“The earth has music for those who listen.” -- Shakespeare
somewhere in a forest, a golden butterfly sips nectar from a purple thistle. to pay for her supper, she carries a bit of pollen into the future. life continues. How do we repay nature’s bounty? New Day Cover Art: “Yellow Butterfly on Purple Thistle” taken in Butterfly Valley Botanical Garden, near Quincy, California, named for the shape of the reserve rather than the abundance of butterflies. It is a boggy area that also features pitcher plants.
Dedicated to Richard, who introduced me to so much of California’s diversity, always saying, “Ain’t it purdy over there.” *** “I am related to all things, and all things are related to me; or simply, are all my relations.” -- Lakota phrase Mitákuye Oyásin:
Granaries trees are acorn storage places created by woodpeckers pecking one hole at a time in order to store as many as 50,000 acorns. Copyright: Joyce Wycoff, 2021 created, written, photographed by Joyce Wycoff unless otherwise noted. contact: jwycoff@me.com
Wonders along the path ... Page Contents 4-5 Eclipse of the Flower Moon 6-7 Black Oak Spring 8-9 Coronado: A Color-filled Place 10-11 Gerald Stone: Artist 12-13 Spring Always Comes 14-15 Curiosity, Confusion, and Courage 16-17 Carol A. McIntyre: Artist 18-19 Making God Laugh 20-21 Favorite Highways and FreakOut 22-23 Earthfire Institute 24-25 My Summer Home 26-27 Odd Life of Snow Plants 28-29 Biophilia 30-31 “Where the Horses Sing”
Eclipse of the Flower Moon May 26, 2021
Immense Heaven
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We … you, me, all the living beings, waters and seven continents of Earth, all the planets in our solar neighborhood, along with billions of other suns and planets in the luminous spread of the Milky Way, plus one hundred thousand other galaxies ... make up “immense heaven,” known as Laniakea Supercluster, just one of, more or less, ten million other superclusters. Maybe we should work a little harder at just getting along and protecting this tiny blue planet we call our home in this suburban outpost of immense heaven. -- Joyce Wycoff More: YouTube: Laniakea: Our home supercluster Photo Courtesy of Vahé Peroomian, who says, “Boot Arch is one of the iconic arches in the Alabama Hills just outside Lone Pine, California… I was at the arch at the end of April to see whether the Moon would line up properly during the eclipse and whether it would be above the horizon during totality. It was going to be close, especially with twilight beginning right as totality ended… The Milky Way was visible for perhaps 10 minutes, but to see the Milky Way slowly appear as the Moon’s brilliance faded was worth all the stress and planning.” http://www.vahep.com/
How did they figure out the complex relationship of the ever-moving Sun, Earth and Moon? How did they stay warm? Were they honored by their tribes, or thought fools for their folly? How did they record their observations? What drove those watchers to sit alone (presumably) night after night, gradually constructing their theories while their friends and families were snug in their beds? I know they had thousands of years to assemble this understanding, but each one of them only had the standard number of years to observe, learn and share their insights. It’s almost enough to tempt me to believe in ancient 5 astronauts.
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undled up with a mug of hot tea on a cold night watching the lunar eclipse of the flower moon, I think of the thousands, hundreds of thousands, of ancestors who sat watching the night skies, trying to make sense of the Universe. My questions are as endless as the stars above and, when one falls, I wonder what its absence signifies. Without telescopes, those sky watchers of old noted the difference between stars and planets, which
makes me wonder how long and how often I would have had to sit through cold, dark nights before I could have detected even that fundamental fact? And, without pencil and paper or my trusty laptop, how would I have captured and shared my insights? As I watch the moon gradually dim, I’ve learned that it is my shadow passing over it … well mine and the other almost 8 billion people inhabiting our home planet of Earth. But, what did the ancients think?
Photo courtesy of Kim Grandfield. The super moon combined with an eclipse sent photographers scrambling for the best views, with the east side of the Sierra being a favorite target. Kim, a mountaineering photographer, drove six hours to Lone Pine, using Google Earth and photo apps to determine tripod location in order to capture this unique alignment with Keeler Needle just left of Mt. Whitney.
The I you think you are is a community ... a we ... a mixed species blend of animal, bacteria, fungi, virus, all working in concert to create the living you.
Black Oak Spring
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’m a sucker for color, so it’s not surprising that the black oak (Quercus kelloggii in western North America) has emerged as my favorite oak. Vibrant fall colors and tender red leaflets in spring make me gape in wonder. California black oak is the only deciduous tree in the red oak section, produces male and female flowers on a single tree, and can live up to 500 years. Black oaks are a critical for wildlife, providing acorns for food for many species, and also nesting areas for birds, squirrels and even black bears. Acorns constitute an average of 50% of the fall and winter diets of western gray squirrels and black-tailed deer during abundant acorn seasons, known as mast years. Fawn survival rates increase or decrease with the size of the acorn crop.
black oak in fall Native Americans used black oak to treat a wide variety of ailments and often prefered black oak acorns over those of other species for making acorn meal. Historically, Native Americans recognized the importance of fire to this oak and purposely lit fires in oak woodlands to promote its health and ensure their food source.
Photo: Oregon State Univ. developing acorns fall leaves
Quercus Kelloggii The scientific name for California black oaks honors Albert Kellogg who was lured to California by the gold rush and, for a time, practiced medicine in San Francisco, although not successfully. His passion for plants was the focus of most of his energy and attention and he tended to neglect his office hours and patients. Kellogg was one of seven men who formed the California Academy of Sciences and was the Academy’s first curator of botany. Kellogg captured my attention and gratitude when I learned that he had championed the inclusion of women in the Academy. It became one of the first institutions in the world to recognize and encourage the ability of women in the scientific and intellectual sphere.
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first leaves of spring
Writing is gnawing the marrow from the bones of observation and experience and metabolizing them into thoughts and stories. The first duty of a writer is to gather the bones. black oak spring leaves and catkins
What are you observing?
Coronado: A Color-filled Place
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ne of my closest friends lives on the island of Coronado across from San Diego. Over the years, it has become one of my favorite places. It is a flower-filled village of great natural beauty where towering white eucalyptus trees punctuate the blue waters of the bay and the even bluer skies; where the sounds of mockingbirds mingle with sea gulls, the occasional rumble of a Navy jet, and the 8-am-sharp playing of the National Anthem. Politically, Coronado is a purple spot where Black Lives Matter banners wave alongside American flags gracing the homes of current and retired military. On a corner of the major street leading onto the Naval Base, stands the family home of an arrested January 6 insurrectionist, while crosses dot yards long after Easter. Somehow, it seems to work. Whimsy is part of Coronado’s charm: tiny elf villages grace the bases of huge trees, trampolines 8 crowd postage stamp yards, and unexpected bits of humor are found in the most unexpected places. It is its whimsy which struck me decades ago when I discovered a colorful house with a painted sidewalk. It called me into art and became the exaggerated vision shown in “A New Path” here. This year when I returned it appears that the more conservative neighbors have prevailed: the colors are muted and the sidewalk is plain concrete. The house that tickled my imagination is now a pale version of its former self. It prompts me to ask: Am I being my true, colorful self ? or am I letting the expectations and beliefs of others dictate my colors?
A New Path
Coronado, California
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Gerald Stone: worlds out of time landscapes within landscapes, tribes, spirits, watchers, seekers, red-haired women, murdered and missing, space stretched and bent, stories vibrating across time.
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Sad-Eyed Sisters of the Old Lands, 2020
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rocker Art Museum in Sacramento describes Gerald Stone as a “beloved local master artist.” Gerald himself just brushes off the accolades and calls his work “weird.” His stylized art, which he describes as a conversation between himself and his Creator, bridges traditional and contemporary styles and themes. Hope Born in the far reaches of rural Oklahoma, Stone was a kid who liked to draw and has lived a life of peaks and valleys, always around the midline of art. Just before he was scheduled to join the Army, headed most likely to Vietnam, he was accepted for a two-year program at the Institute of American Indian Arts (IAIA) in Santa Fe, a city often considered the center of the Native art world. Eventually, he earned a BFA from the University of Oklahoma, and spent years juggling art and construction work to support his family, entering juried competitions and selling his work through galleries. While planning a solo exhibition, he was involved in a serious car accident which derailed his interest in creating art for more than a decade. In 2009, he finally held his long-planned solo exhibition, which sold out, and he now shows in several galleries and works from his home in Sacramento. Professor Nicolas G. Rosenthal in his article for the Crocker Art Museum wrote, “Themes of multiple worlds, prophecies and ignored warnings, Native cosmology, and the fluidity of time and place run throughout Stone’s recent work, immersing the viewer in compositions that are both poignantly relevant and slyly whimsical.”
A Song Remembering 11
Red Dresses of MMIW #1
Through the hands of time, the sands of time
Three years ago, while still in Mexico, I came across Gerald’s work on Facebook and became an instant fan. Thank you, for sharing with us, Gerald ... a modest contribution to Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women USA (MMIWusa.org) is being made in your honor. And, for the next three months, Crocker Art Museum will be designated as my Amazon Smile recipient.
Spring Always Comes ... on its own schedule
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ne long winter when I briefly lived in Arkansas, we had an ice storm, beautiful to look at but devastating to trees.Soon after power returned (10 days later), my frozen spirit sent me looking for daffodils. I was/am a California girl and didn’t understand the concept that there were none to be had. I was willing to settle for tulips, but I could find nothing of that bright yellow that would reassure me that spring would come again. Now I’m back in California in a mountain town known for its daffodils and apple pie, and remembering a story about a woman who planted a field of daffodils. It seemed to be the right time to go find that wonderland of yellow. I located the story about Gene Bauer who painted her five-acre, mountain property outside 12 Running Springs in the San Gabriel mountains east of Los Angeles with thousands of daffodils. Describing her work of clearing slopes, carving trails, and planting about a million bulbs, she said, “The work is done by two hands, two feet and a body minus a brain.” When asked why daffodils, she responded to an interviewer, “First of all because they are beautiful and sturdy. But also because the bulbs are toxic. Gophers, squirrels and all the other critters that feast on tulips and other bulbs leave daffodils alone.” Unfortunately, I was several years too late. Gene’s daffodils were so popular that it became harder and harder to handle the crowds so she closed her garden in 2009. However, I thought it might be possible to catch a glimpse of her daffodils so I drove about three hours to Running Springs. While I never found her place, I was delighted by the beauty of her mountain neighborhood and the daffodils I did find.
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“In the fields, she stopped and took a deep breath of the flower-scented air ... her kin; better than a lover, wiser than a book. And for a moment she rediscovered the purpose of her life. She was here on earth to absorb its wild enchantment.” -- Boris Pasternak
Curiosity, Confusion, and Courage “The cure for boredom is curiosity. There is no cure for curiosity.” -- Dorothy Parker
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confusion as he wondered what the mold was, how it seemed to kill the bacteria, and if it might be useful. His confusion created the determination to follow his curiosity and resulted in life-saving Penicillin Recently in my wanderings, I’ve noticed some granary trees that appeared abandoned. Curiosity. Why would a woodpecker expend all that effort to create a storage system
lizabeth Lesser, author and founder of Omega Institute, talked with Tim Ferriss (podcast) about her childhood and stated, “I was just massively confused and massively curious.” For some reason that combination of curious and confused struck me. Curiosity is s basic part of my nature, therefore understandable ... but confused? Empty Granary Is that a positive thing? It took awhile to see confusion as a driver, the emotional element for thousands of acorns and then that lifts curiosity from a passing abandon it I wondered? Confusion. thought to a provider of energy and Querying the internet didn’t determination. produce any answers although I There are many stories about assumed that the experts knew why invention that illustrate the this happened. More confusion. interaction between curiosity and Finally, deciding that confusion. For instance, Alexander I wanted to include the Fleming returned from vacation in question in this volume of 1928 to find mold growing in a Petri The Granary Tree, I sent out dish of staphylococcus. He might queries to a few experts have just wondered why the mold and discovered that there had a bacteria-free circle around is a third component to itself as he dropped the dish into this cycle: courage. It takes the trash. In which case, he might courage to act on our never have won the Nobel Prize in confusion, to direct our Physiology or Medicine in 1945. curiosity toward interesting However, his curiosity turned into questions which might lead
to significant end results. In my case it was a thimbleful of courage; however, for Fleming and others like him, it was boldly courageous to risk his career as well as years of time and energy to follow his confusion and curiosity. So far, I haven’t received an answer about the abandoned granary trees although I have developed some theories: 1. Since the trees continue growing, perhaps at some point the holes fill in or are somehow not satisfactory to the woodpeckers. 2. It takes about eight years to create a granary tree. Maybe the woodpeckers grow old and abandon the trees. Or something happens to the family that created the tree. 3. Or, maybe woodpeckers are granary tree “creators” not “remodelers,” always off to new trees and challenges. One of the helpful responses I received was from Kate Marionchild ... the woman who originally prompted this learning journey into granary trees. Her book launched a lot of curiosity and thinking about the oak woodland that is my part-time home. What are you confused and curious about?
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Palomar Mountain granary tree
Carol A. McIntyre: Mysteries and Magic of Color “She decided to free herself, dance into the wind, create a new language. And birds fluttered around her, writing “yes” into the sky.” -- Monique Duval, author, The Persistence of Yellow: A Book of Recipes for Life
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arol McIntyre’s life as a professional artist is a lesson in persistence combined with her passion for art and color. Telling her story, she states, “Life as a professional artist is difficult and full of uncertainty. “At age 36, I gave up a secure corporate paycheck for an uncertain art career. Though a college art major, I shut down my artistic aspirations for fifteen years until my late motherin-law re-opened that door by introducing me to 16 watercolors.” Carol’s mother-in-law also inspired an early, massive project which spanned six years: twentysix paintings commemorating the women of the 1800s, which was featured in a major watercolor magazine and taught Carol many lessons. “That first major series taught me invaluable lessons, such as: establishing a theme, perseverance, seeking support, creating a professional presentation, crating and shipping 26 paintings, living with uncertainty, approaching venues, and so much more. Because I kept a journal throughout the process, another important lesson I learned, I subsequently wrote a memoir entitled Painting My Passion: An Artist’s Journey with the Women of the West.
Cloud Windows
“Did I almost quit? Yes, many times, but I had made a commitment to my dear mother-in-law as she was dying, that I would create my series ‘No Time for Idle Hands,’ in her honor.”
No Time for Idle Hands
my own approach to mixing color, and started to teach it to frustrated painters to help them open their doors of selfexpression. “It is an easy system which became the basis of my recent awardwinning book I Just Want to Paint: Mixing the Colors You Want!”
Carol’s love for color weaves through both her art and writings, and a recent exhibit almost sold out before the doors opened. “Color is the first art element that viewers respond to, and it is full of mystery and complexities. When I began this journey, I was shocked to find few classes on the topic (this was before the Internet, CD’s, etc.). Fortunately, I found a college course at our local university and the professor allowed me to attend. It proved to be challenging and highly rewarding. Soon, I had developed
Inner Quest
“What keeps me going? The simplest answer is curiosity, followed by discipline, life-long learning, and faith in myself.” 17
No Time for Idle Hands Lost and Found Hidden Secrets
A River Runs Through It
McIntyre was born in Iowa, grew up near Philadelphia, worked in Minneapolis, and now resides in Colorado to be closer to her cherished mountain cabin. More:
http://www.CarolAMcIntyre.com.
Making God Laugh Funny, the things you don’t think about when planning for unfamiliar lands: such as 8-lane highways flooded with people I thought were working at home, campsites carefully chosen from maps and word pictures painted by a prevaricating Picasso, and bone-biting cold winds and damp fog where there should have been forest bathing and sunny beach walks. Neale Donald Walsch’s words, “Life begins at the end of your 18 comfort zone,” flew out pril 30, 2021 - I embark. of my head without a Destination: Lake Almanor backward glance in Northern California, For the past several months, I’ve My charted course of 1,316 miles been reading about the voyages is almost exactly twice the shortest of naturalist scientists such as distance recommended by Google Alexander von Humboldt, Charles Maps. Scheduled are two nights with Darwin, Joseph Banks and others friends, four nights in motels, and who sailed away for years, fell in seven nights camping. That was the love with foreign lands, and brought plan. It lasted two days. home discoveries that changed their Arrived 15 days later, having stayed worlds. Obviously, I overlooked the six nights with friends and family, bouts of malaria, storms that swept eight nights in motels, only one night people overboard, and meetings camping. Trip odometer: 1,936 miles. with local hostiles. Jan Phillips says wandering heals My petty FreakOut paled by us and “reunites us with our sacred comparison. I just wanted to quit, roots.” My carefully planned first go home (wherever that is), find real day on the road didn’t feel very somewhere warm and sunny, with healing or sacred. wifi, of course.
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Fortunately, morning came, with sunshine and some sanity. A stunning walk along the Fort Bragg cliffs restored my spirit. The crows still laughed at me, but that was ok. One of the major reasons for leaving our comfy lives and warm beds is because there are surprises out there on the road, things we’ve never thought about and definitely never expected. While there were many of these surprises on my northward adventure, one reminded me why I was on this particular journey on a back road to nowhere. It wasn’t really a road to nowhere … the pygmy cypress forest of Van Damne State Park called me. The unexpected surprise was an art glass studio. With places to go and things
to see, though, I just zipped past, making a mental note to stop on my way back. The note wasn’t carved in stone; one never knows about those off-thebeaten-path studios, so it wasn’t a surprise when I drove right past it on my way on to my next stop. Quickly that little voice started yapping: “I thought you were going to stop … well, I’m
CynthiaMyersGlass.com
hungry … it’s art glass … but, it’s too late and … don’t miss it, you’ll never be back this way …” Alright already! Backed up about two blocks (a feat in and of itself) and pulled into the driveway as a woman came out of her garden and graciously opened her studio. Glass is one of my favorite art mediums and her work far exceeded
“You and the tree in your backyard come from a common ancestor. A billion and a half years ago, the two of you parted ways. But even now, after an immense journey in separate directions, that tree and you still share a quarter of your genes.” - Richard Powers, Overstory
my expectations. Howevr, with my recent end-all downsizing, I’m not a buyer, ... but, OMG, everything tugged at my credit card. Cynthia Myers’ carved glass is featured in collections and galleries in Europe, Japan, and the United States. Space limits me to two images, but you can see more of her 19 work at her website.
Journal Notes and Favorite Highways direction and offered few photo turnouts, so it definitely deserves another turn. Hwy 1 north of Fort Bragg. While Big Sur gets all the credit for beauty and drama, my favorite segment of 1 is north of Fort Bragg, where the traffic almost disappears. It wasn’t long before a surprise appeared out of nowhere ... an elephant ... and a Buddha! ...in the middle of a field. (
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ravel always brings lessons … some more weighty than others. In the featherweight category: I really like two-lane roads, especially those that twist through beautiful scenery, especially, especially those beautiful scenic ones with lots of turnouts supposedly put there for slow traffic to use, but actually there to allow me a multitude of photo stops. I don’t like highways with more than four lanes and am terrified by one-lane snail trails with heart-pounding drop-offs. On my jaunt, I developed special fondness for these highways: Hwy 128 east from 101 to the coast. This was my first excursion off the beaten path and one of the most varied. Unfortunately, it was late in the day when I chose this
Hwy 3 through Scott Valley. A green and peaceful valley surrounded by snow-tipped mountains. Every mile soothed my spirit and the historic town of Etna was unexpectedly charming.
Hwy 36 Red Bluff to Lake Almanor. Stunning and isolated, Hwy 36 winds though land from another time, volcanic and harsh, and strangely beautiful. The miles west of Red Bluff look like a curvy challenge with few services.
Hwy 199 - Smith River This area became my favorite as I crept through it at a snail’s pace. A CalTrans worker told me about Gasquet (locals say GASkey) and a couple of short hikes which turned out to be trip highlights. Old barn in Gasquet
FreakingOut in Fort Bragg
After a frustrating day of stressful traffic and rejecting an already-reserved but hazardouslooking camping spot, the arrival in Fort Bragg seemed like one assault too many fog and a biting wind which blew in an unexpected FreakOut. Knowing it would be chilly on the coast, I had stocked up with warm clothes, but the thought of spending a week in a tent fighting cold AND wind undid me. Speed cancelling reservations began while I contemplated what would happen if I just blew off this whole adventure. Once the reservations were all cancelled, I actually felt better. Freedom to do whatever, cheered me up. Without the restrictions of a PLAN, who knows what the morning might bring? In the middle of the night, one word woke me: METTLE, something that, at the moment of my meltdown, was significantly lacking. It also brought me a question: What
would I miss if I didn’t do relatively minor setback but I decided this thing I had planned to just head on up the coast. Just as for and intended to do? I was passing the campground again, The morning dawned it suddenly hit me: that I had put a sunny and relatively bunch of stuff into the campsite food warm, I packed my storage locker! METTLE and set off for With a minimum of selfwhat turned out to be a chastisement, one loop through the fabulous day including park reunited me with my lost stuff as finding a whale of a well as several things that hadn’t even different color. been missed. Finally, off to Eureka for My one camping night the planned three night stay … even was at MacKerricher though, due to my FreakOut, the State Park, five miles reservations had been cancelled. north of Fort Bragg, where my Driving up the coast, I thought campsite was beautiul and sheltered. about what I might have missed if Decided to stay two nights to have my FreakOut had won: more time for long walks over dunes - Mendocino Coast Botanical and the shoreline, perhaps seeing Gardens with its abundance of 21 another character like rhododendrons. the crab catcher who - Jughandle State Natural was beaching his kayak Reserve with its flower dotted the night before. and windswept vistas, krummholz After sleeping well vegetation (bent wood forests all a and walking along the tangle), and pygmy forest. shoreline, it was time to make coffee - Van Damne State Park hike and charge all my electronics. Alas! though fern canyon and seeing all The equipment bag was missing. the perfectly lovely PacificTrilliums. Drama. Dismantled the (More: www.JoyceWycoff.com) (More: www.JoyceWycoff.com) campsite looking for it. Nada ... nothing! Frustrated, I began packing the car when a ranger appeared and told me I could get what I needed at the Radio Shack in Fort Bragg. So,back to Fort Bragg, where I was starting to feel like a local. This was turning into a
Earthfire Institute - crossing boundaries
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omewhere in the shadow of the majestic Tetons, there is an Eden where animals and humans meet on common ground and, through a process of Reconnection Ecology, create an expanded sense of community to include all living beings and the 22 protection of the habitats of all. Susan Eirich, Ph.D., founder of Earthfire Institute, explains the philosophy, “Every animal deserves to be seen like every human being deserves to be seen, for what it is, not just the animal that it is, but the being that it is. We all deserve to be seen and loved.” Learning about this organization and their work was like an earth shift. Too often when we talk about diversity, we mean skin color, religion, or home territory. What if we could remove all boundaries and include all living beings? What if we saw friends in every mammal, lizard, and fungal spore? Diane Ackerman talks about the loneliness and despair of our
disconnected world. While I’m not sure I want to be friends with mosquitos and fire ants, I do believe there is a yearning for a more inclusive world. Earthfire Institute offers magical stories of some of their residents and generously gave me permission to share this one about Major Bear.
Giving a Bear a Pill—Or Trying To… There comes a time in the course of events when you have to give a bear a pill—or in Major Bear’s case, eight of them, twice a day. You might think it was easy. With a wolf, as long as there is breath in their body, put it in a piece of meat and they wolf it down, no questions asked. If there is any difficulty at all, you keep a second piece of meat in your other hand and they’ll focus so much on that piece that they might miss the fact that they wolfed down the first while eyeing the delectable second (the grass is always greener…). If there should be any possible problem even
then, you offer a piece to another wolf and they are so upset that the other is getting something they aren’t that they wolf it down. No problem giving pills to a wolf. But a bear is another matter, and a black bear is especially particular with what he eats. He does so slowly, with thought and care, methodically sniffing, examining, then folding his front legs and laying his bulk gently down, preparing to take his time enjoying his meal. A bear does not wolf down his food. But we thought we had him buffaloed. He loves marshmallows, so we thought it would be a snap—put the pill in a marshmallow. Try the wolf trick to be certain: first give him a marshmallow without a pill, and then when he is lulled into a false sense of security, give him one with a pill hidden deep inside. And then, quick! Another without a
pill. That does mean about twenty marshmallows for one bear two times a day but hey—worth it. However, Major Bear was not about to be rushed or tricked. Anything going down his bear gullet to add to his tender and precious massive self was going to go down carefully and slowly—and be thoroughly enjoyed. It took forever to finish a cherry pie, for example. First the whipped cream had to be licked off. One edge of the crust is delicately lifted, then the cherries are licked out one by one using his long, sticky pink tongue… and on and on. You would think something he loved so much would go down quickly, but no. Slowly and methodically, with thorough, sensual enjoyment. They do not pig out. So we watched in suspense as he took the marshmallow, us willing it to go down. But with his sensitive and agile tongue, he realized something was amiss. He got a funny look on his face and I thought, “Uh oh—he broke the capsule, has a bad taste, and doesn’t know if he should swallow or spit it out.” But he hadn’t even nicked it. He chewed and rolled it around in his mouth and managed to extract the whole capsule from the sticky, enclosing walls of the marshmallow and let it drop, clean and intact, to the ground. Out-foxed. We tried all the above-mentioned wolf tricks using his brother Huckleberry Bear as a foil but to no avail. There’s no fooling around with a bear and his food. So, plan B…
8-minute inspiring video at EarthfireInstitute.org Our Story
EarthfireInstitute.org
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Lake Almanor
My Summer Home
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ummer seems to have hiccuped. Icy deck this morning and a high of 48 today. Fortunately, I filled the propane tank yesterday. Living in RVs is delightful and somewhat romantic but lacks that 72-degree-thermostat warmth of life in a house. Base layers from Patagonia (thank you, Annie) and a heated throw from the thrift store takes me to the edge of my comfort zone. However, two more days and summer should come skipping back. So, I’m sitting here pouring over maps of places to explore and dreaming of having my kayak in the water again. There are so many wonders in this area, some to revisit from last year, and many to discover anew, such as: • Exploring Lassen and kayaking in Manzanita Lake • Exploring Shasta • A repeat visit to Butterfly Valley Botanical Area to see the pitcher plants • Swimming at Indian Falls • Attempting paddle boarding • Learning to identify all the area trees • Finding some endemic wildflowers • Driving and exploring the volcanic trail • Volunteer with a local conservation group or indigenous group • Write and take photos.
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to Reno
Odd Life of Snow Plants “When we tug at a single thing in nature, we find it attached to the rest of the world.” -- John Muir am dying … as are we all. We just don’t know when or how. Knowing that I’m dying reminds me to live the life I want to live, regardless of the expectations of others. It also fills me gratitude for the great privilege of being alive, being healthy, and having the minimal resources necessary for the life I’ve chosen. It is now wildflower season and I’m thrilled to be back at the lake in time for the Snow Plants, those scarlet 26 beacons that live in shady forests and often emerge while there is still snow on the ground. One wish for my trip through Northern California was to find an Indian Pipe flower. They only grow in the far northwest corner of California, which I missed, so that ghostly flower may have to wait until next year. Fortunately, there’s a
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“Snow Plant is the free-thinking radical of wildflower society,” -- YosemiteHikes.com video: YouTube Indian Pipe Adam However, here at Lake Almanor, there are many of its more common cousins, the California native perennial Snow Plant (Sarcodes sanguinea). Because this family of plants has no chlorophyll, it can’t photosynthesize its own nutrients and depends on a symbiotic relationship with fungi underneath the soil. One of the most popular places to see Snow Plants is in Yosemite and they have created a video homage to this strangely beautiful plant: YouTube Snow Plants Yosemite
“Our ultimate, unique creation is our own life.” -- Anthony de Mello
First Ancestor, one cell, without heart, brain, or skin of any color, became, with time: lions and tigers pandas, salmon and humpback whales, sycamores and pussy willows, snow plants, humans and houseflies. 27
All family.
Beauty in Death
Biophilia “To explore and affiliate with life is a deep and complicated process in mental development. To an extent still undervalued in philosophy and religion, our existence depends on this propensity, our spirit is woven from it, hope rises on its currents.” ― Edward O. Wilson
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ome call it Vitamin N, the Japanese set aside areas for silent forest bathing, nature advocate Richard Louv warns against nature-deficit disorder, and E.O. Wilson, called the Darwin of the 21st century, coined the term “biophilia” and believes the need for it is deeply woven into our natures. Gross generalization: today’s focus on technology and striving for external, material rewards has left us in 28 a lonely world. We have created a culture where enough is never good enough, where there is a hierarchy of worth that makes factory farms, chemical destruction of our soils, deforestation, dumping of toxins into our waters, racism, classism, and warfare acceptable. As long as it’s profitable. We’ve broken our own hearts as we’ve created a world walled off from “others.” Poet, naturalist, and suicide hotline counselor Diane Ackerman says, “… much of our loneliness and despair comes from trying to exile ourselves from nature. which of course we can’t do.” This rather odd life I’ve chosen without really knowing why is beginning to show its form as I bathe in forests, meander though meadows, and delight in feather gifts.
My thread to the financial world is tenuous, however, every day I grow a bit richer in spirit and, just perhaps, a tad wiser as I follow a patient teacher.
Olsen Barn Meadow a thousand yellow dandelions she hadn’t planted surrounding a hand-hewn barn she didn’t build in a broad meadow of flowers whose names she doesn’t know. the north fork of the feather river edges this lakeside meadow, rippling through cottonwoods who know this place as home, sheltering coyote, beaver, and fawning black-tail deer, without needing her help. mountain meadow reminder of a bounteous land that stretched far into the distance before the needs of development created the lake, inundating lands of the Maidu people, whose stories she cannot tell.
One hundred and thirty years ago, master barn-builder Peter Olsen, a Norwegian immigrant during the Gold Rush, raised cattle on this land near Chester, California, land that had been part of the homeland of the Maidu people until it was stolen by miners or unratified treaties. In 2015, the Feather River Land Trust joined forces with community members and launched a campaign to purchase the property in order to conserve the meadow and save the cathedral-like barn. “With panoramic views of Lassen Peak and Lake Almanor, and a glimpse into the past with one of Northern California’s oldest standing barns, this property is worth a visit in any season.” — FRLT.org
seep monkeyflower
time will not be turned back, wrongs will not be made right, she cannot change what is done, she can only wander awestruck at the beauty still glimmering in the morning sun.
29
“Where the Horses Sing*”
T
he title above caught
my imagination and led me to an article in Emergence Magazine, Cold by author comfort. Llewellyn VaughanLee. It is an inspiring article talking about how far we’ve drifted on the cloud of progress and technology away from our connection to and understanding of the fundamental nature of the 30 natural world. I soon found myself in a mental conversation with the author, not in disagreement, but more in a “yes, and …” manner. At one point she says, “I wonder at this gulf between the simple, magical awareness of our ancestors, and our present-day mind, as cluttered as our consumer world.” Those words sent me spinning off in slightly different thoughts about those ancestors. For the past year, I have lived in RVs, two small, contained spaces, each parked in separate regions of California. Much of the year was spent learning how to stretch my comfort zone enough to deal with cold weather using less-thannormal resources. During that time, I thought long about our ancestors who lived without electricity,
propane, television, and grocery delivery services. How endless the cold and dark winter nights must have seemed. However, maybe those nights were the key to their survival; the gift of time they used to stitch their understanding of the world around them into a unified tapestry enlivened by story, rhythm, and dance. Not either/or; rather both/and Our ancestors connected rational and imaginal (spiritual) thinking in a way we can no longer access since we have delegated much of our information and awareness to the nether worlds of computers where it lives as data points rather than deep wisdom and connection to the reality of the world. Was their thinking any more magical, any less rational than ours? They lived closer to their land, saw more of the actions of nature first hand, but still had the same needs for food, shelter, and community as we do. Plus, there were probably close to seven billion fewer of them to bump up against each other. Just like us, understanding their world was a matter of survival that required a technology of awareness, understanding, and remembering. They wove this lifecritical technology into the fabric of their lives through song, ritual, and
celebrations. We still haven’t learned to use our collected and carefully stored data in a way that creates wisdom and connection to each other and the land on which we live. Is our problem “rational blinkers” or our definition of “rational”? In a scientific age where science cannot define consciousness, we do need to expand our definition of rational. There are things we do not understand, things we may never understand. We still don’t even know where we are. We can define our neighborhood, however, every time we have a better way to look farther
information should not be received and explored. The needs of our species and our planet are great. We need both technologies, the so-called rational and the less-tangible imaginal, to inform and guide all of us. We need new stories, rituals, and celebrations to help us deeply connect with each other and all the living beings of our neighborhoods, as well as the earth and all the rocks from which we evolved. The author of this important article offers a warning and a wish:
Faces in Time into space, we just find no end to other neighborhoods. Our rational minds find it difficult to deal with endlessness, something without boundaries, something lacking a beginning and an end. At some point, we are going to have to understand that true, rational information can come from sources other than double-blind, laboratory experiments. We may not understand how someone living in a cave or going on a spirit quest can “download” wisdom and visions for our world, but that does not mean it doesn’t happen and that the
“Without this quality of consciousness there is the danger we will just remain in the barren wasteland created by our rational mind, will not fully wake up from the nightmare that is poisoning the planet. Maybe the land and its spirits can welcome us awake, help us to fully see, hear, and inwardly sense the garden we never really left.” The author quotes Black Elk, a Lakota medicine man who had a
seminal vision “when he was nine years old that took him to where the horses were singing, and the Thunder Beings spoke to him of the destiny of his people, how his nation’s hoop was broken. The spirits called upon him to help restore his people through an awareness of all of life’s sacred nature and its inherent unity: ‘And while I stood there I saw more than I can tell and I understood more than I saw; for I was seeing in a sacred manner the shapes of all things in the spirit, and the shape of all shapes as they must all live together like one being.’ ” 31
Found Art
The whole of life lies in the verb
seeing. -Teilhard de Chardin
black oak spring leaves
