Day 4

I was struggling with a question during my sit today.  I needed to decide between the easy choice that I could think of many ideas to support, and the choice that would be a struggle to follow through with but which I felt deeply I should do.  I prayed for help with it during my sit. As soon as I had uttered the prayer, I felt inwardly that what I'd been feeling in my gut (choice number two) was the right one, and that I should simply follow that course.

The sun seemed to present itself as a tool for remembering this simple advice.  Its location was just visible beyond the leaves today, but not in the least overbearing, so that as I walked to and from my sit I sometimes had to glance around at the treetops before I spotted it.  But once I saw it, there was no question as to whether I'd found it: there is only one sun. 

And like the sun, the truth about ourselves can evade us, but if we are willing to look at ourselves in an honest way, open to whatever the truth ends up being, it will become visible to us so surely that the right course will be plain to see.  

Of course the next, and often harder step, is gathering (or praying for) the strength to follow through with what we know we need to do.


Here is a photo of the place I was looking yesterday, when the feeling of the healed planet came to me:

Day 3

Stole away just long enough to do my 20 minute sit, and left the camera at home. 

The neighbor whose land abuts my sit spot woods (and whom I have yet to meet) was cutting a fallen pine into firewood, and I timed the crunching of my boots through the dry oak and maple leaves to match the chainsaw's buzzing, to ensure my privacy.  (My sit spot is just beyond the slope from his yard, so that he and I were out of view but within earshot of each other.)  This is the first time he's been outside during my sit, and I wanted to use my sacred 20 minutes for sitting rather than for introductions.

The mosquito paparazzi welcomed me when I sat beneath my hemlock tree, and the march of daddy-long-legs, which I've been witnessing for days now, continued up the hillside.  There are generally at least four or five of them within reach at a given time, all throughout the forest, and all heading uphill.  Though I was sitting quite still, they all assiduously marched around me rather than climbing up and over me, as I kept expecting them to. 

As I sat today, two of them locked legs next to me and drew their bodies in close together, though not actually touching.  One of them then spun off into the frenzied whirling that daddy-long-legs tend to do when their webs are disturbed.  The other endured this for a few seconds, then swiftly disengaged and fled down the hillside.  The other, apparently triumphant, continued on its march uphill. 

My Audubon Field Guide to Insects and Spiders asserts that "On cool afternoons, adults often climb trees or sides of buildings, seemingly to benefit from residual heat of the sun."  I wouldn't consider the recent 70+ degree days to be cool, but perhaps they do, and have been marching uphill to escape the river's cooling effect on their air.

I continued sitting silent and still, observing the slow movement of the bubbles on the surface of the river.  As I sat there, the sun glinted off the water and a breeze moved over the treetops boldly, and I felt suddenly as though the apparent health of this river and these woods had become representative of the state of the whole earth.  It was as though every place on the earth was in its natural state, healthy and whole, free to follow its own instructions.  The most profound peace surrounded me in that moment, as though I were a member of a species who lived consciously and respectfully in accordance with nature, as I believe we can.

I am no longer the idealist I was as a young adult, and I recognize and am profoundly grateful for the seemingly limitless ways humans have invented to keep ourselves better fed, better sheltered,  healthier, and physically safer, among other astonishing advances.  But I also see and feel keenly the impacts some of these advances have had on our earth.  In this one moment of peace this afternoon, it felt as though I was transported back, or forward, to a time when the earth generated its own balance and we humans fell into alignment with it, vibrantly and courageously, at peace with our place in the universe at last.  I have never before felt the quality of peace that I did sitting there today.

Day 2

Gathered some yarrow on the way to my sit, to dry for the coming year.  Learned this summer how to use it to slow bleeding from cuts.

Delicate Indian pipes are cropping up all through the woods this month.

Mosquitoes swarmed me again today.  Wore long pants and long sleeves despite the muggy afternoon, and only a couple of them managed to get any purchase.  Simply keeping the hoards from my face occupied much of my attention during my sit.  This was a gentle reminder for me of folks whose life situation has them in survival mode, what little capacity they have remaining for any kind of "productive" activity.  I found it took great concentration to check in with my senses and tune in to what was happening in the woods around me, because about every 4 seconds I had to respond to the bugs and was constantly monitoring their location.

Wore my swimsuit in anticipation of the buggy sit, and swam in the cool, fresh river afterwards.

 Heading up out of the woods, admiring the light beyond the dark trunks.

Found a grandmama toad waiting at the top of the hill.  Brought it home for the kids to meet briefly, then returned it to its home.  Here, my son is  experimenting with the toad's translucent third eyelid (nictitating membrane), which he and I have discussed in the past but which he's never seen firsthand.  His fascination was only matched by the toad's patience.

Day 1

I'm thrilled to be starting up on WAS's Sit Spot Challenge again.  I've done it every year since they began offering the Challenge, and each year it revitalizes my commitment to sitting outside regularly.  The daily sits, in turn, are wonderful inspiration to write on this blog, which is such sweet reflection time for me, so deeply needed while raising my two little ones.

Took some photos today to share with you:

This is the area where I sit.  The slope is west-facing, and I sit towards the top, on the left of the picture.  The height allows me a nice view of the woods above me, the woods below me, and the river, which is in the far right of the picture. 

A view of the same slope, from the flat area at the bottom.  Deer (and people) use this lower path, while the foxes in the area seem to prefer walking along the side of the slope.

When the river is low due to little rainfall, the muddy banks make for great tracking.  There's a nice deer print in the bottom right of this picture, and there were the usual raccoon prints further upstream.
The river's official name is Little River, which my kids and I agree is too generic for a river we love so much, and my young son suggested we rename it "Lots-of-Trees River."  When he suggested it, it seemed to me that the innocent blessing of a child naming it was more of a gift than if it had ended up with a more dignified, unique name after all.  So, Lots-of-Trees River it is.

During my sit, the sun was playing on the hemlock branches at the top of this shot.  I love the ethereal lightness of the sun on the needles, with the drab banality of the twigs beneath.

Writing soon...

A year has passed since I've written. 

Wilderness Awareness School's "30-Day Sit Spot Challenge" for this year is beginning on Thursday, August 1st, and I'm going to use it to kick-start my writing again. 

Thanks for reading!

Photos

 This is Safari, our resident gray tree frog.  I find him so stunningly beautiful.  The pond dried up over the past week, so my boy and I have given the one surviving tree frog tadpole refuge in a large jug on our kitchen counter.

 Here is my girl getting ready to pat Clara.  Clara is one of a small handful of our hens whom I can identify by voice alone; her regular talking cluck is a long "peeeeeeep."

Here the girl does some work by the coop, while two curious hens look on.

Buzz

8:30 sit on deck tonight with husband

Air abuzz all around us: junebugs, Japanese beetles, mosquitoes, and a pine sawyer - a kind of insect I love - who landed in my hand as I was sitting.  About every 3 seconds, I caught a glimpse or earful of some winged being zooming near me. 

It is our grand apple tree's time of year to hum.  It happened last year, too: for a few days, upon arriving on our lands, the Japanese beetles court the apple tree so abundantly that to walk under it is like walking below a monstrous beehive.  The entire tree buzzes loudly.

A large dragonfly chased bugs as we sat.  It veered off course toward a junebug or Japanese beetle at one point, then turned back once it got a closer look at the insect - too big?

Birdsong abounded. 

Most gray tree frogs have left the waters, and are calling from the forest now, but not high in the trees yet.  One called from our rooftop tonight, near enough the chimney to sound like it was in our woodstove as I rocked my daughter beside it at bedtime tonight.  Another tree frog called in our little pond, which this week's rains returned to us. 

One new fellow croaked from down the road, a two-part, low rumble of a croak, not sure who.


The dark form of a large owl glided silently down the neighboring driveway, before rising up to settle in an aspen.