July 31, 2015 - For the Love of Spinning

Alpacas are popular in Maine, along with sheep, of course.  We love our textile industry here.  It used to be that whole towns built themselves up around textile mills:  Brunswick, Saco, Lewiston, Biddeford, etc.  Maine used to make uniforms for the Civil War, and we shipped fabric all over the world, even to China.  Maine was known far and wide for its wool and cotton fabrics.  That eventually all changed, of course, when cheaper labor and materials were found overseas.

But there’s a dark history to the textile industry in Maine.  Rivers were polluted to the extreme 100 years and more ago.   It got so bad that many of them were completely brown and no fish could live in them.  The smell around the towns was horrific.  Yes, beautiful Maine--in some areas--was anything but.  Eventually environmental progress came to Maine and the rivers were cleaned up.  Now they run crisp and clear again.  The mills left for not-so-greener pastures, and for a long time the textile industry in Maine was virtually at a standstill.

Her wool will soon be a very warm hat!

All things change, though, and I’m happy to say that the textile industry is growing again in Maine.  Many of the antiquated machinery and looms are being put back into service with an emphasis on “going green.”  Raw materials are gotten here in Maine but also from elsewhere because Maine is not producing enough wool, even though we produce quite a bit.  Of primary importance, things are being done in a much “greener” fashion with the environment coming first.  Because of this, these new Maine textile products are expensive.  Some people will buy them; some will not.  But apparently the industry is growing and growing!

My favorite niche part of the textile industry is those who raise their own sheep and alpacas, shear them, and either sell the wool to individual customers or spin it themselves into yarn, which is then sold.  There are many spinners here in Maine.  Yes, the old foot pedal spinners are very popular here and growing in popularity daily.  There’s nothing quite so satisfying as wearing a garment made from sheep or alpacas you personally know, the wool having been spun by yourself or a friend and then knitted or crocheted by yourself, or perhaps worked on a loom.  To me, this is one of the most satisfying things a person can do.  Now, add growing your own food into the mix, and I’d say I was in paradise.

July 30, 2015 - Forgotten Things

It goes to show that our barns and outbuildings need love, too.  The one I posted the other day was old but still used.  It still had the magic in it.  You could feel it just by looking at it.  You could almost hear the voices from long ago and see the animals going in and out.  You could imagine the birth and death of livestock and a farmer saying his prayers for their health.

But that’s all gone here.  I have watched this barn for a very, very long time.  I knew it was on its way out.  I knew the magic was leaving.  I watched it slowly leave over the years, but still some held on to the very end.  It’s not about just physical repairs, although those are important and vital, of course.  It’s about the magic of the experiences that build up over the years.  It’s about the hopes and dreams and sometimes ruin of those who own the barn.  It’s about the gentle trust of the animals that lived there.

A forgotten thing on its way back home.

Then one day, suddenly (but not really), the magic left.  All of the hopes and dreams and prayers finally gave up.  There was no use staying in a place where humans couldn’t quicken them anymore.  And then, crash!  The whole thing fell just like that.  It remains undisturbed.  No one pays any attention to it.  The weather shifts it a bit now and then, but other than that, it is forgotten, except by me.  I will continue to watch it until it is no more.

What happens to forgotten things?  The Earth swallows them back up.  The snow and ice and wind and rain will tear at this barn, and the shifting Earth will disperse it further and further.  The plant life will grow more and more aggressive upon it until it begins to cover it completely.  And then bit by bit the Earth will swallow it and it will be gone, back whence it came.  It will be a long time until this spot holds magic again.

July 29, 2015 - The Flamethrower

As if it were nothing,

we barely watch the flamethrower in the sky

as the ball of fire hurtles through space,

racing across the heavens

with the power and speed of a god.

Slicing through the night

with a spear of molten lava he comes,

blindingly brilliant and raging,

terrible in his majesty,

unknown to his subjects.

Immediate destruction,

no hand could stay the power unleashed,

the magnificent incineration,

witnessed on occasion, if that,

as if it were nothing.

The flamethrower.

July 28, 2015 - Searching in the Fog

Somewhere in the fog a loon is wailing, and another one is answering.  They can still find one another with their vision cut completely off because it has never been sight that brings them together but a desire to sing the same song.  At first one call is close and another very far away, but as the song continues they travel toward one another and then the song is louder and more confident.  Then there are two.

I pick my way slowly through the fog.  There is no one to call out to, so I do not wail.  But I wonder if I have that backwards.  Is it that I do not wail because there is no one to call out to, or is there no one to call out to because I do not wail?  There must be a desire for both parties to sing the same song.  If I were to wail, would there be an answer?  Perhaps I will give it a try.  Tomorrow.

Searching in the fog.

July 27, 2015 - The Clock in the Barn

I think I might love old barns even more than I love old homes.  There’s a certain rawness and originality to an old barn.  Most assuredly, no one ever tried to “pretty up” a barn.  A roof leak would be attended to, but curtains and fresh paint inside?  Not a chance.  There’s not much style to an old barn and certainly no entertaining within its walls.

Because of this, barns more closely reflect the age in which they were made.  They also reflect the needs of the people during the time when they were built, which have most likely changed as the decades, and even centuries, have gone by.  The old barn says, “Yes, I was built for a cow, two horses, a handful of sheep, and several chickens.”  As the years tick by, the old barn still says the same thing.

Still waiting to serve.

Used to be everyone had a barn of some sort.  How could a proper household function without one?  Now they’ve been replaced by sheds for tools and garages for vehicles, but the sheds and garages don’t quite have that air of “I’m home” to them.  No, sheds and garages are necessary and helpful buildings, but who ever says, “I’m going out to the shed (or garage) for a bit?”  The old barn held the animals, some of which were friends, and certainly held the life experiences (like the first kiss!).  It’s just not the same in a shed or garage.

There’s a purpose to a barn, a real sense of accomplishment and commitment that has to be met every day.  The barn gives you a reason to get up in the morning.  The shed and garage do not.  The barn shelters your assets.  The shed and garage shelter your liabilities.  There’s a huge difference between the two, but most people seem to have forgotten that and get them confused, if they think about them at all.

Tick tock goes the clock, day after day and year after year.  It’s oddly comforting to know that the barn still says, “Yes, I was built for a cow, two horses, a handful of sheep, and several chickens.”

July 26, 2015 - Practicing Silence

Every now and then, if I’m quiet enough, the deer reward me by coming closer.  They allow me to move occasionally, as long as I move slowly and fluidly with no noise and no quick movements.  They don’t like the sound of my camera, even from very far away, so having it already on and focused can be a big help.  If I’m patient, one will eventually come closer.  One time I was even able to pet a deer, but that was just one time and I didn’t have a camera with me because I was practicing silence.

The rewards of silence.

 
Have you practiced silence in your life?  It’s not an easy thing to do, although it becomes easier with time if you keep up with it.  This can be a very enlightening process.  Quite simply, you remain silent.  What this means is no talking, no singing, and no excess noise or banging around.  You do not use a telephone to talk or to text, and you also stay away from the computer, television, radio, and even cameras.  You don’t read a book, either, and you don’t go to the mall.  You simply remain as silent as you can and go about your day.

“Go about what day?” you might ask.  For most of us, our days include several electronic gadgets, as well as talking, singing, and even fighting.  If we didn’t do any of those things, what in the world would we do?  Doesn’t everything involve these gadgets and things nowadays?

As it happens, no, everything does not involve gadgets and noise.  Simple gardening can be done silently, and so can walking in the woods and snow shoveling.  Cooking a good meal can be done silently, and so can laundry and most housecleaning.  Meditation is certainly done silently, and so is crocheting and knitting and fishing.  Many things can be done without interaction with others or with gadgets.

This does not mean we become antisocial and ignore people.  It simply means that we take time now and then to just  b e   q u i e t.  What happens when you’re quiet?  At first you start to think of all the things you want to say to everyone.  Some people get a little antsy or irritated because they’ve never been alone with themselves without some kind of distraction.  It is these distractions--purposely contrived by our society--that prevent us from knowing ourselves.  They prevent us from listening to the person inside of us who has been trying to help us all our lives but keeps getting tossed in the corner because the latest movie just came out.

But that person, that “higher self” if you will, is there and has always been there.  Sometimes you hear him/her talking to you just as you’re drifting off to sleep.  Sometimes you get a fierce warning signal when severe danger is approaching.  Sometimes you get a feeling in the pit of your stomach or heart region when you “know” that what you’re doing is very wrong or very right.  The higher self is always there, waiting for its chance to talk to you.

So try it sometime.  For most people, it will have to be done on a weekend.  Some will have to plan more elaborately than others, depending upon how many people are in their household.  Summer is a great time to start because you can easily leave the house.  Come to think of it, though, winter is a great time, too, because the quiet snow falling can easily lead you into a state of peace and silence.  Actually, anytime of year is a good time to start practicing silence.

Start for just a couple of hours at a time, or even one hour if two seems like too much.  Gradually work your way up to longer and longer until you can do an entire day.  Don’t beat yourself up if something “happens” that forces you to interact.  For example, if you’re practicing silence at home and the mailman delivers a package, there’s no need to be rude to him.  Whisper a thanks and go back inside.  This is not breaking your silence, but it is the only time you should do such a thing.  Breaking your silence is deliberately coming out and making noise.  Don’t be surprised, though, if at times in the beginning you forget and start talking aloud to yourself.  Just chalk it up to inexperience and keep trying.  Also, don’t be surprised if you want to burst spontaneously into laughter or tears at different times.

What will your reward be?  I can’t say because it’s different for everyone, but you will be rewarded.  For starters, your life will become just a little more peaceful, and the insight you gain from shutting up for five minutes could change your circumstances.  You will also gain some self confidence because you will realize that you can function without the “help” of gadgets and distractions.  Give it a try, and watch the miracles start to happen.

July 25, 2015 - I Remember Love

I remember love back when it was simple, when I was younger and the whole world was brand new.  I remember before there were commitments and promises and words to be kept and lived by.  I remember before there was obligation, things I must do and things you must do.  There was a time before societal pressures and fears and wondering what the neighbors would think.

I remember simpler days.

I remember love back before it was necessary to love in order to satisfy living arrangements.  I remember how love was before there was fear.  I remember when there were no expectations of who would do what and when.  I remember days that were easy and natural and simple.  This was before the hard times and the perilous journey onward into becoming human.  It was before the competition had begun and the score was being kept.

I remember when there was nothing in the way.  No rivals, no conquests, and nothing to measure.  I remember when the sun was warm, the rain was wet, and the snow was cold, and all of these experiences were pure and unadulterated and exploding before our eyes.  And each passing moment of every day was a miracle to behold as the world unfolded its brilliance and rolled in ecstasy before us.

July 24, 2015 - Forest Guardians

In my walk through the woods today, I took a picture of a tree with a very large trunk that forked upward in two directions at a certain point.  Each of the two limbs was quite thick as well, thicker than many whole trees in the area, and each limb also forked upward.  It was the largeness and health of this tree itself that caught my attention and begged for a photo.

Or so I thought.  On further inspection at home, I see there was a lot more going on than I realized.  In the hole formed by the fork of this tree, there is a face.  We can argue that it is part of the birch tree that stands behind this large tree, but we cannot argue about the striking resemblance to a real face.  This isn’t one of those “it sort of has an eye and mouth” kind of things.  This is a face.  A real face.  This is a face that was watching me.

They're always watching.

I wasn’t consciously aware of it, but I must have known subconsciously because for some unexplainable reason I was drawn to take a photo of only part of a tree.  If this face had not been there, this would have been a very ordinary photo and certainly nothing to write home about.  But perhaps the reason is not so unexplainable after all.

They are everywhere, the guardians of the forest.  They are watching us.  I am always aware of them, but I don’t always get to see them.  Today was one of the days I did.  I am on the right track.

The actual size and view of the tree.

July 23, 2015 - Queen of the Island

I’ve been watching these two small uninhabited islands off the coast of Maine in Harpswell for several years now.  No one ever goes to them.  I’ve never seen a person standing on the shore.  No one bothers with a canoe or kayak trip to have a picnic on one of them, so these islands have remained quite pristine and untouched by man.

I’ve always fantasized that if anything should ever happen, should our country ever alter drastically, I would go out to one of these islands to live.  It’s a ridiculous dream, of course, but I can’t help myself.  Fresh water would be a problem, for sure.  Fish and clams to eat in the summer, but what about the winter?  And not enough wood for heat?  Ah, yes, I know it’s foolish, indeed, but I want to be queen of an island, you see.

An island in need of a monarch.

I’d probably have to claim queenship of the island on the right.  If you look closely at the island on the left, directly in the middle, you can see an eagle’s nest high at the top of a dead tree.  Therefore, I am afraid queenship has already been claimed on this island, and I doubt she would care to end her reign as supreme being.  We could be allies, though, as long as we didn’t have to compete too much for the fish.

Do you ever do that?  Have ridiculous ideas and dreams that you know can’t come true?  Fantasize about just leaving civilization behind and foraging in the wild?  Even though I’ll never live on one of these islands and I’ll never be queen, the eagle is still free enough to do so, and I think that counts for something.  Maybe if I just get a little braver . . .

July 22, 2015 - Secret of the Cloud

For something that has no solidity and can be walked right through, clouds can effortlessly block out the sun.  They have no ultimate form or shape to them and barely any substance, but they can put up a barrier that cannot be broken until they choose to disperse.  Even the most powerful energy source in our solar system is no match for an ethereal cloud.  The sun, which could instantaneously ignite, burn, and destroy everything in its path, quakes and bows its head at the lowly cloud.

The things in our lives that appear to have no substance whatsoever are the things that have the most power, but because we cannot see them or touch them, we fail to understand how they shape our world.  We often don’t even think of them as being separate “things” from us. 

The impenetrable strength of the cloud.

 

Our thoughts have no solidity, no shape, no form, no existence outside of our own minds.  They cannot be measured, weighed, or categorized.  But what power they have.  They can shape destiny.  There is nothing we have done in our lives that we have first not thought of doing before actually doing.  Emotions cannot be measured or seen either.  Their effects on our human vehicle can be evidenced, but the emotions themselves are invisible.  They are so stealthy and so crafty that they can control our breathing, our heartbeat, and even our hormones.  There is nothing we have experienced in our lives that did not first run through the screen of our emotions.

It’s a double-edged sword that can be used for good or for bad.  Our thoughts and emotions can blind us and drive our fears to a frenzy.  They can block out all good or make their filters so thick that by the time something gets through them, it is completely transformed.  Our thoughts and emotions, especially when used together, can create a wall so strong that nothing can penetrate it.  Like the sun unable to penetrate the nothingness of the cloud, the outside world and everyone in it can go no further than the wall of our thoughts and emotions.

But they can move mountains, too.  They can plough through solid exterior barriers and mold our world into a better place, if we choose.  They can build societies and bring dreams to fruition.  They can sail through obstacles of the physical world like a hot knife through butter.  They create our entire life and surroundings . . . out of nothing.

The mystery of the cloud is one of the mysteries of the Great Alchemist.  Learn the cloud with its formation and dispersal, and you learn the secret to your own power and role in the physical world.  There is nothing in our world that does not have its roots in the unmanifest, and you are in charge of what gets rooted.  There is nothing that we can see, taste, touch, feel, or hear that was not first an unseen shadow in the unmanifest.  Out of nothing comes everything, and everything must eventually return to nothing.  The true power lies not in the ferocious outer world, that world which boasts and brags and struts and threatens, but in the unseen planes, in the aether.

July 21, 2015 - Outdoor Work

There’s a certain amount of loneliness involved in working and living outdoors.  Often there are no companions for hours at a time or even days.  There’s no chit-chat and no office grapevine.  There’s no water cooler to gather by and waste some time.  There’s no one to offer you a pat on the back when needed and no one to complain about or to.  While most people might say they’d be glad to be away from all of that, when push comes to shove, they find themselves at a loss.

There’s a freedom to working an outdoor job of your own creation, a joyous freedom, but freedom often brings loneliness.  Many people who come from an office environment to an outdoor environment for work quickly become confused because that freedom is often exhausting.  They start out happy and glad to be free of the pettiness of office politics, but they soon find themselves to be strangers in a strange land.

An outdoor life does not depend overmuch on a clock.  There’s no punching in or punching out.  There are no assigned duties and no inboxes.  There are no meetings and no team-playing.  There are no excuses for illness and no one to cover your work when you’re not around.  So, first and foremost, a self-made outdoor job involves responsibility.  That is quickly followed by discipline, because if there’s no one to insist on appearances and deadlines, it can be very easy to forget about them or simply ignore them.

The Maine lobsterman is the quintessential self-made outdoor worker.

Then there is the overlord to deal with.  That would be Mother Nature.  There are no roofs to keep out the rain and snow.  There’s no heating and no air conditioning.  There are no supply cabinets and no delivery boys.  There are no delis and no stores.  There are no creature comforts, often no toilets, and certainly plenty of bugs and animals.  This is the reality of day-to-day working and living in the outdoors.

These things sound simple enough to tackle for any adult, but in actuality they are not so simple if you are not used to them.  That’s where the loneliness steps in.  Ultimately, there’s no one to blame for anything, and once that really sinks in, the responsibility can seem crippling.  Because if there’s no one to blame for anything--a boss, a coworker, a rival company--everything falls squarely on your shoulders.  And there’s no one to talk to about it, either.

The cure for loneliness is simple:  Hard work.  Actually, hard work cures just about any ailment, I’ve noticed.  Working diligently on your own and doing your best might not bring you friends, but it certainly brings a sense of accomplishment and peace at the end of the day.  There is an enormous satisfaction in setting your own course and carving your own future.  A job well done of your own volition is worth all the creature comforts in the world.  There’s often no one to share your sense of accomplishment or peace with, but peace does not require a witness.

[This statue is on Bailey Island and is dedicated to all Maine fishermen who have devoted their lives to the sea.]

 

July 20, 2015 - The Heart of the Pond

A close up of the surface of a pond catches love in the act of manifesting.  The lily pads spread their greenness over the surface of the water in a loving embrace.  “I love you,” they whisper to the cool water, and the surface water responds by caressing the leaves and lying in little heated pools in the rounded surface of the leaves.

“I love you,” the little pools of warm water whisper to the tiny azure dragonflies as they hover just above the surface, admiring their beautiful reflection.  When they hear these sweet words, the tiny dragonflies dance for joy, whipping their little bodies all about the pond in a miniature display of fireworks.  The water grass sees the mesmerizing dance and falls in adoration at the grace of the tiny azure dragonflies, saying, “I love you.”  Then each blade of grass sways back and forth, back and forth in the warm summer breeze.  “I love you,” the breeze says as it wraps itself completely around the grass in an ecstatic embrace.

The Heart of the Pond.

Together the surface water, the lily pads, the azure dragonflies, the water grass, and the breeze dance for joy until they hear a noise deep within the pond.  What could it be?  The sound is deep and frightening.  The dance slows, and the dancers all stop and hover, waiting for a presence they can feel but not see.  All eyes are on the surface of the water, but she will not reveal the secrets of her depth, not knowing herself what lies in the deep recesses.  And the low and strange hum far below the surface continues.

“If we should dissolve,” whispers the surface water, “all pleasure will cease.”

“If we should die,” whisper the lily pads, “all joy will be lost.”

“If we should perish,” whispers the water grass, “all beauty will be forgotten.”

“If we should crumble,” whispers the breeze, “all love will vanish.”

“But if we should leave,” whisper the dragonflies, “we will never know the heart of the pond.”

Not another word is spoken and not a move is made.  Life hovers quietly in the air, waiting.  The sound grows deeper and stranger, and the surface water ripples in fear.  The sound grows louder and more forceful, and the lily pads cover their ears and huddle against the surface water.  The sound grows fiercer and more urgent, and the water grass quakes and shivers and lies prostrate.  The sound grows horrible and quick, and the breeze falls to its knees, immobile.  The sound grows vast and frenetic, and the dragonflies wait in anticipation.  It is better to greet life head on than to cower in fear over its inexorable march.

And then the wait is over.  The surface water bursts in an explosion and the heart of the pond leaps out and lands upon the surface!  There she gleams, resplendent in brilliant pink with petals as soft as a bird’s feather.  There she glows in her current manifestation as a beautiful pink lily.

The surface water says, “I know you,” and the heart of the pond smiles.

The lily pads say, “We adore you,” and the heart of the pond hums with joy.

The water grass says, “I am your humble servant,” and the heart of the pond dances.

The breeze says, “I worship your beauty,” and the heart of the pond leaps and soars.

The dragonflies say, “We love you,” and the heart of the pond says, “I know.”

July 19, 2015 - Fog Magic

The bells were ringing in the fog, clanking and clanking much more than they do on a sunny day.  I could hear voices and men at work, but I could see no one.  Beyond the boats is just the wide open ocean.  I know it’s there because it kept whispering sweet nothings in the ears of the sailors and anyone on the shore, including me.  “Come to me,” it said over and over.  I put my hands over my ears so I wouldn’t get tempted, but the magic caught me anyhow.

Beware the fog magic.

It would be so easy to just go a little further.  Just a little bit more into the fog.  Surely there’s a light over there?  Or another boat?  Isn’t that the shore?  Has a man gone overboard out there?  I thought I heard something.  Maybe I should just go a little further.  Visible tendrils of the fog wrap all around my head and turn my already out-of-control hair into a massive mane of curls.  Surely, anyone who saw me materialize out of the fog would think I was the Medusa come to tempt them to go just a bit further out to sea and then to look at me so I could turn them into stone.  And perhaps for that moment in time I was the Medusa.

Don’t fall for it.  It’s the same magic that the Will-o’-the-wisp uses.  You’ve seen the ghost lights in the night over the bogs?  I have.  They call to you.  The further you go to reach them, the more they recede.  Beware of these elemental spirits, these ghost candles, these sweet nothings in the fog.  They’ll lead you to your demise, whether it be Will and his lantern or the fog and her Medusa.  My advice is to stay in the harbor today.

July 18, 2015 - The Angels Are Crying

When I was little and it rained outside, my mother would say, “The angels are crying.”  When there was thunder and lightning, she would say, “The angels are bowling.”  Things like this are very real to little kids, and I’m sure most people reading this remember believing it or something similar when they were little.  Such is the magical life of a child.  Things are taken at face value.

And why shouldn’t they be?  Because the thing is, I don’t know if I ever stopped believing in the angels crying.  After all, angels are supernatural or spiritual beings recorded in various religions and mythologies all over the world.  Everyone has heard of angels.  They seem to be attendants or messengers for a higher power.  Believing in them doesn’t make them exist, but not believing in them doesn’t make them not exist either.  If an angel is just an intermediary between Heaven and Earth, and if the Earth is really very thirsty for some water, is it too much of a stretch to believe that the intermediary has fulfilled the need for rain?

Angel upon the water.

The water cycle is explained to us in elementary school.  The all-powerful sun evaporates the water.  (Even with rain, the Sun is crucial.)  As more and more steam enters the air, the clouds gather.  They start to get heavy when the steam mixes with tiny particles in the air.  When they get too heavy, they break up and crash down to the land as heavy rain droplets or hail or snow.  When the weight of the world becomes too heavy, the angels cry.  Then the sun starts the process all over again.

Perhaps that’s why angels are always pictured in clouds with fluffy wings.  Or sometimes they’re pictured terribly, wielding a frightening and horrible power.  Perhaps they find the positive and negative charges up in the clouds and when their wings blow the air hard enough, a huge discharge of electricity is seen.  Giant flashes!  Flashes within the clouds themselves, and flashes of unseen negative electricity reaching toward the positively-charged ground, which then responds and produces a terrible flash upward.  Strike!  The angels are bowling.

And who’s to say it’s nonsense?  I’m the keeper of the woods and streams in my area, and I say it’s good.

July 17, 2015 - Yarrow

It is time to begin harvesting the yarrow, and the roadsides are peppered with it as far as the eye can see.  To most people, this is just a weed, as are most plants on the side of the road.  To me, it’s a medicine chest.  Usually, the more “weedy” a plant is, the more useful I find it.  While perennial flowers are beautiful to the eye, it’s the weeds that are heavenly for the body.

Yarrow (Achillea millefolium) is a common and prolific weed.  There are some cultivars of various colors you can buy for your garden, but it’s the common white yarrow on the roadsides and in the fields that I’m interested in.  Yarrow can stop bleeding, promote healing of wounds, prevent infections, and reduce pain and inflammation.  It is an effective treatment against strep and staph, and some herbalists believe it works better than over-the-counter antibiotic ointments.  The tincture can be used as a spray on wounds or even on the back of the throat for sore throats and infections.

Yarrow (Achillea millefolium).

The fresh stalks of yarrow can be pounded into a pulp and applied to bruises, sprains, swelling, and skin rashes.  Used this way, it can also help to check the flow of blood.  It can be made into an ointment for dressing wounds, and I particularly like this and have found it helpful with all sorts of skin problems, rashes, sores, bug bites, etc.  When taken internally either as a tea or in tincture form, it can help to promote sweating in order to break fevers and colds.  Taken internally, it can relieve menorrhagia and even help with indigestion.

Interestingly, when the tincture is used as a spray, it acts as a highly-effective insect repellant.  It can be just as effective as DEET, although it must be reapplied often, say every 30 minutes in a heavily-infested area.  Still, it’s a natural repellant and does not contain the dangers that DEET does.  It might seem odd that you can use the same plant for teas and tinctures that you would use as an insect repellant, but yarrow is a multifaceted plant with many, many uses.

If you’ve never used a wild plant to make your own teas or infusions, yarrow is a good plant to start with.  It’s prolific and highly beneficial with many uses.  It’s an easy plant to find and harvest, and it smells nice, too.  Below are some instructions on how to make various herbal treatments.  These can be used for all kinds of plants, not just yarrow.  I hope you’ll be curious and try some.

To make an infusion (tea):  Add one cup of yarrow flowers and leaves (top 1/4 of the plant) to a quart jar and then fill with boiling water.  Cover and steep for four to eight hours, strain, and drink.  Refrigerate any unused tea for up to two days.

To make a poultice:  Pound fresh leaves, stalks, and flowers in a mortar and pestle.  A small amount of water can be added to help mash.  Apply to skin areas as needed.  Place a bandage over the herbs to hold them in place.

To make a tincture:  Pack a jar fairly tight with yarrow flowers and leaves (top 1/4 of the plant).  Add vodka (100 proof if you can get it, otherwise 80 proof) to the jar up to the very top.  Cover and let sit in a cupboard for eight weeks, shaking now and then.  Strain through cheesecloth, squeezing herbs well, and then store in a cupboard.

To make an herbal oil:  Pack a very clean, very dry jar fairly tight with yarrow flowers and leaves (top 1/4 of the plant) up to the shoulder of the jar (about 1 inch from the top).  Make sure you collect them on a very sunny and dry day with absolutely NO moisture.  Add olive oil to the top of the jar.  Poke through with a chopstick to make sure air is dispelled.  Cover and place over a cloth.  This will foam up and leak a bit and have a strange odor.  As long as it doesn’t mold, it’s fine.  Any moisture mixed in will cause mold.  Strain after six weeks and store.

To make an ointment or salve:  Place half a cup of an herbal oil in a pan and add one ounce of beeswax.  Heat over a low flame until the wax is melted.  Pour into small containers.  The salve will solidify as it cools.  If you like a harder salve, use more beeswax.  If you like a softer salve, use more oil.

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

July 16, 2015 - Dancing Droplets

DANCING DROPLETS

Little dancing droplets of dew

playing in the reeds

hiding all the frogs

and ducks and chicks and dragonflies.

At high noon waving to the sun

dancing in the golden light

swaying drunkenly in the wind.

Then thirstily drinking the dew

again and dancing

long into the wet night

playing in the reeds.

 

Playing in the reeds.

July 14, 2015 - One Vital Principle

Some nights when the sun goes down or very early when it rises, the color theme in this photo repeats itself again and again.  Over and over I see the yellow violently bursting into orange, and these two then melt into red and burgundy and sometimes even purple.  This is the announcement of the sun.  This is light out of the darkness.  This is the voice that says, “I am.”

Prana escaping from the flower.

But the colors and the splendor are repeated elsewhere, not just in the sky, as you can see in this flower.  The “I am” is everywhere.  The pulsation and pressure are felt until finally the flower violently bursts open, exploding from one form to another.  In the center, we see the Prana, Sanskrit for the life force or the vital principle.  Vital, indeed.  If you look toward the bottom of the photo, you can see the pistil, the female portion of the flower.  The angle of the photo makes it look flat, but it is actually curved and coming back around on itself.  Do you see what is pouring out?  I see brilliant light.  I am not clever enough to know how to enhance photos.  What you see is the photo I took, magnified.  It was not noticeable with the naked eye, perhaps because I was not looking for it.

The pistil waits patiently for the pollen to fall upon it, and then the life force engages dramatically and the plant reproduces and the violent explosion occurs once again in another form.  It is the secret storing of the sun’s energy in the plants and the keepers of the Prana that make this happen.  The plant is the primary receiver of the life force from the sun.  When we consume a plant, we are eating the sun in a secondary form.  When we consume an animal, we are eating the sun in a tertiary form.  But we are still eating the sun.

There is only one energy, one vital principle, one explosive pressure, one “I am.”

July 13, 2015 - The Old House

Thinking about an old home on a dusty road a long time ago.  The windows never did shut quite right.  They stuck to the frame in the summer, and when you finally got them up, you had to jam an old stick underneath to keep them that way.  In the winter, they kept Old Man Winter out, but just barely.  Jack Frost, on the other hand, was given free reign, and he designed masterpieces for us every night that delighted us in the morning.

The front door and back door both slammed easily.  There was nothing to hold them open and nothing to gently close them behind you.  They were old doors, and we only had old skeleton keys for them.  It didn’t matter much because we didn’t lock them anyway.  Oh, how I do remember my mother yelling, “Close the door, you’re letting the flies in!”  The old fan from the 1920’s that looked like a whirligig would chop them up easy enough with its imposing metal blades.  But we never told her that.

So many memories in old houses . . .

The pipes were all on the outside of the walls in the kitchen and the bathroom because the house was built before indoor plumbing came about.  It was built before electricity, too, come to think of it.  There weren’t many outlets in the old place, but we really didn’t need many.  Most things were done by hand, from making pie dough, to washing delicates on the old washboard outside, to opening cans.  There were very few electrical appliances, as I recall.

There was an old ringer washer for the “dungarees” we all wore and my father’s work clothes.  I think people call them blue jeans now.  My mother used to have to put her foot on the wall and pull with all her might to get those wet clothes through the ringer because that part was done by hand.  Or if it worked through electricity, the ringer must have been broken then.  I never asked.  There was no spin cycle in those days, and the very wet clothes were hung in the yard to drip and drip.  In the winter, they were hung in the attic where they would ice up a bit but then somehow dry.  Evaporation occurs even then, I guess, but I liked the wind blown clothes better because they smelled so nice.  The sheets on my bed always put me fast asleep at night because they smelled like the meadow.

We were very poor but I didn’t know it.  One time I overheard a conversation about money I was not meant to hear and it worried me very much.  I asked my mother if we were poor.  She laughed and opened her purse and showed me some coins in it.  There were a couple of quarters, a few dimes and nickels, and several pennies but no bills.  “No, look how much money is here!” she said.  I felt greatly relieved at the sight and went about my merry way, enjoying another magical day.  She went about hers without saying another word.  I didn’t worry about money again for a long time after that.

There were a lot of mouths to feed, but somehow there was always food on the table.  Everything was made from scratch and was utterly delicious.  Already prepared food was not something we could afford, and I still have the constitution of an ox, so I’m very grateful now we couldn’t eat that kind of food.  Homemade biscuits were my favorite and flour was very cheap.  “Don’t be a glutton!” she’d say.  Everything was cooked in cast iron pans that were used on the old stove top as well as inside the stove.  Even breads and pies came out nice.  To this day, I still use old cast iron pans.  The new pans make food taste different, and I don’t care for it one bit.

It was all a long time ago.  The house is gone now; they took it down.  It exists only in my memory and in a few old photos.  But I can still see every room in it as if I had walked through it just yesterday.  There was the old wooden fold-down ironing board that I always bumped into--“Watch where you’re going, clumsy!” she’d yell--and the ancient old dining room table I still see in my mind’s eye when I open any door these days.  The carved woodwork over the old kitchen sink still makes me smile when I think about it.  What I wouldn’t give to wake up just once more to good old Jack Frost’s paintings on the ancient window panes.

July 12, 2015 - Beating the Heat

The mist burned off the pond quickly today, giving the feeling of being in a rain forest.  We were faced with a sweltering hot day of 85 degrees, and I think it was the hottest day so far this year.  While I realize that is not considered extremely hot for some areas of the country, for Maine it is blistering.  Heat is not something that Maine is known for, so when it happens, many of us are at a loss as to what we should do for relief.  Air conditioned houses are still not the norm here because we just don’t have enough hot days to justify buying one.

The pond steaming in the morning.

As usual, the animals seem to approach the problem in the wisest way.  First of all, they stay in the woods, which with its heavy tree cover, is easily 10 degrees cooler or more.  The woods are not only shaded, but the trees also fill the air with a cooling moisture.  Next, the animals lay low.  I never see deer on the move in this kind of heat, or any animal for that matter.  They do not exert themselves.  They also stay close to a water source and will often take a dip if it’s within their nature to do so.  If they’re unable to sweat, such as birds, they pant heavily, which helps to cool their blood some.

I did all of these things today, taking my lessons from the animals.  In addition, I used a spray bottle filled with water and squirted my face, arms, and legs often.  This offers a surprising amount of relief.  Thoughts of the deep and cold winter are also helpful, and I found myself eager for the first snowfall, as always.  The only thing I haven’t seemed to master as well as the animals in terms of this heat is the ability to say, “This, too, shall pass.”  Their acceptance is admirable; mine, not so much.

July 11, 2015 - Wishing Well

Do you have secret place you go to make a wish?  I think everyone does.  For many these days, it’s just a fountain in town or a little manmade pond.  For some it’s an actual “wishing well,” and for others it’s a small stream or quiet pool of water.  You’ll notice that it always involves water, though.  You can’t seem to make a proper wish without water.

A nice clean spring or stream was a very important thing to ancient people because they couldn’t just turn the tap on like we can.  They needed a clean, clear, unpolluted place from which to gather water.  This was a vital need for everyone.  Over time, certain places gained more prestige and veneration than others for having the “best” water.  In ancient cultures all over the world, we are told of certain deities or entities living in these special wells or springs.  They guarded the wells and blessed the water, often making them a source of healing.

My sacred spring.

As the reputation of the sacred well or spring grew, people would travel many miles to drink or bathe in the healing waters.  Many would proclaim themselves cured after having done so, and the fame of the water and its deity or protector would grow.  Indeed, many of these springs and wells contained a large amount of minerals or sulfur, and soaking in them might very well have helped people’s health.

Very often, a person would approach a well or spring and say out loud why they were there.  This “saying out loud” was an important thing to the ancients, and it should still be important to us today.  Voicing your opinion, ideas, hopes, and dreams solidifies them, taking them from the realm of thought to the realm of real possibility.  With the “saying out loud” came the offering of a gift in return for healing or longevity.  This could take the form of simple ribbons and coins to the deposition of an enemy’s armor in the water.  It was a “give and take” idea.  The ancients weren’t stupid.  They knew if you wanted to receive, you must first give.  They knew that if you received, a token of your gratitude should be left.  It was a simple form of request and appreciation.  After all, nothing in this world is free.

And so the idea of the wishing well or the sacred spring was born.  We still carry this tradition with us today.  Surely you have been to one of these special spots?  Not a crowded fountain in a city, but a quiet pool of water in the country.  There seems to be an air of peace, abundance, and health to them, and who’s to say it isn’t true?  The birds themselves seem to sing just a bit sweeter at these places.

So always bring a coin with you in your travels.  When you find the special well or pool, which could be anywhere at all, say your wish out loud and drop the coin in.  And then say thank you, of course.  You may be surprised with the answer you get.  The wishing well is a good listener.