Sheep

The other day I was making a presentation and I told this story. I was painting a picture of me.

When my father passed away unexpectedly over 20 years ago, I had the sudden urge to buy sheep. I don’t know whether it was something biblical or what. My dog had died three weeks after my father and I was bereft. I had horses but the thought of a soft, furry animal gently ruminating while I sat in the grass made me feel comforted. Within days, I was the proud owner of a black Oxford cross and a caramel colored Tunis. They were bottle babies and followed me everywhere. Just as I had imagined, we spent many hours sitting in a meadow overlooking our pond. When it was time for their first shearing I kept the fleece. I met a group of ladies that taught me how to spin the wool into lovely yarn. Spinning proved to be a form of meditation and soothed my soul. The rhythm of the foot pedal and the easy slip of the roving through my fingers was heavenly on quiet evenings. I started taking my lambs and my spinning into the neighboring elementary schools. 

By now it was time to start considering a new dog. Wouldn’t it be fun to have a Border collie that would work the sheep at the schools and on our farm? I purchased a lively pup my girls named Charlie. The sheep were unimpressed with this young tyke. They followed me everywhere for a graham cracker and did not see the need. I was totally frustrated by my attempts to get the sheep or the dog to go in any direction that I desired. The ladies in my spinning group recommended an expert sheep dog handler. I was thrilled it was a woman. I invited her to my farm for a consultation.

The handler and I spoke while she met my dog and my sheep. She looked at me and shook her head. I will paraphrase, “You can’t have a dumb dog, dumb sheep and a dumb person. Someone in this mix has to know something.” I was not deterred. I had a vision in my mind and somehow we were going to get there. She said, “OK, bring your collie to my farm. I have dogged sheep and I will work the dog.” So off we went, Charlie and I on our adventure. We had a blast. I learned to walk with the trainer and hold the staff out over her sheep. The sheep clustered under the staff and when Charlie got too close, I would tap him with the staff to move him out. He learned to bye and way. He was a natural. Eventually, my dog and I tackled our sheep at home. The sheep were correct; there was no need for the dog. They went wherever I wanted for a cookie.

I had succeeded in creating my vision. We had muddled through – my dumb dog, my dumb sheep and me. I told this story about how it reminded me of my early days as extension agent in Montana. Once I had unpacked the boxes, I had this sinking feeling in my stomach. I don’t know about growing plants in Montana; I don’t know what kind of bugs or weeds they have here; I don’t know anything about cherry trees. What I do know is that I want to help people grow their food. I want to see them be successful and feel a sense of pride about their land. I held this vision and figured it out. When my clientele asked a question, I had no problem saying, “I don’t know, but I will find out.” I assisted my growers by consulting with the top researchers in the country. Just like with the sheep, I had to start with one piece of the puzzle. The rest fell into place.

I guess that is me. I can hold a vision, even if I have no idea how to get there. I don’t have to have the answers. They will come. This philosophy has served me so far. I am now in the process of building a house. I am gathering facts from excavators, framers, health department inspectors, general contractors, real estate agents, bankers and land owners. I can do this. My road may not be straight and narrow. It is sure to have a few bends and hair-pin turns, but that’s ok. I’ll get there. I always do.

Eventually, the dog herded sheep, the job exceeded my expectations and soon I will be peacefully curled up in my new house. I don’t know where or how, but it will happen. “Ignorance is bliss” – or so I have heard. I can’t say I know that to be true. On the other hand, I am not going to let my lack of knowledge keep me from my goal. I can always learn more. I’ll find my inner sheepdog and use it. I’m going to keep my sense of humor and smile when I realize I have taken the long way around. This will make a good story someday when I am in a rocker. Until then, keep a clear picture and soldier on!



xdx

Hercules

It started out as an ordinary evening of chores. “Sarah, close the chicken coop door. Kate, make sure the rabbit’s water bottle is not frozen.” All tasks seemed to be accomplished-horses munching; cow ruminating; chickens roosting; bunnies hopping; hog grunting; sheep jostling for position and goats…hey, there should be two goats. “Girls, Hercules is missing. Has anyone seen him?”

Hercules and his older sister, Clover, were grey pygmy goats. My daughters had crowned him Hercules because even as a tiny kid, he was a daredevil. Climbing up onto the walls of the barn, chasing bicycles, running to the beach to watch the girls swim, Hercules wanted to  be wherever there was action. He was especially fond of suppertime and his graham cracker treats. Where was he?

The winter nights were long and it was dark in the barnyard when we started our search. The girls and the dog began looking in the riding ring, along the driveway and down at the house. I headed down the dirt road towards the draft horse barn. Maybe somehow he had gotten into that building and gotten locked in, or found a way into the grain room. The moon was brilliant and it was easier to see without the flashlight. The snow was crunching under foot when I heard something odd. I stopped and listened once more. It was a scratching sound and sort of a crumple. The sound was coming from the pond on my left. I peered into the darkness and there it was again. It was then I saw him.

Hercules was boldly heading across the ice towards the middle of the pond. I called to him in desperation. The edges were frozen but the center was open. I could not walk out there to save him. The pressure of my weight made a cracking sound as I called once more. He turned towards me and seemed to skip with joy. Over his head, blinding him to his peril was a grain bag. He had obviously pulled it from the garbage can, put his head in to lick the crumbs and his horns had become snared. Was he bumbling around aimlessly or was he brashly continuing his evening rounds? What I do know is if I hadn’t found him within seconds, he would have fallen through the ice and drowned. I was shaking from the what ifs and he was totally unaffected. It was just another adventure to Hercules.

This scenario popped into my head the other day as I contemplated a job offer. It made me laugh to think about how many times we think we see all the options when we really are bumbling in the dark. How many times are we positive we know exactly where we are going when it ends up we are headed towards a cliff? Hercules almost traded a few sweet crumbs for his life. I have to hand it to him; he was doing it with confidence. 

Time will tell what my decision will be. I haven’t seen all the options yet. I have faith that my choice will be exactly what it should be.

Tribute to Dave

Dave Mann Brant 1934-2013

He taught me patience.

I was weeding in the courthouse garden when an older man in a beat up hat asked if I was the new county agent. I said I was. He proceeded to ask me gruffly why I had not told him the grasshoppers were coming. With irritation he told me they were eating everything on his ranch. I said, “for one thing, I just got here. I didn’t know they were coming.  There have been several articles in the paper submitted by APHIS, federal agency, about the insects.” “I don’t read the newspaper,” he explained. “There have also been news programs about the grasshoppers presented by Montana State specialists.” “I don’t watch television.”  “Then how would you have liked to get this information?” I asked. I shook my head and thought this is going to be a long year. Somehow he expected I would know who he was, where he ranched and had his cell phone number.

He taught me history.

One summer night after the symphony in Whitefish, Dave asked if I would take him downtown for a while. Now it was a school night for me and it was already 10:00 but I said yes. He introduced me to the Palace Bar. You have to know that Dave did not drink although he encouraged me to do so. I declined since I was the driver. He told me about raucous evenings in that place 30 or 40 years ago. Our next stop was the Remington across the street. Funny, these places had never been on my must see list. Dave told me how there used to be two bars in here and sleeping rooms upstairs filled with bunks for patrons that over imbibed. The stories he could tell of skiing and partying in his younger days. Whitefish had not changed in many ways.

He taught me humility.

Dave asked if I could do something about his cherry trees that never produced fruit. He said, I just want enough for one pie that is all I ask.” I stopped by one afternoon and trimmed the heck out of the trees. Brad and Dave dragged away a pile of branches as big as my car. I told him to put water on the trees as least once a week. Later that summer, I got a call in my office. It was Dave. He and Chica were parked out front of the health department building in the old Cadillac. He said he wanted to deliver something to me. I ran down and he handed me a half of a cherry pie. The crust was all carved and beautiful. Natalie had been able to make three pies from the cherries off the trees this year. He wanted to share the bounty with me. He said, “You know, you might actually know something about this stuff.” After five years, I had finally proved myself.

He shared his faith.

Dave told me how he had a heart attack right in the Kalispell Emergency room. While recovering in the hospital, he swore that Jesus appeared at the end of his bed. I believe him. It changed his life completely. Wherever we broke bread – restaurants, bbqs, picnics, or at the ranch, we always held hands and Dave would say a blessing. He thanked God for his friends, his gifts and even his challenges. His faith never wavered;  it seemed to strengthen every day.

He shared with me his love for music.

I accompanied Dave to the Glacier Symphony several times a year. We watched them perform at Rebecca Farm, on the water in Bigfork, at Flathead High School, the Christian Center and the Whitefish Middle School. He’d tell me about the lives of the various composers, the differences between the instruments, how he idolized John Zoltec, and his appreciation that came from his mother. We’d dress up, have a special dinner that included seafood and always a chocolate dessert. Those evenings Chica begrudgingly sat in the backseat. This past winter he sheepishly told me he was having a great time but it was at my expense. When I asked, he said everyone keeps asking me who the blonde is but I don’t answer. I had to laugh, too.

Dave and I shared a wonderful friendship. I still have bags of peppermint tea in my purse that I carried with me in case we went somewhere they didn’t serve his favorite drink. My mother was visiting from New York a couple weeks ago and we had lunch at the ranch. Dave said he really wanted to know where I came from. He could rest assured I hadn’t been hatched. He and Mom had a great time comparing their surgical scars as I prepared the meal. They talked about me as if I wasn’t there, swapping stories. He always included me on the cattle drives with Kathy and Steve. I realize it was work but those days were some of the best memories of my life.

I will always treasure everything that Dave taught me- love of God, love of family, love of the land, love of music and love of cattle. I know how happy he is now. He is my hero riding his horse well into his eighties. What I miss is knowing that there will be no more Friday afternoon phone calls asking if I want to meet at “our place” – Scottibelli’s. No more driving the cattle up the mountainside to summer pasture and down again in the fall. No more long conversations about the composers before the symphony. What I do have is the gifts he left – love, laughter, friends and a sense of home in Montana.

Pat McGlynn

11/27/13

Sandhill Cranes

I just read a great quote from Bruce Larson Wind and Fire. He wrote about Sandhill Cranes, "These large birds, who fly great distances across continents, have three remarkabe qualities. First, they rotate leadership. No one bird stays out in front all the time. Second, they choose leaders who can handle the turbulence. And then, all during the time one bird is leading, the rest are honking their affirmation."

Love it. These birds grace Flathead Lake in the summer. They sound almost prehistoric when they call out to each other. I will never look at them the same again. 

Professionals

I couldn’t take my eyes off him as he stepped off the back of the trailer. He was sleek and his black coat gleamed in the sun. At 17 hands, I could not see over his back as he glided by and into his stall. London was my dream-come-true. Fresh from the race track, he appeared to be more like a gangly teenager than a dressage prospect. The veterinarian that had examined him advised me to get him up another 400 -500 lbs. before the next time he visited. Racing weight is the term that is used for this condition. He would soon be eating 12 quarts a day of sweet feed with his hay to get enough calories.

The first time I tacked him up in my flat seat and road him down a trail, he snorted at every tree and leaf. Here I was perched on top of this behemoth that was jittering like a child. He had only known the track. The woods and pond and all the creatures were new to him. He looked and blew but walked on. He stepped over logs and trampled branches. It was another story when we rounded the corner and he could see a long expanse of dirt road that led back to the barn. It was a perfect curve - smooth and flat. I could sense in an instant what was passing through his brain yet it was too late to haul him in. His feet flew across the ground. I grabbed mane and tucked myself low. If I had one rein pullied him, I could have yanked him over and crashed. We floated above the road and the distance vanished in a second. He came to a complete stop at the top of the hill and seemed exhilarated. I could feel his joy at getting to stretch his legs again. I got off with legs of jelly and kissed the ground.

London was a bouncing, baby boy. He was kind and gentle. He was learning all the time. I trucked him to a show barn to take lessons once a week. The professional horse trainer kept criticizing me and telling me that I did not know how to train a young horse. I could tell when London was afraid and wished to work him through it calmly. Like a child, it does not help to scream and beat a horse when they are afraid. Getting ready for a big show one month, the trainer encouraged me to keep London at the show barn to get more schooling. Only a couple days into the month, I made my daily visit to find London covered in whip marks on his flanks. He was still trembling and had dried sweat on his chest. I ran to the trainer to find out what had occurred and he said he had pushed London to jump higher and get his feet up. I walked him out of his stall and noticed a definite stiffness in his gait. A veterinarian call later, I was to learn that London had “hunter’s bump”. He had a subluxation of the sacroiliac joint. This injury was caused by trauma, the over fencing and a possible fall or twist.

My instinct had been right! This would not have happened if I had trusted my gut and not let myself be told I didn’t know what I was doing. I knew my horse. London had not been avoiding work or been lazy. He required a consistent, tender touch not a whip and spurs. Now I was facing the possibility that my new investment would never regain his fluid gate or jump again. This because I assumed a paid professional knew more than me.

When I was at Cornell, I took the most amazing class called Epistemology, how we come to know what we know. It was fascinating. How we gain knowledge changes as we develop. Some people remain at the authoritative stage where they accept whatever someone in authority tells them or they move on and eventually learn to take bits of information from many sources and synthesize it into something unique and personal. I thought everyone went through these stages and I was to learn that is not true.

We are ultimately responsible for our own knowledge. I was trying to lose weight for a wedding. I exercised at the gym on a treadmill every night after work. I ate less and less each day. My doctor kept telling me eat less, exercise more. Eventually, he put me on diet pills since the weight would not budge. With a few weeks, I was in the hospital with a racing heart rate. I was drugged and connected to a myriad of wires and alarms. My family was called and I could see the fear on everyone’s face. My heart was so quick to jump out of rhythm; I was not allowed to even get up for the restroom. How could this happen? Several weeks later, I was to learn on my own, that I had metabolic syndrome that is caused by not eating enough and over exertion. Without food, each time I stepped on that treadmill, I was tearing apart heart tissue. Within four weeks of adding clean carbs to my diet like fruit and vegetables, my heart was back to normal. I read books and hired a food coach. My heart repaired itself and I lost weight through strength training and adding more protein and carbs to my daily regime.

I have gone to counselors during stressful times. I hire tax accountants when needed. I read books, listen to experts, and watch documentaries. These experts add interesting insights and perspectives. I talk over issues with family and friends when I have decisions to make. Ultimately I know the choices are mine. I prefer to gather a variety of opinions and thoughts then digest them for a while. I am not much of a follower and prefer to create my own version of what is right for me. I am learning to listen to my inner knowing more and more. I am respectful of other’s opinions. I know they are offering their best advice from their own experience and point of reference. Even though they have the best of intentions, no one can know what is best for me. It does not matter what kind of paper hangs on their wall or how long they have walked this earth. No one knows what is best for me better than I know myself. When a friend asks my advice, I can share something that I have experienced, or what I have learned for me. I cannot know what is best for my friend. I can only ask the questions that may help them see their answer more clearly. I can support him/her with love and understanding but I do not have the answer.

I caution you to consider the advice of professionals or experts carefully. Some people consider me an expert on certain topics. I tell people, “This has been my experience, or I have seen this.” Then I add that there are many more theories, more trials, and more results out there. Talk to diverse people. Accumulate ideas and sit with them. See what resonates with you. Don’t let anyone intimidate you and tell you that you don’t know what is best for you. Trust in yourself and your process. This will come as you love and respect yourself. Listen to your inner voice. Being paid to do something does not make an individual more qualified to assist you than someone that cares for you. How many marriage counselors are divorced? How many financial advisors have been bankrupt? Does this make them more or less qualified to give advice? I’d say “no”. Just keep your eyes open.

“Know Thyself” inscribed on the Temple of Apollo at Delphi in ancient Greece.

Only you can know what true for you. It is your movie. It is your life. Create and be happy.

Stuff

Stuff

My sister is currently in the process of selling her lake house. Her boys are off to college and the summer house has served its purpose. Letting the cottage go has not been the challenge, it is the parting with the furniture, the wall decor and the items that filled the shelves that is proving to be painful. It is difficult to part with the paintings our mutual sister created to match the bedspreads, the lamp from my grandmother and the nautical things that were collected and hung over the past 15 years. Each item had been hand selected by her with care and attention to detail to make each room feel inviting and guests feel welcome. My sister was emotionally attached to each memento. It broke her heart to see her things on the front lawn to be picked over by strangers.

When I was home for Christmas this past year, my mother asked me to help her sort out the basement. My girls and I had met from different states to celebrate the holidays and this is not exactly how I wanted to spend my time. We are rarely all in one place at the same time and my mom wanted to go through her old ornaments with the family. My daughters were so kind to their grandmother. They helped her down the stairs, set her up in a rocking chair and brought her boxes to dig through. Each ornament held a special memory for her. She told the story of the origin of each one. Many she had collected on trips with her sister and her mother who are both deceased. I thought of all the parties we had in our house when I was a child, how beautiful our family tree was and how my mother spent hours making sure the tinsel hung just right. My mother uncovered a few hammered brass leaves that had come from Germany with my great-grandmother. She gifted them to my youngest. One ornament I had to save. It reminded me of one of our most comical episodes as teenagers. One of my sisters tipped over the whole Christmas tree within inches of my mother sleeping on the sofa waiting up for us after a school dance. We were hysterical laughing as we righted the tree and attempted to hang everything just the way she had done without waking her up. The only collateral damage was my mother’s favorite ornament. Pinocchio. He had lost a leg and broken his nose. We hung him in the back and she did not notice until she was putting everything away after the holidays. It wasn’t until we girls were in our 30’s that the true story of how Pinocchio lost a leg came out. We laughed with our mom until we cried.

My girls heard the story and smiled. It was understandable. You had to be there to place the emotion to the object. To them it was just something to be recycled. My mom had been saving these ornaments hoping the girls would value them the way she did. They were her memories, her stories. The same is for my sister’s belongings. They are her stories, her attachments. A stranger or even your own children will not share your emotions about your stuff.

A friend of mine has been doing everything he can to keep his farm together for his children. He loves the lifestyle. Only time will tell if his kids will want the farm. When they are old enough, they may choose to sell the land and use the cash to pursue their own dreams. They do not share his memories or attachments.

I look around my cabin. My things have been collected over the past 50 years. They are an assortment of memorabilia from my adventures and my childhood; a jewelry box from Hong Kong, baskets and carved animals from Africa, a Belleek teapot from Ireland, cloisonné eggs and a beaded doll from China and ceramic chickens from Spain. In my living room, a century old cherry blanket chest doubles as a coffee table and storage for my jeans. In the past, it has been a tack trunk in a horse barn and then my daughter’s toy box. A blue gas type lamp, that lights my dining room table, was the first home furnishing I bought when I was 19 years old. The stage coach trunk, my father and I found full of antique books when I was a child. It holds even more treasures. In it is a quilt I made when I was about 10 years old. The fabric is from scraps of the clothes my mother sewed for us. There are patches from my sister’s purple skirt, my brother’s baby pillow, the tiger striped dress I made and my father’s blue jeans - complete with paint splatters. When I created this quilt I dreamed of having a house of my own someday and it would be placed on my bed to keep me warm and cozy. My first diary and my first Barbie doll are in that trunk, too. I rocked both of my newborn baby girls to sleep each night in the Boston rocker. My grandmother’s silver tea set is still packed as is the fine china. My china was only unpacked once in the last 34 years. When I was married, china symbolized the Norman Rockwell family life. The pattern selection was one of the most important components of planning our new home. The oriental carpet and the wallpaper were chosen to match the china. My girls are much more practical; I don’t see them using a plate that can’t contact the dishwasher.  

I remember when my oldest and I used to go camping with the horses in the Adirondacks. One day she said, “This is everything anyone would ever need – a horse, a dog, good food, a tent and a toasty sleeping bag.” She was more accurate than she knew. I have everything I require. I have a warm bed, a roof over my head, good food, a horse and a dog. Consumerism runs our economy but how much is enough? People fill their attics, their garages, the basements and then move on to fill offsite storage units. I think each time we make a new purchase we should consider who will and how it will be disposed of when we are gone. If we think, “oh my children will love this thing.” Think again.

There will be a day when my daughters will wonder what the heck to do with my stuff. The value of these things is the emotions I have attached to them. They are my stories, my memories. The dollar value is negligible. When I move again, how many of these things will I sort through and decide to give away? My stuff does not define me.  If my things should disappear tomorrow, I will still have the memories. I am still me. As long as my things serve me, I will be grateful and thank my Creator for having had the pleasure of using them. When it is time for me to let them go, I hope the next owner enjoys them as much as I have. There is no point in holding onto things simply for the sake of maintaining possession. That is a scarcity consciousness that I do not choose to maintain.

I am grateful for what I have. I am grateful for what I will let go of in order to make space for something new. The world is an abundant place and there are always unique items to cherish and appreciate. I am doing my children a favor by carefully considering what I take into my space. I can express my love for them in so many more ways than leaving them stuff. My choice is to spend time with my girls, create memories and allow them to choose the items that will keep the stories alive in their hearts. I demonstrate my love and kindness by simplifying rather than making my life more complex.

Would it be farfetched to offer a service to a loved one for their holiday gift instead of one more item to be saved? How about a dinner, a massage, an evening of dancing or a day of sightseeing? Could you carve out time to make memories instead of adding to the stack of possessions? Turn off the radio, stop the t.v., get past the ads in the newspaper that say, “Buy! Buy! Buy!” After you drop the clothes off at the thrift shop that you haven’t worn for the past 3 years, let’s take a hike and make a day of it.  You’ll feel lighter knowing that your things are going to a good cause. Your kids will thank you.

Hi Ho! Hi Ho!

Damsel: The Sequel

Yesterday I drove up through Glacier with a male friend of mine. During a rather deep conversation, he said, “You know you are pretty intimidating.” He listed all the things that I do in my job and my new stab at writing. “What are you looking for in a man? What would they need to offer you?” I told him that this was not the first time I had heard this about me. He said, “You don’t see yourself that way, do you?” I said, “No”.

I told him about the Damsel post that I made a few weeks ago. Sometimes I am so tired of doing it all by myself. I did not choose to be so independent and imposing. But upon further examination, have I? I ask myself, how else can a woman take care of herself that is alone? How do you achieve an education, obtain a good job, pay your rent and take care of your house without appearing strong and self-sufficient? I had a boyfriend tell me not long ago, “You do everything for yourself. You don’t need me.” I was under the impression that I was sharing household chores and being an equal partner but it left him feeling emasculated. If I lie around and play the victim, would it make me more desirable? Would I be considered more feminine if I was more needy or clingy?

Several years ago, I was sharing with a female friend a challenge I was having with a woman professor at Cornell. This professor was a temporary supervisor on a project. My friend said, “You know you intimidate other woman.” “What?” “You are capable, take charge, make things happen and men like you. You can make other woman feel inadequate. This professor does not want her assistant showing her up.” That was never my intent. I thought we were a team.

My sister said that I do things that she never could. I disagree. She could figure out how to fix things if she didn’t have her husband. She would have to carry the wood from the basement if it was that or freeze. She could travel alone if there was no choice. She could learn to run the lawn mower and the gas grill. If she had to do these things, she would. This is not rocket science.

When we got to the lake in Glacier my friend easily removed the kayaks from the roof of the SUV. I sighed. I love to watch a man lift things so easily. I’m sure it would have hit the ground with a crash if I had to do it. To a man, it was effortless. It would have taken me an hour to get it back on that vehicle and with a lot of assistance. He did it with ease and grace. I felt totally spoiled by someone carrying the cooler, planning the excursion, providing the boats and being a great conversationalist. Men have unique perspectives. I appreciate their strong character and unusual opinions. Sometimes, we from Venus, feel we need to make men see our point of view when in fact we don’t. We can just listen and learn more about the male psyche.

What am I looking for? I am looking to fully embrace my feminine side. I’d love to have the opportunity to revel in that role. I am looking for a strong man that is sure enough of himself that he does not need me to play small so he can feel less threatened. I can bring all my power and spirit into the relationship and he meets me half way. He is stimulated by my intellect and adds his knowledge to our discussion. I am looking for a man that is consistent and tells me, “I am still here.” He is my rock and my shelter. He provides a roof and a sturdy arm. I can be the Damsel and he can be the bug slayer. At times I am the nurturer and at others he delivers the comfort and physical touch. I welcome turning over half of the household duties. I will shower him with affection and home cooked meals in trade for garbage and lawn detail. I have had to be the man and the woman in my house for a very long time. I am so done with this. I have worked in a male dominated field all my life and have done my best to keep up. I am ready to set aside my boots for a pair of heels any day.

I can be intimidating to some people, I will own this. I do acknowledge that it is also the way that some people choose to see me. I am being me. I am driven and I have a vision. I don't whine, I don't nag, I don't make idle chit chat. I am direct and honest. I am not going to give away a part of me so that someone else feels more secure in their position. I allow those around me total freedom to be who they are choosing to be. Following a path, trusting and being firm in my faith may be interpreted as being intimidating. If so, I am ok with that. I can only choose my thoughts, no one else’s. I welcome the Damsel. She is just another side of me.

Return

Even though it is still August, the air was crisp like an autumn morning today. Droplets of dew hung heavily on the long grasses and glistened as the early rays of sun peeked over the back hill. It was the first morning in ages I was able to settle into my camp chair without the harassment of wasps. On cold mornings, this is the place I choose to drink in the first dose of warmth. My feet find the prefect ottoman on the concrete wall and coffee slides down sensuously. This is the time of day I feel closest to my Creator, my Source. As the day makes its debut, I am filled with gratitude and a sense of peace. I am intoxicated by the sun rises over the Atlantic, swept away by the colors of the early morning over the Kalahari and I anticipate the grandeur of watching the sunrise over the Glacier peaks. The cabin sits in a canyon and I do not observe the sun until it is fairly high in the sky but the pleasure is still palpable.

As I say my morning prayers, I am filled with love and appreciation for the people that come in and out of my life. I see how each interaction has added to the tapestry of my life with its own unique color and texture. "God has sent us only angels." Conversations with God, Neale Donald Walsh. I let the images of people, places and situations percolate through my being and gave thanks to their contributions for assisting me in developing into the person that am today. My awareness dove into my heart center; I felt a finger of light and love reach out from my heart to all of those I have cherished, both past and present. Compassion, healing, understanding and deep affection poured from my center to theirs.

What came to me is that "freedom is the highest expression of love". That made sense, no judgements, no boundaries, no needing to meet someone else's needs. Ok. So, I am sitting feeling content that I have come to a place where I have emotionally set all these people free. I have sent them love and light and come to a feeling of peace. Then, I think of the Return. Wouldn't absolute freedom and therefore the highest form of love include the allowing of reconnection with the same love and light?

A friend of mine posed a thought provoking question. He asked, "do you think it is spiritual to allow your partner total freedom in the relationship even if it means spending time with another?" Wow. My conditioning tells me one answer but my being knows the reality. We are love. That is all we are, it is all we can ever be. Anything that stands in the way of knowing that truth is fear based on conditioning and outdated belief systems. Recognizing that all the people that I have interacted with are pure love, some are simply more in alignment with their knowing of this fact, allows me a new perspective. Marriages disintegrate, friendships crumble, families disown each other - because they are unwilling to allow the return. Blame, shame and guilt is heaped on one party or both and there is no compassion. The story of the prodigal son in the Bible has more meaning to me in this light.

What if one of the people that I have "set free" came back and stood on my porch asking to renew our connection? Would I be able to see past the old story to accept them as the loving being that they are? Would I remember the mirror that they were for me and how they helped me along my path? Would I recognize the gifts that they provided at just the time I required them? It comes back to self knowledge. It comes back to seeing our roles in a new light. There is no forgiveness when we realize that these individuals all came to us for our growth. The pain, the hurt, the conflict was all an illusion we created to demonstrate where we still needed work.

Allowing the return does not mean opening up ourselves to abuse, or sexual coercion or struggle. I feel it as absolute acceptance of the God inside the other. It is the laying down of barriers, weapons and walls in order to see their Divinity. I trust myself and love myself enough to know that I will make choices that are for my highest good in this new dynamic. There are many wonderful people that have come and gone from my life. Their presence was a blessing even if I did not always see their contribution at the time. I have learned so much from them. I have been on both sides of this equation. I have attempted to reconnect friendships and been turned away. I have also been afraid to allow another's return in fear of a repeat of old patterns. When I declined, I see it is me again I didn't trust to design new parameters. By holding onto the past, I have been shooting the messenger for the awareness that they brought. Those lessons can be painful if resisted. I now realize I can open my heart and create unlimited possibilities of interaction. People who push me away do not wish to hear the message that I bring or uncover the wounds they have hidden from themselves. I cannot possibly know what my role is in their lives just as I am not fully conscious of theirs in mine. It is not personal. When there is a lesson they are requiring, if I don't bring it, the next person will. Have no doubt. The same situations will keep appearing with different faces until we finally see. This is the "pie in the face place".

Letting someone go in love and light is noble, but allowing them to return to share in our love and friendship takes it a whole step beyond. This takes the expression "freedom is the highest form of love" to a higher level and acknowledges the God within all of us. For me, the answer to my friend's question is, "absolutely". To love your partner or a friend enough, to feel secure enough in your own being, to trust yourself completely and to give them their freedom to come and go is an enlightened, spiritual individual. This is my work in progress.

I just heard the call of the red tailed hawk and went outside to find him sitting in the tree next to my house. He was telling me to get outside on such a gorgeous day and stop wasting daylight. There will be more time to contemplate. Cherries are ripe on the trees and ready for harvest!

Reflection

It is a rainy summer night.The Earth is drinking in the long awaited moisture. I can almost hear the trees breathing a sigh of relief and see them flexing their limbs. The hummingbirds dart under the porch roof to sip at the feeders before night falls. I pull my fleecy sweatshirt closer to my chin and feel the cool, damp air kiss my face. I let this week float through my mind and allow the wisdom to rise to the top.

I am aware that relationships are an opportunity for measuring how far we have journeyed along our spiritual path. We cannot know ourselves in a void. Often it is a way of acknowledging who we are not, as much as who we are choosing to be. Relationship can be with a co-worker, a friend, a child or a parent. Bringing another person into our space allows us to have a mirror of our internal process. I have read many times, "if there is something about another person that you don't like, look inside yourself and find it there." I did not find that useful. If I saw or read about someone who stole, or cheated or lied, I would say, "not me. I don't do that." Lately, I have been looking deeper. It's not the action, it's the fear or emotion behind the action. I may not make racist remarks but do I harbor judgement? I may not outwardly criticize but am I afraid that I am not good enough? If I feel a charge, then I know I must look at my reflection.

My cabin affords me the luxury of letting very few people into my space. I have chosen not to have radio, television or newspaper. This place has been my monastery of isolation to propel my inner exploration. When someone enters my life, it is because they have something to teach me. I am aware enough to realize I must watch and listen. When someone acts from a place of fear by withdrawing, or creating conflict or needing to create outcomes, I must look deep inside myself. My actions may not be the same but this person is here to show me something I have asked to see. I have to be especially careful when I want to find fault or blame the other, they are my mirror.

Some authors will refer to old, emotional wounds as stuck emotions or thorns or hot buttons. It is an inescapable part of life to carry at least a few. I remember getting very defensive about a letter I wrote to an academic administrator. I was not criticized for the content, but for not passing the letter through the proper chain of command. I was upset because I thought he was attempting to "put me in my place." What took me awhile to see was that I was not feeling worthy of respect; I was not coming from a place of empowerment; I was doubting my own ideas. It was me putting me in my place.

In the same vein, when a partner has left the relationship, I have been forced to look at my own feelings surrounding the situation. Instead of pointing a finger at their fear of commitment, I see my own. I am so positive I am ready and yet my mirror shows me that I am afraid of losing my freedom. My intellect would certainly deny this accusation. My outside reality reflects my inner truth. I had not come to fully trust myself to balance commitment with independence. I think that I am afraid the other person will take control when in fact it has been me that does not trust me to not give up my power. The other is simply being my mirror reflecting back what I need to see.

When I see the things I love about another person - like generosity, kindness, a gentle spirit - I also know that these are the things I can see in myself. It has been a bumpy road to get to this place of Self love. I cannot expect to truly love another until I can accept all of me. I see the places that still need work and I see the places that really shine. I am a work in progress. Several years ago, my oldest said, "Mom, I think you are looking for a male version of you." I thought that was so funny when only a short time before I had been looking for all the things I thought I wasn't. It took much of my life to come to a space of appreciation about the person that I am. When the time is right I will once again ask to have a relationship teach me more. The other will reflect who I am. Mirror, Mirror, on the Wall.

August Issue

August issue of Montana Woman magazine hit the stands today! Here's a story from my Ithaca days. It wasn't all partying. There was much studying and contemplation, really.

Damsel

The war on the hornets continues. I have killed hundreds of them, gone through seven canisters of bee spray and called in the cavalry - my landlord - to take down the nests up in the second floor eaves. The battle has raged on for 3 days now. Bald faced hornets had built a nest behind some shingles in the upper rear wall of the cabin. A portion of the siding was disassembled to get them out. Yellow jackets had built nests in the crevices of the main support logs in the sidewalls. Bee spray, ant spray, starting fluid, long handled screw drivers, hammers, caulk guns - all instruments of mass destruction employed against the enemy.

All day I have been engaging in tracking down and killing hornets that have crept around the window casings to find their way into the house. I was folding laundry when I saw the head of a hornet peek through a tiny crack. It was like a sci-fy movie to see these tiny antennae peering out as he struggled to get his plump body through the opening. With one swoosh of the fly swatter, he was decapitated but then more ventured forth. It was like Alfred Hitchock's The Birds film. I bought some silicon caulk in a tube and pushed it into the cracks around my window. When that was not enough, I used some old beeswax lip balm to fill the remaining cracks. The romance of the old cabin met its end today.

Taking on these wasps, bees and hornets has taken its toll. I am so reminded of my limitations. I am tired. I wish at these times to be the Damsel in Distress and be rescued by the Prince. The Prince comes and slays the dragon for her or at least the bees and an occasional spider in the bathroom. My soul is weary. It has been a long time since there was someone to help carry the groceries, mow the lawn, take out the trash and rid the basement of anything crawly. I can do it and am very self sufficient. I have a reputation of being strong and independent. This is my exterior coating. It has been making the best of a situation and not by choice. There is a reason why I sleep with a german shepherd, a shot gun and bear spray by my bed. I must protect and provide for myself. One cannot wallow and wait to be rescued. I would have long ago starved to death if I had refused to move forward.

It is not my desire to take a stand on the roles of men and women in relationship and yet I do think that inherently we each have certain strengths. Men are traditionally providers and protectors. I know, for me, I sleep soundly when there is a man who can keep the things that go bump in the night at bay. I could not close my eyes if I did not know that Aries watches over me and warns me if there is reason. I struggle carrying wood pellets from the basement and it is so easy for a man. Sure, I do it everyday but it is more difficult each year. As a woman, I am a nurturer and caretaker. I am a homemaker and keeper of traditions. I am a love maker and a fire keeper. I am a communicator and partnership builder. Many people may have opposing views on these roles for themselves. There is no right or wrong combination.

Acknowledging my weaknesses and vulnerabilities is not a problem. Addressing them is. None of us can manifest a partner out of thin air. I continually recognize all the things that men are more capable of handling than me. I have no issue with this. It does not make me feel less empowered or less equal. I know my value and my assets. I would gladly turn the hornets over to a Prince. I'm sure I could find some way to repay his kindness.

War

Ok, this is it. I have thrown down the gauntlet. I am tired of dodging and racing from yellow jackets every time I walk out my back door. It is my fault. I let my guard down. This spring I was preoccupied and let some duties slide which included getting out the wasp lure early in the game. I know from experience if you have the traps set when the queens are hunting for a nesting site and you snare them, you wont have any wasps all summer. Tough life, only the queens overwinter, the rest of them die. I wonder if the wasps that are so eagerly protecting her now have a clue how this is going to go down? Anyway, I digress.

This morning I began planning my attack. I watched to see where they were coming in and out of the chinks in the cabin. I cut white electrical tape into small sections and each time I saw a wasp enter a crevice, I snuck in and quickly stuck a piece about an inch above the opening. In my haste to retreat while being pursued, my flip flop caught on the low concrete wall and I went sprawling into the grass. I could have added a sprained ankle to my anger at these buggers but I was lucky. Just a bruise to show for it. As I stand back and look at the rear wall of the cabin, it looks like an adolescent with his first try with a straight razor. Little bits of white dot the wall.

I wait for nightfall when I can empty a can of bee spray into these nests and hopefully rid myself of these invaders. I am not happy doing this but they will not live peacefully with me and my pets. That was always the one rule I had on my farm. No fighting. If a rooster, pig or ram began fighting, he was gone. It only happened a few times but I would not tolerate anyone getting hurt by one of my animals. If you cant get along, you are history. These wasps are making it impossible for me to unload my groceries or enjoy the early morning sun with my coffee. One of us has got to go.

I have declared war and now I must follow through. No prisoners. No negotiations. Plans drawn, weapons ready, I attack at sunset.

Acceptance

This morning I get my daily inspirational quote on my email. It states that "happiness comes from acceptance". Otherwise,  not being attached to outcomes. Ok, I agree. Same idea as the Buddhist expression paraphrased, "Pain is caused by attachment to outcomes." 

If this is true and I understand that concept, then why do we pray? Why do we believe in the Law of Attraction and the ability to manifest? If we are to sit back and accept our life just as it is, then why aren't we led to sit and contemplate our navels? Why do we know in our hearts that there is more? How do we choose which of these philosophies to follow? Sit back and  accept or strive and reach? If we are to do both, how do we know when and at what times to do which? 

I will have a long drive today through beautiful mountains to mull over these ideas. In Montana, that can mean going to the grocery store but today I journey farther. I wish we'd been born with owner's manuals to decipher these paradoxes. If I have some epiphany I will be sure to share soon. Feel free to comment. I cant be the only one with this question.

Meet me in Montana

http://youtu.be/cDlgyKkoGa8

I was driving up Prairie View on my way to twine my hops bines - yes, bines not vines - in the research plot when this song came on the radio. It has been years since I heard it. The songwriter had visited Kalispell, MT and fallen in love with the mountains. I was basking in the sun, looking at the Glacier peaks and loving living here. This song was the icing on the cake. Enjoy!

Meet me in Montana

Bikini

I am waiting for an oil change and of course something is percolating through my brain. Last week I was up and down the lake several times working with my cherry growers. On one of those excursions I brought Aries along with me. On our way home, I stopped with her at one of the state parks along the shore. She lives to fetch a stick and swim. Anyway, I pulled into a secluded boat ramp to let her run and play. There on the small dock was a woman in an orange bikini sunning herself. She was so stunning I could hardly believe my eyes. Women like that appear in magazines on yachts or in the movies, but not in real life. I have no idea of her age or anything about her, only that she was a picture of perfection or the ideal of every woman.

She smiled and told me how much she liked Aries. The lady went back to sunbathing and I back to work. I have thought several times of her since that day for many different reasons.

One, reason was that I wondered how I would have felt if I had a man with me that I cared about. If he had not said anything, I would have felt for a pulse. I appreciated her beauty like a fine work of art. Would he feel comfortable expressing his feelings or reaction to me? Would I have felt insecure or would I have agreed with him whole heartedly?

Only a couple days later I was baling hay in the July heat. A young man was there that is an exquisite specimen of the male physique. I do not feel that I am unusual to have noticed him and appreciated his appearance. Could I share that with a partner? "Hey, honey, there was a young guy at the farm that was muscled and gorgeous." It reminds me of the joke...." and then the fight started."

We have been so conditioned to keep these feelings and thoughts secret. I have learned from ex boyfriends that when they ask about past partners, it has not been safe to tell the truth. I have had a hard time mentioning my ex husband in certain relationships. I still think he is a great person. That has not set well with some dates. It has not been ok to mention that I find someone else appealing or fun. It does not mean I want to pursue another, just voicing an opinion. I trigger their insecurities. So, I stay quiet.

If someone is choosing to spend time with me, then I must assume they want to be there. If not, then they will leave. If I was with a man that wanted to chase after the lady in the orange bikini, then he will. He might just want to say, "Holy cow, she is gorgeous." Period. End of story. Same as me. Would it change the way I feel about myself if he preferred being with her? Would it impact my self worth? My reaction would  demonstrate who I am choosing to be in relation to someone else's behavior. This is an area that needs more soul searching for me.

Another reason I kept thinking of the orange bikini lady is that our society tells women that if we looked like her, we would have any man we wanted, we would have jewels and fancy cars. Life will be handed to us if we can only achieve this flawlessness. This is what drives the cosmetic industry, the plastic surgery clinics, the unending supply of weight loss pills and potions. Sometimes a beautiful woman is idolized and sometimes scorned. I wonder how it would feel to be in that skin? Would people see past your looks? Would you be heard or just seen? Is it really all glamour? I could make up a hundred stories in my mind why she was sitting on that dock. None of which would probably be true.

I am not pretending to be anything other than the middle aged woman that I am. I keep my body active, healthy and strong. I accept myself and where I am in my life. A man will not be deciding to spend time with me based on how I look in a swim suit.  I am not dishing myself either. I navigate steady and true.  All that said, I am still breathing and recognizing attractive people all around me. The lady in the orange bikini gives me much to ponder.

Screen door

I am so thrilled by my new screen door. I have spent four summers here without any ventilation in the front rooms. I traded my time baling for my farmer friend's time figuring out how to get a screen door on my cabin. I had been told it couldn't be done because the doors were backwards. So what? It's a cabin. I have the neatest old wooden screen door on the inside instead of the outside. I was so happy today being able to make my breakfast and look out on the front porch to see my hummingbirds feeding on the flowers. It's the little things that bring us the most joy. Fresh air wafting through from the front to the back. Farmer's ingenuity, you gotta love it!

Soar

I am on my way home from work today and I am thinking, "I cant wait for this week to be over." This is an unusual feeling for me since I enjoy my job. It just seems like everyone has been wearing their crabby pants this week. I had more complaints and people saying I am not doing enough, than I have had in the last 4 or 5 years. The requests have been for example, "Why cant you stop people from using herbicides to control their weeds? Why cant you find a use for the old aluminum plant in Columbia Falls? Why don't you trace back all the manure being sold and find out what those cows have been eating? Why haven't you been sending me any newsletters for the past year like I wanted? (Could be because there are no apple newsletters, just a guess) Why don't you give everybody grapes to experiment with?"

I was thinking it was my Creator's way of saying, "You really need a vacation", which coincidentally starts tomorrow. Then just as I was coming up to the round-about, not a mile out of town, I saw a red tailed hawk being harassed by a tiny bird. I continued towards home and had gone about another 4 miles when over Foys Lake was an eagle being chased by a crow. Two of these scenarios within 5 minutes? Then I laughed to myself. Of course! Keep soaring! Keep flying and reaching new heights. Don't let petty comments and whiners get you down. The eagle does not turn around and attack the small bird; she does not sit and contemplate their lack of communication; she just flies off in a new direction.

Thank you, thank you for this sign. I know that I can not make everyone happy. I can just keep on putting out my best effort and allow others to say what they wish. Even by writing this blog, I have opened myself up to criticism and comment. I must be able to weather negative feedback. I am writing about my own emotions and vulnerabilities in the faith that it may make someone feel that they are not alone. Be the hawk, be the eagle. Don't take it personally. Fly!

Baling

Sometimes it is so peaceful to have a no-brain job for awhile. Baling hay this weekend at Centennial Farm. I said, "Les, I havent driven a tractor in 20 years." "Oh, you'll be fine, just keep going straight." Ok! Two days of turning, baling and loading. Wow, did Aries get a workout. She wanted to follow me every step of the way, round and round and round. 

Dad

My father and I had a pretty rocky relationship while I grew up. I realize as an adult how much alcohol and economics played in that situation. Being young, five kids, broke and raised in a harsh household did not add to his parenting skills. I know he did his personal best. He loved painting, reading, telling stories, horses, camp fires and nature. I am my father's daughter.

 About 25 years ago he became very ill. It turned his life upside down. It scared him; it scared us. No more drinking, lots of exercise and healthy food. He became a new man. The father I had always known that was in there somewhere was released. After 30 years, he was calling me on the phone to talk about oil paint colors, to discuss the attributes of a horse I was considering purchasing, talk about the kids and work. He'd drive the three hours to visit my two baby girls. Dad even changed a diaper. That Christmas, he bought presents and wrapped them for us for the first time in our lives. In January, six of us went to Sturbridge Village for a Yankee Winter Weekend for his 56th birthday. I had never had such a wonderful time with him. I was 32 and when he hugged me and said he loved me at the end of that trip it was the first time I had heard that. He said, "Let's do a trip every winter from now on." 

 The next weekend, I was awakened by a phone call from my parent's neighbor saying that my dad had died in his sleep. It could not be. I was in shock. There must be a mistake. He was well and happy and healthy. Please, God, don't take him. I have waited all my life for him to be a real father to me. My girls would never get to learn all the wonderful things he could teach them and what a great man he was. 

 These thoughts of my father came to me as I drove down Flathead Lake today. I miss him. It has been almost 24 years and I still want to discuss things with him. I want to talk about my successes and my failures. Realistically, he'd probably give me advice that makes me feel like a child but I would understand. A man's opinion can be foreign and yet unique. I appreciate the diverse perspective. My imagination creates a father that I have not had all these years reassuring me and giving me confidence; being a strong male that makes me feel safe and loved. He would tell me to buck up and not put up with turkeys. 

 When I admitted to myself today how I still wish he was here, I could see where my emotions get triggered in other areas. When I really care about a man and then he vanishes out of the relationship, with no reason, no explanation, no call - I feel the loss of losing him very deeply. I cannot control his disappearance. I am not able to bring him back. It is the feelings I had way back then. It is the sudden silence that is what has unsettled me and now I see where that connects back. This has been my experience more than once in the past 15 years. Sometimes it was after years, sometimes after weeks. If my dad were here, I would ask him why. If he were here to ask, I wouldn't have experienced the pain of his unexpected death and the emotions would not have gotten stuck. Maybe, just maybe, I would have a different point of view. Now that I have raised these emotions to the surface for healing, I let them go. I have found the sliver and plucked it out. Goodnight, dad, and thank you.

Dad and my oldest 

The Fall

Some experiences in our life are just too painful to talk about until enough time has passed and the healing has begun. My divorce and a traumatic horse accident changed my life profoundly. These events effected me physically, emotionally and spiritually.

Three years ago, I stepped up onto a horse I did not know. She had been recommended by a friend. Within seconds of getting on board, the mare bucked and bolted and I was thrown to the ground. As I laid in the dirt, in excruciating pain, I knew something was seriously wrong. An ambulance ride later, after a myriad of tests, I was to learn I had broken my sacrum. The doctors agreed, it would be a long road but I should recuperate completely. I went through denial, anger, depression, frustration and helplessness. I could not run away or escape this fate. I had to endure. Wheelchairs, walkers, canes and eventually yoga therapy. Once I could drive, it was daily trips to work with a therapist. A broken back is every horse person's worst nightmare. How did this happen? Would I ever ride a horse again? Would I want to?

I had just purchased Lakota ten days earlier. I was not on her the day of the accident. When I was strong enough to visit her, a friend brought me to the farm. My walker creaked and groaned under the burden as I could not put any weight on my legs.My arms took the full force of my body. Lakota was hesitant until I began giving her treats from the little cloth basket. I was terrified of her, so afraid she might accidentally knock me over. She seemed disproportionally huge. I felt like Humpty Dumpty, fragile as an egg. I was not ready to give her up but it took months before I could muster the fortitude to even brush her.

My agony was the loneliness, the feeling of separation, isolation and vulnerability. I had thought of myself as courageous, strong and invincible and here I was broken and beaten. I could not leave my front porch for weeks. My cabin is not handicapped accessible. I had been carried in and would have to be carried out. It was summer in Montana and everyone was hiking, boating and playing. Everyone but me. Even my dog, Aries, was being cared for by a neighbor because I could not carry her dog food or let her in and out. I questioned all my beliefs about who I was and my place in the Universe. Why had I been abandoned? What had I done to deserve this? Why was all of my support 2,500 miles away? How could I have made such a mistake? What was my future going to be?

Even though my divorce had been ten years earlier, familiar emotions flooded in. The loss of identity, the crisis in faith, the unending ache, the turning around to see nothing had remained the same. Where was I going? Who was I now?

In spite of set backs, I have remained hopeful of once again finding a partner to share my journey and to continue enjoying horses. I could say that men and horses are too dangerous and the chance of getting hurt just too high. But, what is life without love? I am learning how to take more calculated risks. The first mistake was to trust my seat to a horse that I did not know. I have done the same with men. I had to learn the hard way. It is easy to find oneself in a wreck, when you haven't taken your time. There is no rushing in relationships or horses.

To mitigate my risk, a horse must: be calm, listen, be intelligent, be kind, willing to learn, actively engaged, have self control and gives his best effort.

I still dream of riding side by side, hand in hand with my partner over an open meadow, horses walking gently. If he is not a horse person, we will find another way to enjoy our time together. That is not carved in stone.

I realize that I was not forsaken, that I am blessed to be walking soundly. The break in my bone was millimeters from my spinal column. I am so very lucky. My world shifted after my divorce certainly but it also opened and expanded. "Pain is the resistance to what is". Once I could accept, I could move forward.

Divorce did not make me afraid to love again. I am living in faith and trust. I am more aware. My fall did not make me give up horses; it made me cautious. I do not know how long Lakota and I will be together. She has helped me regain my confidence and is willing to put up with my amateur attempts at training. Each day I become more knowledgeable about my Self. I will not pretend to know what is right for anyone else. We all have our own path to follow. I can only share my story and continue my daily practice of unfolding.

Thorny

There is a large shrub that has been enclosing on my driveway for the past few years. Each month the branches get closer and closer to scratching my car. I wasn't sure what it actually was but it has beautiful, fragrant blossoms in the early summer. The flowers look like wisteria but are attached to gnarly trunks instead of a vine. It was too lovely to destroy but something had to be done to control it. I learned it was a Robe Locust. This is not like the locust we grew on the east coast. This marauding shrub was actually an ornamental tree that had suckered into an invading nuisance

Today, I decided to tackle it. I cut the young sprouts, then the larger ones at the base. I reached in to clear the branches to get a better view and "ouch!" they had spines on them. At each leaf node there was a pair of barbs. As I sucked the blood that trickled from my thumb, I reassessed the situation. I could go back to the garage and get a pair of leather gloves or I could just be more careful. The next reach was much more gentle and deliberate. I dragged a huge pile of branches across the road without incident by paying more attention, watching to see where the thorns were and getting to know the structure of this plant.

The clearing away of all the extraneous growth, allowed the small trees to once again line my roadway. It made the driveway safer. The tree will be healthier by reducing competition for nutrients and water. It was good to have it done.

There are times when it would be beneficial to a relationship to broach a prickly topic. It is often easier to make a path around it, then to venture in and take a chance of getting stabbed. Avoidance may appear the simplest solution for awhile but sooner or later you are going to have to deal with it. The issue is going to keep growing until it blocks your road to a deeper sense of intimacy.

I will take the lesson of the little locust tree. Keep the intention of achieving a more loving union while carefully delving in. Avoid the barbs when possible and keep envisioning the result. If the intention is to just go in and slash branches, back away and approach another day.

I kept picturing the lovely tree I was uncovering. I had to remove dead wood and suckers to restore it. It took effort but now it will be pleasing to see each time I drive up to the cabin. It will grow more vigorously with this assistance. We are both happy. Ignoring the tree would not have solved the problem. It continued to spread each passing day. It will be easier to control and maintain. I will be more vigilant. Now that I know more about the tree's habit, I will work with it and not against it. I will keep it healthy and strong and it will provide me with beauty and sweet aroma.

Freedom

Today is the 4th of July and the word that comes to mind is Freedom. I am feeling totally blessed and grateful for living in the United States. If I were living in many other countries, I would not have the time or the desire to contemplate spiritual teachings and my own inner workings. Anyone that has studied education is familiar with Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs. Self actualization can only be achieved when basic needs such as food, shelter and safety have been attained. I give thanks to all of the people that have sacrificed before me so that I have the privilege of sitting under this clear blue sky and typing to my heart's content.

I consider what Freedom means to me personally. My cabin symbolizes Freedom. My life is all about Freedom. I laugh when I think of something my girlfriend from San Antonio, Big Tex, said. She said, "I want to make a t-shirt that says - You are not the Boss of me! It reminds me of you, when we were living in Ithaca." It makes me laugh but it is a little sad, too. I was stretching my wings, rebelling against any limits and constructs surrounding me. There was collateral damage, I admit. I was breaking through the paradigm of feeling controlled by a man. The pendulum had swung way out.

I am not sure if men would understand what it is like to know that your shelter and your food is ultimately controlled by another. I had chosen to stay home with my daughters and work on their school schedule. I have never regretted that decision. I lived in the illusion that I did not have an equal say in marital decisions. It's not conscious, but  you know you are not able to support yourself with that kind of income. I see the error in that thinking now, but that is where I was. I felt unheard.  A book I read called it "de-selfing" when you start to lose yourself for the relationship. Resentment builds. It is cultural conditioning for women to acquiesce. Peace at all costs. I did not have the communication skills to stand up for my Self. When I went back to college in my 40's, I found myself in the same situation. Cripes. I fell into allowing a man to control my shelter and job, again. Out of the pan and into the fire. The proverbial spiritual 2 x 4.

Years later, I am in this little cabin on the side of a mountain in Montana. I have created a sacred space, a refuge for healing, that is true. This place has served its purpose. I have had total Freedom here. I sit on the porch with my coffee and write. I go visit my horse, without someone being envious of the time I spend with her. My work is rewarding and can be tiring. I feel comfortable laying on the settee for a half hour when I return. My gym schedule is erratic but important to me. I come and go as I please. Yet, there is something or someone missing.

I acknowledge my longing for relationship and my desire for Freedom. I asked a male  friend of mine not long ago, "What would you make me give up to be in a relationship with you?" I will ask that of any man I am considering. I understand the balance of "I" and "we". A relationship needs a healthy portion of both. 

I will leave my cabin willingly to partner with a man when the time comes. I have learned enough about me to know that I am not going to be dragged out of here with my toothbrush to be stripped of my Freedom. Sharing a roof does not mean giving up who you are or your values. I will do my best to honor and respect my partner's Freedom, also. There is a delicate balance between Freedom and commitment. I do not pretend to have that figured out yet. I believe that will be a process that will unfold. I'm aware that I could use this cabin as an invisible shield to hide behind. That is not my intention. I had to prove something to myself and I have completed that. It's time to write a new chapter. 

Summer Reading has Arrived!

Mystical kingdoms, a forgotten lighthouse, a sojourn into space, a mysterious drowning, talking wolves - sounds like summer reading to me!! Ok, admittedly, one book on woman's anger. For me, all this escapism is well overdue :)

Being the Gift

Every Sunday I get up early, make the coffee and take it with me while I venture outdoors. If it is raining, it is onto the porch I go; if it is sunny, it is out to the flowers. Today was no exception. The roses are here so briefly, so I make the most to revel in their scent while I can. I stooped down to inhale the sweet aroma when something moved in front of my eyes. It was an incredibly beautiful moth resting on one of the blossoms. Last week it was a bee nestled in a bed of pollen, today it was a sleeping moth. He is the size of my hand and marked with the shades of the forest. What is he doing here? He is alive and well, simply taking a respite in the shady coolness.

My roses bring me such delight yet I realize suddenly how many others are finding pleasure in them also. The hummingbirds have taken up residency in the yellow climber rose beside the porch. People up the road are happy to see the blooms as they come home from work. A neighbor stopped last night to compliment them. The bumblebees extract their nectar during the day, while the moths feed from them at night.

I wonder if we can imagine how many times we are giving to others without consciously realizing it? We don't see the gift we are being in the world simply by being ourselves. We are impacting people positively by our intention, simply by being who we are. I am just being me and pleasing me by planting and tending my garden of flowers. I can look at it as a selfish activity. I am the only one here. Today I am reminded that I am having an effect on all around me.

I am creating a sacred space. My cabin is a refuge to all that enter her doors. I am surrounded by natural beauty and peacefulness. My home is quiet and serene. I know that my energy expands beyond these walls. I can say that I am just doing my job when I offer assistance or I can acknowledge that I am being a benefit to my community. My intention is to be a loving, spiritual being in my home and everywhere. I am more successful being that at times than others.

The lady bluebird has begun gathering dried grass from the gravel and bringing it into her house. This can only mean that she has decided to bring forth another clutch this year. She is remodeling and making it fresh. The bluebirds affirm that I have provided a safe haven for them to raise their young.

I ask you to look around you and take stock of how you are impacting life. We don't always pat ourselves on the back for the difference we are making just by being who we are. We are good parents, kind children, nurturing the environment, caring for our pets. Allow yourself to receive the gratitude from the Universe for all your contributions. Allow yourself to see the amazing difference you are making everyday. Your smile or the touch of your hand may be the answer to someone's prayer. Recognize the gift that you are.

Bedtime Stories for Grownups hits the press !

Bee

I was taking time to smell the roses under my window, when I saw a little bee lying very still in the middle of the blossom. It was early in the morning and I thought maybe he had passed away during the night. I was a bit sad but I had to admit, he had selected a lovely place to transition. He looked so soft and fuzzy that I was compelled to touch him gently with my finger. Much to my surprise, he stretched his legs and rolled over. He was sleeping! Maybe he was just not a morning person. Bees have roles: workers, queens, nurses and builders. I am guessing he did not appreciate the early shift. This adorable little guy was lying in the sun, nestled in a bed of pollen, intoxicated by the fragrance.

Even in nature, the tiniest of beings are able to enjoy life’s pleasures. Thank you, Mr. Bee, for appreciating the roses I have planted and enjoying them as much as I do.