In this little corner of western North Carolina, the Wheel of the Year has turned right up to the edge of Mabon and the second harvest. My awareness of the Wheel’s continuous motion is becoming as entwined in the autonomous aspects of my existence as breathing. Separate from my relationship with the land, nature, or spirits, it is all at once much larger and much smaller than that, more deeply internalized and, in some ways, more intimate.
Late last spring, I began going for morning walks at a park near my home. As a social introvert who is only a cat’s stretch away from being reclusive, this was challenging on several levels. Still, I was pleased with how quickly the new routine became comfortable and familiar and how deeply it has enriched my life with fresh and diverse stimuli and surroundings.
Sunflowers in the mist [S. Barker]
Whether I am doing chores, passing through, spending time outdoors just to be outdoors, or meditating, I actively look at and listen to everything in my home environment. Because of this, I know my gardens, land, and home better than the back of my hand. I know what should be blooming, singing, or visiting any time, but I revel in the surprises. Over the summer, a frog moved into the front gardens. What a sweet marker of the returning health of this tiny bit of land! I adore hearing his frog songs at night, mixed in with the sounds of the night chorus.
I have a solid foundation of knowledge about the environment I am close to and immersed in daily. However, in the last couple of years, staying close to home became more than simply loving the home that I have. By nature, I am an adventurer and wanderer. I love exploring and having new experiences. Why then did I become such a homebody? Why, then, have I ignored the calling to get to know the land around mine, to become familiar with my neighborhood and all that it holds?
Perhaps because all the while I was becoming tuned into my home, I was developing connections with the beings I observe and share space with. And maybe some of those beings recognized that my adventuring had become an avoidance mechanism that enabled me to ignore shadow work that needed to be done. I did not see it, but things are sometimes more apparent when one is looking through the mirror rather than into it.
Sunflowers on a bright and clear day [S. Barker]
I suspect, dear reader, that I became a homebody once my spirit opened to the guidance of the black bear who encouraged me to stay safely in my den through my personal dark days. From this sanctuary, I could more wholly process the grief and trauma I had experienced while occasionally emerging in search of nourishment to sustain me. And once I did, leaving the den became a comfortable and healthy part of my life.
Hold up. Disarm yourselves. I am not in any way claiming that Bear is my spirit or totem animal. My relationship with Bear is one of personal companionship and recognition, as we are beings who have passed both secular time and liminal time together. It is nothing more than that, but certainly nothing less.
This is the point in this short story where I return to the turning of the Wheel, my emergence from my den, and how this has changed how I experience life, the seasons, and the world.
The drive to the park carries me down a section of road I regularly travel to a suburban-to-country two-lane road, past schools, houses, and farmland. Most mornings in the spring started bright and clear with warm temperatures, and I enjoyed seeing familiar native plants blooming along the roadway and the home gardens of other people beginning to grow and show. I realized that I never noticed the mullein that grows in abundance along the road. I also recognize that because I have been educating myself about native plants, I can identify more of them by sight. This familiarity and recognition began to sync with the flow of the seasons: spring into summer, and now summer into fall.
There is a farmer who has a field of sunflowers and corn, and I saw those gorgeous crop plants grow from just a hint of green to knee-high, then tall as me or taller. I watched the birds dart over the fields, swooping and zooming, and every day, I slowed as I approached that field so I could watch for deer. With my upstate New York background, I expect to see deer around a cornfield, and this past week, that willingness to take my time and engage with the world around me paid off. A medium-sized doe jumped into the road not far ahead of me. I was able to stop and watch as she bounded away through a field. The farmers might not appreciate the presence of deer, but to me, seeing a buck or doe is always representative of the presence of the divine. I felt blessed.
Two weeks ago, the front corner of that field was full of bright, golden sunflowers, faces turning to the sun. Their petals are gone now, heads bowed, but they are still alive and strong, doing the work to ripen their seed heads so the cycle can begin again next year.
The three mile drive has opened my eyes and spirit to the movement of the Wheel, but it is the time I have spent in the park has renewed me and strengthened my spiritual journey. In the spring and summer, there were mornings when the water and air were clear. But the closer I moved towards autumn, the more often I encountered misty mornings. The fog has been so thick the last few days that I could not see more than 20 feet over the water. I love it best when I arrive before the fog comes up and watch it come to life, thin, ropy figures dancing up and out of the water until they merge into a veil. There is no denying the presence of the mysteries when that happens. Then, by the end of my walk, the sun is usually burning bright in the sky, bringing mysteries of his own.
The walking path at the park goes in a figure-eight around a pair of manmade oxbow lakes. On one end, the trail runs between a creek and the smaller lake, and along the southern edge runs between the Swannanoa River and both lakes. There is an abundance of flora, plus a large variety of birds and insects. The sound of a Great Blue Heron rising into flight from the river is exhilarating, even when Kingfisher laughs at him. I have seen squirrels and rabbits, and I know that bears frequent the area, but I have yet to encounter one.
I amble more than walk, especially during my first loop when I respectfully greet the earth beneath my feet and the water that flows nearby. “Good morning, lake. Good morning, Swannanoa River!” Birds and other beings receive similar greetings, as does the flora that I recognize.
These slow loops and the greeting process have fine-tuned my awareness of the Wheel and made it an intimate part of each day. As I walk, I seek out the familiar and unfamiliar and pay attention to the new blooms and what is passing. Every morning, I take a small piece of lamb’s quarter from the patch on a curve to strengthen my journey, leaving a gift in exchange. I know where the ragweed and woodland sunflower bloom, the phlox and lady’s thumb, the thimbleberry and bitter dock. I am delighted by the cattails, the life they support, and other water grasses like the beautiful woolgrass.
Woolgrass [S. Barker]
I recently noticed an American plum tree growing along the park’s edge, where the bears sometimes are. It is a wild tree, and based on the response to my social media post with people asking for the location, it is a much sought-after fruit. Bears and other wildlife need that one tree more than humans, methinks.
This magical place is so close to my home, yet the spirits present are so very different. The land spirits are more shy, the water spirits bolder, and air seems more free-spirited. That fire in the sky has burned bright and hot, and this morning, I made sure to thank him for all the days of light and warmth he has given me.
These walks are a way to connect with nature and the elemental energies and have also become a way to stay centered within myself. These days, that point of center seems to come from a place that is rooted at the hub of the Wheel of the Year.
I do not know what this means for me or for the path I am traveling. I do know that this place of calmness and certainty feels right, so I will continue to move in this direction, into Autumn and embracing the harvest season. I am starting out with a dozen pints of local corn grown in that field in my pantry, and a mind and spirit hungry with curiosity.
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