.....mysterious mushrooms

Yogis,
Walking through the woods I’m hunched over with my eyes trained on the ground. Take a couple steps….pause. Take a couple steps…..pause. Crouch down. Focus. Stand up. Repeat.

Phoebe is frustrated with our pace. She is accustomed to another rhythm. One where we walk briskly to a location, she is released from the confines of a leash, we spend time there, and walk back with a spring to our step. It’s as if she is rolling her eyes and whispering under her breath ‘not again’ with each pause. Not unlike a teenage boy who you thought would be fun to bring on your shopping trip.

It’s morel mushroom season and I am on the hunt!

My first season at this ‘sport’ was last April. After seeing posts of others bringing home baskets of morels in our area, I decided I wanted to participate. I can do this, right? I read articles and watched videos. I studied their shape and coloring and learned which trees they may be under.  After days and days of foraging I had found only two small morels….neither big enough to warrant bringing home…..yet they gave me joy and vindication that yes, I can do this.

Morels are known for being mysterious and elusive.  Rising from the ground quickly, they mimic the dried leaves in which they mingle both in color and texture. With a short growing season and other hunters competing in potential choice locations, it is no wonder that veterans to the sport closely guard their coveted spots. This is a competition where its every woman for herself!

Mid-April arrives and time to freshen up my skills. I start looking on my walks with Phoebe.

A couple of days in I am with a friend and we decide to check around some tulip poplar trees. Nothing. I take a few steps away and see the tree has dropped one of its leaf pods with flowers. In that instant everything that had happened last year when I found the mushrooms flooded in. I could feel it. I turn and there right in front of me stands a large morel, her head still bent, holding the dirt she had recently pushed through. A thrill!

She had shown me.

Not much different than the spiritual journey, right? At times, what we are seeking can feel mysterious and elusive. We look and look and when we become discouraged and ready to give up, we can suddenly feel it. A moment where time stops and everything appears crystal clear, showing us that we are on the right path.

I am finding morel hunting to be an amazing mindfulness practice. One that takes the yoga tenets and rolls them together into a real-life practice.

Being present. Pausing. Awareness. Silence. Patience. Letting go.  Seeing. Opening to guidance. And most importantly…..trust.  Unwavering faith that what you seek will come.

This time I did bring it home and cooked it up in oil and butter with a little salt. OMG! I have never had a morel before, and although I like mushrooms, this went way beyond that. An explosion of flavor in my mouth. NOW I understand what all the fuss is about.

Complete trust,
SARAH 

.....dandelions and violets

Yogis,
Last Sunday I returned home from ten days at the beach. A wonderful week filled with long walks, yard clean up (which I enjoy), cooking and relaxing, yet in the back of my mind I was concerned that I might have missed the blooming of some plants in my yard. This time of year, when you head out of town for even a short time it can feel like you are arriving back to a completely different season.   

Pulling up the gravel driveway I scan the yard. The grass sits much taller now with tufts of spring garlic towering above. My fig has leaves.  I look closer. There they are! Dozens of bright yellow smiling faces looking my way surrounded by a sea of delicate nodding purple heads. Hello friends!

Dandelion and violet can be counted on to blanket the lawn with color in mid-April and they hadn’t disappointed.

I quickly unload the car, grab my mason jars and head outside. It’s a beautiful day and the sun is shining. Perfect weather to say hello, spend time together and make earth medicine. Dandelion flowers will soak in olive oil to make a salve for dry or damaged skin. Violet flowers, when placed in my white wine vinegar, will turn it a stunning vibrant pink and she will share with me her vitamins and minerals as I use the vinegar over the year.

Gifts.

   

When we think of gifts we often think of the present we buy a friend on her birthday. An object. Yet gifts involve an energy. If I hand you something you asked for, or I buy a new sweater, those are not gifts, even though there was an exchange. What makes a gift a gift?

A gift requires a giver. Someone/something expressing the energy of giving. But there must also be a receiver, or else there is no gift. And that receiver must express the energy of receiving. Which when activated becomes a gift back to the giver. A cycle. A current.

Sometimes it feels easier to be a good giver than a receiver.

Water is a master teacher of the receiving energy. If I stand down by the river and throw in a log, the river opens herself up, accepts the log and wraps her arm around it. She doesn’t ‘send it back’ or resist. She won’t tell me she wished I had thrown in a rock instead. She won’t say ‘you shouldn’t have’ or be embarrassed. She receives what I give. Fully.

The universe gives us gifts daily. Am I fulfilling my receiver role? The colors of the trees this week…..the way the sun shines through my windows as she sets……the crescent moon low in a clear night sky……a cool breeze on my warm cheek as I sit quietly collecting violet flowers. All gifts.

Am I aware?  Do I notice the gifts and receive them, or have I just come to expect them? Am I doing my part to keep the energy circulating…….

The saying is ‘the more you give, the more you will receive’, but I am also witnessing that the more I consciously receive, the more gifts come my way.

This week I opened my heart to receive them all. Each one perfect. I noticed them, pointing my awareness their way and spoke out loud. Thank you, Universe! Thank you, dandelions! Thank you, violets! I see you!

A relationship is formed. The cycle continues……

Receiving gifts,
SARAH

......spring cleaning

Yogis,
It has begun in earnest! The frenzy of spring cleaning. Can you feel it?

I guess we are no different from the squirrels. I watched one who was busy cleaning out, gathering leaves, carrying them up and sprucing up their home in anticipation of family. Or the birds, with their early morning excitement to get going on the day, not even waiting for the sun to rise. Dipping into my bird bath and fluffing their feathers. The energy is clearly in the air. Can you see it?

Spring is the time of year where our instinctual urge to sweep, mop, dust and polish arises. A natural call to clear away of the accumulation our collective winter slumber has blanketed upon us.  Wanting the space around us scoured and sparkling, prepared for the new we can sense is lying just ahead. Can you smell it?

When else would we have the desire to remove everything from the utility closet and get down on hands and knees to wipe the baseboards and mop the floor? Or decide to spend a Saturday morning pulling the sofa away from the wall to face what lurks behind? This week we even pulled the oven out. Yikes!

The annual cleanse is not limited to our homes. The body asks nicely (or not so nicely) to be lightened. To forego those cookies before bed and switch from heavy stews to steamed artichokes and roasted asparagus. It too yearns to be ready for the activities ahead. Can you taste it?

And don’t forget the yard…….When you walk out the door in spring you can hear the spring cleaning. Mowers, trimmers and blowers creating a steady hum. Lawns and gardens being cleared and primped to await the incoming rainbow of colors. Our yard an extension of us. Can  you hear it?

Spring cleaning is hard work, as any squirrel can tell you! I don’t own a leaf blower so back down on my hands and knees I go as I lift soggy clumps of leaves from deep within the ivy. Up and down, up and down. Reach this way, lift this, move this. Even climb behind the heat pumps, reaching my hand down into who knows what. By nighttime my body reminds me of each of my movements. But it’s what I refer to as a ‘good hurt.’ Removing the winter lethargy from my joints. An inner rinse that they thank me for. Can you imagine it?

We clean and vacuum our cars. Launder the bedding. Power wash the house and finally throw out the leftovers in the back of the frig. The more we do…..the more we notice needs to be done.

The spring rains soak a quickly melting earth, reminding us that this is the season of water. An annual wash of the world. I think in the next warm rain I will stand out there, opening my arms to the sky and let myself be drenched.

Want to join me?

Windowsills next,
SARAH

......visualizing bluebirds

Yogis,
A friend mentioned in class that she saw a bluebird on her feeder. A first in her yard! In fact, we don’t have them in the neighborhood. Oh, I want to see a bluebird! I don’t know that I have ever seen one. She says she will send it my way.

I start watching out the window. I listen to a recording of the bluebird calls thinking maybe I can hear them. I look at pictures online to make sure I recognize them when they arrive. As I walk down the street, I search the trees. I even paint a picture of a bluebird!

Holding my awareness on what I want to create in my life…..

When hearing about a bluebird, many picture the blue jay. I have blue jays. Those good sized boisterous birds with a pointed hat are hard to miss. Bluebirds, on the other hand are quite a bit smaller with an iridescent blue head and back, and an orange chest similar to the robin. Sometimes they are even referred to as the ‘blue robin.’

A few days later, walking through my great room a flash of blue catches my eye out the back window. I stand and wait and there he is! She not far behind with a softer grayer blue. Gone again in the blink of an eye.

I begin to see them more often, aware now of where they like to land. Thinking perhaps I could attract them to nest, I begin looking for bluebird houses. I order one and wait.

They arrive daily now and soon are checking out my old yellow birdhouse that Danny made years ago. Of all the birdhouses I have, this is without a doubt the most popular. I watch birds argue over it and one family often waits for another to move out to quickly slide in for their turn. It’s prime real estate and like today’s market it causes a bidding war.

Every day they come. They land. They go in and out to take the tour one more time. I visualize them moving in…….

Not so fast say the sparrows. Little but spunky they can be the bully on the block. Not that they necessarily want the house, they just don’t want the bluebirds to have it. My neighbor tells me that sparrows are a threat to bluebirds. Oh no. I’m not going to visualize that.

Much swooping, dive bombing and bickering ensues, yet the bluebirds hold their ground. They found the house of their dreams and don’t seem willing to let it go without a fight.

Each day I go out to have a word with the lead sparrow, reminding him that they have houses in the front yard already. That there is food for everyone, a new birdbath on the property and safety. I begin sending out the energy of ‘peaceful coexistence’ and ‘enough for all.’ He responds by building a nest with his mate in the green birdhouse adjacent to the yellow one. Hhmmmmmm……

I continue to ‘see’ a bluebird family in the yellow house and the sparrow family in the green house, projecting that image out into the universe with trust.

Ms Bluebird has begun to build a nest. Mr Bluebird is so sweet, taking his job as protector quite seriously. Standing on top surveying the property while she goes to gather material. Doing a little happy shake when she arrives back and bending his neck to look in the hole, checking on her progress. The sparrow watches from the house next door.

The answer to what we ask for isn’t always yes. Nature swirls and dances and the outcome will be what it will be, so I will try not to attach. Yet I will continue to do my part, sending welcoming energy to my new friends……the bluebirds.  

Stay tuned,
SARAH

......a bee story

Yogis,
Once upon a time there was a bee……

I am sitting in the middle of my garden, planting, pruning and tidying up as she flies in and hovers nearby. I get quiet so I can listen. Bzzzzzzzzz. I love that sound. She lands first on the sunflower and buries her face. I watch as the pollen clings to her back legs. I see her as one of my many garden friends.

She takes off as quickly as she comes, heading down the street. She approaches a boy who lets out a scream and runs, arms flailing and legs pumping. She doesn’t know that he was stung last year when a wasp was in the towel he wrapped himself in when getting out of the pool. He sees her as danger. Something to fear. An enemy.

The bee flies into an open car window. The man turning on the car is late for an appointment when he spots her.  Jumping out and throwing the doors open he begins yelling, coming toward her swinging his jacket back and forth. His patience wearing thin. He sees her as an obstacle. An annoyance, on top of all of the other annoyances in his day so far.

She beelines out zigzagging through the trees and down toward a picnic table where a young couple is having lunch. She lands on the flowers growing under the table. They see her. “Shoo!” the woman yells. “Hand me that magazine so I can kill her,” he says. They see her as being in their space. Doesn’t she know they are trying to relax? An intruder. She flies away.

She arrives at the hive on the beekeeper’s property. For this beekeeper, the next meal for the family is dependent on consistent honey production. She is happy to see the bee. Glad to see she is healthy. She sees the bee as an employee of sorts. Necessary. A provider. She is grateful to the bee.

Down the street a family is putting some of the honey they bought from the beekeeper in their tea. They love the taste but don’t really give any thought to the bee. Honey to them is a commodity they buy in the shop. The stories they hear of the disappearing bees do not connect with the golden liquid they spoon out.

The bee flies into a tunnel in the bee exhibit at the children’s museum. As the bees pass through the woman points out the different types of bees and talks about their lives to the young kids. Teaching them about the importance of bees to our existence. The little girl stands on her tip toes, getting as close as she can. She sees the bee as beautiful. Yellow is her favorite color.

At last the bee arrives back in my garden as I pack up my garden tools for the day. She is tired and thankful for the fresh water I have put in the birdbath.

So, what is a bee? Friend, intruder, enemy, beautiful, annoyance, provider?

Depends on what pair of life glasses you are wearing. Each of us views everything in life based on our beliefs, experiences and expectations. The bee could have been a person wearing a different color skin than you, someone who worships a different god or lives in a particular neighborhood.  We each see them differently and very rarely see them exactly as they are. Our glasses are cloudy.

The next time a bee crosses your path, stop and watch her. Can you take off your glasses and see her exactly as she is? A bee, living her life the way her spirit and nature guide her. Nothing else.

Taking off my life glasses to see you,
SARAH

......determined daffodil

Yogis,
Hooray, there they are! Two weeks ago I saw my first bluebells peeking their heads up on a trail I take by the river. I know it’s now only a matter of time before I will be standing in a sea of purple flowers that make me feel like I am in a fairy tale. But from that first sighting until I feel like Snow White, there will be starts and stops. It can seem like an eternity.

This week I didn’t even go to check on them because I knew there wouldn’t be much change. The temperature had dropped and skies were gray and I knew they would be pausing for the time to be right. What’s the hurry, they ask? Many of the plants do that. We get our hopes up, only to have to wait until they feel ready.

But not Miss Daffodil!

When I think of spunky plants, daffodil definitely comes to mind. In late winter, hers are among the first green shoots we see rising from the earth and from that moment on she continues her march forward. No pausing for daffodil.

Heavy snow landing on her. No problem….. she uses her strong neck to lift her head through the ice. Obstacles are not going to get her down. Freezing nights after she bloomed. No problem….as she stoically stands still amongst her crowd to conserve energy so that as the sun rises she can greet us with her wide open sunny smile. Strong March winds. No problem…..she is flexible.

To me she feels like the herald of spring and she isn’t getting to let anything get in her way!

After living in our old house for 10 years I decided to have the overgrown brush from the side yard cleared so I could plant a garden. The next spring an enormous bunch of eager daffodils burst out of the ground, shaking off ten years of dirt and grateful that they could finally rise again. They made me happy.

There are woods behind my house which slope down to a small creek. Each spring at the bottom of the hill, with no effort on my part, I am greeted by several patches of daffodils, in a charming hidden garden. I try to imagine how they arrived there. Did the owner of this house choose to plant them there many years ago? Or are they transplants from the squirrels who have that knack of burying and forgetting. However they got there, I am glad they did.

Danny, my neighbor from next door, was an incredible gardener. His yard a rainbow of color. Since his passing, the property has been torn up. Trees taken down, bushes removed, front yard leveled and twelve foot holes dug for piping. It is now a dirt wasteland waiting for the old house to be taken and a new home built. Yet there they are……..

I am walking by and yellow catches my eye. Could it be? Of course! His daffodils are standing tall and shining their light on everyone that passes by. I wave. They make me smile. Danny would absolutely love this!

You can try, but it is pretty darn hard to keep a daffodil down. She is simple, yet strong, hardy, resilient and oh so very cheerful. I bow to you Ms Daffodil……

Cheers to daffodil!
SARAH

......magnificent march

Yogis,
Ok, so maybe the word magnificent isn’t the first word that comes to mind when asked to describe the month of March. More often I hear terms like unpredictable, long, muddy or miserable. I for one have what I would describe as a love/hate relationship with March.

I love the anticipation of spring that March brings! Those small glances into what’s in store for the not too distant future. On the other hand, after a few warm sunny days I develop the false hope that spring is indeed here, only to be deeply disappointed when the gray forty degree days return, and the heavy coat is once again pulled from the closet. It can be a frustrating month.

These last two weeks I have been watching to see how I know it is March. What makes March unique? Without having to turn the page on the calendar, how does March announce herself. Here’s what I noticed.

·        Monday morning the thermometer read 25 degrees for my early morning walk. Full winter gear and still chilled by the time I got home. Three days later I am in short sleeves, actually saying the words ‘I am hot’, as the mercury rises to 79. What other month can do that with such ease!

·        The daylight…… Since December 21 the sun has been rising earlier and setting later day after day, but somehow in January and February it feels imperceptible. Suddenly March arrives and you can’t help but notice expansion in the day. Throw in March’s daylight savings clock change and suddenly it is as if we have been given the gift of time!

·        And the sun…… It feels like she takes two giant steps up in the sky each time she rises. My medicine wheel garden, which gets zero sun all winter, acts like a giant sundial throughout the month, as a larger slice is touched by the sun’s rays each day until the entire garden is bathed in dazzling light by month end. With no filter from the leaves yet, the sun in March is brilliant.

·        March is a month of firsts. I see my first bugs, first green, first tree buds and first flowers, as the natural world wakes from its slumber. As the bugs begin stirring the distinctive drumming of the woodpeckers picks up in earnest. Wrens begin to scout out the birdhouses. The raccoons become feistier, this year deciding they like to steal my yogurt containers from the recycle bin to take to the woods and lick clean. Luckily it is organic! And every time you pull away a pile of leaves, something alive looks up at you with thanks.

·       And I once again find nights where I can open my window a few inches while I sleep. I love that.

Yet don’t be fooled. March will continue to test us. She is a great teacher that way.

Two weeks ago if the forecast was for 50 we would be exclaiming how awesome it was that it was going ‘up’ to 50. But here we are, already moaning that it will go ‘down’ to 50 this weekend. How quickly we attach…..and cause our own suffering.

Here’s the lesson plan for March. To wake each day, look out window and be grateful for what lies at our feet. Letting go of resistance and frustration (since all they do is make us frustrated) and not expect her to be April or May. Let her be exactly what she is. Messy….. and Magnificent.

Om to March,
SARAH