December 31, 2014 - The Threshold

In desperation and worry, a young girl traveled to a soothsayer who lived by the water’s edge in an underground cavern.  It was said that if you brought your troubles to him, the soothsayer would always give you answers.  You might not like them, but he would always give them, and some answers are certainly better than none at all.  The girl traveled to see him because she was beside herself with indecision.  She couldn’t decide where to live.  She couldn’t decide if she should marry the boy who proposed to her.  She couldn’t decide if she should take a job as a maid in a very stately home.  The more she thought about the decisions before her, the more she trembled with fear.

She went to the soothsayer out of desperation and as a last ditch effort.  The path to his underground chamber was well traveled, although she met no one on the path, and she knew that many people came to see him.  At least I am not alone, she thought.  She was relieved that others went for answers as well because, the truth of it was, she was uncomfortable going to see him as she had heard he was a wizard.  She didn’t like anything that made her feel unsafe, and wizards were about as uncertain as things could get.

But desperation drove her on and she arrived at the entrance to his cavern.  She sat outside and waited because she couldn’t decide if she should go in or not.  There she sat for many hours until the sun dipped low on the horizon.  The wind picked up and she felt very cold, so she started a fire with the driftwood she found all over the beach.  Of course, the wizard had seen her waiting all those hours but was not about to go outside if she couldn’t even knock.  However, once she started the fire and the flames of the driftwood rose in odd blue and green shades, as driftwood flames are known to do, he felt compelled to go outside.  Even wizards have their weak spots.

The entrance to the wizard's cavern.

“Well, what is it?” he asked.  “I haven’t got all night!”

“Oh!  I didn’t know you were there,” she said.  “I need some answers to some terrible problems I’m having.”

“I will help you with three problems,” the wizard said, sitting closer to the colorful driftwood flames.

So the girl told him about her first problem, which was being unable to decide where to live.  An opportunity had come up for her to get her own little home, but she didn’t know if she should leave her mother’s house.  After all, anything could happen, and what if she couldn’t pay for her home?  Or if she didn’t like it?  Or if there were a fire?

The wizard told her to look into the flames and slowly repeat her problem, which she did.  To her surprise, within the flames she saw a doorway, and she saw herself standing on the threshold of it.  On one side was her mother’s house.  On the other was her own home.  Both sides looked equally nice, and each had their own set of limitations.  Both had comfort, and each had loneliness and routine.

“What should I choose?” she asked the wizard.

“You must walk through the doorway,” he said.

“Which way should I go?”

“I cannot choose it for you.  You must choose,” said the wizard.

The girl was very frightened and uncomfortable, and she stepped back from the doorway.  As she did so, it faded away and she saw only the colored flames of the driftwood again.

“What about my second problem, then?” she asked.  “Should I marry the boy who proposed to me?  I can’t decide if I should or not.  What if we don’t have children?  What if he doesn’t love me?  What if I fall in love with someone else?  What if he dies?  What then?  What should I do?”

Again, the wizard told her to look into the flames and slowly repeat her problem, which she did.  And again, within the flames she saw a doorway, and she saw herself standing on the threshold of it.  On one side was the boy who had proposed to her.  She could see a home they lived in and some children in the distance.  She could see hardships and joys, triumphs and losses.  On the other side of the door, she could see safety and familiarity.  She could see comfort and boredom, resignation and acceptance, warmth and ease.

Once again, she asked the wizard which way she should choose, and yet again he told her he could not make the choice for her but could only show her the possibilities.  She stood on the threshold of the doorway for a long time, trembling terribly with her fear.  She felt she could not move her feet one way or another.  It was as though she was glued to the threshold.  Then suddenly, the door shut and the image faded in the fire.

“My third problem?  Can you help with it?” she asked.  She proceeded to tell him all about the job as a maid in a very fine home.  It would be quite a step up for her in her social standing as she was only the daughter of a farmhand.  But she was petrified to make a decision.  What if she didn’t like the job?  What if she were fired and given a bad reference?  What if there was a better job somewhere else?  What if she didn’t like the people she worked with?

For a third time, the wizard told her to look into the flames and slowly repeat her problem, which she did.  And for a third time, within the flames she saw a doorway, and she saw herself standing on the threshold of it.  On one side was the stately manor house, and she could see herself in service there, making a decent living.  She could see herself traveling occasionally with the people she served and seeing many new wonderful and terrible things in the world.  On the other side of the door, she could see other employment closer to home.  She could see things that put her at ease, simple things she knew.  She could see longing and unfulfillment, yet satisfaction for a simple job well done.

For a third time, she asked the wizard which way she should choose, and for a third time he told her he could not make the choice for her but could only show her the possibilities.  She stood there, looking at first one side and then the other.  Her heart wanted both but her mind knew she could have only one.  She was afraid of being a nobody her whole life, but she was even more afraid of the sophisticated girl she saw on the other side of the door.  She faltered in her low self-esteem and slowly she backed away.  As she did so, the door faded away and she saw only the colored flames of the driftwood again.

“No more questions,” the wizard said flatly.

“But you haven’t helped me with anything!” she yelled.

“On the contrary.  I showed you both sides of your choices.”

“But I don’t know which to choose!!” she shouted at the top of her lungs.

“On the contrary, again.  You have already made your choices.  You had three doorways to walk through, and each time you failed to walk through when a doorway was presented to you.  Each time, you chose to let your fear overwhelm you.  Each time, you chose to let your doubt stop you.  Each time, you chose a simpler route.  You made your choices all on your own,” said the wizard.

“But those weren’t real choices,” she spat at him, fury written all over her face.

“Oh, but they were, my dear,” he said.  “Every day is a choice.  Every day presents something new.  But if you repeatedly turn down your opportunities, they will grow less and less until only the most mundane options are available from which to choose.  Once a doorway closes, it closes.  It will not open again.  Once a decision is made, it is made.  And remember that not to decide is still a decision.”

The girl left angry without saying one more word to the wizard.  He just smiled and looked back at the enchanting blue and green flames of the driftwood.  She walked back to her home in the dark.  The moon was full and she could see the path.  It was the last day of the year.  Tomorrow would start a brand new year.  She wondered if she should get up earlier than she ever had and venture outside and see the world from the perspective of a brand new day.  But it's cold outside, she thought to herself.  Maybe some other time.

December 30, 2014 - Abandoned

Have you ever come across something that was abandoned?  You probably didn’t need anyone to tell you it was abandoned, did you?  Some things are simple, of course, such as buildings that are falling apart or old trails or closed businesses.  Others are not so apparent.  Nice homes and buildings can be abandoned, too.  So can schools and hospitals and parks.  But even if it’s not apparent, even if no one has told you, you can always tell when something has been abandoned.

It has that ghostly air about it.  No matter how old and rickety a home might be, if it is not abandoned, it doesn’t look abandoned.  It doesn’t feel abandoned.  But let something be abandoned, and very quickly it develops that “lost” feeling.  All of the Earth seems to know it, too.  Animals know when something has been abandoned, and that’s why they approach it so easily.  They know.  Plants know, too.  They begin to grow on the abandoned thing.  Even molds and other fungi know.  They take hold much more readily and quickly than they would in an inhabited place.  The wind knows.  It blows strangely on the abandoned thing until it makes a hollow whistle.  The rain knows.  It finds a way in, triumphant now after having been boarded out for so long.

The longer something is abandoned, the more likely it will stay abandoned and the more likely the animals, plants, fungi, wind, and rain will descend on it until eventually it disappears completely.  This, in turn, will magnify the abandoned feeling for humans who happen to pass by.  And if, by chance, someone decides to re-inhabit a previously abandoned place, a great deal of work must be done to restore it, and it is never quite completely restored.  The ghosts do not want to leave so readily.

Abandoned.

What we focus our attention on, grows and flourishes--whether good or bad.  What we remove our attention from, withers and fades.  It is our attention, then, our focusing, that decides whether something is inhabited or abandoned.

But is it true for things other than buildings and homes?  How about relationships?  If we focus on them, work on them, try, compromise, talk, communicate, and move within them, they are inhabited.  But have you ever gotten to the point where a relationship simply could not work anymore?  What did you do?  You removed your focus and attention, and it was quickly abandoned.  Then it faded and died.

How about goals and ideas?  When we focus on them, discuss them, place hope in them, work toward them, and give them our attention, they grow and flourish.  But when we change our mind, see something differently, decide on a new path, the old goals and ideas are quickly abandoned.  They disappear into history.

And is it the same, then, for philosophies?  Religions?  Public policies?  Systems of government?  Societies?  I think it is.

What we focus our attention on, grows and flourishes.  We are the creators.  We breathe life into things.  We make things happen.  When we remove our attention, things quickly crumble and fade--much quicker than they should, much quicker than they were supposedly built to withstand.  But it is not the substance of a thing that makes it a thing, it is our notice of it that brings it into existence and our denial of it that erases it.

Great care, then, should be taken in our everyday thoughts, in what we decide to focus upon, in what we decide to bring to life or abandon.  The entire world (what we can see of it) depends on our subjectivity.  Focus on things as alive and vibrant, and life pours into them.  Remove the focus, and life leaves.  Just imagine what you could do.  Add other people to the equation, and the creative force compounds astronomically.

And this is why there are so many distractions placed before us to command our attention and divert our focus, because if it were otherwise, we could change the world overnight.

December 29, 2014 - Winter Sun

The bony fingers of frozen plant life reach up toward the weak winter sun, asking it to bless them.  But the sun is still so fragile, and it has no power to bestow blessings.  It is all the sun can do now to maintain its position in the sky.  There are dark days ahead still that will challenge it and try to obliterate it from the sky forever.  The sun must save all its power for these upcoming battles.

The plants beg for the sun in vain, but it gives them only sluggish light and no life.  Still they reach because they remember the love they once felt from the sun.  Like abandoned orphans, they pray that their parent will magically come back and bestow love upon them and they will be happy once again.  But the sun cannot hear their pleas because it is locked in a military formation, readying for the enemy.

All the children wait now, standing in silence, cold hands reaching up to the sky.

The bony children reach.

December 28, 2014 - Basic Needs

Of course, we are human beings and we need shelter.  There are very few people who could live outside year round, especially in Maine, although it has been done.  But we’re people, and people need shelter.  We need four walls around us to keep out the cold, wind, and dangerous animals (usually other humans).  We need a sound roof over our heads to keep out the rain and snow.  We need a place where we feel safe.

But how much do we actually need?  I guess it would depend on the person, their age, and physical condition.  The things I mentioned above are the absolute basics.  There are additional “comforts” that can make life easier, such as running water.  It’s not necessary but it certainly helps, although I’ve lived without it in the past.  There’s electricity--the energy source that really is the only thing that separates us from cave people--which is also nice, although I have lived without that, too, in the past.  There’s heat and cooking fuel to keep in mind.  I’ve used wood for a very long time, but electricity, gas, and oil are options.  Then there’re all the millions of extras:  appliances and toys, television, internet, extravagant possessions, etc.

But . . . how many things do we actually need in order to survive and thrive?  The answer is really not that much.  Yes, a sound shelter is essential as is a way to keep it warm.  Everything else is optional, from plumbing, to electricity, to oil or gas, to internet and television, etc.  These are all options, some more immediately beneficial than others, such as plumbing.  But they’re still options.

A small, sound home fills most needs.

When do options and extras become obsessions?  When do they become goals in and of themselves?  When do we begin to have the hunger to just acquire “things,” regardless of whether they are truly useful to our lives and health?

Every child learns in grade school the basic needs of humankind:  Food, water, and shelter.  Everything else beyond that is creature comfort, and while there’s nothing wrong with creature comfort, if the acquisition of it becomes the driving force in our lives instead of the actual living of our lives, then we have a problem.  Then we have a disconnect.  How much do you need?  Your answer will be different from mine.  Remember, though, that the question isn’t “How much do you want?” but rather “How much do you need?”

A small sound home in the woods with a water source nearby sounds pleasant to me.  A way to gather my food is necessary.  Some community, some trading, some social contact--these seem necessary for our health and livelihood.  A resource-based economy instead of a money-based economy could change everything.

It’s all just musing, of course, but I find that the less “stuff” I have or need, the more time I have for just being.  The more I can just “be,” the less I feel cheated out of life or that life is somehow passing me by.  It goes so quickly, anyhow.  Might as well take time to just live it.

December 27, 2014 - Two Loons

Two loons were out near the rocky shore singing their haunting songs.  They are so very strange, so very eerie.  When I hear a loon, I have to find it and follow it if I can.  I have to.  How different, then, are they from the legendary Sirens?  It is a maddening, romantic, eerie, frightening, exciting, and otherworldly song they sing.  I cannot get enough of it.

I heard these two loons long before I saw them, and this is as far as the zoom lens would go on my little camera.  (Someday I will have a better camera.)  They were singing in that eerie lilt again.  Sometimes I have to stop myself from just walking out into the ocean . . . and walking and walking.  They call to people, swimming back and forth and teasing us.  They know the power they have over us.

When you hear the sound of a loon, you put everything down.  Everything stops, and you wait . . . wait . . . wait . . . for that next sound to come.  The Sirens sang their songs and drove men insane, causing them to shipwreck themselves on the rocky shores of distant waters.  Did they sing like loons?  Were they as enchanting, seductive, and yet frightening?  Because if they were, it is no wonder the helmsmen conned the ships straight for the jagged cliffs.  I could do no different myself.

Two loons teasing the human on the shore.

December 25, 2014 - The Christmas Hermit

The spirit of the hermit lives in the woods, always.  You will not see him under ordinary circumstances, for he is, after all, a hermit.  He wanders through the woods in daily meditation and spiritual communing.  There are well-worn paths where he trods, and if you look for them carefully, you will always find them.  But you must know what to look for as they do not look like ordinary paths.  He walks through the woods on feet as light and soft as feathers.  He passes by as secretly as any animal, leaving only the impression a squirrel might leave.

His meals are simple:  whatever he can find and whatever is brought to him by those who know he dwells within the woods.  His self-assigned task is to learn all there is of the Nature that surrounds him.  Day in and day out, he studies the plants and animals, the wind and the weather, the sun and the moon.  When he is not studying, he is meditating and communing with his idea of god, and he deposits what he has learned into the great collective unconsciousness of humankind.  There it is available to anyone who cares to access it.

Where can you find him?  I cannot tell you, but I can tell you this:  You can feel him when you go into the woods.  Try it, but try it alone.  Chatter and a rapport between two people will block his influence.  Just walk into the woods and try it.  Walk or sit.  Stand quietly or meander slowly in a circle.  Listen.  That urge you feel to go and look at that rock, to see what’s behind that tree, to know what’s beyond that bend, to find where that path leads--that is the all the voice of the hermit talking to you, calling you.  He does not speak in words but rather in impressions.  Wait, and you will always receive impressions.  And if you are humble and thoughtful, you will also receive knowledge and advice.

A decoration for the Hermit.

Bring a small gift and leave it.  You will not see him take it, but he will.  A bit of food is always appreciated.  Come to the woods and do this only once, and you will leave with a feeling of ease and happiness.  Come to the woods and do this often, and you will be profoundly changed.  To know that you are never truly alone--to really know it--is a great gift, indeed.

Today I left a jarring, garish ornament, or so it would probably seem to him, who has no need for such displays.  Then why leave it instead of food?  I often leave food, but today I wanted to communicate a feeling of shiny red hope that I found on my Christmas tree this morning.  We take the ordinary everyday tree and we dress it up with sparkles and call it special, and it becomes thus, for whatever we say is so becomes so.  It becomes our symbol of joy and peace.  Why would he need a little trinket to symbolize joy and peace?  Well, he wouldn’t, but he knows that I need it and also that I would like to share it.

Perhaps he will place it on a dead and fallen tree.  I think it would do well there, but I will leave it up to him.  The forest does not need decorations, but the human soul demands the creation of beauty, however garish it might seem, as we are co-creators of this world.  No one knows this better than him.

December 24, 2014 - Some Winter Warmth

Streams are running again in the woods as if it were spring.  Everywhere, I can hear the sound of running water.  This provides a respite for the woodland creatures that sometimes have a hard time locating running water during the winter.  It won’t last, of course, because winter hasn’t really even begun to sink its teeth in, but while it’s here, the water is running clean, fresh, and fast and a walk in the woods can be a wonderful thing.

Most of the snow is gone in town because of the temporary warm up, but in the woods it lingers.  Once the ground freezes, the snow hugs it and the two do not like to be separated.  I think the ground loves its new white coat and does not want to give it up.  Well, it won’t have to do so, at least not for a good four months.  It’s still so beautiful here where there is no asphalt to beat the snow away.  The great part is that fogs rise everywhere in odd and haunting patterns.  Behind every turn in the woods is a small fog, or sometimes a very large fog, rising and swirling and steaming.  It really is an otherworldly sight, but I’m not sure that I can capture it on camera.

A stream that shouldn't be here right now.

Along with the sound of running water in the woods is the “crashing” sound.  It’s the crashing and cracking and slamming of ice as it melts.  If you’re near any kind of running water that has built ice up near the shore, this kind of warm weather causes structural breakdown of the ice and huge chunks can break off and smash against the riverbanks.  It is very loud.  Again, it’s a spring sound and not a winter sound, and it makes me jump because I’m not expecting it.

But I’m not expecting anything, really.  I’ll take it as it comes and just enjoy this rare winter opportunity to run through the woods as if it were spring.  How lucky am I!

December 23, 2014 - The Unknown Farmer

I found this old water pump out in a field.  A long time ago it was used to water animals out on pasture, but it hasn’t been used in a very long time and it’s all boarded up.  I must have passed this a thousand times and never really gave it much thought, but today I decided to hike out to it for a closer look.  Well, it looked pretty much like old field pumps always look:  Rusty and old.  I started taking pictures from a couple of different angles for my files.  (As you know, I am the keeper of the woods and streams, and it is my job to chronicle the daily events here in the forests of Maine.)

I stopped short after a few photos, though, because I noticed something I never would have seen from the road.  Can you see it off to the right there in the back?  That’s an old gravestone--absolutely and unmistakably.  I’ve seen plenty of them here in Maine, as this is an older part of the U.S, and in this state, it is still legal to be buried on your own property if you so choose.  Of course, back when this grave was first dug, there weren’t laws on where you could or could not be buried or how it ought to be done anyhow.

An old field water pump keeps its secrets.

Who is it?  I have no idea.  I walked around the gravestone several times, looking for clues.  It’s broken and crumbly at the top, and it has shifted and tilted a lot over the years as the Earth has moved.  All engravings were washed away by time long ago.  The odd thing is that it’s just one grave.  It’s not unusual here in Maine, especially on older farms, to find gravestones, but usually you find at least two together.  Then you know you are looking at a husband and wife burial, two people who wanted to remain together forever on the land they loved.  Oftentimes, you’ll find a group of graves together, a sort of family graveyard.  Many of these tiny old family graveyards are still taken care of by the families.

But this grave is all by itself by a very old pump out in a field where nobody keeps animals anymore.  The pump is not in use and hasn’t been for decades.  So who was this?  Why is he (I don’t know why I think “he” but I do) buried here?  Which came first--the pump or the grave?  I’m thinking the pump because why would someone want to place a water pump right near a grave?  On the other hand, that grave is very old.

My mind gets full of ideas, and this is what I picture.  I picture a farmer who loved his land and loved his animals.  I picture a man who worked the fields hard and made his living farming and raising animals.  If you’ve never done it, I can tell you it’s very hard work because I have done it.  So I picture a hardworking, dedicated person who loved what he did.  And when he died, he asked to buried right there in his field.  Alone.  He couldn’t have known that the land and area would change quite a bit from what he knew, but that’s to be expected.  The only thing that haunts me is wondering why he is all alone, but that is a mystery that can’t be solved.

He’s asleep now and all that’s left of who he was is an old rusty pump and a worn smooth gravestone, tilted and half-buried in the soil.  It seems sad at first glance, but maybe it’s not so sad after all.  He lived his life, and if he was a farmer as I suspect, it was an honest and decent life, although not wealthy.  Now he rests in the land he loved, finally at ease.  It’s what I will most likely do myself someday, so I won’t look on this with sadness but with congratulations for a job well done and a life well lived.

December 22, 2014 - Enter Winter

Walking out in the woods a lot as I do, I see some pretty strange things.  This winter, although it is just beginning, is showing signs of being quite odd.  Weather patterns are strange:  Lots of snow, then rain and ice, then snow, and then melting.  It is almost as if it just can’t make up its mind.  I have seen strange weather patterns before, so I am not worried and will not buy into the odd things I hear people say about our planet.

The fact is that we are ever-changing, so why shouldn’t the Earth be as well?  Here in the season of death and grayness, there is a “pregnant” atmosphere.  It is a feeling of waiting, of anticipation, of a kind of willing being whispered on the wind.  Although this photo is not “black and white,” it appears to be so because almost all color has been wiped from the landscape.  The slate has been washed clean as we wait and wait and wait . . .

What a surprise to come home, then, and see that somehow, while I was looking elsewhere, the sky had opened up in this photo.  Can you see it at the top slightly toward the left?  How could I have missed that?  I was right there and I didn’t see it with my own eyes.  It’s almost as though a portal has opened, and a blinding brilliance is spilling down onto the Earth, spilling and spilling.  It is a signal, I think, a signal that we made it through the darkest day, and now it is time to climb slowly toward the light.

It is also a signal for true winter to begin, for though we may be climbing toward the light, the cold and the darkness have not finished with us yet.

Climbing toward the light.

December 21, 2014 - Visit From the Selkie

Can you see her?  I almost missed her myself.  There’s a little seal sitting on the float of this dock in the back on the left.  Seals are so very elusive and it so difficult to film one.  I can hardly believe my luck in getting this picture.  Not only that, but she ventured out a bit and even bobbed her head up and down at me!

Seals love to sun themselves, of course, and you can find them doing that everywhere on rocky outcrops along the less accessible beaches of Maine.  They usually sun together in groups, though, and not singly and in the same place like this little one is doing.  This float belongs to an old lobsterman on Orr’s Island, and he told me that the seal has been coming and sunning herself on his dock for three days now.  He threw her a couple of fish in case she was hungry, but she was not desperate as there is plenty in the ocean.

There's a little seal in the back on the left.

 

She clearly became interested in me.  I thought for sure I would scare her away, but instead she peaked out even further.  I should probably not be surprised that a Selkie would find her way to me (or perhaps it’s the other way around) after the encounters with the Good Folk that I have had in these woods of Maine, but it’s always refreshing to know that the magic of Maine is everywhere--on land and in the sea.

Legends say that if a female Selkie sheds her skin and comes on land, she will become human, and if a human male finds her skin, the Selkie will become an excellent wife to him.  However, she will always long for the sea, and if she finds her skin, she will immediately return to the sea.  If she has children with the human and then goes back to the sea, she will come back near the shore to play with the children in the shallows.

Perhaps that is exactly what this little seal was doing when I found her.  One thing I know for certain, I have never gotten this close to a seal or had one so interested in me and so unafraid before.  I believe that magic is afoot!

The Selkie bobs her head up and poses!

December 20, 2014 - An Old Dinghy

I found an old wooden dinghy on the shore, half buried in the sand and half filled with water.  It looks like it has seen its better days.  There was dead seaweed all around it, which had gotten washed up in the last storm.  The tide was high, so the boat ordinarily doesn’t get touched by the ocean except during a storm.  Then anything goes and all bets are off.  It’s a good thing the old boat is half buried.  Otherwise, there’d be no picture because it would have sailed away like a ghost.

Someone rode around in this boat once.  They probably used it to get to a larger craft, which is what many people use dinghies for, although it could have been used just to toot around the harbor.  I wonder why it was abandoned?  Or did the sea steal it from far away and deposit it here?  The sea is a thief.  I don’t really know and I won’t ever know, but it doesn’t matter anymore.  It’s part of the shore now, like the seaweed and the washed up shells.  It has a right to rest now.

December 19, 2014 - Night of the Ornaments

Long ago in a cold land where the winters were very harsh, there lived a young boy with his parents.  They had a very small and humble home on a small plot of land near a very large forest.  Most of the people they knew lived the same way they did:  In a very small and humble home on a small plot of land near a very large forest.  The houses were sparsely located with a great deal of space in between them, and the village was very small and quaint and almost forgotten.

For as long as anyone could remember, life had always been lived the same way.  The villagers were all farmers and grew a great deal of their own food, and what they did not grow they hunted.  Their part of the world was too cold to grow very much grain, and so that was the main thing they relied upon from the outside world--grain, along with spices and sugar.  Twice a year, once in the summer and once in the winter, a large caravan would come to their tiny village, and the villagers would buy or trade for all the supplies they needed until the next caravan came.

It was a very cold part of the world, but this particular winter seemed especially cold and snowy.  All the villagers had gotten their wood cut and stacked early because they could tell that it was going to be a long winter.  None of them had a very good crop that summer because it had been so cool, and the boy and his family had fared quite badly with their harvest.  They did what they could to gather mushrooms and nuts from the forest, and the father hunted almost daily.  Usually, there was plenty of game, but this year was hard on the animals as well, and there wasn’t nearly as much as usual.

The day finally came when the caravan arrived for its one-day winter stop in their village.  The mother took every penny she had and gave it to the boy, telling him to buy two sacks of wheat, which might just barely get them through the winter.  The boy’s father lay sick in bed and the mother tended him daily, so neither could accompany the boy on his first trip alone to the caravan.  He dressed warmly in two old wool coats, kissed his mother goodbye, and headed off with an old sled to get the two sacks of wheat.

After trudging several miles through the snow, pulling his sled behind him, the boy came to the caravan.  What a sight to see!  Colorful wagons!  Beautiful horses!  Food and beverages and trinkets of all kinds!  But the best thing, the best thing by far, were the fine smells that came from the caravan from all sorts of delicious foods, some familiar and some oddly exotic.  The boy could smell the caravan long before he could see it, and he was already very hungry, having had a very small breakfast of porridge that morning.

He remembered his father’s stern and feverish warning:  “Talk to no one!  Do not delay.  Do not idle.  Go straight to the grain man and purchase the wheat.  Do as I say, and come home straight away!”  He had assured his father that he would do exactly as he was told.

But there were the delicious smells, and he didn’t think it could hurt to just sniff each one as he passed by the wagons.  So he did just that, sniffing appreciatively everywhere he went.  The merchants smiled and waved and called him closer, but he just smiled and waved and walked on.  At last he could see the old grain wagon at the end of the caravan, and slowly he made his way toward it, savoring every smell he could while his stomach growled terribly at him.

Just before he got to the grain wagon, he saw a small wagon with beautifully-colored and shining ornaments hanging all around it.  He had never seen anything so pretty before, and he so longed to have some of those ornaments because his family had no Christmas decorations at all at home.  Being only a boy, he did not realize just how poor his family was, but one thing he knew for certain:  He had never seen such finery before!

 

He was about to continue on when a young girl came out of the wagon and called to him.  She had such a dazzling smile, and the boy thought there could be no harm just in greeting her.  So off to her wagon he went, towing his sled behind him.  The girl was even prettier up close, and she began to chat gaily, showing him this ornament and that, asking him to buy some.  At last, he told her he could not buy any ornaments, and this seemed to make her so sad.  She explained that she had made them all herself and that if she didn’t sell some, her father would beat her.

He remembered his father’s words.  He knew he shouldn’t do it.  He knew he should go to the grain wagon, but he just couldn’t help himself.  Not only did he long for these exquisite decorations, but he wanted to help the girl as well.  She looked at him with pleading, beautiful eyes, and the boy tossed all caution to the wind.  He bought nine of the ornaments, which the girl happily wrapped for him, chatting and singing all the while.  Then she waved goodbye to him and went into the wagon.  He stood staring at the place where she had stood for a long time.

Then he remembered to get the grain.  Off to the grain wagon he went, but the grain man told him that he only had enough money for one sack of wheat.  No matter how much the boy tried to bargain, the grain man wouldn’t budge.  He did finally and grudgingly give the boy a small bag of nuts along with the sack of wheat because he felt sorry him, as shabbily dressed as he was.

The boy headed back home with a heavy heart, towing the grain and ornaments behind him.  He knew his father would be furious and his mother would cry, wondering how they would get through the winter with just one sack of wheat.  He tried to think of all the wonderful things he could tell them about the ornaments, of how beautiful they would make their home, but in the end, he knew they wouldn’t care.  They didn’t love beautiful things like he did.  Silently he trudged, munching on some of the nuts as he went.

At last he arrived home, just as it was starting to get dark.  His mother breathed a sigh of relief when she saw him and brought him in quickly to stand by the fire because he was half frozen.  Then she went out to get the sacks of grain and bring them in.  The boy waited, full of fear.  She came back in, her face pale and angry, dragging behind her one sack of wheat and carrying a bag full of ornaments.  She yelled angrily at him, and it was loud enough to wake his father, who came into the room to see what was happening.  The rage in his eyes when he realized what had happened was unmistakable.  He grabbed the boy furiously, shook him and screamed at him, and then beat him.

The boy was full of fear and self-hatred.  He grabbed the bag of ornaments and ran out into the darkening night.  On and on he ran, not caring in which direction he went, until he could not hear his parents yelling for him anymore.  At last he stopped and went to a small stand of trees where the snow seemed a little less deep.  He sat down there under a tree, crying bitterly in agony and despair.  He could hear his parents’ words over and over in his head:  Stupid!  Selfish!  Foolish!  He cried and cried until he had no tears left and had cried out all of his tension.  Then he very calmly made the decision that he would stay there under the tree and allow himself to die that night in the forest.

There he sat, quiet and freezing but with his mind made up.  He munched a few of his nuts, and when he did, a couple of squirrels ventured closer, eying the nuts.  They looked hungry and puny and the boy pitied them, so he threw them some of the nuts.  They ate them quickly, and then more squirrels came and other tiny creatures, which made the boy smile a bit.  What did it matter now? he thought.  So he tossed all of his nuts to the forest creatures, who devoured them and ran away.  He watched them scampering off in the moonlight.

Since he was going to die, he decided he would decorate a small tree with the nine ornaments he had bought.  It would be his first Christmas tree.  He and his family always celebrated the holiday, but they never had any decorations.  So he decided he would have his first and last Christmas tree.  He picked out a tiny tree and placed his ornaments on it.  He could see them gleaming in the moonlight.  They were so beautiful.  He didn’t think he had any tears left, but he surprised himself with a few more as he stared at his Christmas tree.  Then he sat down again and waited for the night to continue its task, as he watched his shiny ornaments swaying in a slight breeze, twinkling here and there amid the snow that had begun falling heavily.

Now, the Good Folk of the woods had seen all that had happened, and while they don’t usually intervene in human affairs, they decided they would give the boy a gift for having been so generous in giving his nuts to the forest creatures.  So they magicked the ornaments as only faeries can do, and when they were completely magicked, how they shone and glimmered like beacons in the night!  They were so fabulously beautiful that the boy just sat and stared, wondering if he had already died and was approaching heaven.  He blinked and blinked at the brilliant display of lights before him, and he cried with joy and sorrow all at the same time.  He stared at the lit ornaments for a very long time, and then began to nod off to sleep.

He hadn’t nodded long when he heard a terrible crashing sound in the woods.  He stood up quickly and who should come up to him but the grain man himself!  “Thank goodness I found your lights!” the man shouted.  “My wagon separated from the rest of the caravan by accident and I couldn’t find them in this blasted snow!”  Only then did the man give a second suspicious look at the ornaments, never having seen ornaments shine so brilliantly.  High in the trees, the faeries laughed good-naturedly at him.

“We must get to shelter,” the man said.  “Where is your home?”  The boy pointed in the direction where he thought his home was, although he really wasn’t quite sure because he had left in such anguish and now it was dark out.  He hoped it was the right direction because if it wasn’t, the grain man could easily die out here in the cold night as well, and the boy didn’t want that to happen.

Well, you can bet that the boy’s parents felt pretty terrible about what had happened.  They were not bad people but they were very frightened people, and sometimes frightened people do terrible things out of fear, things they would never ordinarily do.  They loved their son very much and they had run out into the night, searching for him.  Imagine their surprise when they came upon the brilliant scene of their son, the grain man, and the ornaments!  They were so overwhelmed with joy and relief at finding their son that they fell to their knees at his feet and wept.  The three of them cried together for a while, so happy they were to be reunited.

It was the grain man who urged them on and nudged them back to reality.  “We have to get to shelter!” he said.  “This storm looks like it’s going to be pretty bad!”  And so the four of them got into the wagon and the two horses sped silently into the night.  It did not take long to reach their tiny home, as the horses were strong and able.  The grain man put the horses in a shed for the night, giving them some grain to eat and then went back to the house.

There the four of them sat and had a very meager Christmas Eve dinner, but it was dinner nevertheless and it was warm inside the house.  The mother had built the fire much larger than she normally would have to keep their guest comfortable and warm.  Even though the meal was meager, it was larger than what she would have made but she did so for her guest.  Hospitality was very important in those days because you never knew when you would need it from a stranger yourself, and you never ever asked for payment back.  The grain man looked around at this exceedingly poor family, and he realized that they were giving him a huge gift of food even if it didn’t seem that way.

The next day when everyone awoke, the storm had stopped and the sun was shining brilliantly.  The grain man packed up and got ready to go, bowing and thanking his hosts for their hospitality, who returned the gesture with bows and smiles of their own.  He went outside to get his horses ready and found the boy in the shed with them.  The boy smiled and thanked him for his help, and the grain man smiled and thanked him as well.  He gave the boy a small bag of nuts, and the boy was thrilled with this delicious gift.  It seemed he would have some nuts to eat after all!

The boy helped the grain man get the horses and wagon ready.  Then he ran alongside the wagon as the horses began to pull it, smiling and waving at the grain man, who smiled and waved back.  The horses picked up the pace, though, and soon outran the boy, who stopped running and waved and watched the wagon leave, shouting goodbye and Merry Christmas.

Just as the wagon was about to round a bend, it looked as though some things had fallen from it.  The boy ran and ran to get to the spot where he had thought he had seen the fallen items so he could hail the grain man, but when he got there the wagon was nowhere in sight and long since gone.  However, there was a large lump on the ground.  Upon further inspection of this lump, he realized there were four bags:  Three large bags and one small bag.  He was dying to know what was in those bags, but he resisted the temptation to open them.  Instead, he ran back to his house as fast as he could and grabbed his sled.  Then off he sped once again to the bags in the field.

The three bags were very heavy, indeed.  It was very difficult for him to load them on his sled, but eventually he did.  The fourth bag was light, and he tossed it over his shoulder onto the sled.  Then he trudged very carefully and very slowly back home, weighed down heavily with his load.  When he got back, his parents were outside, having seen him from the window with the sled laden with bags.  They asked him what was going on and he told them he had no idea.  He explained how these bags had fallen off the grain man’s wagon, but by the time he got to them to let the grain man know, the wagon was nowhere in sight.

His mother opened the three large bags, and each was full right to the brim with wheat!  She cried out in joy and relief when she saw them, quickly dragging them inside the house.  The boy and his father could hear her singing inside and laughed at her antics.  Then the father went to the small bag and opened it up.  Inside were nine exquisitely beautiful ornaments.  The grain man must have taken them off the tree last night when the boy and his parents were crying at their reunion.  He smiled a very broad smile and handed the bag to the boy, who exclaimed with happiness when he saw the contents.

Together the two of them found a small tree and brought it inside.  They had to wait a couple of hours for the tree to warm up a bit so the limbs could fall open.  Then the boy took his nine ornaments out of the bag and placed them very carefully and thoughtfully on the tree.  They didn’t shine like they had the night before because the magic and worn off, but it didn’t matter because the boy thought he had never seen such a beautiful sight.  His mother brought a surprise from the kitchen.  She had ground some wheat extra fine and made some gingerbread cookies, which she had fashioned into a garland with some old ribbon.

She gave the garland to her son and told him to decorate his first Christmas tree.  He told her couldn’t do that, and she stared at him confusedly.  Then he laughed and said, “This is my second Christmas tree!”  Quickly he placed the garland around the tree, sneaking a cookie off it, which his parents pretended not to notice.  It was easily the second-best Christmas tree the boy had ever seen.  And in any event, it was the tastiest one by far.

December 18, 2014 - Winter Cattle

The Scottish Highland Cattle stare at me from the snow-covered pasture.  Someone had the knowledge and foresight to make lots of hay in the summer, and now the winter can be passed in relative ease.  In an unaltered environment, animals such as these would starve and suffer greatly in the winter from lack of food, but this is not the case for these creatures.  Shaggy and very tough and cold-loving, these cattle are in heaven in Maine.  No matter how cold it gets here, this breed of cattle does not mind, for their bodies are made for rough terrain and the farmer always cares for them.

I wrote about Scottish Highland Cattle in the summer and included a glorious picture of a summer cow, beautiful and stately.  But the winter cattle bring me greater joy because where there should be death and stillness, there is warmth and food and life.  In summer it is so easy for man and beast because there is so much food from which to choose.  Not so in the winter.  Yet again, the wise farmer has foresight and his animals do not suffer.

Neither does he.  His animals provide food and clothing for him in a beautiful symbiotic dance.  Both give of themselves in one way or another:  through hard work and sweat or through the fruit of their very being.  Both are content.  It is an agreement they have.

Scottish Highland Cattle don't mind the snow at all.

December 17, 2014 - These Dark Days

The days have been so dark, lately.  It’s cold outside but not terribly freezing.  We’ve had snow but lots of ice and freezing rain as well.  It has been an odd season so far, but winter hasn’t even truly begun yet, so we will see what it has to bring.  Perhaps in another month I will look back on today and think of how balmy the weather was.

It’s the short days that do strange things to the mind.  It seems like I have barely woken up in the morning when it’s suddenly time for bed, but it’s only 4 p.m.  These last few days before the solstice are always the hardest.  There’s a part of me that says, “I just can’t go on.”  Every day seems like the day before it and I wander from place to place looking for something, but I can’t remember what I’m searching for when I get there.  Even when the sun shines on these days, it’s quite weak and pale.

The remedy?  Fire.  Always fire.  If you don’t have a woodstove or fireplace, light several candles in your home and be near the fire.  Look at it.  Gaze into the flames and ask yourself what it is you need to know.  An answer will come, either right then, in a dream, or in the wee hours of the morning.  You might as well take advantage of these last few days to ask the dying year if it has any secrets to reveal.  It may very well surprise you.

These dark and lonely days.