July 31, 2014 - The Tale of the Blueberry Sky

The Earth repeats her cycles over and over again.  They say we humans have been here, left, come again, left again, come back, etc.  Over and over we repeat our cycles, and maybe someday we’ll get it right.  Every now and then an archaeologist will dig up something that clearly does not belong where it was found.  Except that it does.  It throws everything out of whack and we realize that humans have done all of this stuff before, had all of this technology before, and we are not nearly as clever in this current generation as we would like to think we are.  But then it gets forgotten, swept under the rug, purposely eradicated, and everyone forgets and goes back to the latest electronic distraction.

And this is how we come to the tale of the blueberry sky.  Once upon a time, quite some time ago, there lived a large group of humans on this old Earth.  As is typical of humans, they fought and fought and fought.  Their greed got the best of them, as it always does, and soon there were unimaginably rich people and inconceivably poor people.  There was fighting and wars and stealing and crime.  Finally, one group of people had suffered as much as they could and decided they would end it all.  In the manner that is peculiar to humans, they had a god who urged them on toward annihilation, as gods often do.  He promised them many wonderful things they could have . . . after their death, of course.  And as is peculiar to humans, they believed it because they had nothing else to believe as their hearts had closed long ago.

Wild Maine blueberries.

So they devised a weapon that could destroy everything and everyone, and they used that weapon and shattered everything instantly.  The last thing everyone saw was the sky being shattered into a million tiny blue pieces as it fell, and then they were no more.  Time crept on and on for millennia, as time will do, but eventually Mother Nature softened her heart and brought life back to the Earth.  Slowly but surely, everything came back (as it had before and will again).  So that people would remember the tragedy of the sky shattering, Mother Nature made a new fruit and gave it to the people.  She instructed them to remember the sky shattering when they saw the tiny blue berries they were eating, and in this way, she hoped they would remember what had happened and this time live in peace.

For a long time they did remember, and there was always joy when the blueberries ripened.  They had festivals and parties and special foods, and everyone shared and everyone was very happy.  For a while.  But in that manner that is peculiar to humans, they forgot the story of the shattered blue sky and the tiny blueberries and the greed of men, and they began fighting again.  Unfairness broke out once again--rich and poor, healthy and sick.  I’m sorry to say that the last anyone knew of these people, they were headed toward annihilation once again.  Perhaps this time they will shatter the Sun.

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(Remember the blueberries, my friends.  Pick them and eat them in peace.  Give thanks to the beautiful blue sky and the happy sun that shines down on us all.  Share what you have with others.  Have parties and celebrate everything.  Refuse greed and keep your hearts open, and perhaps we will reach our destiny after all.)

July 30, 2014 - Mushroom Path

Do you see now?  It’s right there in front of you.  These are the moss covered stone stairs that lead into the secret path in the woods (which I have never shown to anyone before).  Do you see how the fairies have tried to trick me?  They have lined the path with mushrooms, and this is just the beginning of the path.  The entire path as far as I could see--and only the path--was lined with mushrooms.  Three of the four in this photo are yellow fly agarics (Amanita muscaria).  The other is a death cap (Amanita phalloides).  Not exactly a bouquet of roses.  The fly agaric are hallucinogenic, and the fairies would have had a field day if I’d eaten one of them.  The death cap is, well, death.  Half a cap can kill you.

Not far along the path, I saw a destroying angel (Amanita bisporigera), a beautiful white mushroom.  They don’t call it that for nothing, though.  This is yet another mushroom that can kill you if you ingest as little as half a cap.  Most mushroom deaths are caused by death caps or destroying angels.  So, of course, it only makes sense that the path would be peppered with them.

It’s a good thing I know my mushrooms, although you will recall I described in my article, First Contact, that they had disguised a painted bolete.  Now I have eaten many painted boletes in my lifetime, and I know what they look like.  I think they used a red fly agaric, a conspicuously different-looking mushroom from the bolete, but when you’ve got the power of illusion, you can do such things.  I must say, though, that it sharpened my “other” vision--my “sight” as they call it--which may have been their intention all along.

I did not take the path today.  The temptation would have been too great to stop and look at all the delights placed purposely before me.  They taunt me and haunt me and trick me and tease me.

Mushrooms line the stairs to the secret path.

July 29, 2014 - Kelpies

The pond was thick with kelpies today.  I’d look away and hear a noise or splash just beyond my vision, but when I turned to see it, it had dived back under.  Some were coming on land, too, which they don’t usually care to do.  It was the mist, you see.  It was the rain, the damp, the coolness.  It was calling them.  They were slithering among the reeds, just out of my reach.  I could see the paths they were taking as the reeds were trampled down, but they always kept just ahead of me.  Or behind me.

I didn’t stay long, not with the memory of the first contact from the other day still fresh in my mind.  No, I have not forgotten, and yes, I am working on a plan to meet my ally.  I realize I should not have gone down to the pond today, but the memory is haunting me.  Sometimes I leave my house and go in the opposite direction, only to somehow find myself at the pond again.  If you’ll recall, I ate a mushroom that day.  I thought I’d picked it in the forest, but now I believe it was one of theirs brought from their own land and placed there.

Which means I’m lucky to even be here at all.  Whether I want to meet them or not seems irrelevant.  The fact is that I will.  How I can turn this around to a meeting I orchestrate is something I’m still trying to figure out.

Pond filled with kelpies.

July 28, 2014 - The Widow and the Spider

Once upon a time, a poor old widow lived in a very wealthy village.  Nearly everyone in town was extremely wealthy except for widows like herself, cleaning maids, farm hands, and other laborers.  She and people like herself were made to work very hard for very little pay.  They lived very poorly, barely subsisting, while the wealthy merchants and elite in town were weighted down with gold, jewels, and fine silk clothing.  And the more money the wealthy people made, the less they wanted to pay their workers.  Complaining and pleading for more pay did no good, and there was nowhere else for the poor people to work so they had no choice.

One day the poor old widow had finished crocheting a beautiful shawl for a wealthy woman, but when she brought it to the woman, she was paid only one-tenth of their agreed-upon price.  No amount of begging made a difference, and she eventually accepted the meager pay as she was starving.  Now it happened that a beautiful young niece of the wealthy woman saw this entire exchange and was disgusted with her aunt.  This young lady was very unusual in that she cared for the poor in her village.  She was also very clever.  When her aunt left, she called the old widow over and gave her a few gold coins.  The old woman just wept with gratitude.

“I have an idea,” the young maiden said.  “You will make me a fine head covering and I will wear it and every woman will want one just like it.  And I will pay you well for it.”  The old widow thanked her profusely but pointed out that there were dozens of old women already crocheting beautiful head coverings for pennies.  “Then you will have to come up with something different,” the maiden said.  The old widow agreed and left, but she had no idea what she would do.

Lacy spider web.

On her way home, the old woman heard a tiny voice.  “Help me!  Please!”  She looked everywhere but saw nothing.  “Down here!  Down here!”  When she looked to the ground, she saw a fat brown spider.  “Please mistress, a gust of wind blew me from my beautiful home way up high.  Could you place me back in it?”  The old widow didn’t much care for spiders, but she felt pity for this one.  She looked up and saw the finest spider web she had ever seen, and she suddenly had a very good idea.

“I will place you back in your home, but only if you show me how to weave such a beautiful web,” she said.  At first the spider refused, but when the old widow made to leave, it agreed to her terms.  Grimacing, she promptly picked the spider up and placed it back in its web.

True to its word, the spider showed her how to weave a very fine web, indeed.  “The pattern repeats itself,” the spider had said over and over.  The widow practiced it and soon had a good understanding of it.  And so with the bit of gold she’d gotten, the old widow bought some fine white silk thread and crocheted a glorious head covering for the young maiden.

The next day she brought it to the lady, who thanked her quite loudly in front of the village and paid her handsomely in gold.  “You have truly outdone yourself,” the maiden exclaimed, “so here is the other half of what I owe you!”  The old widow was confused at first, but the young maiden just winked and walked away.

No sooner had the pretty girl left when another rich woman ran up to the widow and demanded that she make a head covering for her as well in a fine green silk.  The old widow caught on quick to this game and said she was too busy.  The rich woman balked and took the old woman by the arm to the textile shop.  There she immediately bought the finest green silk and paid the old widow as much as the young maiden had given her in gold.  “And I will give you the other half when you bring me my head covering!” she said.

“See that you pay me immediately at that time,” the old widow said, “or I’ll sell it straight away to another woman!”

Two days later, the old widow brought the new green silk head covering to the rich woman and insisted that they meet in the town square.  There she demanded her payment, which the rich woman was only too happy to hand over.  Everyone exclaimed at the beauty of the head covering, and within half an hour, three more wealthy women had caught the old widow by the arm, demanding a beautiful piece from her as well.

In this way, the old widow soon became the talk of the town and quite wealthy herself.  She helped all the other poor people by lending them enough gold to get by while they held out for higher wages.  Their wealthy employers eventually gave in because no work was getting done, and soon they were all making enough money to live comfortably.

Best of all, on her way home every day, the old widow would stop and bring a big fat fly to the spider, with whom she had become quite good friends.  “You keep working at it,” the spider would say, “and some day your work will be as fine as mine and people will bring you flies as well!” 

“That would be something,” the old widow would say.

July 27, 2014 - The Artist and the Cattail

There once was a young artist who lived with an ancient tribe of people in a very cold land.  Because it was so cold for most of the year, the people had to work very hard to gather enough food in the warm weather to sustain themselves throughout the long and cold winter.  This made them all very grumpy because they were so tired from always working.  And everyone had to work--all day every day with no exception.  But our little artist didn’t want to work or snare animals or make jerky or clean hides.  He wanted to paint and sculpt and carve.  He would often sneak away to do so but he always got caught, and when he did, his mother would beat him with a cattail from the pond near their home.

One late Spring day his whole family decided to go on a long fishing trip to gather enough fish to dry for the winter.  His mother left him at home to tidy the house and repair the outside cellar door so what little food they had left in storage would be safe until they could gather more.  As soon as they all left, the young artist ran out to collect berries to make a deep purple paint for a basket he had made.  While he was out, he found beautiful feathers, soft clay, and hundreds of colored and speckled eggshells.  He spent a long time collecting them all, dreaming of the things he would make with them.

But he was horrified when he got home because an animal had gotten into the cellar and eaten all that was left of their food.  He was beside himself with grief thinking of how much his family would suffer for what his mother always called his “stupidity,” not to mention the beating he would get when they returned.  He decided that the least he could do was gather the cattails his mother would need to beat him.  So he went down to the pond and gathered as many as he could carry.  And then he went and got more and more and more.

Cattail (Typha)

When his mother returned, she saw what had happened and was furious, calling him “stupid” again.  His sorrow was so great that he showed her the cattails and asked her to beat him to death for being an artist instead of a hard worker like his siblings.  Of course, she wasn’t going to beat him to death, but she did want to give him quite a spanking.  So she grabbed a cattail and hit him very hard on his behind (where he had packed a lot of clay in his back pockets that he had gathered earlier, so it didn’t hurt too badly).  But when she did so, the cattail burst open and there was a beautiful white center inside.  It smelled wonderful and fresh and she decided to taste it, and it tasted wonderful too.

Soon everyone grabbed a cattail and peeled it open, only to find a wonderful center inside that could be eaten straight away.  They also found it could be boiled and made into many foods.  When they ran down to the pond to get more, they pulled them straight up from the root and found that the rhizome was fleshy and starchy and delicious.  Soon they had more food than they knew what to do with!  They gathered it all, ate it fresh, boiled it, and dried and pounded the roots into flour for breads.

Of course, this changed the whole tribe’s way of living, and they didn’t forget that it was the young artist who had led them to this newfound food that soon became a staple in their lives.  They allowed him to paint and sculpt and decorate their homes with bright colors and pretty objects, which filled all of their hearts with joy.  And now that their stomachs were fuller, they had more time to enjoy the beauty that the young man could create.  From then on, they no longer looked at his quirkiness as “stupid,” but instead praised him for his cleverness.  He couldn’t care less about any of their praise but was absolutely thrilled that he had a new job as the tribe decorator.  Not to mention that it did feel good to have a full belly, too.

(Immature cattails--before they turn brown--are a miraculous source of food.  They can be peeled and used as a wonderful vegetable.  They can be eaten raw or boiled or streamed like asparagus.  They’re great in stir fries as well.  You can slice them thin and put them on sandwiches.  They’re loaded with vitamins, minerals, and a surprising amount of protein.  You can dig the rhizomes up, clean them, dry them, and pound them into a nice flour.  Additionally, the “jelly” that you’ll find inside when you peel the cattail can be used on sores, boils, and skin irritations.  It helps to soothe pain.)

July 26, 2014 - The Azure Dragonfly

In case you didn't know it, the azure dragonfly is one of the most magical dragonflies in Maine.  Down at the pond, they rule exclusively in the insect kingdom.  They're unusually peaceful for dragons, and I've never seen one breathe fire.  Now you may recall my post in April about the forest dragons.  Those dragons are much fiercer and just love to play riddle games and eat the unsuspecting loser of the game.  But these azure dragonflies have another talent, which I find much more useful, and it's not nearly as awful as being eaten.  They can answer simple questions with a "yes" or "no."  If you are in a real quandary and can't decide whether you should or should not do something, ask an azure dragonfly.  If he hovers around you, especially in front of your face, that means "yes."  If he flies straight away, that means "no."  This really works.  If a bunch of them hover around your face, go buy a lottery ticket.

And did I mention that I'm starting to learn some of their language?  'Tis true.  As an example, if many of them hover in one spot, land, hover again, and do this rapidly several times in a row, it means there is magic afoot in the forest, usually of the fairy variety.  If two of them fly together hand-in-hand, it means we're in for a spell of sunny weather.  If they change color from azure to brown to azure repeatedly, it usually means that your milk has gone bad.  As you can see, they're quite useful.  And also as I said, they don't eat people (at least not anymore), so that's a real plus.

Azure dragonflies like to travel in packs and sun themselves on the reeds.  They are my constant companions down at the pond, but only when the sun is shining.  When it is cool and misty, they disappear.  Like all dragons, they're quite conceited and can't bear to be seen with their fine azure coats damp and unkempt. But that's part of being a dragon, I suppose.

The azure dragonfly.

July 25, 2014 - Bunchberries

The bunchberries are ripening.  Have you ever seen them?  They grow everywhere around here, a sort of ground covering in the woods.  They’re nice because they can grow in partial shade or full shade.  They have little white flowers in the spring and are very wonderful to see after a long winter.  Then from sometime in July onward, they begin to ripen with each plant holding its own little “bunch.”  Yes, they are edible, although they don’t have much flavor.  They do, however, have a considerable amount of pectin in them and were used here in New England long ago to jell different solutions, puddings, pies, etc.  They also add a beautiful color to any dish.

There are medicinal uses as well.  Fresh leaves can be applied to open cuts to help stop bleeding.  They have antibiotic, antiseptic, and anti-inflammatory properties.  The entire dried plant can be made into a tea and used in place of aspirin, which will give the pain-relieving and anti-inflammatory effect of aspirin without the stomach upset.  Native people would use it to treat aches and pains, lung and kidney problems, coughs, fevers, and even seizures.  Some tribes would dry the leaves and smoke them, and others burnt the leaves and used the ash to treat sores, burns, and insect bites.  The berries can help to stimulate the appetite as well, although if too many are eaten, they can have a laxative effect.

Of course, I just like to look at them.  They’re pretty red dots as I go about my walks in the woods.  I’m glad to see them because I know they’re an important food source for birds, chipmunks, deer, and many other animals.  I also know that it means summer is getting on and soon the fall will be here.  It can’t come soon enough for me.

Bunchberries (Cornus canadensis).

(Yes, I have to put a disclaimer in.  This article is for informational purposes only and is not meant to diagnose, treat, or cure any ailment.  If you need medical advice, seek a physician.)

July 24, 2014 - Rain Worship

And then the next day, it rained.  How can it be?  If the flowers turn their heads up and yearn earnestly for the sun one day, what shall they do the next when the sun is nowhere to be found?  What shall they worship?  I decided to investigate to find out.  But it confused me.  The mist and the rain was all about.  It was cool and damp and dreary.  Yet when I got to the flowers, they were doing the same thing they did yesterday in the sun.  Their faces were upturned, and they reached their petals high and wide in joyous abandonment.

Again, how can it be?  Don’t they know that the sun, our ultimate energy source in this solar system, is hidden behind a thick veil of impenetrable clouds?  What could they possibly be glorifying?  What is there to lift up toward and sing about?  I asked them directly.  They giggled and laughed, and when they did, tiny water droplets fell from their petals and rang out like tiny little chimes.  “Go to the pond,” is all they would say.

Rain worship.

Anyone who has been reading this journal knows what happened the last time I went to the pond.  I have been avoiding it until I can come up with a plan to meet my ally, but that is for another story.  Yet the flowers had been so insistent that I decided I would go only for a moment.  There was no contact with the fairies this time, but I was able to take this picture.  And there was something there, invisible yet palpable.  In the air.  In my lungs.  On my skin.  Everywhere was water.  Blessed, cool, transforming water.  I pulled up a reed from the bank and tasted a few drops of the rain that dripped from it, and a great feeling of relief washed over me.

Finally, I relaxed.  There will be time enough to figure out my next move.  With a feeling of great calmness and clarity, I was not at all surprised to look up in the tree above me and see a mockingbird, who said, “All things must meet their opposite.”  It might have been odd at any other time, but not at the pond and not in the water.  And certainly not after having tasted the rain.  Ah, the flowers were right again.

July 23, 2014 - Sun Worship

Turn your face up toward the sun, and put your hands out.  Breathe in the energy, the source of all life in this solar system.  Let it flow through your out-turned hands into your whole body.  Close your eyes and imagine brilliant golden energy that enters through your hands with every deep breath you take.  It fills your entire body with golden light.  You hold it for one second and then exhale it, exhaling any darkness and old matter that needs to go.  Then you repeat.  I promise if you do this, if only for a few breaths whenever you can, you will feel a difference in the lightness and energy of your own body.

I am reminded of carvings in the tombs and pyramids of the ancient Egyptians.  The people always faced the sun and placed their hands out toward it, and the sun in turn sent its beams of energy to them.  They were in a receiving/communing position.  I believe this and I believe it works, for I have done it myself.  Although I am not one who can stay in the sun long, even a few breaths in full sunlight can change everything.  The flowers tell me about this daily.  They turn their faces up and stretch their petals outward, and the sun fills them with eternity.

Flowers worshiping the sun.

July 22, 2014 - The Tiny Black Box

It can happen this easily.  One day you decide you are very tired and you don’t know why.  You slept a reasonable amount.  You haven’t done that much physical labor, but you’re exhausted nevertheless.  In addition, you’re very sad and you feel you may never laugh again.  You don’t realize it yet, but that’s actually a good sign.  That’s when you look inside to find out why you’re so tired and sad.  You search and search, and if you’re honest with yourself, you find a tiny black box stuffed way down inside your heart underneath a lot of things.  It doesn’t seem like much at first.  In fact, you overlook it and you keep on searching, but you don’t find anything of consequence.  So you give up.

Or maybe you don’t give up.  Maybe you’re tired of being tired.  Maybe, just maybe, you return to the tiny black box.  You reach down to grab it but discover that it’s extremely heavy.  It’s excruciatingly heavy, in fact.  It takes both hands on it with a foot braced against a rib to pull it out, but you keep at it and you do pull it out.  You set it on the table before you when no one else is around because you don’t want anyone to see your tiny black box.  And you just stare at it.  As you suspect, it is locked, and no amount of banging it around will open it.  So you give up.

Or maybe you don’t give up.  Maybe you just stare at the box and ask it to open, and when one teardrop--just one teardrop--falls upon it, the lock gives way and the box opens.  It looks empty.  You put a finger inside, then your hand, then your arm.  And suddenly, all of you goes into the box!  But everything is black inside.  Still, you’ve come this far so you keep on.  Even though you can’t see, you can touch and when you do touch, a memory rises in your mind or an old feeling surfaces in your heart.  They’re difficult memories and feelings.  It hurts to bring them up, but somehow you know you must do it if you’re ever going to laugh or feel good again.

Leaving the tiny black box.

So you touch as many as you can until you feel you can go no further that day.  Then you grasp one and you bring it with you.  It’s reluctant.  It doesn’t want to go, but you don’t yell at it and you don’t force it.  You simply say, “Please, it’s time.”  And it goes with you.  You put your arm around it and bring it to the box opening.  Hand in hand, you walk out together.  You give it a hug and a little kiss on the head and you reassure it that everything’s okay now and it can relax and go home.  So it does, and you wave goodbye and let it go.

Somehow you don’t feel quite as tired anymore, and the box isn’t quite as heavy either.  You carefully put the box away--this time unlocked--as there is more work to be done.  You promise the box you’ll be back--a promise you keep.  And this is how the sun rises.

July 21, 2014 - Potts Point

I decided not to go to the pond today as I need to think out my strategy and what my next move will be regarding yesterday's "first contact."  Instead, I went to Potts Point.  I know a secret trail in to the beach, accessible only on foot.  It's a hike in but well worth the effort, and I knew I could think there without being bothered.  It turned out to be a really good idea as the wind and the surf have such a calming effect.  Thousands of old snail shells crunched under my feet as I walked, and the seagulls couldn't be bothered with a lone human figure making her way slowly down the beach.  It's days like these when there is not another soul to be found that I find myself wondering if I have already crossed through some portal.  If I have, it's not such a bad place to be.  I could get used to this.  Dinner washes in twice a day with the tide.

Potts Point, Maine

On the way back, though, I found an odd formation of rocks and shells--clearly not made by the wind or surf.  I don't know what it means, but I decided to take a picture of it.  It could just be nothing, but then it could be some sort of sign.  Considering there was not another soul on that beach and that I do not recall seeing this on the way in, it could have some sort of significance.  I'll save it for when I find my ally, for surely now I know I have an ally among them.  It's finding him that's going to be tough, and yes, for some reason I think it's a "him."  That gives me an idea.  Maybe I've been going about this all the wrong way.  Maybe I shouldn't be trying to find him but should let him come to me.  A plan is starting to brew . . .

Fairy rock sign?

July 20, 2014 - First Contact

I ate a mushroom I shouldn't have.  I thought it was just a Painted Bolete, but I think the fairies tricked me.  They must have seen me picking the Boletes before and figured this would be an easy way to get me.  Anyhow, I nibbled on the mushroom as I walked the secret path. By the time I got to the pond, everything seemed strange to me, almost as if I had never seen any of it before.

The opposite side looked like my side.  My side looked like the opposite.  The trees and the sky looked like the pond, and the pond looked like the trees and the sky.  Everywhere I looked I saw a mirror, dozens of mirrors, but I wasn't sure if they were reflecting a scene or the scene was reflecting them.  The more I looked, the dizzier I became, and an overwhelming urge came over me to go into the pond.  Over and over I heard the urging in my mind, "Go into the pond."  A tiny voice in the back of my mind was yelling No!, but it was very far away and didn't seem to matter.

Pond of the dreamscape.

Then the reflections turned serene and beautiful.  The pond seemed so idyllic, like something out of a dream.  I thought perhaps I would just step into the pond for a moment to revel in that beauty.  Just for a moment, I told myself, and as I stepped forward, it was as though I could hear hundreds of tiny bells ringing somewhere in the distance.  What happened next is still a mystery to me.  I know I did not trip.  I know my feet were firmly on the shore.  Yet something reached out and grabbed my left ankle and yanked it fiercely.  I lost my footing, fell, and hit my forehead on a small rock, cutting it just a bit.  I reached my hand up to my head and saw a drop of blood on my fingers.  Instantly, everything changed!  The bells stopped, the reflections distorted, and the wind took up a strange howling sound.

I looked at how close I was to the pond.  What was I thinking? I wondered.  I could so easily have drowned in that bizarre state, and clearly that was the intention of someone or something.  Yet just as clearly, someone or something else had prevented it.  I did not trip.  Something pulled me back.  There was nothing around, not a soul to be found, but clearly first contact has been made.  This changes everything.

July 19, 2014 - Happy Sheep

The interesting thing about animals is that they never worry about where they're going to get their next meal.  They never work on budgets or decide how much they can "spend" on food this month.  Food is free for them.  Everything is free for them, including where they lay their heads to rest.  They have no money and they have no desire for it, and somehow, all of their needs are magically met.

There are only two exceptions to the above.  Some animals who come into contact with humankind are subject to humankind's whims and ideas of property and money (not to mention mental illness), and therefore, can go hungry.  Also, a severe winter can cause hardships among animals who cannot adapt.  That's it.  Those are the only exceptions.

Humankind is the only animal that "pays" to live on this Earth.  We pay for food, housing, clothing, medical care, etc.  The list goes on and on, and we are convinced we must work very, very hard for this money.  But this is a free world.  It was made free, and every creature who lives on it was meant to be free.  The day everyone realizes that is the day the madness stops and evolution begins.  Until that day, you will find me in this field.

July 18, 2014 - Silver Lining

I had heard the story about the cloud with the silver lining, and I was skeptical.  I had seen thousands upon thousands of clouds in my life, and never once did I come across any silver.  But it was a difficult time, you see.  The situation was bleak and I was downtrodden--at the end, one might say.  And I thought about the cloud.  What if I could find that cloud with the silver lining?  Wouldn't it take care of all my pressing problems?  Wouldn't it bring me ease and prosperity and peace?  I decided it would, so I set out to find the cloud.  I never figured I would because I assumed it was just a myth, but if nothing else, I'd be able to put that myth to rest.

Very, very early in the morning, I crept out of my house, shrouded in a gray cloak.  It was a cool morning and a thin mist was all around me.  I took the secret path through the woods, the one that no one else knows about.  The moss was heavy under my feet as I walked, springing upward with a luxurious softness.  It felt good, as it always does when I take the secret path.  I could hear the morning birds around me, the tiny finches, the larger bluejays, the cardinals, and best of all my favorite bird, the hermit thrush.  The thrushes followed me as I walked the path, singing their haunting melody.  All around me was the heady, deep scent of pine.  The air was so fresh that I filled my lungs as much as I could, exhaling with a long sigh and starting all over again.  I saw tiny squirrels, rabbits, and deer.  None of them seemed to mind me as they all looked for their breakfast.

At last I made it to the pond.  The water was as still as a mirror, and the sky was reflected in it perfectly.  I could see ducks and geese on the far shore.  They, too, were looking for breakfast and did not seem to mind me at all.  I saw a red fox watching them closely, eager for his breakfast as well.  Occasionally, a fish would jump and then the ripples would spread all across the pond in a perfect geometric order.

Silver lining cloud?

But where was the mythical cloud, I wondered?  As if on command, the songbirds announced the arrival of the sun.  I looked up and knew that he'd have his way again with this day, threatening to shine brilliantly, he was.  But alas, everywhere I looked I saw no silver.  Since no one ever comes to the pond, I yelled out loud to the sun, "Where is the silver??"  He laughed back at me and said, "You might have left it in the woods!"

It was as I suspected.  There was no silver to be found anywhere.  I retraced my steps home:  the fish, the fox, the ducks and geese, the deer, the rabbits, the squirrels, the birds, the hermit thrush, the pine trees, and the moss.  I looked for them all and waved, delighted that I was part of their world.  When I got home, imagine my surprise when I found the ease and prosperity and peace I'd been looking for all along.  It was right in my chair by the fireplace.  Perhaps the sun was right after all.

July 17, 2014 - Portals

Look closely at this photo.  Do you see it?  No?  Look at the edges all around.  Do you see the spacial differentiation of the edges as opposed to the middle?  I never alter photos (mainly because I don't know how).  What do the edges remind you of?  If you thought the word "frame," you are correct because that's exactly what this is.

I was taking some photos of some suspicious-looking mushrooms when I heard an odd sort of sliding/scraping sound behind me.  You know the kind of mushrooms I'm talking about, right?  They line up in an impossible row of mushroom neatness, and as everyone knows, mushrooms are messy fellows even on their best days.  But anyhow, I heard this sound, as I said, and I thought I'd better investigate.  You never can be too careful when you hear odd sounds while viewing suspicious mushrooms.  I decided to keep my camera on and turn around quickly to snap a picture of whatever was there.  I knew there wouldn't be time to focus and think about it

The open portal.

What I got is this picture.  What you (the reader) do not know is that a split second after I snapped the picture, the "frame" that you see snapped shut.  The entire faraway scene had disappeared completely and been replaced by a woods scene instead.  In fact, this very woods scene was what had been there all along--or what I thought had been there all along--while I was photographing the naughty mushrooms.  You can imagine my surprise when I caught this brief portal opening into another world.

There are two things I am wondering.  The first is, what slipped into my world while the fairies were distracting me?  (Confound those fairies!)  Second, if nothing slipped into my world, did I accidentally slip into their world?  (Again, confound them!)  You see my dilemma now and the treachery I am dealing with on a daily basis.  If I don't soon find an ally among them, I fear I will not be long for this dimension.

The closed portal.

July 16, 2014 - The Maiden of the Mist

She followed me again.  I took a secret walk down to the pond very early this morning, and I could feel her following me.  Not a soul knew of my departure, but somehow she followed just the same.  Every so often, I would turn quickly to look and see if I could catch her, but she was always faster than me.  I could hear her soft footsteps, and the wind that blew against my face told me she was watching.  I gave up trying to catch a glimpse of her since I know it's pointless anyhow.  I made it down to the pond and almost slipped in by accident, but something righted my stance at the last moment. 

When I looked across the pond, the mist fell heavily and blurred my vision, as it always does when she is there.  I couldn't tell where I was as space and time seemed to be at a standstill.  I could sense that gates were opening and closing all around me, gates to other worlds.  And I knew if I walked into the mist, I would pass through one of these gates.  Vibrations and energies came and went while I stood still, staring into the mist.  I knew she was there, right there in the mist.  And I knew she was staring back.  She was waiting for me.  One day, the mist will come and I will not hesitate.  I will go into it.

The Maiden of the mist.

July 15, 2014 - The White Lily Pond

As promised, I have taken a photo of the white lily pond, which always flowers later than the pink lily pond.  And as I told you back in that journal entry, the fairies at each pond are distinctly different.  The pink lily pond fairies are are decidedly softer (although some can still be dangerous), and the white lily pond fairies are decidedly rougher and more male.  You may recall that I said I avoid the white lily pond at night when the will-o'-the-wisp is always nearby.  This pond is also right near the haunted old apple tree I told you about last March, so it only stands to reason that something untoward might happen here.

Imagine my shock, then, when I found this picture on my camera, although perhaps I should not have been so surprised.  After all, I am the one who has been telling you about these creatures all along.  It's just that the boldness of these fairies never ceases to amaze me.  Do you see it?  Look closely at the left side of the photo toward the middle.  Yep.  That's a fairy tail (not a fairytale)!!  He jumped into the water as I approached and almost made it under, but I was able to snap this photo before he was completely submerged.  And there you have it, my friends:  Yet more proof of the existence of fairies in Maine.  I know some of you have questioned up to this point, but surely now you may lay your doubts to rest.  Of course, now that I've got this photo of part of a fairy (not the first photo I've taken of a magical creature), I can only wonder what repercussions there will be.  And there are always repercussions with fairies.  They're so moody sometimes, don't you think?

The white lily pond fairy.

July 14, 2014 - Mullein

Mullein.  You probably see it everywhere on the road now.  Here on the coast of Maine, it’s just starting to flower.  It’s just a common weed to most people, but not to me.  Mullein is a one-of-a-kind plant.  You’ll know it as soon as you see it, and once you can identify it, you’ll never forget it.  It’s so easy to find and so easy to collect.  It’s a very tall and stately biennial plant, which means it flowers in its second year and then dies.  It’s rich in calcium, chromium, cobalt, iron, magnesium, manganese, niacin, phosphorus, and silicon, making it an excellent choice for boosting mineral intake.  To harvest mullein, cut it at the base when it just begins to flower, as you see in the photo.  Hang it upsidedown and let it dry.  Then shred or crush the leaves and stalk (you can use a food processor).

Flowering mullein top.

Mullein is a great herb to take for strengthening the lungs.  Herbalists have used it to treat coughs, bronchitis, croup, and asthma.  In this case, an infusion is made of the leaves.  To make an herbal infusion, put about 1 cup of dried herbal material in a one-quart jar.  Pour one quart of boiling water over it, swishing to saturate the dried material halfway through and then filling to the top.  Cap it and let it steep for eight hours.  Strain through a sieve that is also lined with several layers of cheesecloth, squeezing all plant material well.  (Not all strained infusions require cheesecloth, but mullein is a “hairy” plant and you want to strain those “hairs” out.)  Store in the fridge and drink within five days.  The dose is 1 to 2 cups per day to strengthen lungs (such as after quitting smoking) and 2 to 4 cups per day for acute lung problems, such as asthma, allergies, bronchitis, etc.

Mullein stalk and base.

Mullein oil made by infusing the flowers in oil has been used for earaches, ear infections, and discharge from the ears.  It can also be used for eczema around the ear.  The dose is 3 drops of oil in the ear, with cotton then placed loosely over the ear.  Mullein oil has antibacterial properties and has been used on humans as well as their pets.  See my red clover cures article for information on how to make an herbal oil and salve.  Also, the crushed fresh leaves (well macerated) can be applied to wounds and sores to aid in healing.

Go for walks in your neighborhood or along abandoned lots or railroad tracks.  You’ll find mullein and hundreds of other medicinal herbs as well.  Let the good Earth provide for you!

The stately mullein plant can be 5 to 8 feet tall.

(Yes, I have to put a disclaimer in.  This article is for informational purposes only and is not meant to diagnose, treat, or cure any ailment.  If you need medical advice, seek a physician.)

July 13, 2014 - The Good Life

The two kinds of visitors to Maine:

The first and most common is the tourist, which can be divided into two subcategories.  The first subcategory of the tourist is the obnoxious tourist who comes to see how quaint and "backward" we are here.  He points out all of the things we don't have and endlessly compares us to his "sophisticated" home (which is usually a concrete jungle).  She takes endless "selfies" and throws trash out the car window all over the countryside.  He gets irritated at our slow pace after the first couple of days and is very loud, especially at night.  (Mainers abhor loud unnecessary noise.  We do not "beep" our car horns either.)  Lastly, if all of her favorites aren't readily available (such as lattes and junk food), she becomes petulant and rude, commenting on how "out of it" we are here in Maine.  They leave here as quickly as they came, having learned nothing of our culture.

The second subcategory of the tourist is the interested and kind tourist who truly wants to see how we live here, and admittedly, our lifestyle is different from the rest of the United States.  He marvels at the vast countryside teeming with wildlife, since he often doesn't have that in his own state.  She compliments the quilting ladies, wool spinners, and weavers here, recognizing that most people in Maine still make their living from a "trade."  He is ready to accept that we are different and often appear reserved at first, and she loves our abundance of fresh real food and raw milk.  They have no desire to stay here too long, but they go home with good, lasting memories.

The good life in Maine.

But then there is the "other" kind of visitor.  There is a visitor who comes here to fill her soul up because it is empty, and she finds plenty with which to fill it.  There is a visitor who comes here because he wants to breathe in the constant smell of pine.  There is a visitor who wants to see where the sun meets the water in perfect love.  This visitor knows the true worth and value of Maine.  This visitor understand the hardships and embraces them.  This visitor is a kindred soul.  And lastly, this visitor, if s/he is brave enough, will stay forever.

Many people ask me, how do you come here?  How do you live here with so very little business?  How do you stay?  How do you make it happen?  To which I respond, ask yourself how much you need.  How much do you need to live?  How much are the "non-commodities" worth to you--the fresh air, water, sun, animals, etc.?  What is more important--the quiet sky at dawn or the conveniences of modern man?  And can you handle possible hardship and be financially "creative"?

Those who can answer the questions properly will stay or return soon for good.  Those who cannot (and there is no shame in that) will move on, and that includes some people who were born here.  What do you want out of life?  From the moment we are born, we are working our way toward our death.  How do you want to fill that infinitesimally small space?

July 12, 2014 - St. John's Wort

St. John's Wort is ripening around here now, and this is one of the most important medicinal herbs that I gather.  The flowering tops are cut off (maybe six inches or so), leaves and all, as they begin to flower.  It's not the world's prettiest flower, and in fact, it is quite easy to pass it by entirely.  If you've never identified it before, chances are you have passed it by every single year of your life and not known it.  You probably thought it was some silly weed growing on the side of the road.

But what a medicine chest it is!  A dropperful of the tincture of St. John's Wort taken twice per day helps to alleviate mild-to-moderate depression, and it really works.  It may take a few weeks to begin feeling the effects, but most people report benefit when using this herb for depression.  It's also a very good anti-viral herb.  Many herbalists prescribe it for shingles.  It's a good pain reliever as well.  It doesn't work like a pain pill you might take.  It's more subtle, but many people receive good benefit from it in cases of neuralgia, back pain, sciatica, headaches, and muscle spasms.  A dropperful of the tincture is taken in this instance every half an hour until relief is obtained.  It can also help as a tincture or an oil with problems associated with Lyme Disease.  When made into an oil or a salve, it can be very helpful for muscle aches and pains as well as radiation damage to skin.

St. John's Wort in bloom.

To make an herbal tincture, fill up a jar completely with your choice of herb.  Then pour vodka (100 proof if you can get it) over the contents and fill completely to the top.  Yes, you really can fill a jar twice!  Shake well.  The next morning, top up again with vodka because the fairies will have stolen some of it.  Then store it in a cupboard and shake it once a day (or whenever you remember) for six weeks.  Strain through several layers of cheesecloth and store in a clean jar in the cupboard.  It's extremely economical to make it this way, and once you do so, you'll never buy the tincture again.  To make an herbal oil and then a salve from that, see my article on red clover cures for the directions.

Armed with St. John's Wort tincture, oil, and salve, you are ready to face many routine medical dilemmas you may encounter, and you made it all yourself!  Nature heals.

(Yes, I have to put a disclaimer in.  This article is for informational purposes only and is not meant to diagnose, treat, or cure any ailment.  If you need medical advice, seek a physician.)

July 11, 2014 - The Maiden in the Mirror

There once was a haughty young maiden who was very preoccupied with her looks--vain and shallow, some would say--and she was rude and cruel to every suitor who tried to win her hand.  Every day she would go to her mirror and gaze at her appearance for a long time.  Usually, she would talk to herself while doing so, telling herself how beautiful she was.  Often she would have imaginary conversations with suitors, turning this way and that to see how she looked while spurning their imaginary affection.  She decided she was very beautiful, and the more she thought about it, the more she wanted to visit her image in the mirror.

One day while she was visiting and regarding herself in this light and that, the image in the mirror talked back to her.  At first she was shocked and frightened and she ran away, but the urge was irresistible to come back and see her image.  When she came back, the image was smiling at her, even though she herself was not smiling.  “I’m so glad you’ve come back,” the image said, “because I am so concerned about that spot on your chin.”  The maiden was surprised because she hadn’t noticed a spot, but sure enough when she looked, there it was as plain as day.  And it was so ugly, too.  She became very upset to the point of tears, but the image soothed her and told her to come back the next day as it would probably be better then.

The next day the maiden rushed back to her mirror only to have the image show her three horrible spots on her face!  One was on her chin and the other two on each cheek.  She was mortified and began to cry, whereupon the image soothed her again, telling her to return the following day.  On and on it went with the image pointing out more horrible spots each day until the maiden was convinced she was quite grotesque looking.  Finally, the image looked at her with disdain and asked her not to come back again.  The maiden cried and said she had nowhere to go and dare not show herself to anyone else, but the image stared back at her with a cruel smile and told her she was no longer welcome because she was so ugly.  As she said this, the maiden saw herself grow even uglier before her very eyes.

A mirror image.

But the maiden begged and begged the image to help her.  Finally, the image agreed to help her and suggested that they trade places for a while.  The image said she would wear a pretty mask to fool others and the maiden could stay in the mirror until she healed.  The maiden thought this was a very good idea, and so they joined hands and jumped toward one another.  It was momentarily an odd feeling traveling through the glass, but soon the maiden was safe inside.  The image smiled quickly and waved as she left, looking as pretty as ever, and she buried the mirror deep in an old chest in an attic, which she locked securely.

Days passed by, then weeks, and then years.  The maiden waited patiently in her prison to be “pretty” again, although she had no way of knowing whether she was or not since she had no reflection to see.  She had become the reflection of her inner soul, which she had never taken time to develop because of her vanity, and so there was precious little to see or delight in.  The image, on the other hand, had escaped the prison and, once free, immediately transformed into the sprite she was.  She flew off and was last seen tempting a beautiful young man to gaze yet deeper into his reflection in a pool of calm water.

Moral:  No amount of beauty can mask an ugly soul for long.

July 10, 2014 - Stone Stairs

Small, hand-hewn stone stairs lead upward from a remote part of the beach on Bailey Island.  They stop suddenly at the top of a very gentle incline.  As you can see, they're not very big.  In fact, they're rather smaller than most people would feel comfortable climbing.  Compare them to the size of the beach roses, which are not large flowers, and you can get an idea of their size.  Directly behind me as I take this picture is a very small beach that is part sand and part rock, and beyond that is the ocean looking out into the Casco Bay.  Who made these stairs?  They don't lead anywhere.  There are plenty of ways to get up the slight incline you see that are easier than these stairs, and yet here they are.

There's a legend of a fairy castle that was here once several hundred years ago.  Am I to presume that this is all that is left of it?  Or, as I suspect, are these stairs still in use?  Because that's what I think.  I don't think the castle ever left.  I think it's still right there.  I think a dimensional shift occurred, but as with all dimensional shifts, a gateway has to be left if one intends to move from one world to the other.  And so I think these stairs are still very much in use.  They walk among us, you know.  Perhaps if you climbed the stairs when the sun was at a particular angle, you might just get through that gateway and into the castle.  But be careful what you ask for as it may be given to you.