Spirits

by Jacqueline Cruver

Looking out across the Palouse region from the top of Kamiak Butte, nature’s restless spirit overwhelms me as it orchestrates the change of the seasons. The native plants, shrubs and trees transition from vibrant life to an encore of colors to close the show. The crops that have burst into life from the hand of man have provided and signaled the time to reap their bounty. Slow and steady and unstoppable, nature demonstrates her strength. I am perched upon a large quartzite rock that was once part of an ocean floor so I have much respect for the source of such power. I entertain memories of the times in my life that my own restless spirit unveiled a strength in bringing requisite changes, on a somewhat smaller scale.

I drag my sleeping bag past my discouraged mother and head out to the backyard. She does not support my safari when she has provided me with a perfectly good bed and clean sheets. I feel as though I cannot breathe in the house and curiously desire a new habitat. A desire bordering on desperation. Making it across the yard to my premeditated destination, I enter an opening in the old grape arbor. It is shady inside and about the same size as my twin bed. I push down the tall grass to make a nice soft mattress for my bedroll. I zip myself in, lay on my back and watch the summer evening sunset through the leaves and tiny clumps of baby grapes. I like how the dainty tendrils wrap themselves around and around anything they can grasp for support. At an awkward eleven years old I feel like that. Puberty is beginning to pull me into tangles with my thoughts and I am feeling like my tendrils have nothing to grasp. Only the watchful vines of this secret shelter (and my mom) know I am here. I find calm in the sweet smell of the grass and drift off to sleep.

It is ten years later and I am desperately trying to reach adulthood through doors of chaos and confusion. I feel as though the big city I am trying to exist in has swallowed me. I have pursued an associates degree, several different kinds of employment, hangovers, depression and some questionable relationships. If I am in charge of this spaceship I call my life, I need to set a new course to find some balance. I fill my rusty Ford Comet with as much courage as I can find in my soul and the gas tank with as much money as I can find in my apartment. With a scribbled address of a rental house and an unfolded map on the bench seat, I head east.

Two hours after leaving the congestion of the Greater Seattle area, I see milepost 42 and a green sign announcing the town of Baring. I signal left and I’m off US Route 2 and up and over the raised railroad tracks. A single row of five houses lines one side of a pot-holed gravel street, hidden from the highway and noisy traffic. One of those must match the address I have crumpled next to me but I am not quite ready-

-to confirm that as my mission. I continue instead, up Forest Service Road 6024 for a few bends and park at a wide spot. I hesitate turning the car off. What if it won’t start? What am I doing out here by myself? That was my cautious voice that kept me safe. But that was the voice that kept me stuck. I had something pushing me. Our spirits are so powerful that fear can even be made submissive. So what if the car wouldn’t start? There was a little store out on the highway. There are people there. Maybe I would try hitchhiking if I had to. I turned the key off with a determined twist. I walked away from the old car and took a breath of the forest-filtered air. The sound of a nearby robin drew my attention away from the distant highway. A large dark green cedar tree beckoned. Its long draping branches reached nearly to the ground like a gentleman inviting me to a Minuet in a grand ballroom. I curtsy and part the limbs to enter the cool and fragrant shelter. I am transported to my grape arbor. This secret shelter surrounds a raggedy reddish-brown bark covered trunk. Tall and straight, it is the base of an old wise soul quietly offering to listen to me. I am shy at first. I look down at the soft dark earth beneath my feet. It is a record of many seasons of wet green growth turning to brown and repeatedly returning to the rich, porous floor of the forest. I place my jacket on the ground, sit down and let my heart tell him things that he already knows. About a year later, my heart would break upon seeing the only remains of this beautiful tree: a pile of chips around a carelessly cut stump after the area had been violated by cedar bandits taking trees illegally during the night to sell to the local shake mill. The truck had to have emerged loaded with its confiscated cargo ever so slowly as I slept, because I lived in the corner house in Baring for that rotation of the seasons. The house was unremarkable but an adequate shelter and it felt like the right fit for my new chapter. The wood heat made winter comfortable and I spent many hours in the small kitchen cooking from scratch and creating what I still rely on today as my healthy eating habits based on whole foods. There was a small greenhouse just a few steps from the back door made of old wood framed windows. When the winter temperatures began to warm, I filled the old rickety benches with seeds to get a head start. As the mountain rains continued, I found it to leak profusely, so watering simply required a manual rotation system of the flats. The large garden area had not been used for ages. I was able to coax a few things up but the growing season was very short and the soil was, well, mud. Rodale’s gardening publications had suggestions for soil amendments to increase drainage but I decided what was needed was less rain clouds. This was not the best gardening experience in my life, but it WAS a time of much emotional and spiritual growth. What began as a summer of enlightenment, continued as a ten year period of growing into myself. I encountered a very diverse group of people. I found community and developed very close friendships with folks of various ages, backgrounds, talents and aspirations. Some were from the immediate area but most had wandered there from everywhere else. I discovered commonalities in these restless spirits that helped me to recognize my own as I became more balanced, content and somehow more fulfilled in my autonomy. Our paths intertwined, we were enriched, then the paths separated. I found a curiosity that drove me to try on many hats and fill my adventure card. I lived off the grid and across a river,-

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-sailed in the Virgin Islands, rode thousands of miles on the back of a touring motorcycle, heard jazz musicians from a balcony above the heart of New Orleans, slept on the beaches of Hawaii and bartered for beautiful fresh fruits in Costa Rica. I learned practical skills, self sufficiency and self respect. I tried things that were dangerous and stretched my limits. I took risks that took me out of my comfort zone but made it clear where my boundaries were. I cannot say I ever “found myself” because I feel like I continue to be different versions of myself. By the end of my twenties that same restless spirit led me to my next chapter of wife and mother.

Parenting is not for the weak. Raising sons gave me an even better view of the restlessness of the young spirit’s quest for self. I think a person’s journey to finding peace and purpose begins in those tumultuous years of our early development. If our parents are available for gentle guidance in addition to their protective, well-meaning parental pressure, it is easier for us to find and understand our unique spirit. I think when our soul rebels out of curiosity, our spirit, like love, can move mountains when it needs to. This is what creates our personal journey as our spirit remains constant, seeking its source. I cannot honestly say I completely understand that. I am still searching. I do see in hindsight that when I felt like things were not right for me I rebelled because my spirit needed change. The behavior that frightened my parents was just me looking for myself, and not meant to be the disrespect of a rebellious teenager, or a wild daughter who ran off to the woods. I also think that girls were a bit more challenging than boys when I was young because it was still even harder for our gender to gain independence and the parental guard was maybe dialed in a bit closer. This only caused the struggles to intensify. I turned my music up loud to make it mine, because my parents’ music was not mine. Metaphorically and literally. Oh, and yes, I still like my classic rock turned up. In my years of pre-adolescent childhood, I was not taught about religion but I know I developed a connection with something greater than myself. I felt a comfort, a safety from my fears in connecting to nature at a very young age and this empirically derived spirituality has always been a part of me. Without spiritual awareness I think I would have felt rudderless and easily led by unfavorable outside influences. The rough road through adolescence is difficult to navigate and as we are going through all of the crazy rapid changes emotionally, intellectually and physically, we are also searching for explanations to the meaning of life. There have been monumental advancements in the science and awareness of spiritual development in the past two decades that reveal the critical impact it has on a young person’s path to finding meaningful work, personal confidence, determining right from wrong, and pursuing healthy relationships. In making that point, I want to approach the word spiritual carefully and clarify my meaning. Spirituality as I understand it, is seperate from religion but both have the power of leading one to the other. I have no intention of addressing the deep intricacies of either in this writing.

The indigenous Elders of countless tribes speak of spirituality as the connection to each other and all things. It is a powerful source of strength and an invaluable tool if we can sense it early in our development. It is the part of us that helps us make better choices in our youth as well as guides us as adults as we make our way through difficult times. The right answers bring peace to your heart. That is where our spirit speaks to us, often-

-without words.

Like the visually changing landscape below me, I know my spirit becomes restless in its need for change. Just like the urge that took me out into the yard that summer evening, and the whim that led me out of the crowded city, there have been many other times I have heeded this unseen rumbling from my soul through my years. My image in the mirror has changed, but my restless spirit never has. In fact, it served me well in my most recent rebellion, retirement.

Gravity and repetition can wear a deep hole and gradually I had become stuck like a log in wet sand at high tide. I no longer had motion. My work day seemed to drag. The tasks assigned to me had changed so drastically over the years, the elements I had enjoyed about it seemed to be a distant memory. As my supervisors would confirm, I had become irritable and spent more time complaining than seeking solutions. I had lost my smile. I was not recognizing the gentle nudges of my spirit until one day it just escorted me out the door. I took the bold step and entered the final date of my employment on the proper forms and retired. I must also give credit to my sons for knowing my spirit was needing some help. They convinced me that there were still more chapters waiting for me and I continue to thank them.

I did not go through the stages following retirement the experts warn you about, like an intense sense of loss or depression. I did not struggle to reinvent myself. The search for a meaningful purpose was no mystery to solve. I know my spirit so I know my passions and priorities: Nature, nurturing, and gardening. Now mix in maintaining some healthy, loving relationships, which includes time for solitude and self-nurturing, and you have the contents of who I have always been. The tendrils are braided together to form my strong, unchanged spirit that has let me swing through treetops and towed me through dark waters. As I start down the path on the shady side of Kamiak Butte my steps are slow and steady. I again compare my life cycles with nature. The descent takes less effort than climbing the sunny rocky side of the ridge, and now I am enjoying the bounty of my working years at a slower pace as I wander down the shady side. I am right where my spirit led me. I have peace and purpose. I spend blissful hours and days in the vastness of the outdoors, appreciating the natural world, my temple. To use the nurturing part of my spirit that was evident as a toddler putting worms to bed in a shoebox, which has been resting since my sons have grown, I am delighted when offered a chance to care for little ones. I can offer time to read to them, encourage that endless curiosity, show them new things and let them teach me with that pure and innocent spirit they have arrived with. My gardener’s hands are always happy tending the soil and growing plants that sustain, heal or bring color to life. Instead of a gym bag, I travel with a garden bag equipped with a kneeling pad, seeds, twine, tools and gloves and find my way to various gardens to weed when I have run out of weeds of my own. I house sit or pet sit for friends and clients when they leave their home to travel. I keep their routines while they are away and enjoy a break from mine. This opportunity to look at life through different windows and meeting new neighbors continues to accommodate my restless side. I take road trips to see points of interest, visit dear friends I have missed or simply stay home for some soothing aloneness. I am so grateful. My days are my own and the only thing I have had to really work at in my new freedom is how to feel worthy of it. Knowing that my spirit has counseled me to seek this “freedom to be me” all along my path, comforts me. It continues to be a very good guide.

Herman Hesse, a German-Swiss author wrote many works about self-knowledge but my favorite quote is, “Whoever has learned to listen to trees no longer wants to be a tree. He wants to be nothing except what he is. That is home. That is happiness.”