There's Power in the Word

I heard a story once, about a pair of birds, mates with two little chicks in the nest.  But one day one of the parent birds was killed, and its mate went into mourning.

This is a true story.  Someone observed this happening.

All the bird could do was sit on the limb of a tree apart from the nest and stare into space.  She couldn't feed the chicks, she couldn't tend the nest, she couldn't feed herself.  She stared into space for so long that one of the chicks died of starvation, and there was nothing she could do about it.  She was immobilized by one of those passages of spirit we all undergo when grief takes hold with a grip that feels like iron, and we cannot move.

We can't accomplish the tasks we set out to do, no matter how vital they are.  Our to-do lists yellow and fade.  They aren't important anymore.  We can't, even if they were.

That's how I've felt this spring.  My building looms unfinished, with so much yet to accomplish, and now the weather is mild, yet I've been unable to lift a finger towards progress until only a week ago.  I've sat immobilized in my tent, grieving loss of a father I couldn't mourn before.

This, after writing Fishing With Father, which won the HOWL Essay Contest, and which continues its life in me long after the writing is done.

That's the power of writing, folks.  Make no mistake; we embark on no minor task when we take pen to paper and put our thoughts on a page.  It is our life-blood flowing therein, carving channels deeper than which we held before, nourishing, prodding, extending forth, empowering, even endangering ourselves, our current vistas, views, and goals.  Don't take it lightly, this work we do with our hands and our voices.  It is no less than revolutionary, inside of ourselves and beyond.

First Whisperwood Garden

Spring greens and onions for Pamela!

I do thank the grasshoppers for letting me eat this year, or at least letting me grow something, so I can eat better.  I was tempted to eat THEM last year, but didn't quite get hungry enough, I suppose.  THEY were hungry enough, however, to eat me out three times in a row.  Thrice I tried to plant a greens bed, and thrice they gobbled it up.  I finally gave in, wondering if a tiny green oasis in the middle of a hardwood forest full of ravenous insects was not a likely place to pursue another of my passions, which is gardening.  I was quite disturbed.  But — Alas!  The cold winter has had it's perks, and a bug-free spring is one of them (everyone knock on your hardwoods, just in case!).  And I am so thankful.  The grasshopper epidemic of last year has taught me anew just how vulnerable we are, just how susceptible we can be to myriad catastrophes, and to give great thanks when things go well.

Fairy fencing.

See my "fairy fencing".  I'm experimenting.  I'd planned to buy a hefty roll of garden fencing like ordinary folks, but just couldn't seem to get around to the dull chore of it all.  Then I turned protection of my garden into art, and Wha-lah!  Just like magic, the fence appears!  It's amazing what gets done when work turns into fun.  I'm looking forward to turning the building of my whole dwelling into fun.  More on that later.

In the meantime — Happy spring, everyone (again)!  Happy, happy long spring, cool spring, good for all the peas and potatoes, collards and chard spring.  And much, much thanks and gratitude to the Powers-That-Be, the Spirits of the wind and rain, the sun and the moon and all things green, for this wondrous, wet, and bounteous spring!