BOR EAL MID-WINTER :
IMBOLC
Thoughts on more gentle living. Of the Seasons. Of the ADK.
ISSUE 6 WINTER 2020
BOREAL is…
Place-based. honoring the Adirondack Mountains (our Boreal forest) & community.
Seasonally inspired. promoting
harmony
with the natural world.
Intimate. encouraging deeper
the Earth, self, and community.
connection with
POWERED BY IMBOLC as we stand halfway between solstice and equinox, with the poetry of winter written in blossoms on the surface of the ice‌ as we prepare for the season of birthing and growth, we take a final deep breath of the stillness‌ as we tend ever to the candles we keep burning in our work, on our hearths, in our hearts...
I am my hair Every trail season I wear my hair in two French braids For twenty-some weeks of the year, I braid my hair on a Friday, or “Monday” morning And it stays that way for 5 days at a time. I reflect the behaviors of my hair in my humanity The first day my braids are clean and tight And so am I. The second day they still look good. Just a few hairs out of place. Jut a little dirty. Day three, there’s dirt in my roots, and under my nails and deep in the pores of my skin Day four, my braids are tired and so am I. Day five, my hair has come loose, the loose hairs have knotted up, there’s dirt on my scalp and grease at my roots. There’s dirt in my skin and on my clothes. I am as haggard as my hair; I am tired and knotted up. The pieces of hair that have broken from being tied in braids too long are showing. My broken pieces are showing too. My anxiety, my depression, my exhaustion is all as obvious as my messy hair. My bruised legs, battered fingers, strained joints are all just as in need of a deep conditioner as my split ends. This season was particularly straining. Now that its over, its time to pull out my braids, brush out the knots,
and give my hair the nourishment it so desperately needs. I need it too. Its time to brush out the knots and evaluate the damage. Its time to stand in front of a mirror naked and evaluate how my body has changed. Bigger muscles, worse knees. Longer hair, more breakage. Pains in my joints. Unintentional bangs from broken pieces. Loss of weight from physical labor, and lack of eating. Loss of many hair ties. Before the season ends, I think, my hair looks good. Sun bleached, permanently curly from the braids. After the season is over, I can see that my hair is brittle, looks like hay. During season I am fine, because I have to be. I have no other choice. My hair is in braids because that’s the most practical way for me to keep it out of my face. After season I am left in the shambles that can only be left after such a strict regimen ending can leave you in. Its time to deep condition, self-reflect, hydration therapy, self-care, nourish, eat again. Its time for a haircut. Take off the dead ends, cut out the damage, washout the buildup.
Look deep inside and shed what is no longer useful, care for yourself again. Be happy and free and loose again. Be bright and luminous. Be healthy. Be kind to your hair, And be kind to yourself.
Adir-ice-dacks The ice covers the roads, the side walks, the steps. A sheet of ice covers the car, sealing the doors shut. The ice covers all things present outdoors on this Icey morning. But the trees and bushes wear it best. They each stand proud, showing off their new shiny jackets.
Zugunruhe By Thompson Tomaszewski
When will the sweet maple sap begin coursing again through winter-hardened tree trunks and when will the peepers burst tiny toes through snow piles? Where am I going and why can’t my feet carry me there fast enough and when will brightly colored birds hop restless and desperate from tree to tree in my woods? Caterpillars covering leaves with legs that don’t stop moving and spiders setting traps for bugs buzzing by In the forest so motionless today in January why do I obsess over these things? The season of hibernacula is ending I feel it deep: the time to migrate, the time to move The thaw comes
Silence and Solitude Whenever I think of the wilderness, I think of the silence But now, as I am walking alone in the forest, I realize that I was wrong I may be away from the sounds of humanity, but it is not silent It is just a different kind of noise The kind of noise that is soothing and beautiful I hear the sound of animals The birds chirping as they greet one another The squirrels chattering as they run through the trees The occasional deer bounding across the trail My backpack creaks with each step, weighing down on my feet as I trudge through the snow My breath forms a cloud as I exhale The snow forms a thin layer of perfectly shaped flakes on my hat and backpack
I stop and listen I can hear the blood pounding in my ears as I catch my breath The trees creak in the wind like old bones The frozen stream trickles underneath the ice, flowing into the snow-covered lake Then the moment is broken A plane flies overhead A group of hikers walk by, playing music through a speaker And just like that, the silence is lost Once again overwhelmed by the sounds of humanity
From The Lake We lit the sky on fire And sunk our boots into snow Watched the clouds catch Watched the dusk burn The slush between my toes The heat of sunset in my eyes Filled me and met at my ribs I became the lake and the sky We ebbed and flowed The flame in my throat Cast warmth on my mouth’s clouds Its own clean smoke The slurry of water and snow Held the ice to my thighs Before it extinguished Our forest-fire sky
Sunrise Walk Thirty degrees And the birds sing Their farewell to February The snow is melting But another storm comes Winter’s grip won’t slip With ice on the roads Slush in the sidewalks I’ve planned a camping trip With a friend of two years I haven’t seen for two years State forest explorers See Minnesota waters And like the birds I’ll sing from my sleeping bag To celebrate the cold Sing hello to March And the waning winter.
CONTRIBUTORS Photography Featured Photos by Jeremy Utz Instagram @footstuffpodcast Editors Jen Jubin & Danna Libbey I Am My Hair Anonymous Submission Stay Strong Collage by Isabella Padrón Instagram @isabellapadron Adir-ice-dacks Words by Colleen Corrigan Email : c.corrigan1725@gmail.com Zugunruhe Words by Thompson Tomaszewski Instagram @tommymariee Email : ttomaszewski@paulsmiths.edu Silence and Words by Cora Johnson Solitude Instagram @lieutenant.cora From the Lake Words by Nathan Kiel & Instagram @nathan_kiel Sunrise Walk Find his collection “The Finger Lakes Trail: In Poetry” at www.foothillspublishing.com Proceeds to The Finger Lakes Trail Conservancy Heteronormativity Words and Image by Katherine Kopajtic is packed earth Instagram @kkopajtic Website : thisiskatiek.com The Best Coffee Cartoon by Celia Binder Cups Instagram @celiafromwork Magic Words by Summer Mathis Instagram @thejuicegirl_naturalhealing
CALL FOR SUBMISSIONS Have something you would like to share? Boreal accepts open submissions in any digital media at any time, as well as comments, concerns, and thoughts on content. Help us celebrate one year of poems, art, and feelings! The next issue of Boreal will be produced
Spring : Vernal Equinox A Year of Boreal Submissions Due : March 20th 2020 Release Date : March 30th 2020 Submit to borealzine@gmail.com #borealzine
A Forever Wild Apothecary Production www.foreverwildapothecary.com