.....lucky clover

Yogis,
My five-year-old grandson and I were walking through the yard. He suddenly drops to his knees exclaiming, ‘Nana, I think I found a four-leaf clover!’ Did you know that on average there is only 1 four leaf clover per 10,000 clovers? It must be his lucky day…..

As children most of us established a bond with clover, along with many of the other so-called ‘weeds’. Seeing them as friends.  I still remember kneeling in the grass patiently searching on summer days. One pointed concentration. A type of meditation before I knew what meditation was. Even to this day, if you find yourself surrounded by clover, don’t you find your eyes scanning?

There are over 300 varieties of clover. From the genus Trifolieae, they are a flowering plant in the legume family. The most common type found in our lawns is the small white flowered clover, though not exceptionally medicinal for us, they are a bounty for the earth!

Have you ever really looked at her…….

Allowing clover in makes the grass around it more draught and dog urine tolerant. Clover adds nutrients to the soil, fights pests and keeps the lawn greener longer. Clover also aerates the soil and the honeybees, butterflies and rabbits will thank you. Prior to the 1950’s clover was even a welcome addition to grass seed, but then herbicide companies convinced us otherwise. We are so easily swayed……

Then there is her taller cousin red clover, with her bright purple-pink blossoms who heals both earth and us! Her flowers are a top anti-cancer herb when used dried in infusions. As an ally for women, red clover supports us through all of our life cycle phases.  For the maiden she is a cherished fertility herb when preparing to start a family. For the mother, she reduces PMS and supports breast health, while at the other end of the cycle, as a crone I know I am personally grateful for her help in taming my hot flashes.  

A powerful, yet gentle medicine, red clover is considered by many herbalists to be a ‘God-given remedy.’ And she in turn gives herself freely.  

Add delicious color to your salads by throwing in raw blossoms or cook them with grains for a protein boost. While white clover blooms daintily dot the lawn in spring, red clover continues to brighten fields, sunny trails and roadsides well into the brisk days of fall.

Take the time to notice her next time you walk by. Three leaves or four, clover brings good fortune wherever she goes!

I feel lucky to know her,
SARAH

....the Babesia Boogies

Yogis,

It all began innocently enough. Well, at least as innocent as it could be with my dad going to his weekly Saturday morning Hash House Harriers run. A more than forty-year tradition where a group of grown men who dub themselves ‘a drinking club with a running problem’ run on trails marked with flour through the woods, marshes and streams and then head to the closest dive bar.

Although my father at 86 is no longer running, he meets the guys and meanders through the woods and joins in the revelry at the end. So, it was no wonder that after returning home and taking the much needed nap, he discovered ticks on himself. Twenty-six of them, but whose counting. My mom patiently pulling each one off….. along with some skin.

Four days later he is ill.

Back and forth to the hospital. Many tests and scratching of heads until finally an infectious disease doctor tested him for Babesiosis. Bingo. A less common tick-borne illness with parasites that attack the red blood cells, literally taking him to his knees.

Eight days in the hospital followed by two weeks in rehab.

I want to share a daily habit my dad created several years ago to give you a sense of ‘him’ before the hospital. Each morning he comes down, goes to his porch (his place) turns on his speaker and tells it what to play. Think Rolling Stones. He then proceeds to dance with abandon for one or two songs. Before this incident he had videoed himself on one of those mornings.  

I went up to NJ twice for several days as this all was transpiring. With covid the hospital still only allowed one visitor per day so I spent two afternoons quietly watching him sleep and hoping to get a few bites of food into him. On the second day the PT person showed up (he had sent her away day 1). My father pulled himself as best he could to sitting and told her he wouldn’t begin until she watched something. Pulls out his phone and loads the video. He had her watch the whole thing.

‘That’s who I am’ he told her.

Spending time in the hospital reminded me how critical it is to advocate for yourself. Best if you have someone to do it for you, but powerful when you can also speak up for yourself. He knew what all of the doctors, nurses and aides saw when they walked in. Gray haired old man lying listless in hospital bed. Perceptions influence care. It isn’t their fault. They are understaffed and overworked. But my dad wasn’t standing for it.

The day before discharge he was lying in bed when an aide came in, quietly singing to herself as she cleaned. ‘What song is that?’ he asked. She mentioned the name and while she continued her work he found it on Spotify and cranked his portable speaker up. She broke into a smile and began to dance. A nurse down the hall heard the commotion and joined in.

Now, that’s my dad.

I left for home once he had been home a few days. No dancing yet…….a yardstick in his recovery. A week later I receive the new video below with the note ‘I am back!’  

Yes you are…..

Happy Father’s Day Dad,
SARAH

.....friends

Yogis,
I love this time of year in the garden! The combination of the rains, abundant heat and long hours of sunshine, have plants bursting from the ground. I grow mostly perennials, and where a few weeks ago I could stand on the edge and see everything in its place, now it appears as a sea of green.

“Hello mugwort!” as I snip off a leafy top to place in my pillowcase, ensuring deep vivid dreaming. She is a plant that loves to gather real estate, so I spend some time pulling out the already running roots. I know her well. “There you are blue spice basil! I would recognize those leaves anywhere.” She will soon be standing upright along the edges of the garden, releasing her sweet sensual scent each time my leg brushes against her. Mmmmmm…….

For me this is a time of welcoming back old friends…..not unlike our collective lives as we begin to once again gather. Some will seem as if nothing has changed, while in others we will feel the differences carved by the unique experience we have all traveled.

“My my Motherwort, you are awfully tall this year!” similar to my friend’s teenage son who appears to have gained more than a foot in the year since I last saw him. Tall and lanky. Black Eyed Susan on the other hand is steady and dependable. As always, growing to about a foot and then getting a stark overnight haircut from the grazing deer. But now that I have known her for years, I realize she likes that, as each cut stem grows two shoots for two flowers. She is unafraid of obstacles, knowing they are the root of transformation. I can learn from her.

Mint is one of those friends who is always there for whatever you need. A cup of uplifting tea on a dreary morning, iced herb water after a sweaty afternoon of gardening, or simply making me smile with her gentle scent as I rub her between by fingers. And this spring the rhododendrons and hydrangeas are unusually abundant. The year has treated them well and like some friends, caused them to now want to give…and give…and give.

St Johns Wort showed up right on time, spreading low on the ground in the east quadrant of my medicine wheel. But then she began to brown. Unable to help her, one by one the stems of leaves shriveled, leaving a hole in the garden. An empty space. I have friends who too have lost loves of their lives in these past months, coming back to the fold with their own empty spaces. Then there are those plants who simply don’t come back.

Yet each morning I religiously water the ground where I delicately placed my pea seeds one inch deep. Nurturing. Knowing new life is silently forming, hidden from view, and like my women friends who too are carrying a germinating seed within their own fertile soil, new life will emerge when the time is right.

Friends. There are those that are colorful (zinnia), those that quietly do their sacred work (lavender), and those that love to cling (wisteria). Each one unique. Would we have it any other way?

Hanging out with my hippy friend Mullein,
SARAH

......immersed in cicadas

Yogis,
As I sit here on the floor in my home, windows shut, I am being serenaded. Not by my wireless speaker but by the mating call of the seventeen year cicadas. A steady hum that can’t be blocked out by going inside…..not that I would want to.

They are early risers, joining the robins and cardinals as soon as dawn brightens the sky, which happened to be 5:00 am this morning. I only know that because my eyes flew open, unsure what had woken me, until I remembered. Ah yes, another day of cicada calls. I watched at the other end and realized they slowly begin to taper off, surely exhausted, around dinner time. Like us, their day begins to wind down as the sun begins her journey down .

When they first arrived my ears heard the hum. But over time I was reminded of the first time I went to the symphony as a young girl. As the curtain rose and the conductor guided those first notes I was literally brought to tears by the overwhelming beauty created by the union of the instruments. Slowly though, I could lean into the sound and begin to hear the violins. I set my eyes on the first violin to see if I could hear only her.  At the time I was a student of the violin and I was being shown how the seemingly small sound I created each day in my living room, when joined with others, could cause emotion. Create change.

Sounds are vibrations, and although we equate them with our ears, they enter our bodies from many points and affect our vibration. Our internal note.

My maternal grandmother was deaf from childhood. I remember one time being with her and there was a band playing. At one point it became quite loud and she turned and told us she could feel it! Even without our sense of hearing we are moved by sound. Which is why I know the cicadas are affecting us.

I decided this week to immerse myself in the cicada symphony. I meditated in the morning with the window open and used their song as my focal point. I quietly mulched and weeded and relaxed into their buzz. I took time to sit on my sitting tree, lean back, close my eyes and open myself to receive their gift. No resistance.

It’s like one of those moments when you turn your radio all the way up and let a song take you over!

Like the symphony I began to hear the different tones. The waves of intensity, like the summer heat, roll toward me and then slowly recede. The changes in volume as I walked beneath the trees. I could tell if one was close by and even observed a mating dance and heard three different notes they can produce. Beginning to feel my inner vibration match theirs.

Surrounded by the hum twelve hours a day, day in and day out for an entire month, clearly affects us whether we are aware or not. I am choosing to be aware……

It will seem so quiet when they leave.

Vibrating,
SARAH

Cicada Dance