November 9, 2014 - The Magic of the Beach

There’s just something about the ocean.  Is it the sound?  The scent?  The sight?  Maybe all of those things and more.  It’s just relaxing to go to the beach during anytime of the year.  Most people go in summer only, but I find the beach to be most glorious in the colder weather.  There is no finer surf than what you will find at the beach in January or February, especially during a snowstorm.  But I am a Mainer, and not everyone enjoys the cold as I do.

It could be the huge amount of negative ions in the air.  Negative ions are invisible molecules in the air that are most prevalent naturally around bodies of water, such as waterfalls or the ocean.  They are also plentiful just after a rainstorm.  Did you ever notice that fresh and wonderful scent and feeling in the air after a good rain?  Did you ever feel a calm come over you after a storm?  It’s not just psychological.  It’s negative ion magic at work.

A magical November day on Popham Beach, Maine.

An ion is a molecule that has gained or lost an electrical charge, and this can occur with many things, especially moving water.  The theory is that when the negative ions reach our bloodstream, they produce biochemical reactions that increase levels of serotonin, and this helps to alleviate depression and stress.  University studies have shown that negative ion generators can help relieve depression as much as antidepressants.  Part of how they work is by increasing the flow of oxygen to the brain, and this in turn gives us more energy and a feeling of alertness.  Some people call them “vitamins of the air.”

Then, again, maybe it’s just the beach and the horses and a magical cool November day.

(It’s important to note that grounded devices [such as computer monitors] can produce positive ions, which counteract negative ions.  As always, In Pursuit of Maine is a blog about my experiences of Maine.  If you want further information or analysis or references, the internet beckons.)

November 8, 2014 - Scars

Such odd growth occurs everywhere.  A sweeping glance tells us that Nature is perfect, but closer inspection reveals that she is not.  Or perhaps she is, but it is only that she does not meet our expectations and so we deem her creations imperfect.  There is not one of us who is perfect, and each of us bears many scars--some seen but most unseen.  Like this tree, each one of us has callouses built up around attempted growth, failure, cuts, sickness, and sorrow.  Like this tree, each of us has hardened knots and growth that snakes in odd directions, which we try to hide, even from ourselves.

But unlike this tree, most of us do not show our imperfections.  We hide them and gloss them over and place distractions in front of them.  All the while we are hoping that no one sees our deformities, that no one sees how we tried and failed, that no one notices our weak spots.  We play a game of pretend with everyone, especially ourselves.  No one must know of our defeats.

A tangled mass of scar tissue on the tree.

Yet our defeats have their own faces, even as this tree does.  Look carefully at the tangled knot and you will see the face.  You will see the pain.  It’s okay to see it, and the tree doesn’t mind.  The tree says, “Yes, this was where I tried to grow toward the east but suffered tragedy and illness.  How lucky I am to have learned such a valuable lesson!  It saved me heartache when next I tried to grow toward the west.  Life is glorious!”

We can do the same.  We can say, “Yes, this is where I had a C-section.  This is where I took some shrapnel in the war.  This is where the ball hit me and took my eye.”  Or maybe we could go deeper to our hearts and say, “Yes, this is where I lost my wife because of what I did.  This is where my mother died.  This is what happened when I lost my career.”  Or could we go even deeper into our souls?  Could we say, “Yes, this is where I lost my faith.  This is where I killed my dreams.  This is where I met the dark one, and this is what I did.”

Could we do that?  Could we be as brave as a tree?

November 7, 2014 - Turkey Tail Mushroom

The turkey tail mushroom is a leathery mushroom with concentric areas of different colors, much as you might see in a tom when he fans his tail feathers out in search of a mate.  They can be triangular or round, and sometimes they can even have algae growing on them, especially near the shore.  It’s an easy mushroom to identify, although there are some vague look alikes.  When hunting for turkey tails, make sure there are little pores on it and not gills, and you ought to see a vaguely hairy surface when looking very close.

Why would you want to hunt for turkey tail mushrooms?  The main reason is their PSK (Polysaccharide-K) content.  PSK has shown anti-cancer activity in vitro, in vivo, and in preliminary human studies.  It may reduce mutagen-induced and radiation-induced cancers.  It may also reduce cancer recurrence in those who have already suffered from cancer.

Turkey tail mushroom.

What does it mean when you read about all these “may do this” and “may do that” things?  It means that some scientific studies have been done but not enough.  It means that some testing has been done but not enough.  It means that not everything is known about a particular substance (and may never be known if there is no money to be made).  In the case of the turkey tail mushroom, the American Cancer Society says that substances derived from parts of it may be useful against cancer.  Note that they do not support the actual raw mushroom, only substances derived from it (extracts taken and mixed into a “drug” or “treatment” that can be marketed).

Traditionally, turkey tail mushrooms were boiled because they are very leathery and tough.  If you want to try this, cut them up and bring them to a boil in some water.  Then let them simmer for at least half an hour, and make sure the pot is covered so you don’t lose properties in the steam.  The boiling will kill any contaminants, soften the mushroom, and extract the polysaccharides.  Then strain and enjoy your tea.

(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.  If you want more information, check your local library and various online university studies.)

November 6, 2014 - The King is Dying

The struggle has begun in earnest.  It actually started toward the end of June, but he was so strong that we didn’t notice.  Yet it persisted.  We thought he would overcome it.  He thought so too.  We thought he was invincible.  But we were wrong.  In September, a mighty battle was fought, and it did not go in his favor.  He suffered a mighty blow.  Then all eyes turned warily toward him, waiting, watching.  “It won’t be long now,” they whispered in the forest.

The Dark Ones whispered.  They spread the rumors.  “The King is dying!  The King is dying!”  The forest creatures were afraid.  They hid themselves in the dying green until the barrenness betrayed them, and then they ran in terror.  The Dark Ones laughed.  The King is dying.  The end is near.

And so the sun sets earlier now and further to the southwest.  It is not as strong.  The light fades.  The King is dying.

But there are rumors . . .

The sun weakens and sets further to the southwest.

November 5, 2014 - Blood Berries

There once was a beautiful young princess who fell madly in love with a charlatan.  Everyone could see that this man was a liar, a trickster, and a thief--at best.  Everyone but the princess, that is, and the charlatan knew it.  He also knew he had to get her away from everyone else before they impressed the truth upon her.  So he suggested a secret marriage to her and she agreed.  Late one night, she stole out of her parents’ castle disguised as a maid and met the trickster at an inn.  There they stayed the night, and in the morning they departed early to begin their blissful life.

But I am afraid that everyone was right about this man.  He turned out to be very abusive and cruel, and it was too late then for the princess to escape for he had taken her to a remote home by the sea and kept her prisoner.  There she was his servant and did all of his cooking, cleaning, laundering, and animal care.  The animals were the only joy she had in her life, and they were her only friends.  No one had been able to find her, and eventually everyone believed she was dead, including herself.  He beat her daily until she wished she really was dead.

One day while she out doing chores, she came across a small cave in a cliff face near the ocean.  Upon investigating, she was terrified to find the skeletons of eight young women in the cave.  They were all still clothed in drab, gray dresses exactly like the one she was wearing.  In fact, all her evil husband allowed her to wear were ugly gray dresses that were already in a closet when she arrived at his home.  He threw all of her finery into the ocean and said she had no need for it anymore.  The terrible truth was beginning to dawn on the princess, and she knew that all of these dead women in the cave had suffered the same fate that she had--and worse, that she would suffer the same fate that they had.

Bright red blood berries (holly).

She left the cave terrified, screaming wildly and wanting to escape, but there was no one in this isolated place who could help her.  At length, after crying for an hour, she felt that she was being watched.  She looked up to see a very large, very ugly black crow staring at her.  She was about to leave when she heard the crow say, “So you found the other women?  You will join them soon.”

“Can you get me out of here?  Please help me!” she yelled.

“I know the way.”

“Then show me!  Please!!”

“But I am hungry,” he said, “and there’s not much to eat so late in the year.  Will you give me some food?”

“I don’t dare take a crumb the house,” she said.

“Then I don’t dare show you the way out.  I am hungry.”

“If I find you food, will you show me the way out?” she asked.

“Feed me first and then we’ll talk.”

“No,” she said, “I will feed you as we go, bit by bit, and you will lead me out or you shall have no food.”

“You will be in the cave soon,” he said, “and then there will be plenty to eat.”

This horrified the princess, but she put on a false face and said, “Yes, but that won’t last long.  I am a princess, and I can give you food for a lifetime.”  The crow thought about it for awhile, and because he was a greedy crow, he finally agreed.

“You will feed me as we go along?”

“I will,” she said.

And with that the crow flew off and the princess followed.  When they had gone some way, the crow stopped and said, “What will you give me?”  The princess cut her wrist with a small knife she carried and dripped many droplets of blood on a bush, which the crow devoured.  He flew on and she followed.  Eventually he stopped again, and the same scene occurred.  The princess cut her wrist again and spilled forth many drops of blood on a bush.  And so it went.  The crow flew on and on and the princess followed, although she was becoming weaker with each stop.

Finally, after traveling for a very long time, the crow stopped again and demanded more blood.  The princess gave it to him but could not get up after doing so.  She was too exhausted and weak and had lost too much blood. 

“Then you are of no more use to me,” the crow said matter-of-factly.

“Not true,” she said.  “My blood is royal blood and can regenerate on all of these bushes if I so command it.”

“Then command it.”

“I know we are not far from help.  You will fly and get help for me, and then I swear by my royal blood that you shall be fed for life.”

The crow considered it for awhile and finally decided to do it, so sweet had the blood of the princess been that he could not resist.  He flew off, telling her he would bring help.

He stayed true to his word and brought help back to the princess, who was nearing the end of her life.  Fortunately, those had come were able to save her.  The crow kept squawking loudly from a tree, “Pay me!  Pay me!”  So loud was his squawking that one of the men took out a gun to shoot him, but the princess stayed his hand.  Then to everyone’s amazement, she stood up on wobbly legs and walked to a bush.  There she cut her wrist and spilled out a few drops of blood, over which she made a secret incantation, murmuring, “Blood red, blood sweet, berries for the crows to eat.”  And then she collapsed.  Her puzzled saviors gathered her gently and placed her in a carriage.  She was still alive and they quickly left for the town and a doctor.

After they had gone, the crow flew down to the bush where the princess had spilled her blood.  To his surprise, the bush was covered with bright red berries, which were very welcome at this cold and barren time of year.  As he flew he saw these bushes everywhere covered with bright red berries on stark twigs.  They were easy to find because there weren’t many leaves.  True to her word, each year these brilliant red berries grew back for the crows to eat, formed from the blood of a grateful princess.

Back safely with her parents, the princess instructed the guards to follow the bright red berries all the way to the sea.  She told them that there they would find her captor, and she instructed them to bring him back alive so he could be hung.  She also told them about the cave with all of the dead women.  She instructed them to bury the women, and she gave them eight red silk handkerchiefs.  Each woman was to be buried with one of these handkerchiefs so that she did not have to take only a gray dress to her grave but a bright red cloth of love and remembrance.

November 4, 2014 - Ice King

Ice King builds his castle

A stony gray fortress of granite

That none can penetrate

He rules the world with an iron fist

Punishing all who question him

His kingdom is cruel and cold

He cares nothing for his subjects

And fears neither god nor man

He is the King and all must bow to him

Ice Queen bides her time

She waits for him in a hidden palace

She is in no hurry

Time has always been on her side

There are no rules that can touch her

No punishments from gods

Her life flows easily and gently

She does not fear the Ice King

She is the Queen and all must return to her

A terrible storm at last approaches

Continents collide with one another

And Ice King’s granite fortress

The impenetrable, slips slowly into the sea

The frozen fingers of the Queen

Envelope the cold and cruel King

In a longing and final embrace

She reflects his cold heart back to him

An eternal prisoner in her icy domain

 

 

Ice Queen

November 3, 2014 - The Destroying Angel

Beautiful, isn’t it?  A pretty white mushroom in the Amanita genus.  Wouldn’t you just love to pick it, bring it home, and fry it up?  Maybe not this mushroom.  This is known as the Destroying Angel, and it is deadly.  Like the Death Cap, the Destroying Angel contains amatoxins.  There are ways to identify this mushroom.  Do you see how the gills are not attached to the stalk inside up at the top?  That’s a classic clue.  Another telltale sign is the universal veil that has burst as the mushroom grew through it.  See how it fans out from the stalk like a little skirt?  Other mushrooms have this feature, but along with the unattached gills, you’ll know you are looking at a Destroying Angel.

The Destroying Angel and the Death Cap are responsible for most of the deaths that occur from mushroom consumption.  It is important to be able to identify these mushrooms.  The Death Cap used to be only a European problem, but there have been reports of it now in America.  Still, the mushroom you want to be most careful of here in America is the Destroying Angel.

What an odd name.  The Destroying Angel.  Is it because of her beauty that they call her angel?  We know why they call her destroying.  Is it because of her otherworldly appearance?  Is it because she promises one thing by her appearance but delivers something terribly different?  I suspect it is because most cultures have stories in one form or another about an angel of death who appears when a person is dying.  There is the guardian angel for the living and the angel of death for the dying.  As for me, I will be on the lookout for this beautiful angel and will avoid her for as long as I can!

The Destroying Angel in all her glory.

November 2, 2014 - Faces in the Woods

It is the Day of the Dead, and many people will be celebrating the lives of those who have departed.  This celebration is done to encourage visits by the departed souls.  Many people dress up and paint their faces to resemble skeletons.  Gravesides are visited and the faces of the dead are looked for during the visits.  Many also have what’s known as a “dumb supper.”  This is where a plate is set at the dinner table for all those in the family who have died.  This is their plate and the idea is that the departed souls consume the “essence” of the food and not the food itself.

But I never needed a Day of the Dead to see other beings, be they dearly departed ones or (most often) fairies and other magical creatures.  Everywhere I go in the woods, I see faces.  It doesn’t happen in cities; only in the woods.  Modern psychology has a word for it:  Pareidolia.  That’s when a vague image or sound is perceived as significant.  They say it’s not real, of course, merely only perceived as real by some.  Oh, and they also have lots of great scientific explanations to go along with this word.  We are told that human beings are hardwired to identify human faces as a survival technique.  Supposedly this gives an evolutionary advantage of being able to discern friend from foe.

In a magnetoencephalography study done in 2009, objects that were “incidentally” perceived as faces activated the central fusiform cortex.  Wow.  That sounds pretty important to me.  Other common objects didn’t evoke this activation.  Supposedly we are alerted to the emotional state and identity of the subject even before our brains consciously process or receive the information.  Supposedly this occurred over eons of natural selection so we could identify the mental state of threatening people.  Wow again.

Just a tree stump in the woods.

But I see the faces.  I see them everywhere.  Well, not in my toast, but always in the woods.  Above is just one picture of several faces.  I’ve posted just the picture first so you can look at it and see if you can make out any faces.  Some faces are very vague and so-so, and some are very clear.  Below I’ve posted some markings on the same photo to show where I see faces and sometimes even part of a body.

Is it just imagination?

Bear with me here.  This is the beginning of being able to see with the “other” sight.  No, it does not mean you are crazy or fanciful or “out there.”  It means that you can train your eyes to see things differently.  This is just the beginning.  You don’t have to accept the faces as being real or unreal, “good” or “bad.”  They simply are.  Soon you will see them easier in solid things such as trees or rocks, and then later you will see them in the play of light and shadow against the sky or treetops or water.  Someday, hopefully, your other senses will follow suit.

In any event try it today and over the next day or two when it will be easier than any other time of the year.  The veils between the worlds are thin right now, and anything is possible.

November 1, 2014 - Two Little Ducks

There were two little ducks that lived on a pond.  It was a very isolated pond that no one ever went to, and so the little ducks believed they were the only creatures to inhabit the world.  Well, aside from the fish and other things they ate, that is.  They were quite content with this setup.  The fish were abundant, the water was clean, and their down feathers kept them warm in any weather.

Imagine their surprise, then, when a very large creature crashed onto the scene one day.  Oh, it was a terrible creature!  It was big and very loud, and it lived on the land and not the pond.  When it walked, the ducks heard “boom boom boom” and their ears hurt.  It breathed with odd, raspy sounds and smelled so awfully strange.  There was no getting around the fact that it was so ugly--hideous!--bare without a feather to be found.  It seemed unconcerned with the ruckus it caused as it smashed reeds and trampled frogs and disturbed even the very air the ducks breathed.

Two frightened little ducks.

They quickly swam away, as fast as their little duck feet could move them, away from the terrible creature.  Their little world would never be the same now that they had seen what lurked on the land, peering eerily at the water.  They would have to be careful and watchful from now on.  The world no longer belonged to them, and they were saddened by that fact.  But at least they had gotten away safely.

Back on shore, I could not believe how deep that sink hole was.  I stepped into it and sunk right up to my calf and made quite a ruckus trying to get myself out of it.  What rotten luck!  I noticed two little ducks swimming away, and I wished I had such quick little duck feet as they did.  They ought to have at least posed for a picture, given the trouble I went through to find them.