A Walk Down Back

Last week, before the 80 degree days completely melted the snow, I took my camera out back into the small stand of mostly white pine trees to see what I could see. I also wanted to look for chaga growing on the birches and perhaps more pine resin as it makes a wonderful healing salve (and sometimes I open the jar simply to enjoy its clean, piney fragrance). The snow was gone where the sun had reached the leaf covered ground and as I crunched along, amazed at how perfectly beautiful even the dead leaves were, seemingly positioned by an artist’s hand just-so. I found a beautiful quartz and granite boulder covered with various mosses, some deer prints spreading in the melting snow, skunk and bear scat (yup, time to bring in the bird feeders, at night at least), a red corn cob minus its kernels, the remnants of someone’s feast, green ferns, wintergreen and partridge berry, and an old rusted tractor along with wagon wheels, left decades ago on the property line to rot.
 

I found “Daddy sign” too, reminders that my father had walked these same woods many times before I moved here. There on the ground at the foot of an exceptionally large white pine sat our old mailbox with MEEKER painted on the side. I remember when I first moved here, and Daddy was still alive, that mailbox had been positioned in the tree, its door open and welcoming, offering shelter to various forest critters. Elsewhere, there were bird houses he had placed in various trees, probably in remembrance of my mother who loved birds.
    

There were lots of dead and dying birches (and yes, I did find chaga but it was too high up for me to reach), many more than I remember. Birches aren’t an especially long-lived tree and they can’t compete with the white pines for sun since they don’t grow as tall. But I hadn’t expected to find so many broken trunks, snapped several feet above ground, or even unbroken but obviously dead. Victims of too much rain and many high winds, perhaps tropical storm Irene last fall? Unfortunately, a few years ago the land next door was completely clearcut right up to our property line leaving our stand of trees to fend for themselves, no longer part of a larger forest community. But there is beauty even in a dead tree, especially the birches with their beautiful white bark and shelf fungi. All the fallen limbs did make for difficult walking however.

Making my way back, I found some pine resin and gratefully gathered a bit of it, relishing its scent and stickiness on my fingers. I never cease to be amazed at the girth of many of the trees on my land. Huge ancient gnarly maples on the property line and numerous mammoth white pines, not as old as the maples because they grow faster, but very old still. I loved them from the beginning, as did my father, who chose this house mainly for the numerous old trees and the beautiful views of his favorite mountains.

Snow still covered the beds of my garden and the gate couldn’t be opened yet because of it, so I walked around the perimeter sending good vibes to the still slumbering plants. Greeting the ancient crab apple tree, I noted that the trunk cavity has gotten much larger since last summer and I wonder how the tree manages to survive despite it. How many more years will we be graced with this tree’s fragrant blossoms and sweet/tart crab apples? When I first moved here it had many more branches than it does now. Each year it loses a branch or more to winds or snow or heavy rain storms. I see a baby crab apple growing from the ground seemingly coming out of the old trunk, the next generation taking root in nature’s cycle of life, death, and rebirth. I am here, now, in this beautiful place. Safe in this moment. I can ask for nothing more.

Conversations With Trees

Maple tree in my yard.

I’ve often pondered how our relationship with the Earth has changed since ancient times, when nature was considered a participant in daily life not just in utilitarian ways, but in ways of friendship and spirit. The wind moving through the leaves of trees carried messages. The trees themselves were considered wise and  plants were regarded as teachers as well as healers.
    Today the term “ecological self” is used by those seeking to understand and communicate the reality that humans are part of the intricate web of life and that every action we make reverberates throughout this web of relationships. Talking about this is easy. But feeling is where it’s at. Feeling the relationship and communicating with trees, rocks, animals, whatever you feel drawn to, awakens the ecological self which, once awakened, never truly goes back to sleep.
    For me, trees are a natural connection and over the years I’ve had many conversations with them. I’ve brought them my troubles and my joys knowing that whatever I bring will be accepted with no judgments. There’s no need for pretenses with trees. You are who you are. It’s a simple as that.
    Trees speak in different ways to different people -- and each tree is unique. Older trees are easier to “talk” with, at least for me, although sometimes a grove of trees, birch for example, will take on its own personality and communicate as if it was one tree. If you’re intrigued and want to open yourself to a unique and totally human experience, here are some suggestions:
    Believe it is possible - Without belief your heart and your inner ear will be blocked.
    Desire that it happen - The place in your body this is felt is your heart. Don’t put “stuff” on this feeling. Just let it be. Relax. What comes, comes.
    Let the love flow - Love is what connects us to each other and to the Earth. It’s the most powerful force in the Universe.
    Drop preconceived ideas - Don’t get it into your head that you will hear a voice with a deep message. You might. But it is more likely you will get a sense of something. You might feel peaceful or experience a sense of everything being in its place, a message of constancy over time, or of resilience. You might come away with a “knowing” you can’t explain -- it just is. Whatever your experience, accept it.
    Give thanks and honor your experience - Saying “thank you” gives back energy and completes the circle. Honor your experience by giving it a place in your life.
    Act - Find a way to integrate your experiences with your everyday living.
    Share your experience - Many people have had amazing experiences with nature (especially as children) that they don’t talk about because they don’t want others to think they’re weird or because they don’t have a language for their experience. Sharing our stories helps others remember theirs.
    Once you’ve had an experience that confirms for you that it is possible to participate in this way with nature, everything changes. Your perspective shifts and magic enters your life -- a strong, powerful healing magic we all very much need in these times.

Living With All Species

Trees in my backyard.

If we listen to the land we will know what to do. The metaphors are there. The actual facts are there.
    - Terry Tempest Williams

I often wonder what our world would look like if humans weren’t the only ones making decisions. What if bear, trees, mountains, lakes, insects also had a voice? They live in our communities. They share the air, water, and land, and they are impacted by every decision we make, most often negatively. You’re probably rolling  your eyes thinking that I’ve finally gone off the deep end. But think about it. Development is everywhere, both business and residential, often moving into former fields and forests. We’re building on virtually every available lake shore and condominiums are sprouting up the sides of mountains to provide ski-from-your-front-door access (assuming there’s any snow). Existing regulations don’t seem to be doing much to stem the overall loss of habitat for the nonhuman creatures sharing the Earth with us.
    Too many of us have become so oblivious to the needs of wildlife that its presence is often seen as a nuisance or danger rather than a treasured encounter. And to me there’s nothing quite as sad as seeing a wild animal obviously confused because what was woods a few weeks ago is now a barren, sandy waste intended for development. It seems we have forgotten that the Earth is finite – it isn’t going to get any bigger because we want more of something. As I see it, the undeveloped forests and fields we have left here in Maine and northern New England are as endangered as polar bears, and if we aren’t careful they will become extinct just like that precious icon of the Arctic.
    Many years ago, when I was writing my first book, Economics as if the Earth Really Mattered, I took my yellow-lined pad down into the woods to a human-made pond fed by a brook that ran behind the property of the Institute for Gaian Economics in Worthington, MA, which I directed. My task was to articulate the principles of a Gaian, or Earth-centered, economy. My publisher was waiting and so the pressure was on. I knew that if I sat quietly, the land would speak to me and I would have the “information” I needed to complete my book. I was not disappointed. Of course the land didn’t dictate to me. It was up to me to observe and intuit the deeper meaning of what I saw. And what I saw was the importance of scale -- a bigger disturbance would have been more difficult or perhaps impossible for the brook and surrounding woods to incorporate without damage to the system as a whole. I observed cooperation among species although I doubt they thought of it that way. I lost myself in the beauty and harmony of the place and the atmosphere of peace and well-being that pervaded the land there. Appropriate scale, cooperation, harmony, balance – these were the qualities I observed that could form the foundation of a Gaian Economy. So I did my best to put words around this framework, one of the first to do so although many, most with degrees, have moved the concept of ecological economics far beyond my 1985 book.
    So now I ask, how can we give nonhuman species a voice in our deliberations? Not literally obviously, but can we go above and beyond what regulations require of us? Can we bring our caring about the world our grand children will inherit into the discussion? Can we remember how it feels to be in the wild far from human influence, and value this enough to ensure that the wild always remains? Currently it seems we do the bare minimum necessary. Additional considerations given to the Earth or the creatures who share it with us are often seen as too costly. This is especially true of larger corporations who will make communities pay dearly using the legal system to push projects through even against the wishes of local residents.
    This area is growing by leaps and bounds. “Land for sale” and “building lot” signs are sprouting everywhere. Long time residents are often hard pressed to pay increasingly exorbitant property taxes, forcing some to sell to developers. It’s sad and it is forever changing the landscape we have come to love. We are fast losing a way of life, and a human culture, that served many generations well. In return we receive money and a depleted ecosystem. Is it worth it?

What Does Love Look Like?

Diana's Bath, North Conway, NH

My earliest memories, dating back to when I was a toddler, took place outdoors, mostly in the woods, often next to a stream or river so crystal clear every rock and pebble were visible. I even remember drinking from these waters with my father’s blessing. My whole family went camping quite frequently, at various camp grounds in the White Mountains and one of my chores was to scrub the dishes clean, using no soap just sand and water. I had my own little “pup” tent and loved listening to my parents, and sometimes their friends, talking and laughing around the campfire, drinking a beer or two, while I gradually fell asleep. During the day we’d visit waterfalls, look for rock caves, or simply walk in the woods. Always we took a picnic. I was never bored. Even at home my favorite thing to do was go “down back” to the brook where I’d go rock skipping or look for wildflowers, or venture into more unknown territory to explore. My parents never thought to worry that I’d get lost or hurt myself, probably because my father had taught me so well. I knew how to tell which rocks would be especially slippery, how to pay attention to where I was going and where I’d been so I’d know how to get back, and I wasn’t afraid of wild animals because, as Daddy said, “They’re more afraid of you than you are of them.”
    So these experiences kind of determined that when I grew up I’d not only continue to love the woods, but become an environmental activist. I didn’t chain myself to old growth or monkey-wrench bulldozers (though I wanted to once I learned about the clearcutting going in the Old Growth forests out west), but I did organize and speak at conferences, write books, newsletters, and articles, create and work on various projects opposing the expansion of Hydro-Quebec and other mega, corporate projects, work on fundraising for nonprofits, including my own, while raising three boys as a single mother. I did this for 20 plus years. And for most of that time I felt I was having a positive impact. Finally, towards the end of that period I realized that, as the saying goes, the more things change, the more they stay the same. Despite my best efforts, and despite how much any success I had may have fed my ego, an honest look around revealed that the Earth was worse off than when I started, that corporations had amassed way more money and power than anyone had dreamed possible, that fiddling with policies and regulations even with the best of intentions made no difference. Speaking truth to power didn’t seem to impact power one iota.
    Around this time, so-called environmentalists decided that the most important thing we could do was to change our consumption. Not just to simplify, but to buy “green” because it was good for the planet and would help ensure “sustainability”. Now sustainability is a loaded word and its meaning varies depending on who you talk to. For me, sustainability has more to do with ecological realities. In other words, it’s important for lots of reasons that the diverse ecosystems of the planet, from the smallest tidal pool to the atmosphere and beyond, be treated and cared for in such a way that they can heal from our abuses and become more diverse, more alive than they are now (because they are so depleted and degraded thanks to our thoughtless human activities). But for most people these days, including many environmentalists, it simply means fiddling with our buying habits without changing our lifestyle expectations. (We can save the planet and still have it all!) There used to be something about future generations in there but it must have gotten lost because climate change and the many forms of ecological devastation our industrial culture requires - green or not - are quickly depleting the planet. What future? you may ask.

    So what is an environmentalist to do? We’ve been sold out, played out, backed into a corporate-controlled corner, led to believe that the best we can do is reduce, reuse, recycle, and keep our fingers crossed. And/or pray depending on what you believe. I’ve always believed that love is the most powerful force in the universe. It’s what my grandmother taught me and it’s held the test of time in my life. What about you? What does love look like to you? To me, love is that clear stream I drank out of as a child, it’s the bear scratches in the stand of beech trees my father took me to, it’s my first visit to the Old Growth redwoods, and the truly ancient one that spoke to me, it’s my son getting married to the love of his life next to the ocean, it’s the smile on my little granddaughter’s face as she digs in the garden to find an earthworm, it’s the scream of delight as my grandson stands under a waterfall at Diana’s Bath. I want what I love to continue long after I’m gone, long after my grandchildren are gone. But that is not to be. That clear brook is no longer safe to drink, the beech grove is a housing development, the bears considered “nuisances”. “Sustainability” did not save them, nor did “buying green”. How can we save and protect what we love when it appears that we don’t have the power to do so? Key word: “appears”. Because we do have the power, it’s just a matter of our willingness to take extreme risks. And they will have to be extreme, otherwise it won’t work. I’m not sure how that will translate in practice, but it’s time to sit together and begin the conversation, to support one another as we stretch our imaginations and our wings, to step up for what we love before it is too late.

    “Sometimes you jump off the cliff first, and build your wings on the way down.” - Annie Dillard