.....gentling

Yogis,
‘To gentle the journey through serious illness and loss with skill and compassion’

This was the quote that opened and set the tone for a two-day hospice training I attended this week. Now a graduate of the course, I will soon begin volunteering once a week for Montgomery & Prince George’s Hospice.

After taking the death doula course several months ago I was looking for the next step on this journey I have embarked on. Hospice seemed the perfect fit and this particular one resonated with what I would want in a hospice when it’s time.

What exactly is hospice? There are a lot of misconceptions. It isn’t a place. It is a service that comes to you, wherever you are. Covered by Medicare/Medicaid, one is eligible once the choice is made to no longer prolong life through treatments and death is expected (as best as one can predict a path so unique to each person) within six months.

There are many hospices available! This one is one of only about 20% still operating as a nonprofit. Most are now for profit. The most basic requirements for your care team are a hospice nurse, a social worker, a chaplain and volunteers. In fact, by law volunteers must provide a minimum of 5% of patient contact. Then each individual organization may offer other services.

As examples, Montgomery Hospice offers pet therapy, reiki (which I plan to be a part of), lavender hand massages (yes!), military pinning ceremonies for former service members and aromatherapy. Their 30 member threshold choir sends 4 people to sing at the bedside of those close to the threshold between worlds. They are amazing!

As a volunteer I will visit a patient 2 hours each week to talk, read to them, play music…..or simply sit as a quiet presence. I also hope to educate others on hospice and normalize our discussions on death......The only sure thing.

You matter because you are you,

and you matter to the end of your life. 

We will do all we can not only to help you die peacefully, 

but also to live until you die.

 ~ Cicely Saunders (founder of the hospice movement 1967)

Won’t this make me sad? At times, yes. But as everyone reiterated, we will receive so much more than we give.

Gentling the journey,
SARAH

......something we can do

Yogis,
My aunt has been having medical challenges this past week…… several states away. With the physical distance and her care being handled by doctors, we have been feeling frustrated. Like there isn’t much we can do to help her. If only we could transport ourselves to her side.

Last night though, when things were quiet, I remembered that we can! There is something we can do to be there for her. Any time and from any place.

We are energy and this human shape is not a boundary. We can be together by intending and willing it to happen. We all do this unconsciously but also have the ability to make this a conscious practice.

It’s quite simple. And although these are not requirements, I find being alone and closing my eyes to be very helpful.

Begin by bringing an image to mind of the person with whom you want to connect or help. An image of them healthy and happy. See them. Then remember what they ‘feel’ like. Their energy. Not what they think or believe. Not their actions. Instead, that part of them that never changes and makes them unique. Their essence.

Once you can see and feel them it is as if you are together. Give them what you want to share. Turn it on in yourself and radiate it out. Turn on the feeling of love and direct it toward them. Or joy. Maybe some humor or sharing of memories. It may be healing or gratitude. You can send anything you awaken and intend to send.

If it feels right, you can add warm light surrounding them. Color. Sunshine. An image of something you know brings them happiness.

Anything we can imagine…..we can create.

The person could be sitting in the same room or thousands of mile away. Maybe it’s just someone you don’t get the chance to see often. And whether they consciously feel it or not, you will reach them and will have an effect.

Last night as I was falling asleep, I held an image of my aunt with the two of us laughing together and I shined love her way.

What you send you also receive,
SARAH

.....plant connections

Yogis,
In February 2023 I hosted a baby shower for the upcoming birth of my youngest granddaughter. Like most baby showers I had a few small gifts for family and friends to take home when the party ended.

One of the gifts was a pack of sunflower seeds.

The following spring I forgot to plant any. This spring though, I was on it. I was unsure how successful they would be after having sat in packets for more than two years. I shouldn’t have worried. Seeds are miraculous.

In May I started a few in my aerogarden and by July two seedlings were sturdy enough to plant outside. My older granddaughter helped me get them in the dirt.

One of them headed skyward immediately. It is now probably 10 feet tall, towering over me and gorgeous! Her cheerful face always decorated with busy bees.

I can see it while doing dishes at my kitchen sink. From my bedroom and as I descend the steps. It’s waving at me right now while I write this on my deck. And every time I see it, I think of little Penny……a beautiful sunflower herself.

My plan is to save some seeds to keep the cycle going.

I also remembered to plant trumpet squash seeds this year after a 3 year hiatus. My neighbors Danny and Margaret were growing them before they died. They always gave me a few and taught me how to properly support their vining habit. I fell in love.

Friday night as I sliced and roasted my first one of the year, memories flooded in of our times together. I know they would love that I am growing them.

All of the zinnias I have grown in the community garden and my own medicine wheel over the last several years began from one pack of seeds. I held a healing ceremony for the family of a friend who passed away much too young. That day they gifted me a pack of seeds in her memory.

Every year I save the flower’s seed heads to replant the following year. Her memory lives in every one of those hundreds of flowers and in them I can see her smile.

Seeds grow connections,
SARAH

......how I know

Yogis,
It was the box I knew would come. It always does. Opening my weekly CSA share I find it bursting with freshly picked local fruits and vegetables and realize this is the one. Tomatoes, corn, large juicy peaches, cucumbers and an assortment of brightly colored peppers spread across my countertop. The box that lets me know it is August.

Who needs a calendar when the world speaks in flavors, colors and smells. What are the things that let you know its August?

My alarm goes off to start my early morning routine. My eyes open to discover that it is indeed still dark. Ugh. Always a shock the first time but this will be the new norm and I will adapt. Sitting up from savasana at the end of an evening class we all notice how the room is shadowed. The shift in light winks to let me know it is August.

The bird song is quieter. Nesting and raising of young is complete, opening an empty space in the air which is immediately flooded with the hum of insects. A daytime chorus which gives way to the nighttime performance. I open my window to be serenaded to sleep and realize that nature holds the original patent for today’s popular sound machines. And it’s free! The vibration tells me its August.

July feels sharper to me. A blinding sun and an intensity to the heat. Gardens in bloom with vivid flowers and a party atmosphere in the air. August somehow seems softer. A month who whispers we are now on the other side of the peak.

Is that a cool breeze I feel?

Where early in the summer I spent hours on my knees trimming and weeding, making sure everything was tidy, the garden is now lush and wild. Overgrown with goldenrod towering over bergamot which leans into spider flower. The echinacea flower heads quickly drying which draws in the goldfinch who love the seeds. I know it’s August when my garden takes care of herself.

The first fallen leaves dot the grass.

I know her well,
SARAH

....nana camp

Yogis,
The now annual ‘nana camp’ for my two oldest grandchildren is a wrap!

From the moment they arrived on Sunday evening until Friday afternoon’s drop off there was nonstop action. Some new activities were added in this year like seeing a children’s musical and making rice crispy treats, but many old favorites resurfaced as well. Smores made over the firepit (they really are delicious), a movie at a theater and a couple trips to the pool.

Two nights of backyard camping were one of the highlights.

My husband is always in charge of the things that make me nervous. Overseeing trampoline time at our next-door neighbors, front flips and all. And letting them ride go cart bikes down the street. Thrilling.

Like most things in life, at some point you stop and try to remember how it all came to be. What was the impetus.

I have my parents to thank for this tradition. As each of my boys got old enough, they would go (one at a time) to spend a week in NJ with their Nana and Pop Pop in the summers. My dad would take them to the amusement park to ride rollercoasters, golfing and of course, to the racetrack where he would give them money to use for betting on horses. My mom would set up a cot next to her bed for them to sleep and they would watch game show network together before drifting off for the night.

These are how relationships deepen. Lasting memories are formed.

Spending time with grandkids when the parents are there is wonderful, but it is in the dedicated times alone that connections truly form. When they have to come to you with skinned knees or hurt feelings. When it is you putting them to bed with a nightly lavender head massage and making their breakfast as they wake. Trust and an understanding of how you fit into the puzzle of their life are developed.

They will remember (as my boys can attest).

More grandchildren will be attending nana camp in the future,
SARAH

....decisions

Yogis,
My dining room table has been covered for months now. A workspace for the design process of our beach house renovation. Paint samples, pieces of tile, hardware……..

It is my real-life mood board.

Early on in the project I tried to do this digitally. Created a document where I could add pictures of lighting I liked, insert cabinet designs and place accent tiles. My Pinterest page expanded daily as I added rooms others had done which gave me the feeling that I wanted to experience in my own home. Yet I felt all over the board (no pun intended.)

Overwhelmed.

Soon enough though I came to realize that I am more tactile. I need to touch, hold and see up close in order to make decisions. To be in its presence. Hence, my table board was born.

Over these months it has shifted, grown and taken shape as deliveries of paint and countertop samples arrived. The mockup of the old pine floor that will welcome my, and a multitude of other’s footsteps over the years, sits as the foundation. Cabinet doors and brass knob options surround. Fabric swatches from the couch I ordered.

I walk past it many times a day. I often pause and look. Move things around. Check from a different angle. Add a new idea. Watch how it changes as the sun moves across the sky.

The fish wallpaper I selected for the powder room makes me smile each time.

This mood board also travels. Every time I go to the beach I pack it all up in a heavy duty bag for the road trip, and off we go! It makes me happy knowing it is in the backseat.  Alone in the beach house, aka construction site, I pull pieces out and sit with them. Immersed. Then I know what to choose.

This is the way I make decisions. The only way that feels right to me.   

For some, reading or researching works best. For others, talking it out, drawing, hearing advice or watching videos. How do you make life decisions?

Not a lot of room on the table for dining,
SARAH

....rhythm

Yogis,
I had the gift of time with my sister…..and much extended family in Cape May. Whenever she and I come together, as the time comes to part, neither of us is ready. Like two musical instruments, we find our rhythm.

Many of our conversations floated around and landed on the idea of rhythm in our lives.  When we are in it, life feels good. Easier. More fulfilling. When we aren’t, there is discord. To me, the human world seems out of tune now.

The natural world though has a rhythm. A hum. A symphony of everything working beautifully together. The animals, birds, plants, insects, moon, ocean….all with their own piece. The closer we lean in, the more our own note seamlessly blends in.

I read an article about waking with the sun. The importance of the earliest morning light touching your eyelids. Our own circadian rhythm is meant to synch with that of day and night. Morning should be light. Night should be dark.

We walked to the ocean together one evening. The sun had set and the beach was quiet. We looked up to soften our gaze and begin making out stars…the fraction that we are now able to see. We recounted dark places we have been where a night sky wraps you in its arms. The hotel behind us sat ablaze in bright lights.  

The tide rolls in. It rolls out. I breathe in. I breathe out. I open my window to hear the songs of frogs and nights bugs. My heartbeat keeps time.

I allow heat in while sweat trickles. A butterfly floats by as the hummingbird hovers. The music of summer with today’s songs lauding fuchsia zinnias and orange butterfly weed.

The vegetables join with zucchini and cucumbers holding the mike. Corn and tomatoes up next.

I taste the rhythm. I smell it in the air. I sway with the wind as thunder beats the drums.

I, like all, fall out of rhythm. Clumsy and disconnected. Anxious. The rhythm asks us to be quiet and to be out in her. Surrounded. My foot starts tapping the beat and soon I slide back in.

No separation,
SARAH

.....panther

Yogis,
Nana camp has kicked into gear again for the summer. Last week I had one granddaughter and grandson at the house. Now six and nine, they are in a different phase of childhood and it is fun to be included.

One thing my granddaughter and I like to do is pick oracle cards. Particularly from the animal spirit deck. Each has a striking picture of an animal and the message of their spirit written below. We take turns pulling from the deck and reading what it means when it comes into our life.

On her first turn she picked panther. The message of panther spirit is ‘Reclaim your power’. It goes on to say that it takes courage to face challenges and right now panther spirit is here to say you are braver than you think. Risks.

A perfect card for her!

In the last few months she has stepped into her girl power. She has let go of her floaties, swimming like a fish, jumps into the pool with glee, and learned to ride her bigger bike with gears. Big accomplishments that give the adrenaline rush mentioned in the panther card.

Later that day we went to the local pool. A water slide leads into one of the pools. Asking if she wanted to try it she shook her head no but then paused and said yes. Got right out of the pool, walked over and without hesitation slid down with a big splash. As she lifted her head from the water with a huge grin I exclaimed ‘Panther spirit was with you!’

It is as if it is in her aura at this time in her life. She also fearlessly jumped off the diving board which she has only done once in her life and climbed rocks. Where last summer ‘I’m scared’ was the typical answer to challenges presented, this year her answer is a resounding ‘Yes’.

Different energies pass through our lives. Right now I am surrounded by bluebird energy. With newly hatched babies I interact with mom and dad daily. Dad is particularly sweet and diligent in his fatherhood responsibilities. It calms me to be near.

I could use a little panther spirit,
SARAH

....remembrance

Yogis,
During morning runs on my Jersey shore family vacation I pass memorial benches lining dunes and parks. Etched with names of those who have died and accompanied by caring words, they are a form of remembrance. Honoring.

Certain words are used a lot. In loving memory…..Forever in our hearts…..Never forgotten. Lovely thoughts but if someone chooses to honor me with a bench once I no longer walk this earth, I am not sure those feel right. Then what would I want it to say? How do I want to be remembered?

I see one that says ‘She enjoyed life’s simple moments.’ Ok, that is getting closer.

I notice another that would perfectly suit my mother-in-law who passed away a couple years ago.  ‘Sea what you started. An ocean of memories.’ It was her own childhood love for Stone Harbor that drew the whole extended family to begin the annual tradition of meeting there for this week forty years ago. An ocean of memories indeed. Four generations under one roof in our house this year.

But what words suit me?

Thursday evening after taking a shower I lathered my body as I always do with olive oil and a drop of essential oil. I chose lavender. I consciously chose lavender each day last week since I was surrounded by my four grandchildren.

My granddaughter runs up for a hug. As she buries her head in my chest she asks “Nana, why do you always smell so good?”

I began choosing lavender when my first grandchild was born. A light lovely happy calming scent. Smell is our most primal sense. Bypassing the thinking mind it heads directly to our area where memories are formed. When we smell something from our childhood we are immediately back there. To all of them now, lavender brings memories of Nana, hugs and love.

Aha! My bench. How about this? Edits welcomed.

‘Feeling you and your hugs whenever I close my eyes and smell the lavender.’

What does your bench say?

Another option would have to include bare feet,
SARAH

....diary

Yogis,
My parents are in the process of emptying out their attic and basement. Items that have been sitting quietly in the dark for thirty, forty, even fifty years are being taken to the garage either to be claimed by family or friends or sold online. Any remaining will head to the dump. Something I should be doing in my own home.

One such item was my diary.

Did you ever have a diary? I remember starting, but never finishing several, yet the one my mom welcomed me with at the door this week was filled from Jan 1 through Dec 31. The year was 1974. I was 12 years old.

When my mom found it she read a few pages but decided she shouldn’t since there may be secrets. I assured her that although I didn’t know what it contained, I was confident there were no shocking revelations. I clearly remember being quite careful because the adorable little keys which were intended to be the security for my deepest dreams and desires did not seem very foolproof.

My hunch was right. More of a review of the daily life of a 12-year-old girl in 1974. Without social media and only a handful of tv channels, days were spent with friends, making up dance routines, playing with our hamsters and a lamb and wandering around the mall. Many sleep overs and experimenting with makeup. And frequent outdoor adventures.

On April 8^th I watched Hank Aaron hit his record breaking 415^th home run with over 53,000 other fans in the Atlanta stadium. Four months later we gathered to witness Nixon resign on the big wood console tv in my grandparents family room in New Jersey. In between the two we had moved states yet again.

I ended each day’s entry with ‘bye’.

Diaries stopped for many years to be replaced by journals as an adult. Journals then ceased and this blog began. That unchanging little girl in me is still careful but takes a bit more risk in sharing herself with others. And there is no key this time.

I wanted a boyfriend, my breasts to grow and more excitement in life,
SARAH

....arms in the air

Yogis,
As the weather warms and summer smells arrive, I am reminded of the feelings this season brought when I was young. With school winding down and the pool opening my jean shorts would reemerge. And my bike.

A banana seat bike with a sissy bar attached to the back so I could give friends a ride. Streamers hanging from the handlebars, a kickstand and of course a bell. I loved it.

Riding through the neighborhood, my long blond hair blowing in the wind as I headed down a hill. Then…..letting go. Arms out. Trusting that the bike would take me where I intended to go. Freedom.

As an adult it’s harder to let go.

Our body holds on to tension. The mind convinces us we have to hold tight to beliefs, opinions and worries. Emotions hold on to past hurts or angers. To let any of it go seems like we don’t care or we are giving in to someone. We have to control and drive this ship of life. Right?

Try this. Sit quietly and mentally repeat to yourself slowly ‘I let go’. Over and over. Pay attention to what happens in the body. Any changes or sensations. To increase the effect, state it on the exhales.

Words are powerful. They hold a vibration and when spoken mindfully they create a roadmap of where you want to go, and the body responds. An internal mantra.

Even more incredible is not only the internal world changes, but life responds too. When we let go of something that we have been resisting or clinging to, over time it too softens.

Use this for anything. Something you are worried about. A relationship. An argument. A judgment. A rigid belief. Anything causing you discomfort by holding on.

Bring it to mind, close your eyes, visualize breaking the connection to it and as it floats away state ‘I let go’. Over and over. Whenever it pops back up…..repeat! By changing your vibration the outer world wants to resonate with you. It will follow your map.

Choosing arms in the air with trust in life. Freeing!

Hair blowing in the wind,
SARAH

....familiar

Yogis,
I have several birdhouses scattered around the yard, but one location has always been the fan favorite. At first it was a simple yellow one built by my neighbor that was attached to one of the pillars that holds up the deck. A busy spot close to my garden and right above the hose spigot.

For years it was the wrens that set up house there. Waking me on spring mornings with full throated songs through my open window overlooking the deck. Then four years ago it was discovered by bluebirds. Home ownership changed.

Eventually the yellow house became rickety, so I replaced it with a natural wood one designed for bluebirds. Many families have called it home.

Fast forward to this spring…… I can tell there is activity but I never see the bird. I peek in and find a charming nest. Perfectly shaped and adorned with moss and feathers. A chickadee nest! A first for my yard.

Eggs and babies ensued, and the parents finally learned to trust me as I worked close by. A different look with different sounds and relationships. This week they fledged, leaving an empty house.

Well, the bluebirds didn’t waste any time! Within hours they were busy. Cleaning and sprucing and they moved in that night. I laughed. It seemed like they had missed their opportunity the first go round and were determined not to make that mistake again!

They are now settled back in and egg laying has begun. Dad being so vigilant as he stands guard at nearby spots and reminding me when the bird feeder is running low. Fluttering his wings when I talk to him and occasionally sticking his head in the house to check on the mom. The familiar has returned.

A flash of blue streaks past my window whenever I look out.

I loved experiencing the chickadees. Something new. I am grateful they chose our house. Yet there is something very comfortable in having familiar yearly experiences that sweep me into the rhythm of nature and show me my place within it all.

Welcome back,
SARAH 

....nuclear family

Yogis,
I am acutely aware of how lucky I am to have spent Mother’s Day with my mom. First, to be sixty-three and still have my mom. Then, to have it work out that my sister and I (with our respective husbands) could spend the whole weekend with our mom and dad at the beach. All of us in one house….alone. We can’t remember the last time that happened.

Our nuclear family, as my mom kept reminding us.

As one would expect, the weekend was filled with stories, memories and lots of laughter. Recounting different places we lived and trying to remember names of funny distant relatives with whom we have lost touch. Working on the NYT crossword puzzle, several great meals and enjoying great people watching from a bench on the boardwalk. A bucket of Thrasher’s fries in between us of course.

My mom mentioned a mug we got her about twenty years ago which has a picture of her sitting in my living room chair, my sister and I awkwardly on the floor in front of her. All of us looking just a bit ‘off’.

It was an annual tradition. A picture taken of the three of us right before we headed out to lunch the day after Christmas. Always an odd looking picture. We have had many laughs over them across the years, but somehow we fell out of the tradition. My mom asked that we recreate it for a new mug.

After breakfast we set it up. Picked the right chair, assumed our positions and asked the men to take pictures. Twenty pictures later we were finally forced to settle on one. My mom does not believe it is mug worthy. We all look a little ‘off’. So perhaps it is perfect.

Fifteen minutes later, my dad decided he needed one with his son-in-laws. So back to the chair we went. Lots of cracking joints while getting ready.  A new tradition?

Without a mother, none of us would be here.

Happy Mother’s Day everyone,
SARAH

....soul

Yogis,
What is the definition of ‘soul’?  Oxford defines it as the spiritual or immaterial part of a human being or animal.  Merriam adds in all rational and spiritual beings and that it is the animating principle of an individual life.

So, can a house have a soul? Does a house have an individual life?

I have always loved old houses. Their sturdy bones, natural materials and everlasting character. The houses we have bought have all been old, with the oldest being our beach house. She was built in 1927, at least according to the city records when we ordered a historical plaque.

She has old pine floors, a brick fireplace and of course, tiny closets. And she has a lot of history. If only the walls could talk……

Starting life as a cape cod with a wood front screened porch, in the 1970s the second level was dormered out for bedrooms and she was wrapped with white metal siding. She became ours in 2002.

In 2016 we decided she would look much better in sage green Hardie plank (to blend with the ever present mildew and moss on her walls). In the process an old medicine chest was uncovered containing a women’s powder compact with large brush, a glass bottle and metal tin for snuff. The walls were talking.

Then just last week the foreman sent me a text with a picture. In removing part of a wall he uncovered handwriting. It said ‘Mr Robert Phillips of Rehoboth Beach DE done this in the year of 1927’.  I have research to do. The walls were talking louder.

We are now chest deep in the remodeling project. Every time we visit I find time to be inside alone To wander. Feel. Listen. She is my best guide for decisions when I feel overwhelmed.

Is it her soul that speaks to me? Or perhaps a small piece of each of the soul’s who were lucky enough to spend part of life within her walls?

Whatever it is, we have a relationship, and each time I leave I tell her how beautiful she is and that I will be back soon. Out loud.

Getting her ready for her 100th,
SARAH

....critters

Yogis,
It all began with a box turtle…..

The type with yellow markings that I often kept hostage in a box when I was young. My pet, if only for a weekend. Providing a lid filled with water and leafy greens while their pointy nails and heavy bodies made them anything but quiet.

Someone posted they had seen one. I will look when I get home! Quickly forgetting all about turtles I began weeding, only to find I am being watched by one. As a family we always call them Myrtle. This time I left her free and watched the different ways she buried herself in pine needles.

Early the next morning something caught my eye at the far end of our porch. A bird? Nope. A small raccoon who evidently had climbed up to snatch sparrow eggs from the birdhouse but couldn’t quite figure out how to get down. Some coaxing and an offer of a broom scared him enough to risk the slide down the downspout.

Shortly after I ran past a wild turkey. What the heck? I have never seen a wild turkey in our neighborhood. Standing alone in my neighbor’s yard eating something in the grass. Not a care in the world. Huh.

Later Phoebe is barking at the car and climbing into the wheel well. Uh, oh…. We pop the hood to see what was going on and the raccoon was just as surprised to see us as we were him. Yikes! He nestled in deeper so I called animal control and soon he was out and finally headed back to the woods.

I read a book on frogs to the kindergartener I tutor. I told him I find them in my garden. Of course, that afternoon I almost stepped on one. Telling these stories in class I commented that I could feel a snake would be soon. Next morning reaching under grasses to remove chickweed, I scare a snake, and therefore me. He slithered in further and I decided I was good on the weeds.

Earthworms, first butterfly, the carpenter bee who guards.

There are so many things I love about spring! One is reconnecting with all the critters.

I missed you all,
SARAH

....rocks

Yogis,
His five-year-old grandson was with him for the day. Adorable and bursting with little boy energy. I asked what his grandson likes to do and he told me he was always trying to bring rocks in the house.

‘That’s great!’ I exclaimed. Not the answer he expected……

It’s that time of year again when we shift clothing. Down coat moves to spring jacket. Thick  jeans begin to transition to cuter lightweight pants. Inevitably during this time my hand will enter a pocket and bump into a rock. Pulling it out I often remember exactly where I picked it up. It sat waiting in the closet for months to be rediscovered. Rocks are patient.

I have rocks everywhere!

Some on my altar. A few on kitchen counters. On a shelf in my closet, on end tables and on many window ledges. Even on the dining room table. All of them rocks that one day caught my eye, ended up in a pocket and then found their place in my home. Rocks make a home more grounded.

I’m talking everyday rocks here. Not crystals…..although I have plenty of those as well. Rocks found on the beach, in the woods and along streets across many years. There are so many kinds! And if you have a couple in your pocket they make a pretty clicking sound when you roll them about. Rocks are long lasting.

I have inside and outside rocks. The ones I place in the garden are used as a focal point. A change of texture from the softness of plants. They are also fantastic holders of garden tools and when big enough are a great perch for me to rest and admire my work. Rocks are dependable and sturdy.

I photograph rocks. A lot.

Imagine my delight when I learned a new fact. There are many reasons I love otters, but did you know that they have a pocket in their skin? They use it to keep food while diving, but also their favorite rock. A special rock used for opening shellfish. Rocks are helpful.

Rocks carry many qualities I want to instill in my life.

Do you have a favorite rock?

Rocks are quiet and still,
SARAH

....the birds & the bees, and a goose

Yogis,
I’ve seen many geese in my life, yet I can’t say I have really gotten to know any. I admit I’m a bit afraid. When a goose is not happy, they let you know.

I have several memories of being confronted and I was always the one who backed down. The way they hiss and charge with wings wide is not to be taken lightly. One even bit my young son’s butt one spring day.

Yet last weekend I felt closer to geese.

It began with spotting a goose sitting on what we determined to be a nest, feet from the door of our friend’s house. A circular mound of pine needles, leaves and feathers against the trunk of a holly tree at the lake’s edge. An ideal spot. Dad floating feet away.

As she stood to turn, we saw the eggs. She threw things out of the nest. Pulled in new needles and re-fluffed the area. A gentle roll of the eggs. Housekeeping. Attentive mother.

She then lifted her back tail, curved her wings back and placed her wide warm belly down on the eggs, rocking from side to side until she was firmly nestled deep in the nest. A cool breeze blew overhead.

We read she will sit on the eggs for at least 28 days, leaving only occasionally for food, water and to bathe. The father rarely sits on the eggs. Yet we witnessed how he takes his role as protector quite seriously.

We checked on them all weekend. Once I found that neither were at the nest and I couldn’t see the eggs. We ventured out to get closer. I saw them first….mom and dad taking off from upstream, bee-lining toward us with much to say. ‘Run’ I yelled as old memories returned.

We realized she buries the eggs beneath feathers when she ventures out….but never takes her eyes off them. And as dawn broke, she was sleeping soundly with her head under her wing while Dad stood tall a foot away.

I realized how the qualities of attentiveness, nurturing and protection are innate. In all of us. Even a goose. But where do they come from? What is the source?

Always amazed,
SARAH