Tag Archives: Roots

Survivor Tree

14 Sunday Jan 2018

Posted by in Fox Hill Village, Growing, Nature, Spiritual

≈ 6 Comments

Tags

, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

When we moved from Harmony Farm, I retired from my psychology practice along with other professional commitments. I opened my heart to new opportunities and interests.

After settling into my new home, I began roaming Fox Hill’s woods. While walking along a newly formed trail, my attention was drawn to a couple of special trees. One tree I immediately named “Survivor Tree” because of its amazing root formation.

Survivor Tree stands near the crest of a small hill and reaches majestically toward the sky. Its gnarled roots twist and turn; they rise from the ground, travel around and over large and small rocks, then bend into the hill before rising upward to form the trunk. Its roots tell the story of a young sapling struggling to survive: growing around and over immovable obstacles blocking its path, then finally establishing enough of a base to support upward growth.

On daily walks through the woods, I developed the habit of greeting my special trees by name. Inspired by their presences, I touched them, walked around them and communed with them. I offered thanks for their gifts—of oxygen, shelter, shade, food. And I sang songs of gratitude for their lessons.

One season moved into the next. It happened gradually, but I suddenly realized that I thought of my parents each time I passed Survivor Tree. It reminded me of them–my parents’ ability to stay rooted and continue to grow despite daunting obstacles in their path. It also reminded me of their unconditional love.

Around New Year’s Day, I stopped and listened more closely to Survivor Tree. I felt its seed calling from deep inside my heart. Having lain dormant for many years, this seed now asked to be nourished, nurtured and encouraged to grow. Tuning into its call, I realized that Survivor Seed contains a manuscript I wrote while my parents were alive.

The manuscript told the story of my parents’ escape from Hitler-occupied Czechoslovakia—their homeland. While Mother read what I had written and patiently corrected my spelling of names and places from their past, she preferred that I not pursue having it published. At the time, I honored her request.

Now, twenty five years later, Survivor Tree reminds me of that long ago manuscript and my intention to eventually publish it as a book. It will need much revising, but if I help Survivor Seed grow it might reach up toward the sky and branch out to form a book.

Community

17 Sunday Sep 2017

Posted by in Aging, Elderhood, Fox Hill Village, Land, Nature

≈ 6 Comments

Tags

, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Bill and I planned to live out our lives on Harmony Farm. When we contracted for long term care insurance, we insisted that it cover in-home care. We built a separate building, “the studio”, with our elder years in mind and even investigated whether it might be possible to be buried on our property.

I cherished living in harmony with the seasons. During summer months we slept with windows open, falling asleep to night-time sounds of owls hooting and awakening to our rooster’s loud crowing. We gardened, swam in the pond, walked in the woods, gathered herbs, picked fruit and harvested food. As weather cooled, we moved more inside, yet stayed connected to nature by eating food reaped from our gardens and continuing to care for the land.

As yearly cycles progressed and I anticipated turning 70, I began re-thinking our earlier plan. While Harmony Farm’s natural setting served us well during years of vibrant health and boundless energy, our bodies’ creaks and groans had become increasingly louder. Activities such as chain-sawing fallen trees and shoveling snow had once felt deeply satisfying. We enjoyed the physical work and felt smug about our useful accomplishments. Now inner wisdom screamed “caution,” warning of their price.

It took a while, but we finally admitted that we no longer thrived on the challenges of caring for our land. Swallowing our pride, we hired others to plow the driveway, shovel the snow and handle heavier jobs on the farm.

Concurrently, I began realizing that while the solitude of our home provided respite from the hectic pace of modern life, its isolation might prove too lonely in the years ahead. On my walks through the woods and while sitting by the pond, I reflected on what the future might bring and opened my heart to the possibility of change.

On one of my daily walks, I stopped, breathed in the earth-pine smells and looked around. I noticed abundant ferns growing on both sides of the trodden path beneath the canopy of trees. Light filtered down, nourishing the green world and me.

All of a sudden, a thought flashed into my mind. Like plants and trees, whose roots support and interconnect with one another, I need to live in community during my elder years.

Stunned by the enormity of this idea, I sank to a nearby log. And sat. Just sat.

Enveloped by the aroma of mossy dirt, I contemplated what this change would mean. Moving away from Harmony Farm – could I bear to separate from this beloved land? Adopting a different life style – what might that look like? Downsizing – how to choose what to keep and what to release?

Waves of emotion coursed through my body. The idea of moving, and what that would entail, hit me like a rock. Filled with panic, my heart thumped rapidly

Searching for safety, I hunkered down further to feel the solidity of the log beneath my buttocks and legs. Supported by the log, I focused on my breath, consciously breathing in and out, in and out, in and out.   After quite a while, the surges of feelings slowed, then stilled.

I calmed and decided to tap into the earth below my feet. Sending tendrils of awareness down, I sensed the vast network of mushroom mycelia running underground – between roots and rocks, hither and yon, connecting plant to plant, tree to tree, spreading out like a spider’s web, reaching far and wide.

Reassured by the reminder of interconnectedness, I realized that no matter where I live I would remain connected to Harmony Farm. And wherever I go, I will always be able to connect with nature.

I finally roused myself and slowly walked toward home along the woodsy trail. Passing the pond, I again felt pangs of what would be missed if we were to pull up roots and move. Yet as I watched the water trickle and bubble its way downstream, I considered entering life’s current and seeing where its flow might take me. Anticipating what living in community might bring, a tinge of excitement sparkled deep within.

Returning home, I decided to wait a few days before discussing my insight with Bill. I sat with my feelings and imagined living in close proximity with other people. What might that feel like? Where might that be? What kind of community?

Ideas percolated, feelings bubbled and then I checked in with my gut. Yes, it felt “right.”

When I shared my thoughts with Bill, he initially refused to consider moving from Harmony Farm. Over time, he gradually opened his heart to embrace the wisdom of living cooperatively with others. And so began our next chapter.

 

Nature’s Internet

19 Wednesday Sep 2012

Posted by in Nature

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

, , , , , , , , , , , ,

I leave for my walk hoping that it will help calm my mind and still the energy swirling inside me.  Following my usual route, I cross the pond and head into the woods.  The trail leads me upstream of our pond, and along what used to be the edge of the stream.  This area was recently invaded by beavers who dammed a culvert, then extended their dam to create a huge expanse of water.  One of my neighbors, impressed by its size, called it a beaver lake.

After walking along the banks of this now beaver lake, I head up a small hill, circle back along another trail, turn left and climb upward.  Arriving at a flat area, I walk to a large rock outcropping, where I stop to pray.

My prayer begins with gratitude; I give thanks for the many blessings in my life.  Digging deep into my heart, I express my sense of going round and around in circles, of feeling ungrounded.  I ask for help, for guidance on where to go next. 

Finishing my prayer, I bow my head, then amble toward a large oak tree growing in the middle of large rocky outcroppings.  After circling the tree, I stand and calmly look around, inhaling the view. 

My eyes suddenly zoom in on a bright yellow patch growing out of the trunk of a fallen oak tree.  Unable to suppress my excitement, I exclaim aloud, “Wow!  That looks like a chicken mushroom.”

I walk over for a closer look, and confirm my initial impression.  Yes, it’s unmistakably a chicken mushroom – one of my favorite mushrooms to eat.  Like most edible mushrooms, it also has medicinal benefits.

Staring at the beautiful mushroom, I think about the mycelium growing underground, for a mushroom is the fruiting body of this web-like network of cells.  Mycelia are our planet’s great recyclers, transforming “dead” trees and other matter (even toxic waste) into vibrant, nutrient rich soil. 

Mushroom guru Paul Stamets considers mycelium to be the neurological network of nature, for these membranes are in constant molecular communication with their environment. They not only sense what is going on around them, they respond accordingly. 

Mycelia comprise Earth’s underground communication system.  Vast mycelia networks enable trees and plants to communicate with one another.  They serve as nature’s internet. 

My recollection of Stamets’s teachings comes to a close.  Caressing Chicken Mushroom’s thick, velvety flesh, I admire her luminescent orange-yellow color while my nose moves closer to sniff her delicious aroma.  Inhaling her essence, I ask whether she would be willing to let us eat her for dinner.  Receiving what I take to be an affirmative response, I bid Chicken Mushroom a temporary farewell, for I intend to return later with a knife and basket for harvesting. 

Resuming my walk, I feel grateful for this reminder of interconnection.  As my feet make contact with the ground, I sense my roots descending into earth, connecting with the web-of-life immediately below.  Feeling deeply grounded, focused and calm, I tap into Gaia and send her my love.