be well tended to. My healing journey was underway.

It would stretch out to two months and more and is still not entirely complete as I come to write this at the end of February. There was such a flurry of medical care in those first 24 hours as I came under the care of a dozen and more nurses and doctors, nurse's aides, orderlies, and hospital staff at two hospitals. Because of the concern of possible internal trauma from my severe fall, I was transferred to the hospital in Cooperstown and was seen by both orthopedic and trauma doctors. I was grateful to every one for both their professional and warm-hearted care. So many commented that I was lucky to have not suffered worse injury than a fractured sacrum (tail bone) and minor pelvic fractures. Yes, I knew I'd been mightily blessed. And there were also lots of compliments for my general fitness that had also "helped". I very much liked hearing that too!

The next day I was released to my family's care and an incoming torrent of good wishes, prayers, and long-distance healing from friends near and far. My Facebook page hummed with dozens of messages of concern and loving thoughts. I knew my job at that point was just to lie back which of course I literally did for a while, and receive all those sweet and healing ministrations that at times left me teary with gratitude.

I'm still learning more about why this happened and will be for a while. Certainly an initial gift was receiving such loving attention and care from so many wonderful people, family and friends. Though there was considerable physical discomfort for a while, nearly from the first day I was and am grateful for this journey.

Lying there in those first moments, feeling the ground beneath me, there was a keen sense of being embraced by the Earth. These two wonderful years here at Lightspring Glen have brought many encounters with the marvelous non-human residents...and some of them were certainly present to offer help and comfort that afternoon. More on that in future musings.

For now, I offer Mary Oliver's poem to capture some of my unfolding understanding:

Sleeping in the Forest

I thought the earth remembered me,

she took me back so tenderly,

arranging her dark skirts, her pockets

full of lichens and seeds.

I slept as never before, a stone on the river bed,

nothing between me and the white fire of the stars

but my thoughts, and they floated light as moths

among the branches of the perfect trees.

All night I heard the small kingdoms

breathing around me, the insects,

and the birds who do their work in the darkness.

All night I rose and fell, as if in water,

grappling with a luminous doom. By morning

I had vanished at least a dozen times

into something better.

Post-script for you Cat-lovers:
Oh yes...Angus returned from his adventures the next morning,
no worse for wear! My son-in-law who let him back in the house
told him, "You are such a naughty boy...!!" 

First-Responders for Gaia

I'm re-blogging this post having found it compelling reading.
This may be something that happens more often here
on Notes of an Earth Pilgrim.

Suzanne Lie: The Children of Mother Earth – We Came for Gaia.

August 31, 2015 By Andrew Eardley

Things are really “hot”. All you can do now is hang on and wait. Of course, it
is an active wait, as we are in constant contact with the higher
frequencies of Light that seem to accelerate more and more each day.

Then suddenly, it appears that that the connection stops – then it is
on – then it is off. This experience is similar to a short circuit, or a
lamp that is not totally plugged into the wall.

Yes, that is it. We have not yet totally plugged our consciousness
into the Multidimensional power source for our Earth vessel. This “power
source” is our Multidimensional Consciousness, our higher dimensional
SELF, and the core of our planetary Mother, Gaia.

As we “plugin” to our Multidimensional power, we discover that we can see  
through the illusions of 3D. In fact, that which was so important to our
physical body reality is being transmuted into that which is
increasingly important in our Light Body reality.

The Path Leads On.....2014's New Vistas

First Light, 16th December 2013

    When I composed and uploaded my last Earth Pilgrim post way-y back last June, I had absolutely no idea of the approaching curve in my Path that would find me in late September bidding farewell to my much-loved Dragonfly Cottage and lead me here to Lightspring Glen by Winter Solstice.  This new part of the journey would be very much a roller-coaster and stretch over several months before I could finally step off its wild ride and onto the sweet land that is now my home in Sidney Center, New York.  I would have fine and interesting company along the way with the surprising number of folks who aid and abet the process of searching for a new home and then help (or at least appear to help :-) ) hopeful new-home owners like me make their way through the maze of the purchase process.  (As I recall this now, the Carnival Analogy fits quite well!) 

     It is now a full month since taking up residence, a whole lunar cycle with the Cancer Full Moon coming our way at dusk today.  After the long-awaited closing on the 11th of December [11:12:13], the Season's first major snow storm nearly canceled my plans to move in at once.  But thanks to the fabulous help of my new neighbors who pitched in with the hauling and toting and who also plowed the 10 inches of snow from the driveway, on the night of the 15th I climbed under the bed covers, turned off the light, and gazed out in awe at the moonlight playing softly on the snow of my incredible new back yard.  I was simply too excited to fall asleep for a long while, but exhaustion finally took over.  When I woke in the morning, it turned out this Dream was solid, gleeful reality.  The thermometer hovered near 10 degrees when I stepped outside with my camera to capture the image of the day's first light beginning to fill the hemlock woods beyond the pond.   

    Long ago on another Winter's night when I was more a poet than any other sort of writer, a poem came to me.  Its opening couplet sounded itself confidently in my inner ear, "The Path leads on, I must depart / To hidden places of the Heart"

    And so it does lead on, this beautiful Path that is my life.  More stories will follow as I take my first steps into this indescribably beautiful landscape and into this New Year.  Time and spirit willing, I look forward to your company.

 

On the path to the upper pond

Susquehanna Currents :: 2011...2012

This is a small story within a very large one of last September’s devastating flood that impacted not just my community here in New York’s Southern Tier, but far beyond. Though I have thought often of writing about it, it’s taken me literally a full year to find a way to say something meaningful in the face of such an overwhelming experience.

I moved to the outskirts of Binghamton to the village of Endicott in April, 2008. By last year, 2011, I was starting to feel quite settled in and a part of the area, especially of my neighborhood here near Round Top Hill with its beautiful small park overlooking the Susquehanna River. In the first week of September when it was clear we were in the direct path of Tropical Storm Lee, the area braced for the flood that would follow. There’d been a harrowing one in 2006, what people called a 100-year flood. Having survived and come back from that one, the Southern Tier felt ready to handle this one too.

The rains began to fall in earnest in the late afternoon of September 7^th. That night when I turned off the light to try to sleep, I could scarcely believe how heavily it was falling: an onslaught, a deluge, a sound unlike anything I’d ever experienced. Around 3 am I was awoken by sirens and flickering lights. I could hear amplified voices announcing the neighborhood was under a mandatory evacuation. Police were going door to door with information about the emergency shelters.

I hurriedly threw some things into a bag and overfilled my cat’s food dish while he looked on totally bewildered. I told him I’d be back but didn’t know when, and drove off into the heavy rain, just one of the 30,000 evacuees in Broome County that dark night, heading for shelter and high ground against the swiftly rising waters of the Susquehanna River.  Making my way out of the neighborhood I at least knew that our street, high above the river on Round Top Hill, would not flood. Neighbors down nearer the flood wall could not be assured of this.

Lee’s 8.98 inches of rain came just eight days after Hurricane Irene’s devastating visit to New England on August 29^th and proved well beyond the watershed’s carrying capacity. When the Susquehanna peaked below our hill that afternoon it was 38 feet above flood stage. By then, with power and water miraculously still on on my street, I came home.    

Over the next several days I witnessed extraordinary events, both Nature’s and of my human community. After Lee sailed off into Canada, the skies cleared to warm and sunny weather. The moon was just a few days from being full. With the power grid down nearly everywhere, once night arrived the suburban landscape was nearly completely dark, lit only by moon light. Many roads were closed including busy State Route 17 just across the river, its incessant traffic-hum stilled. That first night I stood at my upstairs window looking out on this eerily beautiful scene, the sound of the river’s powerful current swooshing and clattering high through the trees along its wooded banks. I will never forget this surreal landscape bathed in the moon’s glow.

Right from the first night, people reached out to help each other in gestures large and small. It is well beyond the scope of this blog post to tell much, but what I did witness on the second day I hope will capture some meaningful part of it, another small story in the mammoth one of the flood and its aftermath.

Only a few blocks away from me, despite the flood walls, water rose into the first floors of many homes. Many streets were impassable. The morning after the river crested, a Saturday, I walked down through the neighborhood, camera in hand, trying to capture some of the not-to-be-believed sights. I came to a corner and saw several people standing at the edge of the water mid-way down the sloping street. (click on any photo to see as a larger size)  

When I joined them they told me that a small dog had been left behind when the elderly owner had been evacuated. Her home was now unreachable and the neighbor who’d pledged to care for the dog was quite distraught. Then came the sound of an engine and a small boat came into view with two men from the sheriff’s department. They were going to each flooded house checking for anyone who might need help.

Our little group had grown to about a dozen people and we called out to them about the dog. Among us was a couple with whom the woman was staying. They’d driven over hoping to reach the dog and said how she was “worried sick” about her pet.

The men maneuvered their boat to the porch, lifted a pet carrier from the bottom of the boat, and went inside. We all waited anxiously, eyes on the door. In just a few short minutes they emerged beaming and gave us thumbs up, the dog secured in the crate. Everyone cheered and hugged each other as the boat made its way towards us. More cheers when one of the men was able to step out and carry the crate to dry land. 

 

 

By then many of us were in tears, especially so when the young man opened the crate’s door and scooped up the shivering little dog, hugging it against his chest.

More hugs for the dog’s rescuer and more hugs all around. We were no longer strangers, but uniquely connected in this sweet moment of shared humanity and community.

It has been a long year of slow recovery and rebuilding for all the communities affected by the September 2011 flood. There's more needed and more to come for many people.  2012’s unusually dry and hot summer has felt at times as a surreal opposite to the days of Hurricane Irene and Tropical Storm Lee. The deeper story of climate change is lurking in the background, I know without a doubt. But that is a story that must wait.

Just yesterday as I was working on this post, I went out to do some errands and drove past the Take-a-Break Diner which had been closed and under repair all this time. On Sunday, exactly one year after the flood, they opened their doors once more. As I passed by yesterday, four cars were parked in front. The “Open” sign winked at me. And I made plans to stop in soon and celebrate Take-a-Break’s return.

Susquehanna River below Round Top Hill, September 10, 2012

May Love-Letter to my Earth-Home

Dear Gaia & Dear Dragonfly Cottage,

Earth Day's 42nd celebration is a few weeks past.
I hope you forgive this tardy love note.....
but I have been even more mesmerized than usual
by this year's rebirthing and the rekindling of your
green fire.

I live in such a splendid place, a sweet small home I call Dragonfly Cottage. It's snuggly nestled at the edge of the woods, midway up the east flank of Round Top Hill, a hidden retreat in this pleasant city suburb. From this
secluded perch, I look out at the broad expanse of the Susquehanna River approaching around a tree-fringed bend. It's joined there by the waters of Choconut Creek, rising from the Pennsylvania hills just to the south. Then it sweeps around the foot of Round Top and towards the west.

It is my fifth May-time here. The rising sun has reached the position on the horizon that sends it arching over the waters, tossing river-diamonds in at my door. Such dazzlement leads easily to giddiness first thing on sunny mornings.

Just beyond this small dooryard, the wood's humble cathedral has reopened its lofty, tree-canopied corridors. 2012's refurbishment is nearly complete in every imaginable shade of luminous green, myriad patterns of leaf, and the understory's lusty new growth. No longer can I see down to the river, but the wood's verdant tapestry, gently pierced by sun rays and May bird-song, is rich compensation.

Yet an ominous shadow looms over you, over this wondrous, newly-blossoming landscape. Barely 30 miles from here, the "extraction industry" known as fracking is ravaging the Pennsylvania countryside. It grieves my heart. I am allied with others working hard to keep this from New York State as well as those laboring mightily in Pennsylvania to prevent further destruction. So many do far more than I.....

A writer I've long admired, E.B. White, once wrote "I awake each morning torn between a desire to save the world and a desire to savor the world. This makes it hard to plan my day." 

Not far from where I sit composing these words, our shy resident chorister, the wood thrush, pours forth his ethereal song. Time enough to venture off the Hill to join forces with others to protect you, dear Gaia, and to work to mend so much misguided damaging. For now, I will linger here at Dragonfly Cottage, savoring the ineffable beauties of this blessed corner of the Earth.

With such grateful love from my heart to yours,
  ~Carol
 (your devoted Meadow & River Muse)

(both photos can be enlarged by clicking on them)

Woodswoman::Woodsman - A Tribute & A Call

Two wonderful Earth-lovers and unabashed tree-huggers, one still in his youth, one in her elder years, departed from us within only a few days of one another at the end of June. There is both a tribute to make and a call to issue on their behalf.

Anne LaBastille's passing on July 1st at 75 may have come to your attention as this news was carried by media outlets all across New England including the NY Times, the on-line site Huffington Post, and by numerous others around the world as her lifelong environmental activism touched so many lives. My acquaintance with her came, as it did for many, through reading her first book, Woodswoman, in which she described her Thoreau-inspired life on a small lake in the Adirondack Mountains of New York State. Her empowering story bolstered countless numbers of young women to be bold in their lives, especially on behalf of ecological issues and preservation of the wild.  As Utica Observer-Dispatch columnist, Dave Dudajek put it, "Yes, there had been tough mountain women throughout history, but few managed to channel their passion for the wilderness into encouragement that empowered others."

I count myself as blessed that in the late 1970s I heard her speak about her life and passions, and still vividly recall her bright eyes and smile and the infectious energy she imparted that evening. My own environmental work was already well-grounded by then, but as still a young woman, she gave me yet more "fuel for the Fire."  The marvelous work that poured through her over these several decades is well-documented and can be easily found through an on-line search. Something of her visionary outlook was captured in an interview Dave Dudajek recalled.  She'd spoken of her 17 years as a commissioner of the Adirondack Park Agency this way, "I use two points of reference. I look back 100 years and try to envision what the park was like then. With that past in mind, I then try to look ahead 100 years and try to imagine what it might be like then. Will there still be clean air, the clean water, the loons, the osprey for the next generation to enjoy? Then I make my decision." 

Brett Armstrong was a young professional forester and logger, the youngest son of our neighbors, Marna and Keith. I remember the day they brought him home from the hospital to begin his life on their family farm. My kids and he were playmates all their growing up years just outside our small village of Unadilla Forks.

His choice of  the College of Environmental Science & Forestry at Syracuse University was in perfect keeping with his deep and passionate love of the outdoors. Following college he and his wife, Emily, built a beautiful log home and welcomed two children; their third child is due in September. After several years of working for others, Brett launched his own business, Back Forty Habitat and Timber Management. The name of his company speaks eloquently of his highly ethical approach to this work, striving to maintain a balance of harvesting trees while minimizing long-term impact on the woodlands in which he worked.

But it is a dangerous profession even with all safety measures followed, and on June 15th, Brett was tragically killed by a falling tree. Few deaths have shaken me more than his when word came. It still is and always will be impossible not to remember him as a sweet-faced little boy at play or the sun-tanned teenager driving their tractor past our house on a summer's day, giving me his jaunty wave.

While in a certain sense he was just getting started in life, he nonetheless touched so many. Over 575 people came to the calling hours in his small hometown. His obituary began "Brett Armstrong, lover of the woods and wildlife..." To prepare for the funeral, his minister, Pastor Betty, came to see the farm where he had grown up. His parents told me she walked the fields and went down along the Unadilla River that runs through the farm to get a clear sense of this place that Brett so loved. Weighted with the task of helping everyone through his funeral, this visit surely fortified her for this most daunting of days.

I was not able to attend the service, but my daughter spoke of how moving it was and of what Pastor Betty said of Brett's legacy. I offer this paraphrase: "Brett loved the land passionately each and every day of his life. This is what he passes on to us. It is up to us to carry on this legacy in our daily lives. To love the land, the fields, the woods, all of Nature, with this same passion."

So these two are no longer among us. For their loved ones it will a long period of mourning their absence. In addition to Pastor Betty's thoughts, those of Wendell Berry, the farmer-philosopher poet and Earth advocate, serve to clarify the call these two tremendous Earth stewards, Anne and Brett, send back to us. "The care of the Earth is our most ancient and most worthy and, after all, our most pleasing responsibility. To cherish what remains of it, and to foster its renewal, is our only legitimate hope." 

Thank you, Anne. Thank you, Brett. We hear you, and we will do our very best.

Singing for the Trees, Earth Day and Every Day

One of my very earliest memories is standing at the screen-door of my childhood home on a sunny summer's day and looking up up up into the branches of the huge old maple trees in our yard. Their leaves were dancing in a lively wind, and their wind-song coming down to me I heard echoed in the waves of the ocean years later.

I'm willing to bet that nearly everyone (more likely everyone!) reading this post has a favorite tree in her or his life, whether it's one from your childhood or presently...hopefully both! And I don't think I'm going out on a limb here <yes, deliberate pun!> to say that "your tree" is special to you for far more than just its sturdy presence and beauty, but for the personal connection you feel standing beside it, and also the sense it's very much enjoying your company too. When news looms of yet more concern over the clear-cutting of the world's forests, the devastation of the rain forests, patting the trunk of your Tree for reassurance, yours and the Tree's, is something I hope you do.

I'm composing this on the eve of Earth Day's 41st celebration. As a college student in 1970, I helped organize a marvelous community-wide Earth Day, and will always count this as one of my most memorable college experiences. Thank goodness for the consciousness-raising and so many other wonderful developments that have sprung from these 40 years of Earth Days.  Early this Spring I learned of a new and marvelous event that honors the Earth's trees, "Sing for the Trees", the creative inspiration of Susan Elizabeth Hale of Weaverville, North Carolina.


It's beautiful and delightful in its simplicity. Sometime between noon and 3 PM in your time zone, show up at your favorite tree(s) alone or with others who wish to join in on the fun, and share some time with that beautiful Tree-Being.  Susan encourages all of us to sing (or maybe tone a note) and offers this great list of reasons to do so...that singing to your tree(s):
* Helps create community
* Gives us a way to have a voice in saving what we love
* Is an offering of our life force and spirit
* Connects us to ancient traditions
* Nourishes trees by giving them carbon dioxide
* Is part of the joy of being human
* Helps us relax and tune into nature and to each other
* Reminds us we are part of the chorus of life


In 2010, 30,000 people in 39 countries and 30 states sang to trees. One person from Switzerland wrote to Susan, "Just letting you know, that since we sang and danced with the trees with the kindergarten children a few weeks ago, many of them are spontaneously doing this ritual every Thursday afternoon when we go back to the forest."
 
Such a marvelous outcome among many sent to her, but precisely how it works and what it might do shouldn't matter. Consider Chief Seattle's well-known words, that we two-leggeds are an integral part of the Web of Life, and that whatever we do affects this Web for good or ill. Tomorrow, all over the Earth, thousands and thousands of people will be putting forth songs for trees, and toning, and smiles, and lots of lingering tree-hugging.  I do think it then highly possible, that by nightfall in your time zone, you might well feel somehow uplifted.


This month's fast-pace has made this a last-minute post. I've been fretting that the delay would mean not many people would learn through me about "Sing for the Trees".  But as a tree's calendar is the slow turning of the Wheel of the Year, my favorite local tree whispered to me this morning, "All in good time!" And of course, there is no expiration date on this. On any given day, there's a tree who'd be so very pleased with your presence and your Song.

Here's a link to Susan's web site....an internet visit that I know you will enjoy:

http://www.songkeeper.net/singforthetrees.htm

(The photo at top is of some of my Tree Family here on Round Top Hill. They send their "best regards" for Earth Day!)