Scotch Broom

Scotch Broom lives just off the Western porch of the cabin. This winter, the heavy snows crushed the plant almost flat. In the spring, its branches were broken and bent. It laid brown and beaten, seemingly lifeless. We didn't think it would make it through the summer.

It is now almost six feet tall and reaching higher. After blooming in the spring, it seems to have rebuilt itself. New growth is bursting from every branch with no remnants of the past winter's destruction.

I am struck by Scotch Broom. This seemingly unstoppable plant regrew from a tangled mess of twisted branches into a beautiful upward flowing cascade of green tendrils. From what seemed like unrecoverable injuries, Scotch Broom lives on taller and stronger than ever.

Perhaps it is its flexibility that allowed it to survive, or perhaps a refusal to let go, or maybe for Scotch Broom, there is no trajectory of living that does not include regrowing. I don't know, but Broom teaches me that regrowing from what seems like catastrophic destruction is possible. I will carry this lesson with me.

Look Up

I stood next to the Mint patch as I was about to gather my morning tea herbs, and I heard Chipmunk chirp. Chipmunk reminded me about seeing Squirrel in Oak tree, so I looked up. Oak tree reminded me to look up at Sky, where Moon hung bright white. I was struck by how often I forget to look up.

Today, I will be looking up more often.

Apricot Tree

Apricot Tree grows in the far Eastern edge of the garden. As a result, the back side of the tree is mostly in the shade. This year the Eastern branches did not leaf out. Is Apricot Tree dying, or prioritizing the branches that catch the Sunlight?

Apricot Tree gets me thinking about perspective. I can look at her bare branches and see a dying tree, or I can notice where the Sunlight tracks and be amazed by her ability out reach out and catch it.

Today, I will be paying attention to the effects of my perspective.

Potato Lesson

Today, I will be harvesting potatoes. Though I have done it many times, I am always struck by the beauty of the potato as I pull it up from the Earth. We grow Cranberry Red's, and when they emerge, they are almost luminescent. They are a deep red, almost purple, and the thin crisp skin slices more like that of an apple.

As I dig them out, my mind goes to what is like for people who rely on the harvest for food. They take a perfectly good bag of potatoes, cut them up into seeds, and plunge them into the ground. All this in the hopes that the seeds will become plants, and the plants will produce fruit, and the fruit would be enough to get them through to the next planting season.

As I sat in the deck this morning, Ant passed in front of me. First moving North to South, the South to North. Ant and all it's members fan out in many directions searching for food, communicating what they find back down the line, and organizing to bring the food back to their home. Once there it is shared with everyone.

When Ant ventures out, finding food is a possibility, not an inevitability. Sometimes Ant finds food. Sometimes Ant doesn't. The bounty or the hunger is shared by everyone.

Today, as I dig potatoes, I will be thinking about Ant, and the wisdom they live by. That no one is entitled to abundance. That scarcity and starvation are a part of life. We must share both when we need to, because sometimes we bury the bag of potatoes, and Mouse eats them all.

Familiar Rhythm

The morning Sun glistens through the rain soaked trees. A gentile wind blows and raindrops shower down to the forest floor sparkling like millions of diamonds. As I witness this, I experience a rhythm that is very familiar. It is different from the rhythm I experience when I hear a clock ticking. Though both come from outside my body, one resonates with me and one does not. Wind, Rain, and Tree rhythm calms me and energizes me. Clock rhythm seems to call me from this place of calm.

Today, I will be paying attention to the rhythms I encounter and discerning which ones have a familiar resonance and which ones do not.

Wind Lesson

The cool wind blew this morning as I sat in the summer house. It got me thinking how wind makes Air tangible, and reminds me of the existence of this most precious gift. It wasn't until later that I noticed the cloudless Sky.

While I stood in amazement beneath the stunning clear blue, I thought about Air flowing above me. I felt it flowing beside me, and through me, but took in the grandeur of it's flowing all the way to the furthest reaches of the atmosphere. I realized that the Air I could feel was connected from my body as far as I could see.

Today, I will be remembering to be grateful for the gift of Air and it's reminder of my connection through our atmosphere.

Rain Lesson

By the time I got outside this morning the rain was mostly over. It still fell from the edges of the cabin roof, and collected in small pools on the deck. It occurred to me that the ripples in the tiny puddles were the same as the ripples in the greatest oceans.

For me, Rain is one of the most tangible reminders of the interconnectedness of everything. The drop of Water that lands in my hand came from some far distant place where it evaporated up into the Sky after having landed there. And it landed there after traveling from somewhere else. The cycle of up and down, Sky to Earth has been repeated over and over again. In this way Water is always everywhere, in a process of constant transformation connecting place, person, and thing through its fluid motion.

Today, I will be remembering the power and preciousness of Water as it travels through me and past me on its continuous journey of connection.

Illusions

In the dim light of early dawn it is difficult to discern anything. What might be Deer could also be a bush. Movement can be an illusion because my vision alone can't decode what is in front of me. I have to make sure to tune in with all my senses. If it is Deer and not a bush, I will hear something or smell something.

This gets me thinking about how important it is for me to pay attention with all my senses. As Sun rises and the mist concentrates, I can feel the cool air, smell the thickening moisture, and see the water droplets drifting down. The complexity of what is going on around me is available to me, but not if I rely only on my vision.

Today, I will be paying attention with all my senses and catching myself relying on one more than another.

Waning Summer

The hazy golden Sun this morning reminds me of Summer, but the angle of the Sun's trajectory lets me know we are heading toward Autumn. It would be easy for me to start to pine for what has past, but, as I do, it occurs to me to stay open to what is happening in the moment. As I do, melancholy of memory fades and the wonder of what is ahead brightens.

Today, I will be paying attention to what I am paying attention to and remembering to hold myself open to what is in front of me right here right now.

Birch Leaf

This morning I watched a leaf fall from Birch tree onto the ground. It got me thinking about how that leaf fall is part of the cycle of everything. It's contribution to the Earth becomes becomes the fuel for the beginnings of Spring. In turn, that becomes the fruit of Summer and the falling leaves of Autumn.

Today, I will be paying attention to the cycles that are happening around me all the time, and the part I play in them.

Free Apples

My favorite Apples grow on a tree that lives on the edge of a mall parking lot in the middle of a city. They have a crisp buttery sweetness that I can't find anywhere else. On a good harvest year, I will pick three or four bags full. The ones I don't eat fresh I pop in the freezer. In use a Tomato knife to slice up the frozen Apples, and I put them on hot cereal. Combined with a good Strawberry crop, they will usually last me until the next harvest season.

Here in Maine Apple trees are everywhere. I find them in fields, by the roadside, and even in the middle of the forest. Some of the varieties date back to the days when Apples were introduced to this land from other parts of the world, and when conditions are right, the trees fruit out generously making their abundance available for anyone who happens by.

Today, I will be paying attention to the abundance that exists all around me, and using the example of Apple tree's generosity to guide my actions.

Crow Lessons

I woke this morning to the sound of Crow. Looking out the window, I could see about one hundred gathering in the Pine grove, just Northeast of the cabin. I was glad to see them. Having so many Hawks around this summer seemed to keep my Crow friends away.

Hearing their energetic caws and watching them swoop and dance in the Sky together got me thinking about the lessons I learn from Crow. Knowing that Crow hangs out in family groups I see this as a reunion of sorts, and they remind me about the importance of the family I surround myself with. Whether by blood or choice, the people I choose to put in my circle are the rock upon which I rest when things get tough. I have seen Crow and her brothers and sisters risk their lives to push Hawk away from their territory. Seeing such bravery reminds me that leaning on other is not a sign of weakness, but a testament to the power of our interdependence.

Me leaning on you reminds you that you can lean on me. The structure of our interlocking threads of love makes gives us a strength we can not manifest on our own. Crow reminds me that life does not have to be a solo flight to be honorable.

Today, I will remember Crow's lesson to fly with others and welcome them flying with me.

Squirrel Lessons

Squirrel was out this morning, rooting around the Pine trees North of the cabin. Disappearing behind a tree trunk, I couldn't see if she had climbed up or headed off the the Northwest, out of my line of vision.

Just seeing Squirrel got me thinking about all the Squirrel lessons I learn. The fact the Squirrel wasn't over on the East side of the cabin where the Acorns are reminds me that life isn't always about gathering supplies and being prepared. Sometimes it's okay to root around in the Pine needles just to see what's what.

Today, I will be thinking about Squirrel and the lessons she teaches me about possibilities for living.

What Is

I woke up this morning to Cardinal's call. Cardinal's call is a lot like Chipmunk's alarm call, a pattern of single loud chirps. I figured it was Cardinal because of the way it moved around the cabin, getting pretty close to the upstairs window before it moved off to the West.

This got me thinking about how easy it can be to mistake one thing for another. If I don't pay really close attention, I can be convinced I am hearing one thing, when it is actually something else. In most instances it is about taking the time I need to really listen or really look and see, or really thoroughly feel.

Today, I will be doing my best to slow down so I can make the distinction between what seems to be and what, upon further reflection, actually is.

What Heron Sees

Great Blue Heron glides gracefully over the pond. As she stalls her flight, her long stick like legs penetrate to surface of the water, seemingly without a ripple. Like a 747 landing on a lily pad, Heron improbably morphs from magnificent soarer to stealthy hunter finding her footing in the soft clay bottom of the pond.

To accomplish this act of transformation Heron is able to see through the water surface. In order to calculate her gentile trajectory, she must be able to see where the bottom of the pond is, and be sure that the depth of the intervening water is not deeper than her legs are long.

Heron gets me thinking about how easy it is for me to see the surface of things and miss the richer description that includes what is just past the immediately obvious. Like Heron, it is useful to see and understand the surface, but to also take in what is below, just beyond what we notice at first glance.

Today, I will be remembering to ask questions that illuminate territories that exist just beyond what is immediately obvious, so that my life can be more richly described. I will also remember that what might seem obvious is also worthy of my curiosity inquiry.

Summer Chill

Here in Maine, the chill of the coming Winter starts to show up around the middle of August. By now, most mornings are pretty cool. This morning my thoughts about the coming cold distracted me from the abundance of this time of year. Elder is bursting forth with berries, the potatoes have yet to be harvested, and there is more Mint and Rhubarb than we could ever use. Fresh greens are everywhere, and Winter berry and Partridge berry will be around till the Spring.

This gets me thinking about how the abundance of the Earth is around all me the time, it's just a question of knowing where to look. The obvious abundance of Summer can be overwhelming, while the abundance of early Winter is more subtle. Subtle or not, it is still there, I just have to stay open to the possibilities.

Today, I will be remembering that abundance is all around me all the time, I just have to be open to its varied manifestations. It may not be what I'm looking for or what I think I want, but it's there.

Perspective

As the Sun rose from behind the mountains, they seemed like a ridge of rolling hills. The center one did not stand out in any way, aside from seeming slightly higher than the rest. Without knowledge from the previous day, I would not have known it was what we call Mount Washington.

Eventually, the Sun crested just to the South of the peak, and began to illuminate the craggy top giving some contrast to the scene. Eventually, the other peaks were exposed and gave reference to their relationship to each other. Not only the height of the top of the central mountain, but its proximity to me were easier to discern.

This got me thinking about how much my perspective and view of thing can change over time. Things that seems near, can eventually seem farther away. Things that seems to be one way can, with some illumination, appear completely different, and then change again. This process goes on constantly, yet I am rarely aware of it.

Today, I will be paying attention to how often my perspective changes and is changed by what is going on around me, and by what I am doing in the moment I am in.

Dog Eat Dog

My culture teaches me that it is a dog eat dog world. My experience is that, if it is not a survival situation, most of my creature cousins live in balanced coexistence with each other. I also know that when my local friends were given the opportunity to gather in support of Love, 40,000 of them showed up.

Today, I will be noticing opportunities I have to stand up against the idea that it is, or even has to be, a dog eat dog world.

Morning Sun

Each morning around this time of year, the point at which the Sun rises over the horizon tracks further and further North. As this happens, the are fewer and fewer bird songs when I find myself out on the back deck sitting. Since the time that I go out is based on clock time and not the actual cycles of the Earth what seems like the same time for me every morning is actually earlier and earlier for my creature cousins who's lives are connected to something far older than my culture's clock. So as the Sun rises later and later, they sleep in longer and longer.

This gets me thinking about my culture's mythology that teaches me how hard and long my creature cousins labor to “survive in the wild.” These stories of constant toil and suffering aren't supported by my experience. When I am getting up in the darkness because the clock tells me it is six in the morning, I know my creature cousins are still sleeping because their calls don't greet me when I get outside. I know they are sleeping in until the Sun comes up and warms things a bit. When I'm working into the darkness because the clock tells me the day has not yet over, by the time I get outside to end my day my creature cousins are already in bed avoiding the cold of the nighttime. I sit alone in the back deck, accompanied only by the vastness of space unfolding above my head.

Today, I will be paying attention to the effects cultural ideas have on how I think about my life, and the choices I make to comply with these ideas (or not).

Impermanent Sky

As I approached the Southern edge of the garden to collect Mint for tea, I realized I hadn't yet taken in the sky. I looked up and was awed by the pale blue expanse filled with high textured clouds. Each quarter of the Sky seemed populated by a different pattern, some almost imperceptible, some more defined. The resulting light rained down like an airy ocean, blending blue with green as it enveloped the trees.

As the Sun rises in the East, Sky morphs in response, ever changing, ever original.

I am grateful for Sky, and it's ability to remind me that everything is in a state of flux, and that each moment contains it's own fleeting uniqueness.

Today, I will be looking for signs of Sky in everything I experience, standing up against the mythology of stagnation and recognizing the beauty in impermanence.