Mornings in the mountains

 On these cold, clear mornings I rise early in the dark; the "bewitching hour" as some think of it.  I get the coffee going and then walk out onto the frost covered deck.  The quarter moon has set so the stars in our world blaze brilliantly in a sky free from all light pollution.   I stand still to let my eyes adjust and then look for the Hunter with his bejeweled belt, standing century in the east.  

Over the top of the mountain I find Pleiades, the Seven Sisters, one of my favorite constellations.  These sisters turn my thoughts to my own sisters.  I mourn the loss of one of them, not that she is gone from this world but she has chosen to be gone from my life.  I send prayers asking for help with the navigation to forgiveness for myself and my own peace as well as peace for what remains of my family.

I search for the Big Dipper, tilted and spilling over these days.  I follow the arch of its handle to the bright star, Arcturus ... "Arch to Arcturus" as I was taught.  Arcturus now hovers, barely visible, on top of the mountains that frame this valley.

I breathe in and stare in wonder at the Universe that is on display for me on these mornings.  I raise my arms in greeting to my ancestors, and to all the loved ones gone from this world and so greatly missed.  In this season of "thanks giving" I send my thanks up into the heavens, gratitude for all that I have, all the love that I am embraced by, all the blessings bestowed on me over all these years.

My dog, Rosie, now jams herself between my legs reminding me that it's cold as I feel her shivering.  I bend low to hold her tight with my thighs and to wrap my arms around her.  She wiggles with delight but continues to shiver.  I ask her, "want to go inside?" and she is at the door before I have time to stand up.  Back inside, with a hot cup of coffee, I return to a warm bed.

Mornings in the mountains.

(Photo credit, David B. Lovejoy @ Lobster Lake)

Rain

 It's raining.  For several days it has rained on and off. This is the rain I remember of
my youth; clouds gray and hanging low with rain falling all day.  To receive this gift of water just before the ground freezes and the snow flies means our wells will be filled for the coming winter.  Our streams on the property are swelled and gushing with small waterfalls along the path, the song sounding, at times, like children's laughter as the water tumbles over rocks and dead trees.  It's glorious.

Recently we spent a few weeks in California.  The wedding of the oldest boy called us out there.  The event was filled with family, laughter and love and these two amazing humans created a ceremony that was beautiful and loving.  It was up in the mountains outside of LA at a year round resort called Big Bear lake.  The lake, like most of the lakes in CA, was a reservoir created by a large damn.  This lake is surrounded by vacation homes with docks and boats no longer at the waters edge.  You must walk by the dock, now sitting in mud with vegetation growing up all around it, and continue for several more yards before reaching what is now the water line.

This was a theme throughout all of California where beautiful reservoirs had receded 100's of yards away from their original water line.  What was once a big "lake" now looked more like a sorry bathtub, brown and murky waters, complete with a ring around the edge.

The west is drying up.  We felt the intense heat of the days, witnessed the brown, dead leaves on the prickly plants. Hiked through the dust of a parched land.  The orchards and farms are drying up.  They put water into this dead soil to nourish plants vs people.  And the people put water into their lawns.

Do they understand how low the water line of their reservoir is?

Are they aware that their water is running out?

That fires are consuming the forests and smoke is choking the air?

This world is changing fast.  Drastically fast.  

And we are not changing our use of water along with it.

In Maine, it’s raining.  We have water.  But those of us living in the north must face the fact that at some point we will no longer have peaches, oranges and plums all year. The produce aisle is going to be shrinking with its offerings. We will need to eat according to our seasons. We will need to grow our own food. For the severe drought in the West affects all of us

The sun is bursting through the clouds spreading a promise of drying up the rain soaked land. I will take a walk on our trails where the fallen leaves of Oaks and Beech trees have thickly covered the path with their brown coloring that shines in the morning light turning the path into a trail laid with copper. The Birches and Poplar trees throw down their bright yellow, round leaves and look like gold coins strewn on top of the copper. We are rich with the colors of the season.

We are rich with the rains that fill our wells, bloat our streams and raise the level of our lakes.

I will take a walk and stroll along one of our stream trails and be serenaded by its' bubbling song so like the joyous laughter of children.

Be well everyone,

Mary

We saw a white deer the other night.  Native Americans referred to these extremely rare animals that are all white as “Ghost Deers”.  Our deer has a brown head, but its entire body is ghostly white.  

Such a sacred sighting as it ran across the shore on one side of our lake while we sat in our boat noting it.  At first we thought it was a white dog, but none of our neighbors have such an animal.  The realization that it was a deer brought us to our feet.  It disappeared into the trees only to reappear swimming strongly across the lake.  Keeping a very respectful distance from it with our boat we got to see it leap out of the water and disappear into the woods of the distant shore.

So incredibly white.  

Striking in this unusual color

Amazing.

I immediately began to offer a prayer to the setting sun as this sacred sighting certainly seemed to ask this of me.  For the first time in my life I did not pray for any family member or for myself but, rather, I prayed for our country.  I prayed for peace and unity among the people of the current un-United States.  I prayed for sanity to return to the elected officials who seem hell-bent on derailing our democracy.  I prayed for those in need to receive and for the greed in so many blackened hearts to ease so that abundance may rule the land.

I prayed for love to rule, not the hate that drives someone to take up a gun and shoot indiscriminately into crowds of people.  

Or classrooms filled with the most innocent of us, our children.

I prayed for Love to become our religion.  Not a certain God.  Not a set of rules that dictate right and wrong of others who don’t follow, or believe, in these same rules. Or the same God. 

“God is love”, but not if you insist that it is YOUR God who must be the One.

Gods rule my heart, filling me with joy and gratitude. These Gods offer me gifts of a white deer, a Bald Eagle, the cries of the Loons, the slashing of the dark woods and fields with the bright lights of Fireflies, a dome over my head, evidence of the Universe, on crystal clear nights.

I prayed for our country.

I prayed for all of this. 

Which is also offering prayers for myself, my family, my friends.

For all of us.

I also pray for another sighting of this miraculous, rare individual who we now know shares these fields, woods and lake with us.  The chances for an Albino deer being born are 1 in 30,000.  I don’t know what the statistics of seeing one is.  I leave it to be extremely rare!  

A once in a lifetime sighting.  

A gift ... from whatever God you may believe in.

 

 September 2021 Dave and I organized a trip to the Maine north woods that, with a little planning, offers camping on a completely secluded beach on a seven mile lake.

This group of friends wanted to spend four days and three nights camping.  There is no internet or cell phone service out there.  For some this was a little concerning, for if any emergency might arise we would be unable to dial in for assistance.  This is what Dave and I love about these trips!

The second day of our trip rain came in the morning and lasted on and off all day.  Dave is the tarp master so we were all hunkered down much of the afternoon under a tarp, playing cribbage and eating too much.  As the evening gray turned into the dark of night the storm intensified and the rain became torrential!  The wind picked up and began to howl.  With the rain pounding the tarp and the wind smacking into it we could barely hear each other talk.  We all stood in our head-to-toe rain gear, staring out into the darkness, marveling at the streams of water running off the tarp. The ground under our picnic tables was awash, making it impossible to really stay dry.  Dave closed the tarp down and secured it; we all knew we were protected until we got brave enough to head to our tents.    

As I stood there with everyone,  feeling the power of this storm, I had this intense need to get out into it ... to escape the protection of the tarp and stand in the dark alone with this storm surging and pounding my solar plexus!  As I walked out into the abyss everyone gasped and began yelling for me to come back, that I was crazy!  Maybe I was at that moment.  But what these people didn't know about me is that I've always gone out into the storm.  

Growing up my siblings and I would go down to the beach when the tropical storms of August, remnants of hurricanes further south, would come up the coast whipping the ocean into a frothy frenzy.  We would strip off our protective outerwear and go out into that surf with its gigantic waves!  Holding hands, digging our heels into the sand to keep from being swept away by the undertow, we would scream and duck the oncoming giants.  

I've also been one to go straight out into a blizzard, with winds that turn soft, feathery snowflakes into lashing little knives that cut into my bare face.   Leaning into the gale I would turn to the sting of the harsh snowflakes and walk into the storm.  Always feeling more alive.

And so, I walked out into the night as rain pounded our little campsite and the wind whipped the lake into caps of white topped waves.  I screamed into the gale, knowing my friends couldn't hear. Opening my arms to the torrential rain I felt that storm beating into my chest and the rain streaming down my exposed face. I felt more alive in that wild moment. I was a wild child opening to the power of the night, the power of the storm, and embracing it.

In the morning the lake was calm and like glass.  Loons called warnings as an Eagle flew over.  Clothes and tarps were laid out on rocks in the sun to dry.  Over breakfast everyone made a comment about my going out into the storm, "Mary, last night you were drunk!".  

I only smiled.  

Perhaps I was drunk, drunk on the power of that night. Drunk on the feeling of being so alive when standing out in the storm. Drunk on the gratitude I felt about my life at that moment and being able to stand on this secluded beach with great friends and experience being wild!