Stoking the Green Fire

It is nearly the end of April, and this particular Aries-born person is finding it hard to be patient when chilly weather threatens a comeback as it is today. I'm not alone of course, and even winter-loving folks who had a grand Season to celebrate this year, are more than ready to permanently don sandals and re-stock their sunscreen supplies.

Last night I had the most enchanting dream-visit from a pair of hummingbirds who swooped around my head and then up into the bare tree branches above me. "Oh!! Hello, beautiful Ones!" I called after them. ""Don't go away, we're working on warmer weather soon!" I smiled when I woke up remembering this vision and looked out the bedroom window at the grass rapidly greening from the past week's chilly showers.

What is good about the slow pace that Spring's taking is that if I can just practice patience, every Robin song and every bright daffodil, every swelling bud thrills me. There have been recent Springs when the weather has turned warm so fast that it's passed in a blur and suddenly people were complaining about it being too hot. (grrr! I have absolutely no tolerance when I first hear these complaints!) A recurring dream I once had this time of year was that somehow or other Spring had come and gone and I'd totally missed it. I'm always so sad in the dream and when I wake up.

None of that sadness will be visiting me here, this marvelous first Spring at Lightspring Glen. Everything is a new and delightful experience. I've been thrilled by the appearances of a pair of Wood ducks and then a Mallard pair on the pond, both males sporting the most amazing, colorful plumage. A visit from the grand kids for my mid-April birthday weekend brought hours of fun exploring the woods and ponds on what were two wonderfully warm days.

Those days will soon return and go forward uninterrupted at last. And helping set aside all remaining doubts, just last week I was thrilled to see that the goldfinches are trading in their dull gold winter feathers for their bright and flashy summer attire. I'm sure they're passing the good news on to the hummingbirds over whatever bird-network there is. Time for me to go purchase a hummingbird feeder!

The Bear-facts & Mary Oliver

In my February 7th post I shared stories of my wild neighbors, "Otters & Ravens & Bears (maybe?!)". Well, the question mark can now be edited out of the title. The morning before last I was out for a stroll along the pond's edge when I came upon the "calling card" of some nocturnal visitor. I'll spare you photo-evidence since it was the sizable scat of some clearly sizable animal. And when I took the path past the barn to the upper pond, there was another "deposit". Other than the chance that my neighbor's dog had snuck across the road and that not very likely, my suspicions were quickly aroused. Back inside I fired up my laptop for an internet search of "black bear scat" (750,000 results via Google in 17 seconds...a wonder in itself!). Within a few short minutes I had confirmation that a black bear had most certainly paid Lightspring Glen a visit during the night. How incredible to think that while I slept, such a wonderful creature came by within mere yards of my bedroom window!

Just a few days before I'd received an email with Mary Oliver's poem, "Spring" accompanied by a beautiful photo of a bear. Smitten as I always am with her poetry, I'd been reading the poem aloud to myself and loving the images her words conjured. Perhaps I had manifested this Visit? Just maybe, and that makes me smile all the more.


Spring

Somewhere
a black bear
has just risen from sleep
and is staring

down the mountain.
All night
in the brisk and shallow restlessness
of early spring

I think of her,
her four black fists
flicking the gravel,
her tongue

like a red fire
touching the grass,
the cold water.
There is only one question:

how to love this world.
I think of her
rising
like a black and leafy ledge

to sharpen her claws against
the silence 
of the trees.
Whatever else

my life is
with its poems
and its music
and its glass cities,

it is also this dazzling darkness
coming
down the mountain,
breathing and tasting;

all day I think of her --
her white teeth,
her wordlessness,
her perfect love.

~ Mary Oliver ~

In the Flow : Up & Downstream

View from Dragonfly Cottage

Today is the first full day of Spring, extra-marvelous for me as it's my first here at Lightspring Glen. Tomorrow, March 22nd, is the 21st World Water Day, sponsored by the United Nations. Unless you live under a rock (as the expression wryly goes), you know the several crises afflicting the waters of the Earth. Do visit the UN's excellent website to find out not only what's going on this year, but for a comprehensive look at the entire disconcerting issue and learn ways we can all make a difference.

My personal story takes me back to the five previous Springs I welcomed the Vernal Equinox from Dragonfly Cottage perched so wonderfully above the Susquehanna River. Opening the curtains each morning was to be greeted by the day's rising over the wide river flowing directly toward me, almost as if it flowed into the hill, though in truth it took a gentle bend around us in its steady flow down to the Chesapeake Bay and the Atlantic.

As readers of this blog know, last Fall I made my way upstream an hour's highway travel (perhaps a 2-day strenuous paddle by canoe?!) and further up along Carr Brook, then up Willow Brook, and finally a half-mile or so up a lovely unnamed stream to the ponds, waterfall, and springs here on the seven acres of my forever-home, Lightspring Glen. Up here on this hill we are on the very edge of the Chesapeake Bay's watershed. Just a short walk to the top of the rise and the waters flow off ocean-ward through the Delaware River. As the crystalline waters rise from their springs (not yet certain how many, but at least four) they create three lively brooks clattering downhill over tree roots and stones. Two flow into Upper Pond, its gentle out-flow joining the third brook and all filling Hemlock Pond that's right behind the house. I've joked that even if I'd had to live in a tent, I would have moved here in a heartbeat.

Though I arrived just before Winter Solstice and the rugged months that quickly followed, there were enough mild days for me to explore and experience these enchanted waters weaving their way across the landscape into Hemlock Pond, then merrily splashing over the waterfall and down through the Glen on the long journey to the sea. But this apparently healthy ecosystem has been under siege...there's a super-fund site literally just over the hill. I must admit it gave me pause when I first learned of it, but when research showed that the clean-up was successfully completed over eight years ago and that careful monitoring continues, making this my home was an easy decision. I'll share the details of this environmental degradation in an upcoming blog, "A Tale of Two Streams".

Tomorrow it's my intention to go out to the pond and the waterfall to offer my thanks and prayers to these waters and send blessings on its downstream flow knowing they will be multiplied by the heart-wishes of many others all along the River's course to the mighty Atlantic. I'll be guided by a wonderful ceremony shared on-line this week by the International Council of the 13 Indigenous Grandmothers. [link here] If you are reading this after March 22nd, it will be no less effective or diminished by the passage of time. It is my hope that when you come to this post you'll be encouraged to offer Love and Thanks to Earth's waters at your own special water-place.
~Namaste'

Hemlock Pond 

Stirrings

Woodland Presence

Two months along in my residence at Lightspring Glen and I still feel more like an honored guest than the mortgage-holder that the Bank says I am. I think this is because it still seems too good to be true to even be here, to have returned at last to my rural roots after five years "in town". As friendly as people were in my suburban neighborhood, and as wonderful as my riverside cottage was, at times it still felt like living in exile from Nature's ready presence in woods and field. I didn't realize how hungry I'd grown to live an elemental, Earth-anchored life again.

Previous posts relate my arrival shortly before Winter Solstice so it's been a pared down and snowy landscape I look out upon each morning. And it's been a challenging Season of deep snows and many days of bitter cold for my wild neighbors. My only help is stocking the bird feeders and wishing all well from behind my thermo-paned windows. Many days my only out-of-doors time is just  that short walk to the feeders and then hurrying back inside rubbing my cold hands together. It still feels a long way off before I can start my woods-exploring and see to rescuing the overgrown flower border. I'm trying not to be too impatient.

Last week brought a brief thaw and a few blessedly warmer days, even rain showers. Driveways at last were freed of their ice and how good it was to go around with lighter coats and jackets. South-facing fields lost some of their snow opening grazing places for the deer. A few days before this warm-up I arrived home as evening was settling in. When I got out of the car, a sound I'd been waiting and hoping for echoed clearly through the dusk. The unmistakable call of a Great-horned owl thrilled me to my toes and I went quickly to the garage's back door, hoping it would call again. Yes! "Who....hoo....hooooo....." spoke the owl and from quite nearby in the hemlocks. "Oh-h-h....." I whispered, shivering in delight. And then another owl answered from the woods across the road! I stood transfixed, eavesdropping on their conversation for as long as I could stand the cold and then retreated reluctantly indoors.

So mating season has begun for these beautiful birds who never let a little cold and snow bother them when it comes to this. On a drive yesterday I cheered to see robins along the road in the bushes, managing despite the gusty winds and blowing snow. And robin-reports are popping up on Facebook (our 21st-century's telegraph), each one greeted with comments of delight and a certain relief. Take heart, the robins are telling us. We are all one day closer to Spring. 

Mary Oliver's love poem for Otter

This admittedly fuzzy photo is the closest I've come to capturing an image of my sleek neighbor whose story I shared in the previous post. You can see her back arched as she readies to dive back into the open water. Once on a walk along the Susquehanna River when I lived at Dragonfly Cottage, I saw one swimming and watched from my hidden viewing spot as s/he climbed out on the bank for a minute or so and then dove back into the water. Not long after this delightful encounter, I chanced upon this wonderful poem of Mary Oliver's of her own interaction with one of these marvelous creatures! I know it will bring a smile and just possibly a chuckle at the end, most especially if you're as much of an Otter Lover as Mary Oliver and me. Enjoy! 

 Almost a Conversation 

Mary Oliver

I have not really, not yet, talked with otter
about his life.

He has so many teeth, he has trouble
with vowels.

Wherefore our understanding
is all body expression —

he swims like the sleekest fish,
he dives and exhales and lifts a trail of bubbles.
Little by little he trusts my eyes
and my curious body sitting on the shore.

Sometimes he comes close.
I admire his whiskers
and his dark fur which I would rather die than wear.

He has no words, still what he tells about his life
is clear.
He does not own a computer.
He imagines the river will last forever.

He does not envy the dry house I live in.
He does not wonder who or what it is that I worship.
He wonders, morning after morning, that the river
is so cold and fresh and alive, and still
I don’t jump in.

Otters & Ravens & Bears (maybe?!) .... Getting to know the Neighbors

Mourning Doves & 4-legged friend

Prior to my arrival in mid-December, for nine years this place was the seasonal home of a Long Island family. So a good deal of the time the yard and woods were the mostly undisturbed home of the wild ones. After the astonishing greeting on my very first visit by a huge owl  (a tale deserving a separate post!), I looked forward to getting acquainted with the other non-human neighbors. It was, after all, their backyard that my small house occupied.

There certainly were deer. Their tracks in the snow showed how busy the place was after dark. During the daytime I caught glimpses of two or three in the woods beyond the pond. Once I put up the bird feeders I saw evidence of their investigating what was left on the ground at the end of the day. It's been a very snowy winter, so I don't mind at all their being the after-dark clean-up crew. Then to my utter delight, very late one afternoon this young one strolled confidently around the corner of the house and began munching away, the mourning doves not a bit bothered by their four-legged competition. When I told my across-the-road neighbor about this he replied with a smile that one of the deer...likely this one...sometimes comes right onto their front porch for bird seed. (click on photos to see each one larger)

A lifelong "bird-er", I was especially eager to find out what birds make this their home. So far the feeders have attracted chickadees (about my favorites), a pair of cardinals, a blue jay gang, a lone junco, gold finches, mourning doves, titmice, and a half-dozen or so tree sparrows who are winter visitors from the Canadian tundra. I've not seen the owl again but am hopeful he or she is still in the neighborhood. Its immense size indicated I was likely welcomed that day by a Great-horned owl. Mating season begins for them soon, so I'm anticipating the thrill of hearing their who-whoo-ing songs on a moonlit night. There are crows of course, passing by all the time on crow-business. Their raven cousins prefer less-civilized areas, and I've been delighted to hear their gravelly voices calling back in the hills and catch glimpses of them on the wing. Last week one perched in a tree by the pond allowing me a good look at its handsome profile, croaked a message, and off s/he went.  

I would have been enchanted enough with all of these, but another magical encounter awaited. Lightspring Glen's seven acres encompass two small ponds, three streams, a waterfall, and several springs above the upper pond. One frigid January day I just happened to be looking out at the pond when I spotted a small animal dashing along the farther edge. Odd that a squirrel's out on a sub-zero day, I thought. Fortunately my gaze lingered since it came into clearer view and I gasped to be see it was an otter! I was so thrilled and a day or two later found its tracks on the ponds' ice, so clearly she/he/they lived nearby. As the cold deepened, the pond froze over nearly completely except for a center spot where the streams' incoming currents keep it open. And then a second fortunate sighting of the otter going in and out of this open water catching small fish, and this time s/he was there for nearly fifteen minutes. I couldn't resist the urge to try for a picture and went out to the garage door with my camera. Angus tagged along and when he caught sight of this creature bounding along on the ice, he dashed down to the pond for a closer look. The otter spotted Angus and clearly was also curious about this "unusual" creature. I captured a moment of their staring at each other across the ice.

Close encounters of the furry kind

Angus got up his nerve to pad across the ice to the open water (me praying he wouldn't fall in)...the otter dove in, popped up at a small opening near the waterfall, and dashed to its burrow. So they've taken each others measure, and who knows, maybe next time they'll touch noses.

Bears? If they're here, they're hibernating soundly (and wisely) through this old-fashioned winter's cold and snow. So I'll just have to wait and see what Spring brings. But my sense is that more intriguing encounters are in store for Angus and me. Oh my! :-)

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