Lake Jeanette: Images and Musings
A short piano instrumental with pictures of Lake Jeanette
Below are some of my musings when kayaking around this beautiful lake. I refer often in these musings to a book "Braiding Sweetgrass" by Dr. Robin Wall Kimmerer (a fellow plant ecologist) that transformed how I interact with nature. I also refer to a Grateful Dead song "Terrapin Station" in some musings. In Braiding Sweetgrass, Robin tells an indigenous story of creation, "Turtle Island". Terrapin Station certainly has allegories to Turtle Island Some of you may have heard me signing the lyrics of one of the verses loudly as I paddle around. The first two lines of the verse are "Inspiration, move me brightly. Light the song with sense and color. Hold away despair." Lake Jeanette does that for me.
July 1 2024- an absence appreciated
This evening was not humid. The temperature was relatively cool. The lake was just choppy enough to be fun when kayaking in a cheap recreational kayak. A cool breeze touched me like a gentle massage. I saw the first snowy egret I have seen in two years. Seeing the egret along with witnessing the graceful flight of a great blue heron, and the predatory dive of an osprey, lifted my spirit. The Skypainter celebrated the relatively dry air with subtle and calming colors on its sky blue pallet. For 45 minutes my own little world seemed peaceful despite the political, ecological and atmospheric chaos of the time. Gratitude! Not everyone appreciates the lake for its natural spirit. I guess that is fair since this lake was created by humans to provide water for Cone textile mills. Although a homeowner's association owns almost all of the land around Lake Jeanette between houses and the lake, the water is privately owned and leased to the HOA who manages most of the lake's area. This season a new boat appeared in the small marina drawing everyone's attention to it like a truck would if it had "Fuck You!" in large letters painted in iridescent orange on the side of the 16-foot trailer. The boat is decked out with a 20+ foot mast with a pirate flag, a stuffed sailor at the base of the flagpole and a flag attached to the back of the shelter with images of skull and bones. It did elicit a smile the first time I saw it. But, once was plenty. The boat consists of two pontoon boats tied together. One of the boats has been customized into a living room/bar with a wooded and roofed shelter, leather seating, AstroTurf carpet, bar, stereo, and I am pretty sure I saw a TV with a baseball game on it several nights ago. It even has a large potted fern on the deck along with Tiki decorations on the deck and on the sides of the boat. The stereo is not played loudly, but just like in a bar, it is loud enough that people on board have to talk very loudly over the music such that someone else can perfectly hear conversation more than 100 yards away. And, it seems that the sailors are drinking, even though alcohol is prohibited on the lake. When the boat starts up after "anchoring," a puff of blue smoke and engine fumes waft across the lake and the engine fumes follow it along as it sails slowly across the lake, causing coughing by a kayaker in the wake. The boat is out on most days or evenings, usually with a group of boisterous people. For me, and perhaps only me, the boat is as in-congruent to the spirit of Lake Jeanette as a car graveyard would be in Yellowstone National Park. I think most of us in the Lake Jeanette community value the beauty of the lake, or quiet fishing on the lake, or just appreciate the conservation area around it. A few, maybe many, would probably rather have the lake as a loud floating sports bar with the roar of jet skis and ski boats. I was disheartened yesterday when I found out that the owner of the attention grabbing pirate boat is none other than the lake's owner. I do not know the owner or anything about him and his son who are the officers in the LLC that bought the lake. They probably are great people and definitely like to have fun. But, nonetheless, I have felt like on other days that the boat, the noise, and the pollution associated with it, are akin to a landlord having skateboarding tournaments and an open bar in the hallways of an apartment building they own. I mean they own the building. But, the water, unlike the tenant, truly has nowhere else to go. I am saddened by the bird and insect populations declining around the lake (and globally). And I mourn the absence of few cormorant couples who used to summer here. These are absences that sometimes leave me empty. Some absences, though, can help a spirit smile- such as a boat not sailing. The pirate boat did not sail on this night. My spirit smiled a bit brighter under the muted glow of the Skypainter's subtle painting, and only hearing, mostly, the calling and singing of birds. The absence of the boat was appreciated. I am grateful. June 17, 2024
I find peace, reflection, and better ways to understand indigenous people's ways of knowing when I kayak on Lake Jeanette, where I live. Lake Jeanette has a Skypainter that rewards us almost nightly with dynamic and awe inspiring art. The Skypainter was on a roll last night on Friday, June 14 2024 (all five pictures are from last night) I was emotionally up and down. Up was not complicated. Lots of beauty, a few great blue herons, and about fifteen species of birds singing, lots of fish jumping, and lush vegetation around the lake. Down was more complicated. The lake has lost some residents perhaps a harbinger for the future. The 4-6 pair of cormorants that used the lake for their summer vacation didn't stay this year but kept migrating northward. The Mallard population is about a 10th of what it was, but is probably because a neighbor stopped feeding a whole colony. I haven't seen a Kingfisher this year. There definitely seems to be an insect apocalypse. We leave our door open for the dogs and virtually no insects come in, albeit a few mosquitoes of tasted my blood. The shores are eroding, and many large trees will be falling into the lake in the near future. Lake Jeanette is an artificial lake but when it was built by Cone Mills they apparently left a 75 ft. buffer zone around the lake as a conservation area. When the area around the lake was developed the buffer zone was kept intact. Since it is not managed, invasive species are moving and large trees fall into the water as the shore erodes. But, on the other hand, the forest surrounding the lake cannot be cut and is home to a lot of birds and wildlife despite many lakefront house owners wanting to cut them down so they have a better view of the lake. The lake also does not allow jet skis or speed boats (or swimming). So, for someone like me, who was transformed a bit by reading Braiding Sweetgrass, going out on the lake in a self-propelled kayak is a chance for me to express gratitude for the water and all of the organisms that let me share the lake with them. And, it is also just a chance to feel a part of "nature" not just a user of it. Although there are no super loud and fast boats on the lake, there are pontoon boats and fishing boats. Last night there was one pontoon boat where people were having a birthday celebration with loud music and alcohol, and where the captain felt it was fun to drive the boat full throttle piercing the silence and sending a wake that just speeds up erosion on the edge. There were several pairs or groups of people fishing on the lake. Several had loud music playing (like the sound of nature isn't enough?) and thus had to yell to talk to each other. This carries across the lake so you can hear every word of their conversation. Not everyone appreciates the sounds of nature or silence. Another person took two pontoon boats and tied them together. On one of the pontoons they built an unattractive shelter. Put down Astroturf carpet, leather chairs, a large fern plant to create a living room. The person is also apparently fond of pirates so has two pirate flags, including a skull and bones) on a 16 foot pole. And on the back of the shelter hangs a another flag with human bones. The person was stopped right in front of our dock as I returned from kayak on Thursday night. They started their engine and a plume of blue smoke came out as the driver pounded a beer. For me the lake is all about "life". A boat with symbols of death all over it felt incongruous. I am not sure how much longer the lake will be safe from loud gasoline engines or whether it will become a party lake like the Lake of the Ozarks. Don Henley wrote "They call it paradise; I don't know why; You call someplace paradise; Kiss it goodbye." Fortunately, the Skypainter still puts on beautiful shows most nights. The herons still share the lake with me. The squirrels and racoons f*ck with our bird feeders, and lots of birds keep singing. And, the fish keep jumping. For that and them, I am so grateful. July 3, 2023
The Lake Jeanette skypainter displayed another masterpiece of light and color this evening. Powerful and calming. On a different note, somewhere between 4-10 pairs of cormorants summered here in 2021 and 2022, perhaps because they, too, were addicted to the beauty of Lake Jeanette.. No cormorants made the choice to separate from their migrating flock and hand with us on the lake in summer 2023. There were probably 1,000 cormorants that seemed joyous at their favorite rest stop here during their long spring migration journey, but everyone left. My Jewish Grandmother might have said to them as they continued on with the migration, "what, you don't like the food?" What do cormorants know that I don't about summer 2023? I hope their absence is not a harbinger of something bad. .June 16, 2023
I kayaked today before sunset, so didn’t view the skypainter’s nightly art show. Yet sunset was pretty cool from the yard- the sun’s spirit focused on Lake Jeanette like a laser (no, the iPhone 8 photo was not touched up). The herons have been gracious in accepting my gratitude- even connecting eye to eye and allowing me to get close. It was a week for wildlife on our short nature trail. A large red tail hawk perched on a rail ten feet in front of us as we approached. Annie and Halley had their first chance to meet a painted turtle up close and personal. Peace was maintained. Annie shed her age at the sight and smell of a deer family. Particularly the doe that stood on the trail watching us. A large copperhead was lounging or hunting by the side of trail and a large water snake has taken residence on that same side of the trail. Copperheads aren’t really scary unless you try to kill them or step on them. Snakes are cool. They are a great example that evolution doesn’t always add - losing limbs appears to have evolved several times. It is amazing what can happen when developmental control genes are turned on and off. There are 6 different birds singing now, and I am enjoying a glass of scotch from the deck as dusk settles. The sounds of silence are louder, but are still interrupted by screaming kids at a swim club across the lake and my neighbor's HVAC compressor that needs a tune up. Nonetheless, I am feeling more connected to my spirit then I have for a while. Annie and Halley are out enjoying the physical and spiritual beauty too. March 7, 2023
This morning, an extraordinary event unfolded at Lake Jeanette. It seemed as if the sky and the lake were engaged in a mystical union, giving rise to an intriguing question: What would their offspring resemble? Occasionally, I perceive the universe attempting to communicate with me, yet deciphering its messages can be perplexing. It requires practice and attentiveness. One interpretation could be that the reflected sky in the lake served as a powerful metaphor for climate change. Alternatively, it might symbolize the demise of a poorly managed organization, similar to the one I am employed in. Furthermore, it could be a celestial indication that diving into the lake grants the freedom of a skydiver, while kayaking effortlessly evokes a sensation of soaring through the clouds. Alternatively, it might simply be another message urging me to pay closer attention, like a resounding "Wake the f**k up!" Regardless of its meaning, this occurrence marked a captivating episode in the ongoing series at Lake Jeanette: Reflections are beautiful; Reflections are profound; reflections are a way the universe talks to you. While fully engrossed in this spectacle, I happened upon a moss preparing for reproduction (though not depicted). This sight caused me to lag behind Annie, who had grown weary of the natural aromas and returned to the house for her morning milk bone. The morning nature trail always holds something to convey—I only wish I dedicated more time to listening. The universe's discourse did not cease at the lake; it continued its chatter within the confines of the driveway as I opened my car door. I felt sort of whole looking at are cherry tree, located near my parking spot, which stood in full bloom. I took a moment to listen, and to my delight, I was serenaded by a symphony of songs from eleven distinct bird species. When I looked up, I spied a striking male cardinal perched on a cherry branch nestled within the tree's core, its vibrant scarlet plumage contrasting with delicate pink flowers. How did I ever take these sights and sounds for granted? It is regrettable that we become so consumed by our own concerns that we cease to listen, observe, and truly feel. Today, my angst dissipated as I contemplated the sight of the sky descending into the lake, accompanied by a harmonious and resplendent chorus from the descendants of dinosaurs we share the planet with. November 12, 2022
With the time change, I don’t get to attend as many immersive art shows by the Skypainter. Tonight was an exception, I am sitting on our deck with a smooth glass of bourbon. I feel sad that tribalism trumps (no pun intended) honest debates: that derision is now the preferred way to deal with disagreement; labeling people is a way to not have to listen to them; and that dishonest narcissists feel entitled to lead government, business or academe. And, I am even sadder because few people seem to care. When did the ends start justifying the means? And why do our tribal instincts make mediocrity so easy to embrace? The skypainter just ended tonight’s show. Time to get distracted by something else now, and hopefully for a while. |
October 13, 2022
Although it was more cloudy today than yesterday, reflection is still the theme that greeted me, Adele, Annie and Halley on our daily visit to our backyard and nature trail by Lake Jeanette.
There is something profound in the two pictures above . One is the actual view. The other is the actual view turned 90 or 270 degrees (I am not telling you which one because it would tell you which side of the photo is real and which is reflection). The profundity arises for me in that the perspective of the picture truly affects how one differentiates "reality" from reflection.
So, can you tell which side is real and which side is reflection?
If you are a good Zen Buddhist (or probably more if you stayed at a Holiday Inn Express last night and read a popular book on Zen Buddhism) you will say "neither", which is a fine answer.
And, if you are a theoretical physicist or a philosopher, you might remind me that even by the time this image reached my camera lens it was already way in the past, at least from the perspective of atomic particles. So, you might dismiss any profundity I found in my photos as the musings of a nitwit. (which being a nitwit is probably true, but there are much better ways to classify me that way than the musings on these photos).
And then the philosopher might follow up with a question of whether the past is real and whether this image of reflection has any meaning at all.
At this point, the 16-17 year old version of me would have eagerly engaged with the philosopher and stayed up all night talking with him/her/they about the meaning of these perspectives and exploring objective reality, quantum physics, relativity and how that all of these ideas of how humans can never actually be in the moment (by the time we sense or observe anything it is in the past), somehow explained my sense of isolation. And, that all of my peers who I felt outcast from were too stupid to see it because they were worrying about their own relationships, partying, proms, playing football, or whatever. Of course, this just made me feel more isolated and outcast. But, hey, I was deeper.
The 61 year old version of me just tries to absorb the beauty of nature and find some meaning, or connection, or joy to reflect on. Being a high functioning Aspy, I still feel pretty isolated in human society. But, If I am successful at paying attention to my surroundings. If I remember to feel and express gratitude for being part of this all encompassing energy we call nature. And, if I remember that I am a very recent product of evolution relative to the trees in this photo whose lineage goes back several hundred million years before mine, and who have so much to teach me, then I find myself becoming lighter and connected to something bigger.
I like to think my 61 year old self has gained some wisdom, albeit still flawed.
Although it was more cloudy today than yesterday, reflection is still the theme that greeted me, Adele, Annie and Halley on our daily visit to our backyard and nature trail by Lake Jeanette.
There is something profound in the two pictures above . One is the actual view. The other is the actual view turned 90 or 270 degrees (I am not telling you which one because it would tell you which side of the photo is real and which is reflection). The profundity arises for me in that the perspective of the picture truly affects how one differentiates "reality" from reflection.
So, can you tell which side is real and which side is reflection?
If you are a good Zen Buddhist (or probably more if you stayed at a Holiday Inn Express last night and read a popular book on Zen Buddhism) you will say "neither", which is a fine answer.
And, if you are a theoretical physicist or a philosopher, you might remind me that even by the time this image reached my camera lens it was already way in the past, at least from the perspective of atomic particles. So, you might dismiss any profundity I found in my photos as the musings of a nitwit. (which being a nitwit is probably true, but there are much better ways to classify me that way than the musings on these photos).
And then the philosopher might follow up with a question of whether the past is real and whether this image of reflection has any meaning at all.
At this point, the 16-17 year old version of me would have eagerly engaged with the philosopher and stayed up all night talking with him/her/they about the meaning of these perspectives and exploring objective reality, quantum physics, relativity and how that all of these ideas of how humans can never actually be in the moment (by the time we sense or observe anything it is in the past), somehow explained my sense of isolation. And, that all of my peers who I felt outcast from were too stupid to see it because they were worrying about their own relationships, partying, proms, playing football, or whatever. Of course, this just made me feel more isolated and outcast. But, hey, I was deeper.
The 61 year old version of me just tries to absorb the beauty of nature and find some meaning, or connection, or joy to reflect on. Being a high functioning Aspy, I still feel pretty isolated in human society. But, If I am successful at paying attention to my surroundings. If I remember to feel and express gratitude for being part of this all encompassing energy we call nature. And, if I remember that I am a very recent product of evolution relative to the trees in this photo whose lineage goes back several hundred million years before mine, and who have so much to teach me, then I find myself becoming lighter and connected to something bigger.
I like to think my 61 year old self has gained some wisdom, albeit still flawed.
October 11, 2022. This morning's daily dog walk on the nature trail behind our house was both stunning and reflective (literally and figuratively).
The combining of morning light with H2O, and plant pigments creates visual beauty, while at the same time making up and down a single dimension.
That has to be a powerful metaphor, though I haven't thought of one yet.
Here a toast to the magic of when photons, anthocyanins, and the healing waters of Lake Jeanette align with time.
The combining of morning light with H2O, and plant pigments creates visual beauty, while at the same time making up and down a single dimension.
That has to be a powerful metaphor, though I haven't thought of one yet.
Here a toast to the magic of when photons, anthocyanins, and the healing waters of Lake Jeanette align with time.
October 9, 2022.
It had been several weeks since I kayaked. Sunday was the perfect Fall day, and with Fall Break, I have two days off from teaching this week.
I had forgotten how spiritually renewing it is to be out on the lake, slowing down and paying attention, and expressing gratitude to the birds, trees and shrubs. It concerned me how quickly I had given way to daily life, forgoing paying attention to the universe's beauty (both visually, and in evolution), It was a good reminder.
Slowing down to take in the emerging fall colors reminded me how amazing the annual process of plants reabsorbing the components of chlorophyll, thereby expressing their pallet of anthocyanins, betalains, carotenoids, and others. The pictures of sweetgum below are interesting as sweetgum leaves can express a range of colors from deep, deep red, to orange, to yellow- all on the same plant.
A great blue heron, kingfisher, osprey and lone cormorant (who I bet is my friend recovering from a wing injury),and a small group of mallards, were my companions out on the lake. And, by staying still and listening, I heard bird calls that I had been missing over the last few weeks. These included: blue jay, American crow, yellow-rumped warbler, white-breasted nuthatch, American goldfinch, red-bellied woodpecker, Carolina wren, House finch, Northern cardinal, and Northern flicker.
And, of course I kayaked around saying "thank you" to all these birds for sharing the lake, and the trees and shrubs for sharing their color.
And, I sang from my soul that verse from Terrapin Station I always sing.. "Inspiration, move me brightly. Light the song with sense and color...."
How can I let myself go through days and not notice evolution's miracles around me?
I came out of the High Holiday season feeling good that I kept my loved ones who left this life alive in my memories. And, I recognized that Yom Kippur can not absolve me from personal animosities. And, I thought about tzedakah- acted on it to the universe, but also wanted to act on it to individuals as a way to resolve mutual animus.
I am tired of anger. So, I offered all of those who hurt me so badly since arriving in GSO, my desire to make a charitable donation in their name to a charity of their choice. That was declined. I suspect for "legal reasons" rather than personal animosity, but I don't know. Making the offer was healing.
If you haven't- slow down for a few minutes and just look, listen and smell. Humans are very young on this earth and there is so much to learn from other organisms and so much to remind us that we are part of an intricate and interwoven system well beyond ourselves or our species.
It had been several weeks since I kayaked. Sunday was the perfect Fall day, and with Fall Break, I have two days off from teaching this week.
I had forgotten how spiritually renewing it is to be out on the lake, slowing down and paying attention, and expressing gratitude to the birds, trees and shrubs. It concerned me how quickly I had given way to daily life, forgoing paying attention to the universe's beauty (both visually, and in evolution), It was a good reminder.
Slowing down to take in the emerging fall colors reminded me how amazing the annual process of plants reabsorbing the components of chlorophyll, thereby expressing their pallet of anthocyanins, betalains, carotenoids, and others. The pictures of sweetgum below are interesting as sweetgum leaves can express a range of colors from deep, deep red, to orange, to yellow- all on the same plant.
A great blue heron, kingfisher, osprey and lone cormorant (who I bet is my friend recovering from a wing injury),and a small group of mallards, were my companions out on the lake. And, by staying still and listening, I heard bird calls that I had been missing over the last few weeks. These included: blue jay, American crow, yellow-rumped warbler, white-breasted nuthatch, American goldfinch, red-bellied woodpecker, Carolina wren, House finch, Northern cardinal, and Northern flicker.
And, of course I kayaked around saying "thank you" to all these birds for sharing the lake, and the trees and shrubs for sharing their color.
And, I sang from my soul that verse from Terrapin Station I always sing.. "Inspiration, move me brightly. Light the song with sense and color...."
How can I let myself go through days and not notice evolution's miracles around me?
I came out of the High Holiday season feeling good that I kept my loved ones who left this life alive in my memories. And, I recognized that Yom Kippur can not absolve me from personal animosities. And, I thought about tzedakah- acted on it to the universe, but also wanted to act on it to individuals as a way to resolve mutual animus.
I am tired of anger. So, I offered all of those who hurt me so badly since arriving in GSO, my desire to make a charitable donation in their name to a charity of their choice. That was declined. I suspect for "legal reasons" rather than personal animosity, but I don't know. Making the offer was healing.
If you haven't- slow down for a few minutes and just look, listen and smell. Humans are very young on this earth and there is so much to learn from other organisms and so much to remind us that we are part of an intricate and interwoven system well beyond ourselves or our species.
October 4, 2022. This morning's Lake Jeanette Skypainter's masterpiece of light, reflection, illusions of color, surface mist, contrasted by a thumb over the corner of the lens, must have a metaphor worth pondering @ Kol Nidre this PM.(may we be released from vows & obligations made unintentionally or under duress this past year), before committing to being a better person.
I am looking forward to Yitzkor this evening (to honor my parents by giving tzedakah [charity] in their memory, on the theory that the good deeds of the survivors elevate the souls of the departed. And as a personal atonement by and action of love and kindness.)
Over the last couple of years, with my career burning and arising like a metaphorical phoenix (the phoenix is a bird that cyclically burns to death and is reborn from its own ashes.), Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur have become a spiritually necessary time of reflection, atonement and commitment for me.
I will think of the Phoenix tonight and tomorrow who serves as a symbol of renewal and rebirth. I will remember the Lake Jeanette skypainter, who on a daily basis puts a spotlight on beauty in the world and it organisms, and promise myself to never forget to pay attention to the messages that nature sends us through the skypainter, and through organisms such as ravens (and fish crows- I have grown to love fish crows and their call "uh-uh), great blue herons ,cormorants and ospreys.
These glimpses of nature's power entered my life on Lake Jeanette, taught me stop, look, ask, listen and express gratitude to live in and share in a world where the power of evolution is revealed everywhere we decide to look - I mean really look.
L'shanah tovah tikatev v'taihatem. (may you and yours be inscribed and sealed [in the Book of Life] for a good and sweet new year.)
with a somewhat lost spirit, and a hope my repaired compass can help me find my way
June 27 2022: I will always remember this day for reflection and reciprocity.
First, the photos I posted on FACEBOOK show the skypainter's skill in immersive art- changing colors, shapes, shadows and reflections. The first photo is roughly an hour before the last photo. There are no filters or edits used. You might just want to stop reading here and check out the photos
With respect to reflection- not only were the reflections of light on the water extraordinary, but there was also so much to reflect on- my own inner empty spaces, but also the horror of the SCOTUS rulings, the Jan 6th hearings, the war in Ukraine and what, if anything I can do. But, also reflections of the beauty and spirit of nature.
Reciprocity was also on my mind. The lack of it in our day to day lives, but it’s abundance on Lake Jeanette.
Tonight was a good night. I felt such gratitude for the heron and the osprey that flew above me. I also felt it for the singing of frogs and birds, for insects peppering the calm lake surface, and for the mallards that have completed their mating season, hanging around by the lake surface in large groups like teenagers at a keg party
And gratitude and reciprocity enveloped me when I saw my cormorant friend (who was injured last fall) once again perched on the same branch about two feet above the water. As I always do, I talk to it relaying how happy I am to see it, and thanking it for sharing the lake with me. I also take that moment to reflect on its survival as a metaphor for resilience.
The other night and today, when I blurted out how happy I was to see him/her, it waved a tail feather at me (twice tonight) something it never did before and a action that truly looked like a wave of recognition. Then, as I kayaked by, being careful not to invade its safe zone, it reared up, flapped its wings 2 or 3 times but did not fly off.
It truly felt like it was showing me that the injured wing was healed. I know it sounds crazy and coincidental. But, it felt in the moment like a spiritual breakthrough - a reciprocal appreciation that comes with jus t paying attention to life, color, shapes, shadows and reflections around you and taking the time feel and express gratitude for the natural world. This world envelops all of us all the time, yet is invisible unless we take the time and energy to look.
First, the photos I posted on FACEBOOK show the skypainter's skill in immersive art- changing colors, shapes, shadows and reflections. The first photo is roughly an hour before the last photo. There are no filters or edits used. You might just want to stop reading here and check out the photos
With respect to reflection- not only were the reflections of light on the water extraordinary, but there was also so much to reflect on- my own inner empty spaces, but also the horror of the SCOTUS rulings, the Jan 6th hearings, the war in Ukraine and what, if anything I can do. But, also reflections of the beauty and spirit of nature.
Reciprocity was also on my mind. The lack of it in our day to day lives, but it’s abundance on Lake Jeanette.
Tonight was a good night. I felt such gratitude for the heron and the osprey that flew above me. I also felt it for the singing of frogs and birds, for insects peppering the calm lake surface, and for the mallards that have completed their mating season, hanging around by the lake surface in large groups like teenagers at a keg party
And gratitude and reciprocity enveloped me when I saw my cormorant friend (who was injured last fall) once again perched on the same branch about two feet above the water. As I always do, I talk to it relaying how happy I am to see it, and thanking it for sharing the lake with me. I also take that moment to reflect on its survival as a metaphor for resilience.
The other night and today, when I blurted out how happy I was to see him/her, it waved a tail feather at me (twice tonight) something it never did before and a action that truly looked like a wave of recognition. Then, as I kayaked by, being careful not to invade its safe zone, it reared up, flapped its wings 2 or 3 times but did not fly off.
It truly felt like it was showing me that the injured wing was healed. I know it sounds crazy and coincidental. But, it felt in the moment like a spiritual breakthrough - a reciprocal appreciation that comes with jus t paying attention to life, color, shapes, shadows and reflections around you and taking the time feel and express gratitude for the natural world. This world envelops all of us all the time, yet is invisible unless we take the time and energy to look.
6/18/2022 I found the energy tonight to slip out of the chains of depression and the dead weight of ennui, grab my kayak, carry it down to the lake, drop it off the dock, flop into the seat and paddle away.
The weather on this evening was cool and dry reminding me of a an evening in Reno or Flagstaff. The sky was cloudless, and the Skypainter must have taken a break, or started partying for Father’s Day early, as the colors were so subtle as almost be invisible.
My ennui melted when I paddled around the corner and saw a pair of cormorants perched high in a tall dead tree they call their own, with one appearing golden in the light of the setting sun. Cormorants in this tree at dusk is a reminder to me that something is right in the world. Last year there for 4 or 5 pairs that watched over me as a kayaked by. This year, there seems to be only a single pair. I had never seen a cormorant with a golden glow in the light of a sunset before- as if it truly was an angel.
A spark ignited my spirit, when after looking up at my cormorant, I realized I was drifting toward the shore. As I righted my kayak, I saw a great blue heron regally standing on the shore ten feet in front of me. I thanked it for sharing the lake and it reciprocated by letting me get close and not flying away right away, and when it did take off into flight, it did so without a pissed off squawk- there is something beautiful watching a heron glide effortlessly just over the surface of a lake.
Then, 50 yards further down the lake, my beacon of hope, the cormorant who has survived with an injured wing for over a year, was perched on his/her branch a foot or two above the water- and he/she has been on that branch every night I kayak at dusk, since we first met. Although this sounds weird, I feel so happy every time I see this bird and am reminded about what it means to be resilient. And, today it seemed to reciprocate my joy in our meeting.
Then, 10 yards further down the lake, an Osprey perched above me on a sturdy branch of an oak tree, The raptor took to the air with the ease of a hockey puck sliding on ice. I had a front row seat to the grace and beauty of this modern dinosaur.
The sounds of silence were ethereal tonight. The peacefulness of the moment enveloped me. And, I was glad I had slipped out of the grasp of depression and ennui, at least for an hour.
Tomorrow is another day with another set of emotions. My emotions today are not independent of the emotions I had yesterday, or the day before yesterday, and so on. But, the chemistry behind them is plastic and can change each day in a way that feels independent of yesterday, even if the independence is only an illusion.
I can only hope that the grasp of the kidnappers who held my spirit captive today. will weaken tomorrow, making it easier for me to follow mother nature's recovery plan.
The weather on this evening was cool and dry reminding me of a an evening in Reno or Flagstaff. The sky was cloudless, and the Skypainter must have taken a break, or started partying for Father’s Day early, as the colors were so subtle as almost be invisible.
My ennui melted when I paddled around the corner and saw a pair of cormorants perched high in a tall dead tree they call their own, with one appearing golden in the light of the setting sun. Cormorants in this tree at dusk is a reminder to me that something is right in the world. Last year there for 4 or 5 pairs that watched over me as a kayaked by. This year, there seems to be only a single pair. I had never seen a cormorant with a golden glow in the light of a sunset before- as if it truly was an angel.
A spark ignited my spirit, when after looking up at my cormorant, I realized I was drifting toward the shore. As I righted my kayak, I saw a great blue heron regally standing on the shore ten feet in front of me. I thanked it for sharing the lake and it reciprocated by letting me get close and not flying away right away, and when it did take off into flight, it did so without a pissed off squawk- there is something beautiful watching a heron glide effortlessly just over the surface of a lake.
Then, 50 yards further down the lake, my beacon of hope, the cormorant who has survived with an injured wing for over a year, was perched on his/her branch a foot or two above the water- and he/she has been on that branch every night I kayak at dusk, since we first met. Although this sounds weird, I feel so happy every time I see this bird and am reminded about what it means to be resilient. And, today it seemed to reciprocate my joy in our meeting.
Then, 10 yards further down the lake, an Osprey perched above me on a sturdy branch of an oak tree, The raptor took to the air with the ease of a hockey puck sliding on ice. I had a front row seat to the grace and beauty of this modern dinosaur.
The sounds of silence were ethereal tonight. The peacefulness of the moment enveloped me. And, I was glad I had slipped out of the grasp of depression and ennui, at least for an hour.
Tomorrow is another day with another set of emotions. My emotions today are not independent of the emotions I had yesterday, or the day before yesterday, and so on. But, the chemistry behind them is plastic and can change each day in a way that feels independent of yesterday, even if the independence is only an illusion.
I can only hope that the grasp of the kidnappers who held my spirit captive today. will weaken tomorrow, making it easier for me to follow mother nature's recovery plan.
6/9/22 The Lake Jeanette skypainter was in a minimalist mood tonight. Nonetheless, even with choppy water, and subtle color, I am so grateful to have a place in my backyard that feeds and calms my spirit. All I need to do is carry my kayak about 15 yards to the lake, flop into it from the dock, and then paddle away into a different, spiritual universe.
Depression has a way of convincing you not to bother to do such simple things that keep it at bay. I won that battle with it tonight
Depression has a way of convincing you not to bother to do such simple things that keep it at bay. I won that battle with it tonight
5/28/22 An extraordinary evening on Lake Jeanette. The light this time of day is magic. And, the sun’s reflection off the lake through the darkness of the leaves is a wonderful metaphor for something.
In the words of Bob Dylan.. “May you always know the truth and see the light surrounding you”
In the words of Bob Dylan.. “May you always know the truth and see the light surrounding you”
4/22/22 For those that know my situation at work, I can report that my quest for the Holy Grail of justice has ended. The troll would not let us pass over the bridge of death that leads to the grail. Instead of being victorious like King Arthur, I feel like the Black Knight, who after all his limbs were chopped off by King Arthur, asserts “let’s call it draw”.
So, it is time to move forward. And, I finally overcame the power of inertia and carried my kayak and paddled into my happy place.
If u followed me last fall, you may remember the cormorant with a broken wing that greeted me every evening from his/her perch on a branch hanging about two feet over the water, while the other cormorants in the group perched on the top branches of a tall old tree about 50 yards north.
Tonight, when I paddled around the corner, my friend was there, clearly having survived the winter. He/she has demonstrated the definition of resilience
It was inspirational to paddle up to a heron, loudly thanking it for sharing the lake, and asking if it was ok to paddle by. The answer appeared to be “yes”, so I paddled by about 25 feet away turned around and paddled back and the heron posed for a picture, and did not fly away and squawk loudly at me. This reminded me of the spiritual lessons I took away from Braiding Sweetgrass.
The lake was still but alive with a symphony of music from members of the only lineage of dinosaurs that survived through the Cretaceous-tertiary transition.
The musicians playing their parts with virtuosity when I took a short video included Eastern Kingbirds, Eastern Towhees, cardinals, chimney swifts, robins and finches producing the soothing sounds of nature. I was deaf to this symphony until last year.
I also savored the strange greeting from catbirds as a pulled up to dock.
There was joy in watching a beaver who swam in front of me. And, I took comfort in observing and listening to the Mallards and Geese as they acted out their Spring rituals.
The skypainter created a very subtle painting this evening that was calming and powerful.
I was glad to be back in my happy place. My injured spirit began to heal. And, I once again paddled home singing loudly a verse from Terrapin Station- inspiration, move me brightly, light the song with sense and color, hold away despair..
So, it is time to move forward. And, I finally overcame the power of inertia and carried my kayak and paddled into my happy place.
If u followed me last fall, you may remember the cormorant with a broken wing that greeted me every evening from his/her perch on a branch hanging about two feet over the water, while the other cormorants in the group perched on the top branches of a tall old tree about 50 yards north.
Tonight, when I paddled around the corner, my friend was there, clearly having survived the winter. He/she has demonstrated the definition of resilience
It was inspirational to paddle up to a heron, loudly thanking it for sharing the lake, and asking if it was ok to paddle by. The answer appeared to be “yes”, so I paddled by about 25 feet away turned around and paddled back and the heron posed for a picture, and did not fly away and squawk loudly at me. This reminded me of the spiritual lessons I took away from Braiding Sweetgrass.
The lake was still but alive with a symphony of music from members of the only lineage of dinosaurs that survived through the Cretaceous-tertiary transition.
The musicians playing their parts with virtuosity when I took a short video included Eastern Kingbirds, Eastern Towhees, cardinals, chimney swifts, robins and finches producing the soothing sounds of nature. I was deaf to this symphony until last year.
I also savored the strange greeting from catbirds as a pulled up to dock.
There was joy in watching a beaver who swam in front of me. And, I took comfort in observing and listening to the Mallards and Geese as they acted out their Spring rituals.
The skypainter created a very subtle painting this evening that was calming and powerful.
I was glad to be back in my happy place. My injured spirit began to heal. And, I once again paddled home singing loudly a verse from Terrapin Station- inspiration, move me brightly, light the song with sense and color, hold away despair..
12/24/2021. Christmas Eve in our backyard at Lake Jeanette (no filter or touch up). Another artistic masterpiece by the sky painter. Glad to live here.
Has me singing,
Inspiration, move me brightly
Light the song with sense and color
Hold away despair……
Has me singing,
Inspiration, move me brightly
Light the song with sense and color
Hold away despair……
11/13/2021
Here is the view from our Lake Jeanette guest room and deck this morning. The guest room is waiting for you!
The universe paints so beautifully in Fall using nothing but the reflection of light in the atmosphere and secondary pigments of plant leaves. It is too bad it does that painting in its own version of snapchat, where it is only viewable for a short time. and then disappears into the ether returning a year later.
There is a spiritual piece to this beauty that I think is encrypted. To access the key, one has to breathe, pay attention, and accept one's place in the grand scheme of things...and one who lives on the lake, needs to go kayak in the wind and the sun later this afternoon and thank the herons and cormorants for sharing their homes with me.
Here is the view from our Lake Jeanette guest room and deck this morning. The guest room is waiting for you!
The universe paints so beautifully in Fall using nothing but the reflection of light in the atmosphere and secondary pigments of plant leaves. It is too bad it does that painting in its own version of snapchat, where it is only viewable for a short time. and then disappears into the ether returning a year later.
There is a spiritual piece to this beauty that I think is encrypted. To access the key, one has to breathe, pay attention, and accept one's place in the grand scheme of things...and one who lives on the lake, needs to go kayak in the wind and the sun later this afternoon and thank the herons and cormorants for sharing their homes with me.
11/7/21. It was a monochromatic Fall day on Lake Jeanette yesterday. The wind was angry, reverberating into emotional waves on the water surface. Their energy literally rocked my lonely kayak, and figuratively fed the ups and downs of my soul. The rocking of the kayak, on the empty lake, in the angry wind, made me think of Gordon Lightfoot singing "Lake Superior they said never gives up its dead"- perhaps a bit of an over exaggeration for the surface of Lake Jeanette, but then an apropos thought on grey fall day.
Although not captured well in my one multi-chromatic picture below, the lake is now rimmed with maples, tupelos and sweet gums who have reabsorbed the nitrogen in their chlorophyll paving the way for the prettiest purple, red, orange and yellow pigments that glow against the grey sky.
There is always something spiritual on Lake Jeanette-- and I needed the monchromatic peacefulness, rocking of the boat, and challenging paddle to pierce a hole in a lingering bout of depression and anger that my law suit remains unsettled. It worked at least for an afternoon. And (for those of you that followed the tale of the injured cormorant), I filled up with joy when rounding the bend, paddling parallel to the choppy waves (a bad idea), to see that my injured cormorant soul mate was still hanging out on the branch a few feet above the water. Today, and for the first time in the several months that we encountered each other, the cormorant was also joined by two other cormorants. I felt joy in knowing that not only was my "friend" still alive, but that it was not alone and not abandoned by its flock. And, I wondered whether they will stay together and grit it out with me through a Greensboro winter.
The other two cormorants were not particularly happy to see me, or at least they chose to fly off and swim in the water 100 yards away when I approached. But, my injured soul mate remained on the branch, flapped its wings a few times in vein, leading me to choose to believe that we each celebrated the fact that our encounters haven't ceased.
One can't help but feel spiritually enriched when kayaking on a crisp, beautiful Fall day, under a tar heel blue sky, and the glow of plant secondary pigments of reds, purples, oranges and yellows ablaze in the light of the sun, contrasting perfectly against the blue palette.
But, that wasn't yesterday. Nonetheless, there is an equal, if not stronger, raw power of allowing oneself to be enveloped in a monochromatic fall day, while navigating the angry wind and the choppy water, alone, other than an injured friend. Together they reminded me that there is power in the Yin and Yang of it all, in the contrast of vibrant color and cool grayness, and in the perseverance of a cormorant that speaks to hope. One hears the truly best sermons when one simply pays attention to nature.
Although not captured well in my one multi-chromatic picture below, the lake is now rimmed with maples, tupelos and sweet gums who have reabsorbed the nitrogen in their chlorophyll paving the way for the prettiest purple, red, orange and yellow pigments that glow against the grey sky.
There is always something spiritual on Lake Jeanette-- and I needed the monchromatic peacefulness, rocking of the boat, and challenging paddle to pierce a hole in a lingering bout of depression and anger that my law suit remains unsettled. It worked at least for an afternoon. And (for those of you that followed the tale of the injured cormorant), I filled up with joy when rounding the bend, paddling parallel to the choppy waves (a bad idea), to see that my injured cormorant soul mate was still hanging out on the branch a few feet above the water. Today, and for the first time in the several months that we encountered each other, the cormorant was also joined by two other cormorants. I felt joy in knowing that not only was my "friend" still alive, but that it was not alone and not abandoned by its flock. And, I wondered whether they will stay together and grit it out with me through a Greensboro winter.
The other two cormorants were not particularly happy to see me, or at least they chose to fly off and swim in the water 100 yards away when I approached. But, my injured soul mate remained on the branch, flapped its wings a few times in vein, leading me to choose to believe that we each celebrated the fact that our encounters haven't ceased.
One can't help but feel spiritually enriched when kayaking on a crisp, beautiful Fall day, under a tar heel blue sky, and the glow of plant secondary pigments of reds, purples, oranges and yellows ablaze in the light of the sun, contrasting perfectly against the blue palette.
But, that wasn't yesterday. Nonetheless, there is an equal, if not stronger, raw power of allowing oneself to be enveloped in a monochromatic fall day, while navigating the angry wind and the choppy water, alone, other than an injured friend. Together they reminded me that there is power in the Yin and Yang of it all, in the contrast of vibrant color and cool grayness, and in the perseverance of a cormorant that speaks to hope. One hears the truly best sermons when one simply pays attention to nature.
10/24/21. It was great getting back into the kayak on Lake Jeanette yesterday afternoon. It has been a while since I have kayaked in the afternoon. It was beautiful-- especially as the secondary pigments (here's to anthocyanins and carotenoids and many secondary pigments) in leaves are now getting to shine in the wake of the degradation of chlorophyll.
I have grown addicted to the spiritual calming of these adventures as anger and angst have been bubbling in my soul like stomach acid does when one feels heartburn.
I have yet to learn all of the trees by name (despite my forestry background), but the birds have become good friends. The group of 14 cormorants or so have not yet migrated, were there to greet me on Thursday night from their perch high above in a tree. And, my cormorant friend with the broken wing is still alive and able to perch every evening on his branch a couple of feet above the water. Each time I see that bird as I turn the corner of the lake, I have hope.
I love Fall. There is something real about this season. As if, the costume of green that covers leaves and provides for our food and oxygen, gives way to the core colors that define our souls. The colors reflect so perfectly on the water stirring reflection. There is something peaceful yet sad about the growing season coming to an end.
On this morning's walk we heard no less than 17 birds species (well, the king fisher I saw yesterday afternoon and the barred Owl was asking me who? last night). These descendants of dinosaurs are amazing. I am so thankful for Braiding Sweetgrass for getting me to listen and really pay attention to all this wonder that is around me.
Here is the bird list (thank you Merlin).
Red shouldered hawk
Downey woodpecker
Blue Jay
Eastern Towhee
White breasted nuthatch
American crow
Fish crow
White throated sparrow
Carolina wren
House finch
Northern cardinal
Canada Goose
Purple finch
Red Bellied Woodpecker
Mourning Dove
Belted Kingfisher (yesterday on the lake)
Barred Owl (last night)
Yes..I sang loudly while kayaking... (there were no other boats on the lake and one of the joys of Lake Jeanette, no jet skis, no ski boats, only pontoon boars and those with small engines- a recreational kayaker's paradise)
Inspiration move me brightly
Light the song with sense and color
Hold away despair
This is all I ask
Faced with mysteries dark and vast
Statements seem just vein at last
some rise
some fall
some climb
to get to Terrapin
Oh, for those who don't know, the allegations against me have been fully dismissed, but there is more to come as justice has yet to be served. So, the strength and distraction from nature is truly a gift.
I have grown addicted to the spiritual calming of these adventures as anger and angst have been bubbling in my soul like stomach acid does when one feels heartburn.
I have yet to learn all of the trees by name (despite my forestry background), but the birds have become good friends. The group of 14 cormorants or so have not yet migrated, were there to greet me on Thursday night from their perch high above in a tree. And, my cormorant friend with the broken wing is still alive and able to perch every evening on his branch a couple of feet above the water. Each time I see that bird as I turn the corner of the lake, I have hope.
I love Fall. There is something real about this season. As if, the costume of green that covers leaves and provides for our food and oxygen, gives way to the core colors that define our souls. The colors reflect so perfectly on the water stirring reflection. There is something peaceful yet sad about the growing season coming to an end.
On this morning's walk we heard no less than 17 birds species (well, the king fisher I saw yesterday afternoon and the barred Owl was asking me who? last night). These descendants of dinosaurs are amazing. I am so thankful for Braiding Sweetgrass for getting me to listen and really pay attention to all this wonder that is around me.
Here is the bird list (thank you Merlin).
Red shouldered hawk
Downey woodpecker
Blue Jay
Eastern Towhee
White breasted nuthatch
American crow
Fish crow
White throated sparrow
Carolina wren
House finch
Northern cardinal
Canada Goose
Purple finch
Red Bellied Woodpecker
Mourning Dove
Belted Kingfisher (yesterday on the lake)
Barred Owl (last night)
Yes..I sang loudly while kayaking... (there were no other boats on the lake and one of the joys of Lake Jeanette, no jet skis, no ski boats, only pontoon boars and those with small engines- a recreational kayaker's paradise)
Inspiration move me brightly
Light the song with sense and color
Hold away despair
This is all I ask
Faced with mysteries dark and vast
Statements seem just vein at last
some rise
some fall
some climb
to get to Terrapin
Oh, for those who don't know, the allegations against me have been fully dismissed, but there is more to come as justice has yet to be served. So, the strength and distraction from nature is truly a gift.
10/12/21 Adele Johnson Coleman and I had a wonderful (2nd) weekend trip to an absolutely perfect mountain cabin in Deep Gap, NC. No cell, no internet, no lights at night, no neighbors, a beautiful forest and the constant but beautiful sound of one of nature's greatest symphonies "A running stream" with an example of one of nature's exemplary integrations of sound and visual effects, "A waterfall". It was a wonderful trip, albeit, anxiety and anger did do their best to follow us down the winding dirt road and very steep driveway, even though I have been officially vindicated from the events around X-mas.
Halley once again showed that she can activate genes to become a Bichon Mountain Dog- as she adeptly jumped over logs, climbed rocks, and even got her feet wet (apparently, Bichon's are too far up the evolutionarily ladder to allow for wet feet-- but not in the mountains). Annie proved to us that she is a purebred golden retriever when she decided to wade into the stream, waist deep, to go after a leaf that she thought was a snack- the first time she has waded into water up to her chest so away from Lake Jeanette, . She also loved traversing the wet and dry rocks, the moss, leaping over logs and generally demonstrating what happiness looks like to a dog- especially when provided with a fat carrot as a treat after the trek down to and along the stream and the back up the hill. Yes she (and Halley) are both virtuoso companions.
We went down to the stream before we departed to express our appreciation to nature and say goodbye. I noticed an old soda can that was under the small deck by the stream. I picked it up to bring back to GSO for recycling. Immediately after standing back up with the can, we were treated to a beautiful confetti drop of floating yellow leaves. This felt very spiritual. There was no wind. We had not seen a synchronous leaf drop like this for the whole trip. So, I have chosen to believe that trees were expressing their appreciation to us for so enjoying their company and their home. Once again, reciprocity rocks.
The walk from the stream to the house is up a very, very steep hill., Steeper than my flatland adapted 60year old hips appreciated. Annie, however, despite being 10, has a fully functional four wheel drive system, and on cool days in Fall can traverse anything. So, not surprisingly she got way ahead of me. But, as always, she turned around to make sure I was coming. On noticing that I was still 100 yards below, she exhibited her normal hiking behavior and stood and waited for me. I knew that she was not impressed with my two-wheel drive biolocomotion when she decided to sit down and bide her time after observing my slow crawl.
Halley once again, found Adele's lap to be one of the more awesome locations to be in the universe, especially when over looking the creek, and with me saying something she recognized (which seems to be a vocabulary of several 100 words) causing a head turn of curiosity with a look asking "did you just say what I think you said?"
I also spent several hours playing guitar and singing to the trees on the covered deck. Even resurrected some calluses on my fingers. I learned a new artist for me - Kasey Anderson. Although some of his songs are too honky tonk for me, he has some songs that rival the depth and raw emotion of John Prine. I particularly had an earworm for his song "don't look back", which seems apropos for the time. Which I played over and over.. and tried to record for my youtube channel, but I need to work on a bit more.
Here is the last verse.
I heard your hair's a different color
That don't change how you look in the back of my mind
The older I get, the more I discover
You stare into the dark long enough
Something's bound to shine
And I said, I said
You left me for dead
But there was never any truth to that
I could breathe just fine
We both know damn well once you start lying to yourself
You're trapped
And you don't look back
yes, this trip showed that something is always bound to shine..
Halley once again showed that she can activate genes to become a Bichon Mountain Dog- as she adeptly jumped over logs, climbed rocks, and even got her feet wet (apparently, Bichon's are too far up the evolutionarily ladder to allow for wet feet-- but not in the mountains). Annie proved to us that she is a purebred golden retriever when she decided to wade into the stream, waist deep, to go after a leaf that she thought was a snack- the first time she has waded into water up to her chest so away from Lake Jeanette, . She also loved traversing the wet and dry rocks, the moss, leaping over logs and generally demonstrating what happiness looks like to a dog- especially when provided with a fat carrot as a treat after the trek down to and along the stream and the back up the hill. Yes she (and Halley) are both virtuoso companions.
We went down to the stream before we departed to express our appreciation to nature and say goodbye. I noticed an old soda can that was under the small deck by the stream. I picked it up to bring back to GSO for recycling. Immediately after standing back up with the can, we were treated to a beautiful confetti drop of floating yellow leaves. This felt very spiritual. There was no wind. We had not seen a synchronous leaf drop like this for the whole trip. So, I have chosen to believe that trees were expressing their appreciation to us for so enjoying their company and their home. Once again, reciprocity rocks.
The walk from the stream to the house is up a very, very steep hill., Steeper than my flatland adapted 60year old hips appreciated. Annie, however, despite being 10, has a fully functional four wheel drive system, and on cool days in Fall can traverse anything. So, not surprisingly she got way ahead of me. But, as always, she turned around to make sure I was coming. On noticing that I was still 100 yards below, she exhibited her normal hiking behavior and stood and waited for me. I knew that she was not impressed with my two-wheel drive biolocomotion when she decided to sit down and bide her time after observing my slow crawl.
Halley once again, found Adele's lap to be one of the more awesome locations to be in the universe, especially when over looking the creek, and with me saying something she recognized (which seems to be a vocabulary of several 100 words) causing a head turn of curiosity with a look asking "did you just say what I think you said?"
I also spent several hours playing guitar and singing to the trees on the covered deck. Even resurrected some calluses on my fingers. I learned a new artist for me - Kasey Anderson. Although some of his songs are too honky tonk for me, he has some songs that rival the depth and raw emotion of John Prine. I particularly had an earworm for his song "don't look back", which seems apropos for the time. Which I played over and over.. and tried to record for my youtube channel, but I need to work on a bit more.
Here is the last verse.
I heard your hair's a different color
That don't change how you look in the back of my mind
The older I get, the more I discover
You stare into the dark long enough
Something's bound to shine
And I said, I said
You left me for dead
But there was never any truth to that
I could breathe just fine
We both know damn well once you start lying to yourself
You're trapped
And you don't look back
yes, this trip showed that something is always bound to shine..
I identified an osprey on Lake Jeanette for the first time while kayaking on Weds night, getting to see it dive twice for fish as well as regally perched on a tree branch.
Birds are powerful spiritual harbingers in many indigenous cultures (and for those of you that know my raven story, you'll understand why I care), so I checked what it might mean to have such close encounters with an Osprey. Perhaps what I found below coming up first in my Google search is why my soul soared when I realized I was sharing the lake with an Osprey...
"Osprey comes to you as a Spirit Animal when you are about to come into your power. Fate is at a tipping point, and profound changes lie ahead. It isn’t a violent transition, but it may feel daunting and way past what you consider a comfort zone. You didn’t go looking for greatness, but it seems to have found you. Now, Osprey arrives to show you how to manage the remarkable transition you face and the changes it brings.
Osprey sometimes flies into your awareness as a Spirit Animal because you need greater focus. Osprey is a fantastic hunter; it knows its goal and how to get it. When the creature enters your day-to-day existence, it’s to encourage you to ask yourself, “What is your heart’s desire or what will nourish your soul?” Are you moving toward your goal or not?” If the answer is the latter, Osprey teaches you the art of moving outward and upward toward a vibrant, new destination, position, or thought process.
Sometimes the Osprey Spirit Animal introduces purifying Solar Energies into your life, resulting in revelation. When the creature alerts you to what’s looming in the outskirts of your awareness, it allows you to achieve incredible mental and emotional clarity. Remember, Osprey can see a precise path through the vast skies, even in the presence of looming clouds or blinding light. As an Animal Ally, the Bird instructs you on how to liberate your mind from negativity, self-deception, and pretenses. When the sun sets, you’ll see all things through a fresh perspective and a clear mind."
Birds are powerful spiritual harbingers in many indigenous cultures (and for those of you that know my raven story, you'll understand why I care), so I checked what it might mean to have such close encounters with an Osprey. Perhaps what I found below coming up first in my Google search is why my soul soared when I realized I was sharing the lake with an Osprey...
"Osprey comes to you as a Spirit Animal when you are about to come into your power. Fate is at a tipping point, and profound changes lie ahead. It isn’t a violent transition, but it may feel daunting and way past what you consider a comfort zone. You didn’t go looking for greatness, but it seems to have found you. Now, Osprey arrives to show you how to manage the remarkable transition you face and the changes it brings.
Osprey sometimes flies into your awareness as a Spirit Animal because you need greater focus. Osprey is a fantastic hunter; it knows its goal and how to get it. When the creature enters your day-to-day existence, it’s to encourage you to ask yourself, “What is your heart’s desire or what will nourish your soul?” Are you moving toward your goal or not?” If the answer is the latter, Osprey teaches you the art of moving outward and upward toward a vibrant, new destination, position, or thought process.
Sometimes the Osprey Spirit Animal introduces purifying Solar Energies into your life, resulting in revelation. When the creature alerts you to what’s looming in the outskirts of your awareness, it allows you to achieve incredible mental and emotional clarity. Remember, Osprey can see a precise path through the vast skies, even in the presence of looming clouds or blinding light. As an Animal Ally, the Bird instructs you on how to liberate your mind from negativity, self-deception, and pretenses. When the sun sets, you’ll see all things through a fresh perspective and a clear mind."
9/12/21 Last night the calmness and spiritual energy emanating from the Lake Jeanette watershed were deafening . The sounds of silence were not muted, and they filled my spirit. Thanks again to the herons, egrets (and cormorants) for their willingness to share the lake and let me get within a few feet of them to take photos (- I need to upgrade to an iphone 12 and get a better camera).
I reflected last night from a story from Braiding Sweetgrass. In that story, the author, Robin Wall Kimmerer, was teaching a class on environmental writing. At the beginning of the class, she asked everyone whether they love nature. And, not surprisingly given the room was full of environmental advocates, she got an enthusiastic "yes!" Then she asked the group whether they thought nature loved them back. There was no clarity in those answers, lots of puzzlement, and good discussion on that point.
One of Robin's points, I think, is that in the indigenous culture that she grew up in, there was no question that nature loved us as much as we loved nature and that reciprocal relationship was core to human existence on the planet. This fits with one of the main themes of the book- reciprocity, and it is a concept that has changed my relationship with nature and perhaps with the world.
And, reciprocity is the foundation of my struggle to define a next step in wrongs that were done to me at UNCG. I am trying to understand what reciprocity means in my situation, and how I reach some spiritual understanding of it all in a context of reciprocity. And, I am looking for answers from my soul as I dive into the reflection and atonement that marks the Jewish New Year- and mark the first high holidays without both of my parents.
In my class, "the biosphere" this semester, some students are being shocked and saddened by the state of the natural world- they just really had no idea about how connected every thing is as a system, about permafrost in Tundra, about the loss of biodiversity and the consequences to ecological services, or even the massive roles that some ecological engineers play and what may happen without those organisms-- I smile knowing that a number of them will be so much more aware of crabs and how important they are for the future of salt marshes- none of the students gave them a second thought before.. . A woman who had developed a relationship with deer that she saw every morning when she walked her dog, was so inspired to know that deer can actually engineer the structure of the forest. in a paper she read on how deer overpopulation in NJ coupled with a Japanese stilt grass completely changed the structure of the temperate forests of NJ.
A few students are growing tired/scared of learning about how different biomes function as a system, not because they don't like biomes (they are loving it) but because these systems are being devastatingly altered by humans- they are getting depressed. They are asking me to assign them some readings about what can be done, and to give them some hope. Those readings will be part of the course. The simple answer is any optimism I have rests with them.
Last night on the lake (as i loudly sang, "Inspiration move me brightly..."), I thought about this in the context of Robin's question about whether nature loves us back. I know three things about that idea: 1) I really don't know the answer; 2) , I am feeling the love of the lake Jeanette ecosystem towards me. My company seems welcome and it is one of the few places I truly feel I belong. Herons now hold still as I get close to them (and thank them) with complete awe, and if they fly away they just fly away quietly now without squawking their annoyance. And, the lake gives me moments of light and color and moments of calming, but loud, sounds of silence broken only by the songs of the few remaining cicadas. and 3) The idea of living of life of reciprocity and gratefulness is so much better than one of selfishness and entitlement. And, if you think about it, we treat people we love generally well. But, our engagement is on a completely different level when we feel reciprocal love. Perhaps, we all need to sit still and realize that, yes, nature fills us up when we engage with it, but our relationship nature might be so much different if we also realized that it loved us back, and that recognition may be the key to a way forward in world with a rapidly changing climate, more unpredictability, and less stability.
On a final note, it has been hard to read, watch and listen to how the world changed on 9/11. I was in DC that day, just a few blocks from white house, Congress and the Mall. It is a day/week I will never forget. I can't help but think, though, that the collective fear that enveloped us that day, changed the country.
I have one academic memory from elementary school. My civics teacher, Mr. Simonian (who was the first and only teacher I had that ever mentioned the terrible Armenian genocide), discussed the differences between the US and Communist Soviet Union and China. He summed up that difference in the sentence "the ends don't justify the means." In that context, his point was that the atrocities of the soviets and Mao, that were aimed at making a great communal society, were an example of the ends justifying the means. I mean, hey, if we get to a perfect communal society, who cares how many millions of people were tortured and killed? He told us that the American system, a system where constitutional rules, process, and the rule of law was based on the idea that truly good ends cannot be attained without a commitment to appropriate means.
I feel on 9/11 that ideal died-- torture was OK, wars under false pretenses were Ok, destroying people's lives from allegations was OK, ignoring process to get to quick ends has become the norm. This attitude that has taken over our society- i.e., that the means so carefully thought and argued by the constitution's authors as the foundation of our legal system, seem now to be merely bureaucratic impediments that either need to be gotten around or ignored such that the ends wanted by the loudest group can be obtained irrespective of means. I am sure that Mr. Simonian would be thrilled that I remembered his words from a Colfax classroom all these years later, and that my next year may be dedicated to my own little attempt to revive the idea that "the ends don't justify the means" in America.
Let me end on the yin and yang of nature. The cormorant that has isolated him/herself from the others because of a broken wing, was perched on the branches above the water as my kayak turned the corner. I was so happy to see that he/she was still alive and thanked it for sharing the lake with me. It seemed to acknowledge my presence with muted joy. But, as I approached, he/she tried to fly, but could only flop a few feet into the water and swim away.
It breaks my heart that I feel helpless in returning this wonderful bird to health. I don't know how long he/she can live with such limited flight, but I do know I will smile every time I see him/her as I kayak by, and then cry as I pass him/her realizing that there has been no healing to the wing.
This is what happens when you feel reciprocal connections..
I reflected last night from a story from Braiding Sweetgrass. In that story, the author, Robin Wall Kimmerer, was teaching a class on environmental writing. At the beginning of the class, she asked everyone whether they love nature. And, not surprisingly given the room was full of environmental advocates, she got an enthusiastic "yes!" Then she asked the group whether they thought nature loved them back. There was no clarity in those answers, lots of puzzlement, and good discussion on that point.
One of Robin's points, I think, is that in the indigenous culture that she grew up in, there was no question that nature loved us as much as we loved nature and that reciprocal relationship was core to human existence on the planet. This fits with one of the main themes of the book- reciprocity, and it is a concept that has changed my relationship with nature and perhaps with the world.
And, reciprocity is the foundation of my struggle to define a next step in wrongs that were done to me at UNCG. I am trying to understand what reciprocity means in my situation, and how I reach some spiritual understanding of it all in a context of reciprocity. And, I am looking for answers from my soul as I dive into the reflection and atonement that marks the Jewish New Year- and mark the first high holidays without both of my parents.
In my class, "the biosphere" this semester, some students are being shocked and saddened by the state of the natural world- they just really had no idea about how connected every thing is as a system, about permafrost in Tundra, about the loss of biodiversity and the consequences to ecological services, or even the massive roles that some ecological engineers play and what may happen without those organisms-- I smile knowing that a number of them will be so much more aware of crabs and how important they are for the future of salt marshes- none of the students gave them a second thought before.. . A woman who had developed a relationship with deer that she saw every morning when she walked her dog, was so inspired to know that deer can actually engineer the structure of the forest. in a paper she read on how deer overpopulation in NJ coupled with a Japanese stilt grass completely changed the structure of the temperate forests of NJ.
A few students are growing tired/scared of learning about how different biomes function as a system, not because they don't like biomes (they are loving it) but because these systems are being devastatingly altered by humans- they are getting depressed. They are asking me to assign them some readings about what can be done, and to give them some hope. Those readings will be part of the course. The simple answer is any optimism I have rests with them.
Last night on the lake (as i loudly sang, "Inspiration move me brightly..."), I thought about this in the context of Robin's question about whether nature loves us back. I know three things about that idea: 1) I really don't know the answer; 2) , I am feeling the love of the lake Jeanette ecosystem towards me. My company seems welcome and it is one of the few places I truly feel I belong. Herons now hold still as I get close to them (and thank them) with complete awe, and if they fly away they just fly away quietly now without squawking their annoyance. And, the lake gives me moments of light and color and moments of calming, but loud, sounds of silence broken only by the songs of the few remaining cicadas. and 3) The idea of living of life of reciprocity and gratefulness is so much better than one of selfishness and entitlement. And, if you think about it, we treat people we love generally well. But, our engagement is on a completely different level when we feel reciprocal love. Perhaps, we all need to sit still and realize that, yes, nature fills us up when we engage with it, but our relationship nature might be so much different if we also realized that it loved us back, and that recognition may be the key to a way forward in world with a rapidly changing climate, more unpredictability, and less stability.
On a final note, it has been hard to read, watch and listen to how the world changed on 9/11. I was in DC that day, just a few blocks from white house, Congress and the Mall. It is a day/week I will never forget. I can't help but think, though, that the collective fear that enveloped us that day, changed the country.
I have one academic memory from elementary school. My civics teacher, Mr. Simonian (who was the first and only teacher I had that ever mentioned the terrible Armenian genocide), discussed the differences between the US and Communist Soviet Union and China. He summed up that difference in the sentence "the ends don't justify the means." In that context, his point was that the atrocities of the soviets and Mao, that were aimed at making a great communal society, were an example of the ends justifying the means. I mean, hey, if we get to a perfect communal society, who cares how many millions of people were tortured and killed? He told us that the American system, a system where constitutional rules, process, and the rule of law was based on the idea that truly good ends cannot be attained without a commitment to appropriate means.
I feel on 9/11 that ideal died-- torture was OK, wars under false pretenses were Ok, destroying people's lives from allegations was OK, ignoring process to get to quick ends has become the norm. This attitude that has taken over our society- i.e., that the means so carefully thought and argued by the constitution's authors as the foundation of our legal system, seem now to be merely bureaucratic impediments that either need to be gotten around or ignored such that the ends wanted by the loudest group can be obtained irrespective of means. I am sure that Mr. Simonian would be thrilled that I remembered his words from a Colfax classroom all these years later, and that my next year may be dedicated to my own little attempt to revive the idea that "the ends don't justify the means" in America.
Let me end on the yin and yang of nature. The cormorant that has isolated him/herself from the others because of a broken wing, was perched on the branches above the water as my kayak turned the corner. I was so happy to see that he/she was still alive and thanked it for sharing the lake with me. It seemed to acknowledge my presence with muted joy. But, as I approached, he/she tried to fly, but could only flop a few feet into the water and swim away.
It breaks my heart that I feel helpless in returning this wonderful bird to health. I don't know how long he/she can live with such limited flight, but I do know I will smile every time I see him/her as I kayak by, and then cry as I pass him/her realizing that there has been no healing to the wing.
This is what happens when you feel reciprocal connections..
9/5/2021 Inspiration, move me brightly. Light the sky (it should be “song” but I am taking creative liberty on the last evening of the Jewish year) with sense and color. Hold away despair….
Kayaking in the evening is truly being immersed in nature’s master artistry.
Tonight, as I was kayaking through a spot on the lake where its surface was alive with invertebrates, I was treated to another evolutionary miracle. Bats. I mean, seriously, watching these little mammals fill the sky flying, diving, somersaulting through the air, in a way that makes Simone Biles seem like she is stuck in the mud, is miraculous. Imagine trying to guard a bat in basketball- you’d end up knotted like a pretzel- and with echolocation, the bat would never miss a shot, get every rebound, and intercept everyone of your passes. Ok.. I get it that bats can’t build a skyscraper or solve the energy storage problem for electric vehicles. But, in watching them dine at dusk, you can’t help but think that being a primate isn’t the end all, be all of mammal evolution.
But, there was sadness, too. A 100 yards down from the tree used as the evening perch for growing numbers of cormorants, there was a lone cormorant perched on a large stick just above the water. It was there last night, too. I was happy to see it and greeted it with my appreciation for sharing the lake. It had its wings spread out. At first I thought it was preening, but then realized it was trying to fly. Then my heart broke when I realized it’s left wing was featherless and damaged. It tried to fly off as I got too close but was only able to glide a few feet and then swim away. I so wanted to help, but I teared up because I felt so helpless and sad. Nature brings up all kinds of emotion.
Kayaking in the evening is truly being immersed in nature’s master artistry.
Tonight, as I was kayaking through a spot on the lake where its surface was alive with invertebrates, I was treated to another evolutionary miracle. Bats. I mean, seriously, watching these little mammals fill the sky flying, diving, somersaulting through the air, in a way that makes Simone Biles seem like she is stuck in the mud, is miraculous. Imagine trying to guard a bat in basketball- you’d end up knotted like a pretzel- and with echolocation, the bat would never miss a shot, get every rebound, and intercept everyone of your passes. Ok.. I get it that bats can’t build a skyscraper or solve the energy storage problem for electric vehicles. But, in watching them dine at dusk, you can’t help but think that being a primate isn’t the end all, be all of mammal evolution.
But, there was sadness, too. A 100 yards down from the tree used as the evening perch for growing numbers of cormorants, there was a lone cormorant perched on a large stick just above the water. It was there last night, too. I was happy to see it and greeted it with my appreciation for sharing the lake. It had its wings spread out. At first I thought it was preening, but then realized it was trying to fly. Then my heart broke when I realized it’s left wing was featherless and damaged. It tried to fly off as I got too close but was only able to glide a few feet and then swim away. I so wanted to help, but I teared up because I felt so helpless and sad. Nature brings up all kinds of emotion.
On the eve of Independence Day, kayaking allowed my mind an hour of independence from angst and worry.
The lake was smooth as glass making paddling nearly effortless. The beauty of the sunset enveloped me as the colors grew warmer and richer as seconds and minutes past, as if I was kayaking on a canvas while Van Gogh was painting.
The mallards had another huge family reunion at sunset - I saw probably 50 or more ducks- half of the half grown ducklings still swimming in tight groups unaware of me (their parents were aware and gently steered them away from my path).
My new habit of really listening to, and paying attention to the songs and calls of birds, not only identified 8 songs- some from species I hadn’t heard before, all going on at once, making me feel immersed in nature’s symphony.
Even though I am an ecologist, I have not paid enough attention to so much of nature surrounding me in all directions while also right in front of me…
My evening kayaks, on one hand, have made me so much more mindful of so much beauty and wonder.
But, on the other hand, I feel sad knowing all the wonder, beauty, and complexity I have missed, not appreciated, or not been grateful for. I know I have, and still can be, too inwardly focused, too impatient, too anxious and worried, too insecure, or too comfortable with being on the outside instead of being fully immersed.
It has been one year since I moved to Greensboro. In so many ways, this has been the most difficult and painful year of the 60 my lungs have been breathing. I am still struggling. On the other hand, I appreciate moments of joy and immersion in the world more than I ever have.
Maybe I need to craft my own Declaration of Independence tomorrow from the tyranny I have imposed on myself as well as any other tyranny.
The lake was smooth as glass making paddling nearly effortless. The beauty of the sunset enveloped me as the colors grew warmer and richer as seconds and minutes past, as if I was kayaking on a canvas while Van Gogh was painting.
The mallards had another huge family reunion at sunset - I saw probably 50 or more ducks- half of the half grown ducklings still swimming in tight groups unaware of me (their parents were aware and gently steered them away from my path).
My new habit of really listening to, and paying attention to the songs and calls of birds, not only identified 8 songs- some from species I hadn’t heard before, all going on at once, making me feel immersed in nature’s symphony.
Even though I am an ecologist, I have not paid enough attention to so much of nature surrounding me in all directions while also right in front of me…
My evening kayaks, on one hand, have made me so much more mindful of so much beauty and wonder.
But, on the other hand, I feel sad knowing all the wonder, beauty, and complexity I have missed, not appreciated, or not been grateful for. I know I have, and still can be, too inwardly focused, too impatient, too anxious and worried, too insecure, or too comfortable with being on the outside instead of being fully immersed.
It has been one year since I moved to Greensboro. In so many ways, this has been the most difficult and painful year of the 60 my lungs have been breathing. I am still struggling. On the other hand, I appreciate moments of joy and immersion in the world more than I ever have.
Maybe I need to craft my own Declaration of Independence tomorrow from the tyranny I have imposed on myself as well as any other tyranny.
6/23/21. I am so grateful for the 1 hr/day respites on my kayak on Lake Jeanette taking my mind away from its constant pacing the cage (note reference to Bruce Cockburn song). Nature is magical.
Last night was no exception. The colors, the fullish moon rising, the sharing of the lake with a a couple of mallard families, a close and peaceful encounter with one Great Blue Heron who seemed to welcome my company, while another GB heron showed off the definition of beauty in flight has it glided inches above the water for what felt like eternity.
It all brought my soul somewhere back towards balance. Which has been thrown completely off the see-saw by events happening to me and Adele over the past six months in Greensboro, my mother's death, and the surreal events at the University of Arkansas.
I have been so saddened by the Arkansas chancellor's (Joe Steinmetz) resignation last week and the tornado of uniformed gossip that blows apart everything in its path. I know there is a tornado of uninformed gossip because I am getting called by local and national reporters trying to make sense of the gossip. Really? As if I have some clue as to why the politics around the University of Arkansas (and Senator Fulbright's statue) are so completely insane, or like I know how to read people's minds and understand their inner thoughts (really, asking a high functioning Aspie like me to explain people's underlying intentions or ulterior motives is like asking a blind person what color shirt you are wearing), or whether I have a key that can unlock the content and source of photos that some say they have seen before a social media account was taken down. In case y'all are wondering, I don't have a clue about any of that.
But, I can conjecture with the best of them....and the convoluted network of political connections and allies in Arkansas leads to great conjecture,- a bar or brew pub in Fayetteville, AR should replace trivia night with conjecture night. There would be great attendance. But, the bar across the street trying fact night, would be empty. Perhaps it would be empty because facts that seem to be known outside of a small circle of players, are kind of straight forward and boring, so without conjecture to spice them up, there as palatable as cardboard hamburgers.
For those that are wondering, I am a huge Joe Steinmetz fan so my reaction is pure sadness for him and the university. I only hope that people step back and realize how dedicated he was, and the progress he (we) made in making the University of Arkansas a better academic, research and land grant institution. And, the tightness of the rock and the hard place he was put in by the political polarization on so many issues for the last 1.5 years (COVID, Fulbright; Title IX, Living wage, etc) He deserves better from the media and the community. He is one of the few university leaders I have ever met that came into work everyday to do something to make the institution better, with no appetite for self-aggrandization And, the results in student success, the impact of research, and the fulfillment of the land grant mission speak for themselves.
The world is just full of destabilizing surprises. So, tonight, I will do my best to imbibe the moment of joy that I get when Annie and Halley throw a July 4th celebration when I arrive home. Then, after connecting with Adele, I will go out to become of lake Jeanette, where I will watch the creation of another masterpiece of light, shadow and color as the sun sets and the moon rises. And, I will thank the herons, ducks and cormorants again for sharing their lake with me and allowing me to feel some peace for a moment. And, I will just soak it in, without a single conjecture.
Last night was no exception. The colors, the fullish moon rising, the sharing of the lake with a a couple of mallard families, a close and peaceful encounter with one Great Blue Heron who seemed to welcome my company, while another GB heron showed off the definition of beauty in flight has it glided inches above the water for what felt like eternity.
It all brought my soul somewhere back towards balance. Which has been thrown completely off the see-saw by events happening to me and Adele over the past six months in Greensboro, my mother's death, and the surreal events at the University of Arkansas.
I have been so saddened by the Arkansas chancellor's (Joe Steinmetz) resignation last week and the tornado of uniformed gossip that blows apart everything in its path. I know there is a tornado of uninformed gossip because I am getting called by local and national reporters trying to make sense of the gossip. Really? As if I have some clue as to why the politics around the University of Arkansas (and Senator Fulbright's statue) are so completely insane, or like I know how to read people's minds and understand their inner thoughts (really, asking a high functioning Aspie like me to explain people's underlying intentions or ulterior motives is like asking a blind person what color shirt you are wearing), or whether I have a key that can unlock the content and source of photos that some say they have seen before a social media account was taken down. In case y'all are wondering, I don't have a clue about any of that.
But, I can conjecture with the best of them....and the convoluted network of political connections and allies in Arkansas leads to great conjecture,- a bar or brew pub in Fayetteville, AR should replace trivia night with conjecture night. There would be great attendance. But, the bar across the street trying fact night, would be empty. Perhaps it would be empty because facts that seem to be known outside of a small circle of players, are kind of straight forward and boring, so without conjecture to spice them up, there as palatable as cardboard hamburgers.
For those that are wondering, I am a huge Joe Steinmetz fan so my reaction is pure sadness for him and the university. I only hope that people step back and realize how dedicated he was, and the progress he (we) made in making the University of Arkansas a better academic, research and land grant institution. And, the tightness of the rock and the hard place he was put in by the political polarization on so many issues for the last 1.5 years (COVID, Fulbright; Title IX, Living wage, etc) He deserves better from the media and the community. He is one of the few university leaders I have ever met that came into work everyday to do something to make the institution better, with no appetite for self-aggrandization And, the results in student success, the impact of research, and the fulfillment of the land grant mission speak for themselves.
The world is just full of destabilizing surprises. So, tonight, I will do my best to imbibe the moment of joy that I get when Annie and Halley throw a July 4th celebration when I arrive home. Then, after connecting with Adele, I will go out to become of lake Jeanette, where I will watch the creation of another masterpiece of light, shadow and color as the sun sets and the moon rises. And, I will thank the herons, ducks and cormorants again for sharing their lake with me and allowing me to feel some peace for a moment. And, I will just soak it in, without a single conjecture.
6/15/21. I didn't take my iphone last night on my nightly (almost) kayak journeys around Lake Jeanette (the pic is from another night). Last night was really special. In addition to the rewarding encounters with two great blue herons, one who had no problem letting my kayak get within 10 feet or so, a cormorant who also did not mind me in his/her space, and sharing the water with several mallard families, ducklings in tow, I was treated to the most amazing sunset.
I will try to describe it.
After the sun ducked behind the trees, it left a solidly painted tarheel blue sky on the N/NW side of the lake. A thin line of a wispy narrow horizontal line of clouds (it looked a long and narrow cloud), were aglow in shades of bright orange and yellow on that side, contrasting beautifully with the Tarheel blue .. The horizontal wisp continued to brighten as the sun ducked further behind the trees
On the Southeast side of the lake, there was a thin, wispy layer of clouds spreading like a protective awning covering the south of the shore to midway over the lake.
As I sat and watched this masterpiece unfold, the "awning" clouds began a slow transformation of color from orange, to pink, to calming shades of purple, but each particle of the cloud transformed at its own pace. This cloud was etched against a perfectly clear and solid lavender painted sky on the South side of the lake
Sitting in my kayak in the middle of the lake was like being immersed in a 3- D Monet painting, as he painted it (Adele Johnson Coleman and I are going to see an immersive Van Gogh exhibit in Charlotte on Saturday). I couldn't help but constantly compare the tarheel blue and lavender shades of the skies opposing each other like two tectonic plates, and was hypnotized by how the colors also contrasted with each other, The bright orange glow of the wispy cloud on the NW side showed magically against the tarheel sky. The transforming pink and purplish shades of the wispy awning on the SE side contrasted perfectly with the lavender sky.
The book Braiding Sweetgrass has really opened my eyes to being very aware of nature and the value of reciprocating.
In one chapter in the book, Robin Wall Kimmerer, tells a story of teaching a writing workshop with a group of environmental writers and journalists. She asked them first "How many of you love nature?"- everyone eagerly raised their hands and spoke of their love for moments like those I describe again. Then, she asked, "does nature love you back?"- that question befuddled everyone, but led to lively discussion for the rest of the workshop. And, led her to write about reciprocity from another angle (there are many angles in the book).
I have been come accustomed now to thanking the herons, ducks and cormorants for letting me share the lake and asking their permission for me to kayak. So, far, they have welcomed me. . And, ever since I have been doing that, I have been getting treated to wonderful encounters with the birds, and treated to amazing works of ephemeral art every night.
And, my kayak stroke has gotten a lot better!
Make of it all whatever you will..
I will try to describe it.
After the sun ducked behind the trees, it left a solidly painted tarheel blue sky on the N/NW side of the lake. A thin line of a wispy narrow horizontal line of clouds (it looked a long and narrow cloud), were aglow in shades of bright orange and yellow on that side, contrasting beautifully with the Tarheel blue .. The horizontal wisp continued to brighten as the sun ducked further behind the trees
On the Southeast side of the lake, there was a thin, wispy layer of clouds spreading like a protective awning covering the south of the shore to midway over the lake.
As I sat and watched this masterpiece unfold, the "awning" clouds began a slow transformation of color from orange, to pink, to calming shades of purple, but each particle of the cloud transformed at its own pace. This cloud was etched against a perfectly clear and solid lavender painted sky on the South side of the lake
Sitting in my kayak in the middle of the lake was like being immersed in a 3- D Monet painting, as he painted it (Adele Johnson Coleman and I are going to see an immersive Van Gogh exhibit in Charlotte on Saturday). I couldn't help but constantly compare the tarheel blue and lavender shades of the skies opposing each other like two tectonic plates, and was hypnotized by how the colors also contrasted with each other, The bright orange glow of the wispy cloud on the NW side showed magically against the tarheel sky. The transforming pink and purplish shades of the wispy awning on the SE side contrasted perfectly with the lavender sky.
The book Braiding Sweetgrass has really opened my eyes to being very aware of nature and the value of reciprocating.
In one chapter in the book, Robin Wall Kimmerer, tells a story of teaching a writing workshop with a group of environmental writers and journalists. She asked them first "How many of you love nature?"- everyone eagerly raised their hands and spoke of their love for moments like those I describe again. Then, she asked, "does nature love you back?"- that question befuddled everyone, but led to lively discussion for the rest of the workshop. And, led her to write about reciprocity from another angle (there are many angles in the book).
I have been come accustomed now to thanking the herons, ducks and cormorants for letting me share the lake and asking their permission for me to kayak. So, far, they have welcomed me. . And, ever since I have been doing that, I have been getting treated to wonderful encounters with the birds, and treated to amazing works of ephemeral art every night.
And, my kayak stroke has gotten a lot better!
Make of it all whatever you will..
Sweet and sad: kayaked this morning on Lake Jeanette. A lone goose was standing on a limb that was hanging over the lake. I moved very slowly as I approached the goose. He/she let me get very close without honking or flying away. Kind of unusual for geese on the lake. My kayak got within 5 ft or so. As I passed, the Goose left the limb and swam in the water, parallel with me, and at the same pace, as if He/she was hoping I could be a new mate. Geese mate for life. So a lone goose is either young or it’s mate had died. It was such a rare moment when connecting with wildlife brought up sweet and sad feelings. I was touched to have a goose enjoy my company but I also felt the sadness of so many times when the emptiness of loneliness enveloped my soul.
4/12/21 Came to a spiritual crossroads this weekend.
Cottage Place and Lake Jeanette Road intersect in a manner that could leave one driving around in circles for eternity (i.e, they meet at a round-about). While approaching this traffic circle, I noticed a few things.
First, I noticed remnants of an angry storm. For whatever reason, the particular fusion of these two streets received a larger than fair share of the destructive anger emanating from our most recent ice storm. Trees came down, electric poles came down, and in the aftermath, there was general air of chaos, including several burly men, in bright orange vests, standing around the mess of cedar limbs, power lines, and power poles, with concerned looks on their faces. They seemed to be thinking.. what the fuck are we going to do now?
Second, the land developers decided, perhaps to counteract the absurdity of creating a traffic circle that could cause people to drive around in circles for eternity, that having a horticultural oasis in the center of the traffic circle, might ease the boredom and stress of such endless journeys. In the geometric center of the oasis (and thus the traffic circle), is a tree (sorry forester friends, I didn't take note of the species and genus). Limbs that had once thrived at the top of this tree had clearly been ripped off by the weight of the ice, leaving a tree top that looks like a ragged edged dagger. This dagger is the tallest point on the island.
Perching perfectly still on the island's tallest point sat a raven. The raven appeared to me to sit with the stillness and power of a deity sent to decide the fate of those entering the round-about.
Ravens are powerful symbols in Native American (and other) culture . Google gave me an example this morning.."... the Raven totem is the keeper of synchronicity. He is a master of bending and folding time and space. Therefore, you are precisely at the right moment at the right time. When you see this corvid on the lamp posts and buildings watching you, know that all things are falling into place for you. Hence, make sure you pay close attention to the people you meet for the next few hours. The Raven symbolism may be there to help you on your journey, provide insight, knowledge, and guidance. There is also an element of reflection with Raven’s meaning. Consequently, this bird is reminding you that the people around you are reflecting at you the things you most have to learn about yourself.
Furthermore....whenever Raven’s meaning appears in your life, fantastic magic is imminent. The Raven symbolism also brings messages of transition, change, and healing because of its ability to cast light into the darkness. When this happens, make sure that you are well-grounded and have faith in your journey. This birds’ magic will guide you through."
Ravens have appeared before in my life -and when they did their appearance truly seemed to usher me through magical changes and a new beginning.
I hope I will be brave enough, and spiritually connected enough, to ride the waves of spirit that was in the ether when I shared the moment with a raven at a crossroads. I wish I was more aware so I could better interpret the language, music and the spirit of nature
I suppose there will probably be a song that I will write in the future- "A raven at the crossroads"-- but I just am not sure about the ending...
I asked Adele Johnson Coleman to create a watercolor portrayal of a raven for my office a couple of years ago, so I could draw on the raven spirit. Please see the (beautiful) attached picture she painted. This raven watches over me, or at least watches me, every day. I am also watched over and hopefully spiritually protected by a Navajo sand painting of the "Black Wind Man" living on a wall almost directly across from the Raven. Time will tell whether I can draw on their power to fuel resilience and spiritual strength.
Cottage Place and Lake Jeanette Road intersect in a manner that could leave one driving around in circles for eternity (i.e, they meet at a round-about). While approaching this traffic circle, I noticed a few things.
First, I noticed remnants of an angry storm. For whatever reason, the particular fusion of these two streets received a larger than fair share of the destructive anger emanating from our most recent ice storm. Trees came down, electric poles came down, and in the aftermath, there was general air of chaos, including several burly men, in bright orange vests, standing around the mess of cedar limbs, power lines, and power poles, with concerned looks on their faces. They seemed to be thinking.. what the fuck are we going to do now?
Second, the land developers decided, perhaps to counteract the absurdity of creating a traffic circle that could cause people to drive around in circles for eternity, that having a horticultural oasis in the center of the traffic circle, might ease the boredom and stress of such endless journeys. In the geometric center of the oasis (and thus the traffic circle), is a tree (sorry forester friends, I didn't take note of the species and genus). Limbs that had once thrived at the top of this tree had clearly been ripped off by the weight of the ice, leaving a tree top that looks like a ragged edged dagger. This dagger is the tallest point on the island.
Perching perfectly still on the island's tallest point sat a raven. The raven appeared to me to sit with the stillness and power of a deity sent to decide the fate of those entering the round-about.
Ravens are powerful symbols in Native American (and other) culture . Google gave me an example this morning.."... the Raven totem is the keeper of synchronicity. He is a master of bending and folding time and space. Therefore, you are precisely at the right moment at the right time. When you see this corvid on the lamp posts and buildings watching you, know that all things are falling into place for you. Hence, make sure you pay close attention to the people you meet for the next few hours. The Raven symbolism may be there to help you on your journey, provide insight, knowledge, and guidance. There is also an element of reflection with Raven’s meaning. Consequently, this bird is reminding you that the people around you are reflecting at you the things you most have to learn about yourself.
Furthermore....whenever Raven’s meaning appears in your life, fantastic magic is imminent. The Raven symbolism also brings messages of transition, change, and healing because of its ability to cast light into the darkness. When this happens, make sure that you are well-grounded and have faith in your journey. This birds’ magic will guide you through."
Ravens have appeared before in my life -and when they did their appearance truly seemed to usher me through magical changes and a new beginning.
I hope I will be brave enough, and spiritually connected enough, to ride the waves of spirit that was in the ether when I shared the moment with a raven at a crossroads. I wish I was more aware so I could better interpret the language, music and the spirit of nature
I suppose there will probably be a song that I will write in the future- "A raven at the crossroads"-- but I just am not sure about the ending...
I asked Adele Johnson Coleman to create a watercolor portrayal of a raven for my office a couple of years ago, so I could draw on the raven spirit. Please see the (beautiful) attached picture she painted. This raven watches over me, or at least watches me, every day. I am also watched over and hopefully spiritually protected by a Navajo sand painting of the "Black Wind Man" living on a wall almost directly across from the Raven. Time will tell whether I can draw on their power to fuel resilience and spiritual strength.
Adele Johnson Coleman surprised me with a semi-traditional seder last evening. We did not follow the script of the Haggadah. But, Adele and Chuck, had the chance to indulge me in my reflections this year-- particularly about missing my parents, spiritual redemption (a key theme of Passover), what freedom means, and how such traditions keep a small tribe of people connected over thousands of years, over a continuously changing landscape, and despite the fact that so many have tried to remove the tribe's identity or just to remove the tribe from the earth. It was so what I needed.
My cousin Gary Coleman sent the family his thoughts for the holiday. They really resonated for me. He included a piece reflecting on spiritual redemption in the living world- and that really resonated.
He also included his own reflection: ".... Learning to adjust and stay positive even when there are reasons to be incredulous at some of the things that happen. I do not want to sound like someone who does not know that bad occurs, (I am well aware of it) but I prefer looking on the bright side. Maybe that is my mechanism for moving forward. It works for me!"
"As part of this coping process when I am asked, "is everything okay" הכל בסדר I answer there is a lot of good, but there are also things we need to improve. That is why we wake up in the morning. I know it is a bit of a long answer and many do not have patience to hear, but in my mind it is the truth."
That, too, resonated.
A mystical power made the evening especially spiritual by providing an amazing an intriguing evening sky- composed of shadows and light, vibrant colors, and calmness in the air. It was nice to feel like an inhabitant of a universe much bigger and more profound than the confines of the cage of reality.
Enjoy the the Yin and Yang of shadows and light and the warmth and new beginning of the oncoming spring season.
Lake Jeanette is a very spiritual place. Patrolled by spiritually powerful birds who draw on their distant evolutionary connection to dinosaurs to keep the fish in place, most notably, perhaps, Great Blue Herons with their greyish blue uniforms. But, as Spring approaches, the Cormorants bring a joyful spiritual energy emanating from their chaotic choreography. They fly inches above the water, effortlessly, almost as if they are floating on air. They can appear as if they are dancing with joy as they move from rest to flight. When looking up close, each one individually arises from the water at its own pace, but, zoom out just a bit and they appear to move on masse. They express a childlike joy as if their migratory journey was destined for summer vacation at the New Jersey Shore. And, as if Lake Jeanette is their favorite Howard Johnson's on the Pennsylvania Turnpike. I wish I could join them.
Annie (our golden retriever) wishes she could join them too....life on the lake has activated her dormant genes, bringing to the surface the artificial selection that shaped her ancestors into bird dogs- she shows it with a bouncing stride and happy bark.
We're waiting for the moment when the nine year old golden draws on her genetic memory reminding her that she is an able swimmer and might even like swimming, too, even if it means endlessly chasing after birds in the water that she'll never catch. But, alas, perhaps bouncing in joy on the shore, until the birds fly away, and then turning her Vulcan Mind meld like attention to the ever exciting sport of frog jumping, will be as good as it gets. In either case, there is always a milk bone waiting for her when she gets home. It should be that way for all of us.
My cousin Gary Coleman sent the family his thoughts for the holiday. They really resonated for me. He included a piece reflecting on spiritual redemption in the living world- and that really resonated.
He also included his own reflection: ".... Learning to adjust and stay positive even when there are reasons to be incredulous at some of the things that happen. I do not want to sound like someone who does not know that bad occurs, (I am well aware of it) but I prefer looking on the bright side. Maybe that is my mechanism for moving forward. It works for me!"
"As part of this coping process when I am asked, "is everything okay" הכל בסדר I answer there is a lot of good, but there are also things we need to improve. That is why we wake up in the morning. I know it is a bit of a long answer and many do not have patience to hear, but in my mind it is the truth."
That, too, resonated.
A mystical power made the evening especially spiritual by providing an amazing an intriguing evening sky- composed of shadows and light, vibrant colors, and calmness in the air. It was nice to feel like an inhabitant of a universe much bigger and more profound than the confines of the cage of reality.
Enjoy the the Yin and Yang of shadows and light and the warmth and new beginning of the oncoming spring season.
Lake Jeanette is a very spiritual place. Patrolled by spiritually powerful birds who draw on their distant evolutionary connection to dinosaurs to keep the fish in place, most notably, perhaps, Great Blue Herons with their greyish blue uniforms. But, as Spring approaches, the Cormorants bring a joyful spiritual energy emanating from their chaotic choreography. They fly inches above the water, effortlessly, almost as if they are floating on air. They can appear as if they are dancing with joy as they move from rest to flight. When looking up close, each one individually arises from the water at its own pace, but, zoom out just a bit and they appear to move on masse. They express a childlike joy as if their migratory journey was destined for summer vacation at the New Jersey Shore. And, as if Lake Jeanette is their favorite Howard Johnson's on the Pennsylvania Turnpike. I wish I could join them.
Annie (our golden retriever) wishes she could join them too....life on the lake has activated her dormant genes, bringing to the surface the artificial selection that shaped her ancestors into bird dogs- she shows it with a bouncing stride and happy bark.
We're waiting for the moment when the nine year old golden draws on her genetic memory reminding her that she is an able swimmer and might even like swimming, too, even if it means endlessly chasing after birds in the water that she'll never catch. But, alas, perhaps bouncing in joy on the shore, until the birds fly away, and then turning her Vulcan Mind meld like attention to the ever exciting sport of frog jumping, will be as good as it gets. In either case, there is always a milk bone waiting for her when she gets home. It should be that way for all of us.