Here we are once again. It’s fall in the Midwest, and the weather is changing. The leaves of the maple trees out back are at their peak of orange and yellow vibrancy, and the backyard seems to glow with a quality of light that is unique to this time of year. As I walk down the steps to the lake, leaves crunch under my feet and the air feels cooler than it has in months. We still haven’t had a hard freeze, which is unusual and perhaps yet another sign of a climate that is getting increasingly unpredictable. But regardless the mild weather, the earth is sloughing off her summer skin and slowing down in preparation for what is to come. Winter’s cloak of stillness will be here soon enough.
Though the seasons change every year, sometimes it’s easy to forget the lessons we can glean from this age old rhythm of the planet. Each season has its wisdom, and autumn is no exception. There are lessons to be learned if we let the earth teach. Continue reading “Lessons of Autumn”
What would it look like to dance with a mountain? To be so attuned to the natural world that you could two step or swing dance with an ancient pile of rock and earth? To live so fully in your own wild nature that you could communicate with the world in a way that makes the sky weep in understanding and the plains shiver with anticipation of what is possible when life chooses harmony over dissonance? To figure out how to identify the part of ourselves that is akin to rivers and hilltops and soil and trees and holding that as our center point? Continue reading “To Dance With Mountains”
Wake up to bird song, or waves or whispering pines. Open your eyes to the dawning of a new day, and wander toward voices when you are ready for company of the community.
Stretch your body, swim, kayak, run, hike. Let your body move how it wants to move as the light starts to fill the sky. Remember that you are a body and your body is you – you are partners in this life, not enemies. Continue reading “A Summer Day”
Though its waters are fresh and crystal, Superior is a sea. It breeds storms and rains and fogs, like a sea. It is cold in mid-summer as the Atlantic. It is wild, and masterful. — George Grant, 1872
Lake Superior makes her home on the earth about 120 miles northeast of my little red house in the St. Croix River Valley. She’s vast, cold and clear, and without a bit of time spent on her shores regularly I get a little twitchy. There’s something about the volume of deep fresh water that can refresh even the weariest of souls and balance whatever needs balancing. After a few days sleeping next to the big lake, I usually feel like I’ve been filled up with nourishment and topped off with vitality and peace. Conditions can be bright, sunny, and calm enough to see down into the cool blue depths as the water tempts the hardiest of us to wade until our legs go numb; or, as is usually the case, it can be damp, foggy, and chilly enough for wool sweaters as waves crash against the rocky shore. She’s a lake of many moods, but regardless of where her mood falls on a particular day or season, she’s a healer as much as she’s an enchantress. Continue reading “Mother Superior”