.....notice me

Yogis,
This Thursday we celebrate the winter solstice. The shortest day and longest night in the northern hemisphere as the sun drops to her most southern position. To be more precise, the winter solstice occurs on Thursday at 10:27 pm. The moment. A pause. While each day forward will then become an almost imperceptible bit longer, the solstice also ushers in the winter season.

The light and cold arrive hand in hand.

Around here winter has taken her sweet time in approaching, perhaps waiting for the solstice. Yes, we have had an occasional scraping of windshields and even an unexpected wake up to a coating of snow. Dandelions, however, are still surprising me in my gravel driveway with bright cheerful faces and I spent yesterday raking the last falling leaves, wearing only a long sleeve shirt.

The trees know though, even if we question, that winter will indeed set in. They now sit bare.

‘Notice me’, they call as I run to the river. ‘Notice me,’ they whisper as I walk up the driveway. ‘Notice me,’ they say as a posture I take in my practice twists me toward the window. When I do look, it’s almost as if they stand taller, spreading their branches wider to beam. Winter beauty.

Towering over me, my mighty oak reaches toward the blue morning sky. The sycamore spotlighted by the low afternoon sun. A crescent moon peering through the branches of the walnut tree. Sculptures beyond any we may find in our manmade world.

Naked, we can see the intricacy of their branches resembling our own lungs. A crow perched at the top peers down on all of us. A tangled mass of leaves, moss and sticks sits precariously in the crook of the tree. A squirrel’s head emerges just as the sun rises. The cardinal offers an unexpected flash of color in an otherwise brown and gray landscape.

Winter, with its simplicity, asks us to notice. Without the trappings and distractions of summer we can see the trees, our lives and one another more clearly. As we all truly are.

Notice the trees.

Notice me,
SARAH

....leave behind

Yogis,
To determine if the tide is high or low at any given point you can always look for the high tideline. That wavy line that runs along the sand, parallel to the ocean. A subtle divider that separates the darker, wetter sand from the dry. The distance it sits from the current water’s edge indicates where the tide is in her continuous ebb and flow.

The line is also recognizable by the variety of items entwined within it.

The moon’s gravitational pull causes the ocean to gradually move onshore over about a 6-hour window and then draws it back over that same time span. Twice a day. Every day. And every time it leaves different things behind in its wake.

Each morning you find the early risers slowly walking the tideline with heads down, looking for treasures. Whole unbroken shells. Maybe an occasional sand dollar or starfish. Polished sea glass and fragments of coral. Driftwood artfully sculpted by the movement of the waves. Gifts from the ocean. Some tucked into pockets to find new homes on nightstands and counters.

Other times though, what the ocean leaves behind should never have entered her in the first place. Plastic water bottles and baggies. Straws, cans, beach toys or wire. Waste that made its way to the ocean from our homes, roads and even summer picnics on her edge. As she pulls back, she leaves some behind.

Walking the tideline myself this morning, I was thinking how we are no different. We enter every day, like a wave, have an impact and then pull away. We always leave some imprint. What do I leave in the trail behind me?

We can choose to tread lightly and mindfully leaving gifts in our wake each night as we lie our head on the pillow to pull away. Or we can stomp heavily and cause suffering. Through words, actions, purchases or even our thoughts. Those who follow our line the next morning will walk through what we left behind.

I was pondering this while photographing carnations strewn through the tideline (perhaps a marriage proposal?) when an older couple walked by with their dogs. I approached to say hello to their dogs who were eager for attention. As I stood to leave the woman reached into her pocket and pulled out a handful of colored hearts. ‘Take one’, she said. ‘You were nice to my dogs.’

I had a sudden flashback to my sister once telling me a woman gifted her a heart at sunrise.

It’s clear what can be found in this women’s tideline,
SARAH

....thinking of you

Yogis,
Last evening a good friend and I recounted stories from the thirty-three year friendship we have enjoyed. It began at a preschool back to school night for our two-year-olds. Two young moms wearing suits and high heels, rushing in from work to get there on time. Sitting side by side on tiny chairs.

We shared memories of our kids, Caribbean vacations, and the hundreds of hours we sat on hard bleachers watching our boys play soccer… baseball….and basketball. Where does the time go?

She mentioned an amethyst crystal I gave her one holiday season. It now sits in her living room and whenever she sees it, she thinks of me. This is exactly the theme that has been swirling through my mind. Time to put it to paper.

I was cutting bread on a white marble board my cousin gifted me one Christmas. I noticed the image of her that rose as my knife sliced. I like that since I rarely get a chance to see her. I turned to put the knife in the sink and there was a figurine shining her heart energy my way. Another gift which always brings warm memories of the giver.

Walking through the house and yard is like having visits from family and friends.

The persimmons I ate this morning along side energy bread conjure up two friends. My goddess necklace and many of my earrings are quick hellos from afar as I dress. My studio is filled with gifts from students…..a gong, paintings, angels, malas, candles……all adding to the sense of community and warmth we shared together.

The natural sponge I use daily on dishes. Puzzles I have spent hours and hours enjoying, bird feeders and the elephant tapestry which lies beneath every reiki client that comes for healing. I could fill pages.

This weekend the switch turned on for the gifting season. Often our attention is focused on what to give, yet every gift requires two participants. There is the giver but equally important is the receiver. The one who opens to draw in what is being offered. A current. A connection. That is not the end of the cycle though. Each time the receiver sees the gift and remembers the giver, bright energy is sent back their way.  

Gifting is a never-ending circle.

I am thinking of you,
SARAH

....impermanence

Yogis,
A tree grows on a small island close to the river’s edge. She is the first thing I notice each time I arrive and over the years I have taken quite a few pictures of her. It’s hard not to. She looks different every time…… and beautiful.

On this bright crisp November morning, photographing her yet again, I realized she is one of my teachers on the only thing we can depend on. 

Impermanence.

I’m reading about the Tibetan Buddhist concept of the bardo. There are many definitions and interpretations, but in simple terms the bardo is a state of transition. Everything that exists was created, goes through a period of change, and will die. Nowhere is there any hint of a period where change stands still. Not even for the length of time it takes you to take your next breath.

A couple weeks ago my tree’s dried leaves rustled in the breeze. This morning she sat bare.

I watch an oak leaf float by. This leaf which grew from a bud, performed its job of drawing nourishment from the sun, clothed itself in a myriad of colors and finally chose to let go, was once only an idea tucked in a tightly closed acorn.

The sky above me comes to life as a massive flock of birds swoop in. A shadow is cast and the air fills with their chatter as they make preparations to leave. Since arriving in spring, nests have been built, babies born, and bugs eaten. They aren’t the same birds they were when they came. Where will they go?

The light shifts. The water changes color.

Not everyone wants to consider the bardo since we, as an integral part of nature, exist within it. Everything we do is a bardo. I began a run this morning, experienced the above and upon arriving home it ended. It no longer exists. If I do the run tomorrow it is impossible for it to be the same. I now sit within the bardo of writing my Sunday note. It too will end.

My existence is a bardo.

The more I notice this though, in nature and in my own moment to moment living, the more comfortable I become with the beauty of change. Is there a chance I can loosen my grip on that need to create a sense of control over the truly uncontrollable?

Wouldn’t trusting life be incredibly freeing?

I am changing,
SARAH

.....the gratitude engine

Yogis,
Gratitude season has blown in with the November winds! The time of year where we are asked to take an honest look at our gratitude skills, dust off any cobwebs and rev up the engine.

I like to picture gratitude as an internal engine. It’s always there but can get a bit sluggish when it hasn’t been tuned up in a while. A little rusty with the challenges and grind of daily life. Nothing a little oil and a gentle foot to the pedal can’t fix though!  Soon enough it can be humming again.

What serves as the oil?

There are many gratitude practices. One I like to use is to select a time when I am alone and still and notice something right in front of me that I am grateful for. I typically choose to do this outside but there are unlimited things to be grateful for inside as well.

You can do this with something as simple as your favorite chair. An old worn sweater. Your car. A tree in your yard. An afternoon cup of tea.

After selecting and taking a cursory look, dive deeper. Why are you grateful for it? Get closer to see what it looks like. The intricacies. What does it feel like? How long has it been there?  How does it make you feel?

I chose waves as my focus this morning while standing witness yet again to the miraculous rise of the sun. I am grateful for waves of course but let me get closer and see why.

I am grateful for the way the sun’s rays cause waves to shimmer. The spray that fills the air when one crashes. The patterns and shells left behind in the sand. The smell of salt air sent my way. The sound heard not only by my ears but felt through the soles of my feet. Their incredible power.

Seagulls can always be found standing close and how the sandpipers chase the waves edge in mass with their short, yet quick little legs moving in unison. The shifting colors of the water. Her consistent mesmerizing rhythm. Geese fly overhead………

All of this in fifteen minutes.

My chest begins to expand. The heart has more room. An inner light turns on. I feel happy, as the energy of gratitude awakens joy.

As I run back through the neighborhood, I now notice everything. Birds chirping. A light breeze. A baby pine tree pushing up through a crack in the sidewalk. No longer simply grateful for things, but instead ‘being’ gratitude in action. Shining gratitude.

The effort is in greasing the engine on a regular basis. But once you do you soon find yourself coasting down the gratitude highway…….with the top down and hair blowing in the wind.

Grateful for all of you,
SARAH

....pink or purple

Yogis,
All of you mothers out there with only boys may understand what I am about to describe. I am the mother of three sons. All three loved to play outside, kick the soccer ball, play video games and thought farts were the most hysterical things ever. Not having even grown up with any brothers, I learned a whole side of life I didn’t know while raising my boys. I loved every minute of it!

Yet through it all I gained no skills in the more feminine activities. Not that girls don’t do all of what I mention above, but many of them have that other side where pink or purple tend to fit in. Not being much of a girly girl growing up myself, I am clueless.

I never wore much makeup after those early teenage years where blue eyeshadow was the rage. A little mascara here or there and lipstick for a couple of years, but never feeling like I knew how to apply any of it correctly. Creative scarf tying…..nope. The ability to use barrettes or clips or swoop my hair up in a loose cool looking bun….never. I don’t own any pink and am woefully low on accessories.

Now I have two granddaughters and I have some major catching up to do! My two daughters-in-law are helping along the way, thank goodness. And I need a lot of help.

Yet in only a couple of hours I felt like I had taken a full semester course in the form of a ‘Fairy and Me’ tea party at Mrs. B’s on Saturday. It’s a whimsical space that holds small events which teach children manners and etiquette in a fun lighthearted way. My one daughter in law discovered it and invited my granddaughter Abigail (her niece) and me to join her. A special ‘girls’ outing.

Special it was. An exquisitely laid out table welcomed us with butterflies, fairy houses, flowers and old-fashioned glass teacups with saucers. Necklaces to pick from, hats to wear and wings to borrow if you didn’t have your own. We learned to pat our mouths with a napkin and not our hands, stir our tea quietly and always pass the food treats to the right. Abigail had her first cup of tea and learned to use tongs to pick up a sugar cube to drop in for sweetness.

All of this with a full-fledged fairy floating about the room on her tippy toes, delighting all the young girls……and me.

Fairy dust was sprinkled on hands. Roses were showered on heads for fairy wishes. We loved it all. And while I still have much to learn I feel I’m on the right track.

I did realize though that I absolutely need to have some wings……..

Pinkies up! (from Mrs. B),
SARAH 

.....into the dark

Yogis,
My Saturday morning run took me to the river’s edge as the sun was rising. My phone showed 7:38 am. Sunday morning, sitting on a rock halfway across the water to Virginia, I watched her rise again. This time my phone said 6:40 am.  The sun hadn’t changed course. We had……

Time. A concept created by humans around which our lives revolve. Time to get up. Don’t be late for work. Trains every fifteen minutes. The game starts at four so we should leave by two. Bake for one hour. Time for bed. All of us unconsciously checking our wrist, phone, pc or wall clocks all day….and at times, all night.

Originally humans lived within the rhythm of the natural world. The rising and falling sun, change of seasons and movement of the stars. Until about 3500 – 5000 years ago when the Egyptians created the first sundials and began constructing a measurement for ‘time.’

Centuries passed and the industrial revolution set in motion a need for agreements on time. Its structure and time zones becoming an important business and social construct in a more connected world. Standards set on a 24-hour day.

Until the intro of daylight savings time. Giving us one spring day with 23 hours and one fall day of 25.

Here we sit on this incredibly long day. The receding daylight in the evenings has been noticeable, but the return to standard time feels like a leap from the cliff. Into the dark……

Can it really be only 2:30?

Change the clocks before bed or is it better to wait for morning? Did I remember to adjust my alarm so it goes off at the right time? Did my car’s clock automatically adjust? And no matter how sure I feel I have covered it all, one clock will create complete time confusion when I see it a few days later.

One year the manual clock in my yoga studio stayed off by an hour for months because the only time I would realize it was wrong was when I would glance over in the middle of class.

I do the mental calculation of what time it ‘really is.’ Unsettled. Noticing the effect that changing time by a mere hour has on my sleep and mental state. Time no longer an anchor.

Phoebe doesn’t know the time changed (since it really didn’t) She begins begging for food at 3:30 which my mind quickly calculates as truly 4:30. Her dinner time. How do I break it to her? I often wonder do the birds and deer notice we humans all changed our patterns on the same day. It’s all so confusing.

Yet into the dark we go, marked by a movement of the hour hand on the clock. A shift. Did you feel it?

I find the best approach is to embrace it.

It’s 5:30 and wondering if I can put pajamas on yet,
SARAH

.....leaf music

Yogis,
The leaves have begun to fall in earnest. Over the years it does seem to be happening later in the season, but one way or another, sooner or later, they will indeed come down.

For the next few weeks it will be the sound of leaves that fill the air. They will be crunched under foot. Scampering squirrels, sounding much bigger than they are, will stir them up. Cars crush them and the hum of leaf blowers pushing them toward the street. Brooms in the morning clear the walk.

There is no sneaking up on someone when the grass is leaf covered. Every step a melody.

Running on the bike path today I noticed something. This time of year, by looking down you can know what is above.

For a block my shoes land on maple leaves with their pointy ends. Bright oranges and yellows. Maple trees must be overhead. Then the large lobed oak leaves are underfoot, followed by bright red Japanese maple leaves and those of the pin oak. Tiny leaves of the newly planted and giant ones of the grandfathers. The leaves offer up a reflection.

A leaf landing on my front steps sounds different than one that lays itself gracefully on top of the bush. Hitting the metal air handler. On the wood of the picnic table. The roof. The deck. Each its own note.

Suddenly a clearing on a path. Ahhh, I must be under the evergreens.

Heading up the hill, a car passes by and a trail of leaves swirl in its wake as they brush the pavement. They rustle. They crunch. They pop. When burned they crackle. With my eyes to the ground, I am startled when one lands on my head. They glide. They twirl.

For now I watch out my window as one leaf quietly floats by at a time, knowing that when the next big winds arrive they will let go in droves and fill the fall air. Each variety singing a slightly different note as it brushes itself against the air. The lawn will then be blanketed and the rake will come out and be dusted off. One more sound will arise as I begin to find my raking rhythm.

Can you hear the leaf music?

Crunch,
SARAH

....a feast for all

Yogis,
After meditating in the mornings, I often lie back and drift into a dreamworld. Could be fifteen minutes. Or a half hour. Then something pulls me back. Maybe the brightening sky or an activity that is quickly approaching.

This morning it was the raucous calls of the crows. Caw……Caw…..Caw

First, they were woven into my dream, but eventually I sensed them outside my window. Several of them, by the sound of it, squawking as they swooped back and forth between low branches and the roof peak over my head. Something had them riled up.

Pushing back the covers I swing my feet around and gaze out. Ahhhhh, now I see. Mr fox stands beneath the feeder, filling up on seed knocked to the ground the previous day. This is by no means the first time he has wandered by on his way home from a night out.

He keeps an eye to the sky and subtly flinches when a crow dives yet seems to know they don’t have the courage to get close. His head goes back down.

In my fascination with the fox I haven’t noticed the doe standing off to the side. She watches the scene in front of her. Crows, fox and the bird feeder, which is where she would like to head.

The deer too, use my bird feeder as a rest stop. Sometimes lowering their heads to the ground, but more often, reaching their long tongues to lick seed from the tray. I can sense her indecision. A step forward. A few steps back. She stomps her hoof but neither the fox nor the crows care.

She finally tires of waiting her turn and vanishes into the woods.

Fox, now done, steps away from the feeder and watches the crows for a moment. Thoughts of lunch perhaps? He then too silently trots off into the trees.

At last, the crows have a clear approach. Four of them form a circle and proceed to feast. It is quiet once again. Squirrels should arrive any minute.

Each morning I fill the bird feeder with my gourmet blend. Some standard seeds for the sparrows and chickadees, sprinkled with a fruit and nut blend loved by cardinals and blue jays. Then all mixed with mealworms to keep my bluebirds happy and healthy.

As I hang it, I realize I will be feeding much more than the birds. And that makes me happy.

All are welcome,
SARAH

.....take for granted

Yogis,
Somehow, I dodged the bullet in 2020. Then again in 2021. I sailed through 2022 and was beginning to feel invincible! Until this past week…….

Now I can call myself a card carrying (or test carrying) member of the infamous covid club.

Creating a little ‘sick cave’ for myself, I dragged a comfortable mattress into my reiki room and surrounded myself with drinks, a thermometer, a portable heater, tissues and blankets. I crawled in, pulled the covers up and closed my eyes. Minutes turned into hours which then turned into days.

I notice things with all of this time on my hands.

When you are sick your world becomes very small. With classes, hair appointments and tutoring taken off the schedule my biggest concerns switch to when to take advil and making sure I am staying hydrated. It’s amazing how quickly the frenzy of everyday life, which appears unstoppable, can indeed be stopped in its tracks. Life suddenly quiet.

I can hear the ticking of the second hand on the clock across the room.

When sick there is the body and there is the one noticing. Watching as layers go on for chills and then get ripped right back off. Wanting something from the other room but deciding it isn’t worth the burst of energy required. Wanting to read but finding the eyes can’t focus. Feeling your own heartbeat.

Each morning as my eyes opened, I would lie still to notice if I felt like ‘me’ yet. Not remembering exactly what that feels like, but knowing I would recognize it upon arrival…..which it did on Friday.

That wonderful healthy feeling of ‘me’ which I take for granted. Yes, I am mentally grateful for my health when I stop to think about it, but it isn’t until I am sick and come out the other end that I truly feel the gratitude. It always takes a contrast for us to put things in perspective.

Grateful that my body knows how to control its own temperature moment to moment. Grateful for the hunger mechanism that tells me its time to eat. Grateful to draw in breath through a clear nose. For a body without pain. For energy to do as I choose. To be able to walk outside.

I know this will again wear off, but while I am aware………thank you!

I walked Phoebe late last night. We moved slowly in the cool night air, thick with mist. A breeze brushed my face. I looked up and suddenly the world was large once again.

The colors even seem brighter,
SARAH

......intimacy with nature

Yogis,
There are many places right here in the United States that I have never been with Maine being one of them. With that in mind we flew to Bangor to meet up with friends who also hadn’t experienced Maine. A quick four-day trip to begin the process of getting to know our northern neighbor.

An old third floor walkup space converted to an Airbnb apartment became our Bar Harbor home base. The aroma of freshly baked croissants, scones and good strong Maine coffee wafted up to greet us each morning from the charming bakery below. Teeth brushed, backpacks loaded, water bottles filled and off we went. Nature…..here we come!

Acadia National Park is only minutes away by car or boat and we tried both.

As we motor across the water to the next peninsula, the first thing I notice is the abundance of stately evergreens against foggy shores. Scents of spruce, pine and cedar fill the air. Once on land my feet gradually become accustomed to the hard granite surfaces, interrupted by soft interwoven layers of moss and pine needles.

Eagles, seagulls and cormorants who hold their wings wide to dry. Pods of porpoises diving near harbor seals lazily lounging on nearby rocks.

Violet colored asters with their bright golden centers blend seamlessly with stalks of goldenrod draped over them, acting as cheerful greeters wherever we wandered. Lichens create abstracts with various hues on rock faces. Mosses I have never encountered dripping from branches and mushrooms sprouting from long ago fallen logs.

By day four I feel I am getting to know this place.

One final stop was the old Stanwood homestead laced with nature trails and a bird sanctuary. Established in the 1850’s, the oldest daughter Cordelia spent the last fifty years of her life wandering the property, photographing and taking meticulous and often poetic field notes. A keen observer of nature. As we followed the trails established by the placement of her feet, wood planks on trees held quotes from her journal. All spoke to me, but a particular one held my attention.

'Intimacy with nature is acquired slowly. It comes not with one year out of doors or with two. You look and listen, beware your stupidity, feel that you have acquired little new information; yet are determined never to despair or give up. All at once you know what you never dreamed you knew before.’
      ~ CJS fieldnotes

Yes. Yes. I myself have wandered the woods, trails and river paths of my town for close to forty years and yet I discover new every time I enter that space of not-knowing. Of curiosity. Of childlike wonder. Intimacy, whether with nature or in relationships, follows a meandering trail of footsteps taken with patience, reverence and awe. To be intimate is a gift slowly unveiled.

Maine….I now know I have only taken the first baby steps toward intimacy.  I hope to take many more.

Nature does not hurry, yet everything is accomplished. ~Laozi
SARAH

.....living

Yogis,
There are many myths and stereotypes on aging out there. Our culture doesn’t hold the same honor and respect for elders shown in many other countries. Older years are often viewed here as something to dread. A lessening of the good things in life. A decline. Even more so for women.

Not all see it this way though. I have decided I am going to incorporate Diane von Furstenberg’s perspective into my own life.

Diane is the clothes designer who shook up the women’s clothing world in 1976 with her introduction of the wrap dress. Now at 76 she says she is entering her winter, but boy is she doing it with class and beliefs that turn our outdated and superficial view of aging right on its head.  

Ask her how old she is and she responds that the question should be rephrased. We should be asking her how many years she has lived. How many glorious days she has been given the gift of walking on this magnificent earth we call home. Wow.

Because we are not 'aging'. We are living.

Whether you are thirty, sixty or eighty-nine, if you pause to see what you are doing at this moment, you are living. Breathing, feeling, smelling, seeing…….. Life is here for you at every moment without regard for age, so live each one to the fullest!

My face carries all of my memories. Why would I erase them? 
~ Diane von Furstenberg

Another phenomenon we experience is not feeling the age we are turning. My mom and I have talked about this often, including last week. After some thought I told her I felt 50 even though it says sixty-one on my driver’s license. Now I am rethinking that. Society has given us beliefs of what fifty feels like. What 80 feels like. But that’s nonsense!

Am I willing to exclude the wisdom I have accumulated, things I have learned and joys I have felt over these past eleven years from my life? When Diane is asked, she says she could be 300 for how full her life has been. Yes!

When I see you next, I won’t ask how old you are. I will ask how many years you have lived, and I will be awed.

Living......not aging,
SARAH

......service

Yogis,
Through my life I have done a variety of volunteer jobs. It was as a candy striper (remember those?) in a NJ county hospital that I learned to fold a proper hospital corner on a bed, a skill I use to this day. I was fourteen at the time and yes, I did wear a red and white striped uniform.

Once I had kids, I did PTA and ran the annual bingo night. For Mayfair I raised my hand for buying the thousands of trinkets from the Oriental Trading company catalog, unwrapping each one, organizing them and distributing to all the booths at the fair to be used as prizes. I managed soccer teams, sold athletic stadium seat cushions that sat in boxes which filled our basement, and set my clock for 3 am to work after-prom on the cleanup committee.

In the workplace I was always the money collector for coworker gifts and in charge of figuring out the bill for team lunches. In both, you always end up a little short.  I participated in MS Walks and sat on the board of one of our customers.

It was sitting at a board meeting that I had an insight. There are volunteer roles that feel like they are made for you. Match your skills and feel empowering. Then there are those that don’t. Board member fell into that second category. I realized I had said yes because I thought I was supposed to. I noticed I was dreading meetings and was not going to be of much value, so I stepped down.

Volunteering, when selected mindfully, is a gratifying and fulfilling role. The act of doing for others gives back over and over. However, when chosen because of pressure, expectations or its easier to just say yes…..not so much.

As I have gotten wiser I only volunteer for those that fall in line with my passions. I have always wanted to teach so I am tutoring reading in a city elementary school. I love to spend time at our creek so I now do water testing. And of course, there is the garden I planted and maintain down on our main street. These fit beautifully within my gifts.

There is a concept in yoga which speaks to this. Dharma. That each of us has unique gifts. There are things we do differently than anyone else in the world. We are to use these gifts to live our own life but also in service to others. In doing so, we fulfill our life’s purpose. Serving others, when in alignment, feels effortless and pays in the currency of joy.

While tending my garden there is no sense of time. People pause to chat. Cars honk. Children smell the flowers. Butterflies float by. The sun shines down. I feel like I am in a fairy tale, yet the community and wildlife benefit. Dharma.

What are your unique gifts? Where do your passions lie? Put them in service and watch what happens.  

You also meet the nicest people,
SARAH

......native

Yogis,
I looked up the definition for native. ‘An original or indigenous inhabitant.’ When applied to a plant the term native indicates it has been growing in a particular region for thousands of years. Plants that occur naturally in a habitat without human intervention. Because of this, they are well adapted to the light, soil and climate of their home. They require very little care.

You can’t help but hear the push for planting natives in your yard. When placed appropriately according to their likes and dislikes the droughts are tolerated using significantly less of our precious water whose access appears to be our looming crisis. Running a sprinkler daily to keep grass looking like a carpet is really no longer sustainable.

On the other hand, plants like cardinal flower are happy to have their feet wet as these more common torrential rains dump their buckets in mere minutes. Joe Pye’s weed, while it appreciates some sun, is also quite content to sit up against the north side of my house where it’s always in a shadow.

I heeded the call to go native and began shopping in the native sections of our local nurseries, which by the way are getting larger each year. Here I have found plants that settled in nicely to my steep dry rocky slope under pine trees. Alumroot was the first plant I found that could survive happily in the sandy soil along the driveway at the beach house……which btw gets absolutely no watering all summer since weekly renters are more concerned with hitting the beach than watering my plants (even though I ask nicely on a sign on the frig).

Natives, however, do a whole lot more than make our weekend to-do list shorter. My garden has a buzz of activity from bees, butterflies and hummingbirds. Needed shelter, food and habitat are all provided for native wildlife. A greater variety of birds come through. A symbiotic relationship with nature. And, by the way, natives are beautiful!

This year though, I am noticing another interesting effect. The more natives I plant, the more natives are showing up on the property. It’s as if I sent out an open invitation through my actions and intentions and unexpected guests are beginning to arrive.

I now have three hibiscus plants which are blooming beautifully and I am noticing they are beginning to multiply. Last year a boneset appeared in my medicinal garden and this year another has joined the plants I added on my rocky slope. Three batches of sensitive fern suddenly showed up, all in my moistest spots where most plants won’t grow. And northern spicebush is popping up through my wooded and shady areas which provide a nice splash of yellow in early spring and supply high energy berries.

Next time you take a walk through your area, instead of noticing your neighbors’ yards, look to your natural parks, woodlands, sides of roads and empty fields to see what is growing. These are truly your natives and if you begin to plant the intention of welcoming them, they might just show up.

Letting the garden be wild,
SARAH

.....first fall

Yogis,
I am on my final beach vacation of the year. By the time I leave after Labor Day, summer 2023 will be a wrap.

This was the week we stepped into our beach house as owners again, while the last renters packed up the car and headed home to get kids back in school and themselves back to work. I organize, I clean, I walk the rooms, rearrange and make the beds.....all to make it mine once again.

Happy to be back.

On my drive down I listened to the podcast Wiser Than Me, where Julia Louis-Dreyfus interviews women who have much wisdom to share. Before she introduces her guest she always speaks about what the theme of the show is and this week's was the beautiful, complicated, sacred, and sometimes messy relationship between a mother and her children. 

These past couple of weeks I have been spending time with my grandchildren and in the process have had the joy of watching my own children now parent. 

Memories flood in of those days with my three young boys. One image in particular came to mind on this final summer week……. Walking the beach alone with my youngest in a snuggly on a morning where we were the renters packing up to head home. My maternity leave was coming to a close. Salty tears rolled down my cheeks as I held him tight.

Julia read this poem and as we begin to see fall off on the horizon I thought I would share it with you. It touched me and I hope it does the same for you.

 

First Fall 

Maggie Smith

 

I’m your guide here. In the evening-dark

morning streets, I point and name.

Look, the sycamores, their mottled,

paint-by-number bark. Look, the leaves

rusting and crisping at the edges.

I walk through Schiller Park with you

on my chest. Stars smolder well

into daylight. Look, the pond, the ducks,

the dogs paddling after their prized sticks.

Fall is when the only things you know

because I’ve named them

begin to end. Soon I’ll have another

season to offer you: frost soft

on the window and a porthole

sighed there, ice sleeving the bare

gray branches. The first time you see

something die, you won’t know it might

come back. I’m desperate for you

to love the world because I brought you here.

Om,
SARAH 

.....surprises

Yogis,
When you are a gardener, every year you find that the garden is different. You swear you do the same things each time. But then you have to remember that you are a cocreator. Nature always has the lead role and has some of her own plans.  

The hydrangea in my side yard does beautifully year in and year out, until it didn’t. My fig bush was enormous last year, producing a bounty that had me handing out figs like candy to anyone passing by. This spring not even a leaf grew on two thirds of her stalks. Yet my verbena, which I had nearly given up on, is now topped with delicate purple flowers.

Mother nature also has fun surprises up her sleeve. For example, which volunteers will she throw your way. Those plants that appear unplanned.  Last year it was a perfect white pumpkin that grew along the side of my gravel driveway and graced my counter for over six months. Another year it was a cardinal flower after mentioning that I wanted to grow them. Thank you!

This year it is a tomato plant.

Each year I used to plant tomatoes in the fenced section of my garden. I rarely got to actually eat more than a couple though once the birds and squirrels took their share. Holes from bugs on some, sides that split open. Discouraging. I switched to cherry tomatoes with a bit more success but nothing to write home about. Sort of flavorless.

Early this summer I was changing out the rotted sides of the raised bed when I spotted a few tiny tomato plants growing. Volunteers. I put one of them in the new bed. This is what it looks like now!

Every few days I go out and harvest the small juicy tomatoes. I have gotten hundreds and it doesn’t show any sign of slowing down. New flowers and green tomatoes appear daily. She is now growing so wide I have to drape her branches over other plants who offer her support.

Best of all…..they are delicious.

Placed in a bowl on the counter I pop a couple in my mouth when I walk by. Awesome mixed with chopped basil and mozzarella or cucumber,  avocado and pumpkin seeds. I even have to keep an eye on Phoebe who will gobble them up If I set any down at her level.

A true gift.

Every time I snip off the small bunches, I am sure to throw a few back into the dirt. Hopeful that perhaps I will be surprised again next summer. Only mother nature knows for sure.

I love a good surprise,
SARAH