Home

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As much as I love to travel-and I do travel a lot- I’m really a homebody. Over the last 10 years I’ve written mostly about sacred and intentional travel. I long to go and see and experience the vast world around me. But a pilgrimage is never complete until you return home and bring the wisdom of the pilgrimage to your everyday life. Home is the ultimate goal of a pilgrimage. After a journey into the world, I just want to be home. I want vast stretches of time to be home just reading, cooking and keeping everything tidy. I love to be home. I need to be home. And my home needs me.

I’ve always been a house person. I like to look at houses, read about houses, and visit historical houses. I was very young when I started preferring house magazines to fashion and gossip magazines. When I was a girl, my family would visit homes of famous people and writers. My first mystical experiences in my early 20’s were at famous homes. I could feel the life and consciousness of the place and that is where I learned that houses are people too. Houses have a life of their own enlivened by the people who live there that grows with the house’s history.

Before you decide I’ve totally lost touch with reality, let’s talk about home. Over the last three years, home has taken on a new meaning as we spent much more time sheltering at home from the difficulties of the world. Many different experiences came from so much forced time at home: hardship, loneliness, overwhelm, but also a new appreciation for our private space. As a homebody who could safely gather my family with me, home was exactly where I wanted to be, and I reveled in the expanse of time in my little world.

Home is where we come to rest, nurture ourselves and our family, a safe shelter from the world. Our possessions and memories are stored at home and we gather these things to give us comfort and security. Without these warm and friendly emotions, our home is just a house without love and life. Ten years ago this month, I lost my feeling of home. Yes, I had a roof over my head and a bed to sleep in, but my place of comfort and security was lost to me. My father-in-law had just died after a brief illness and Hamilton and I had one week to move in to the old family farm to take care of his mother who had advanced dementia. We knew this move was coming and were as prepared as we could be but I wasn’t prepared for the suddenness of the move and the emotional upheaval it would cause.

I had a raging case of empty nest and was struggling to adapt to my empty home. When I had to suddenly move from my home of 18 years where I raised my daughters. I knew that my life of motherhood and childhood was completely over and I wasn’t fully ready to move on yet.  So my new home, filled with other people’s lives and processions, came as a deep shock and my feeling of home and refuge had completely disappeared. As a person that loves routines, my comforting routines were gone.

The first weekend we moved to my in-law’s home, it was the first of March and it was still cold and dark and the wind was howling and I was in complete emotional meltdown. My world had turned upside down overnight and I felt I had nothing to cling to.  I was also unprepared to have such a strong reaction to the move. It didn’t help my mother-in-law and her caregivers were always in the kitchen and so I also lost my privacy and autonomy.  It was a hard few month as we settled into our new home.  I moved out my in-law’s personal items, repainted and recarpeted, moved in my things and slowly started to feel better.  It was quite a few months before I felt like myself again and could make the old house my own. I can look back that experience 10 years ago and still feel how hard that was. But now I love my home so deeply that I see that it was just time that I needed to build a relationship with my new space and move on from the life that I had finished. I gave myself that time and grace—really I had no choice as there was no going back.

Because of this intense experience of moving and rebuilding home, I cherish my home more than ever. My in-law’s left of a legacy of a beautiful old home that has been in the family and deeply loved for 70 years. That kind of love and care builds an energy, an aura, to a house that brings it to life though our love.  The family has been in the house 7 decades but the home is over 170 years old and has had a long life before we even arrived. I am just one of its many caretakers and there will be more after me, but I feel the house chose me and I in turn chose the house. We have a deep relationship that nurtures one another every day.  Our homes are a reflection of ourselves and we then imprint our lives on the energy of the home and land. Winston Churchill once said, “we shape our buildings and afterwards our buildings shape us”.

Over the course of this year, I’m going to be writing about the ways that our home is a reflection of self and how we can help our homes nurture our lives and we in turn nurture the home and land.  We will wander our home and see our external world reflects our internal world and find the places we can foster our lives more deeply and wholly (and holy).  There will still be plenty of travel but home is where we return and live our expanding lives—one sacred step at a time.

Please visit my new blog for two new posts. www.thetimelesstarot.com

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Books 2022

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Library in Winter

The cold rainy days of January have settled in. Christmas is packed away for another 11 months and the glitter and tree needles are vacuumed and dusted from the parlor. The happy memories linger and I now indulge in a new delight—reviewing the books I read last year. My 2022 reading goal was 4 books a month, either listening or reading. In order to keep track of this goal I decided to have a basket in the corner of the library to hold my finished books and I could always go back to my Kindle and Audible to tally up the year’s treasures. As the year progressed my stack passed the top of the basket and spilled onto the floor in a precarious pile. I’m happy to say that I surpassed my goal and read/listened to over 50 books. I like to read around 50 pages a day usually in several different books. Sometimes I read nothing, sometimes I read over 100; it just depends.

This last week I sorted the books out and put them in three piles: to share, to sell and to keep. Some of the books at the bottom of the pile I had completely forgotten about but I was glad to see some old friends. There were books I was happy to part with, some I was on the fence about and a few that will never leave my library and have become treasured companions.  So here are my favorites across several different categories.

First thing in the morning I like to read something spiritual. Those early hours when the house is dark and I’m warmed by my first cup of coffee is the time that I like to read something to warm my soul. My favorite was A Journey of Sea and Stone: How Holy Places Guide and Renew Us by Tracy Balzer.  This beautifully written book took me back to my perfect day on earth on the holy isle of Iona.  I want to read it again already. I also love, Thrive: Living a Self-Healing Life by Valarie Budayr, my dear friend and fellow pilgrim. A guide to healing trauma, Valarie sets out loving and actionable steps to help anyone find a more vibrant life.

This year Egypt was once again on the reading list. After a trip to see NYC to see the Egyptian opera Akhnaten not just once but twice in the same week, I wanted to continue reading more about that magical land. Hieroglyphic Words of Power: Symbols for Magic, Divination and Dreamwork by Normandi Ellis, is a full immersion into an ancient language that still hold important wisdom. I read about one hieroglyph a day for several weeks as a daily meditation.  I also recommend Embodying Osiris: The Secrets of Alchemical Transformation by Thom Cavalli. This book combines the ancient wisdom of the Egyptian gods and alchemy with the modern work of Jung—not easy to do but Thom does it masterfully.  I also liked Songlines of the Soul by Veronica Goodchild and The Living Labyrinth by Jeremy Taylor.

In the non-fiction category I loved The Big House: A Century in the Life of an American Summer Home by George Howe Colt. For those of us who have loved and lost homes, this beautifully written book helps bring words to the memory and loss of a beloved place.  Amanda Montell’s book Cultish, was an enlightening read about how deeply influenced we are by the language of persuasion. I also liked Uprooted by Page Dicky and A Pilgrimage to Eternity by Timothy Egan.

I love to read about writing, secretly hoping to find the key to making writing easy, no luck yet. But I did find Pat Schneider’s gorgeous books, How the Light Gets In and Writing Alone and With Others.  Writing hasn’t become blissful for me quite yet, but Pat has definitely helped me let go of some of the pain and reluctance. She is a remarkable writer worth reading even if you aren’t interested in writing. She left a writing education legacy that is being carried on by the Amherst Writers and Artists.

For my neighborhood book club we usually read fiction—well, I usually listen to the fiction. So, this year I enjoyed The Weight of Ink by Rachel Kadish. Wonderful writing and a compelling story kept me going through this 23-hour audio book—it was that good.  In October I had a lot of wood siding to paint so I kept entertained by The Midnight Library by Matt Haig—it made me want to go paint so I could continue the story.  I also put up my Christmas trees to The Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern.  Yes, it takes an entire audio book to put up my Christmas and take it down and that is how much I love Christmas.

I love the arts and have spent a lot of my life learning about great music, dance, and fine art but I have almost no experience with great literature outside of one good year of English in high school.  I’ve wanted to read more classic literature but in January my attempt at George Elliot’s Middlemarch came to a rather quick end on page 29.  But luckily my YouTube addiction came to the rescue and I came across Ben McEvoy’s Hard Core Literature Book Club—thank you book lovers algorithms. I signed up for his Patreon book club for the lecture series and like magic I have read four great books in just three months. I have cracked the code: good lectures, a reasonable pace, the combination of reading a physical book and listening to the audio at the same time, and an on-line community of other people who also read multiple books at once. I read Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte, Siddhartha by Hermann Hesse, The Mystery of Edwin Drood by Charles Dickens and my absolute favorite Persuasion by Jane Austin.  I proudly have my new reading accomplishments lined up on their own shelf awaiting many more to come.  January/Feburary’s ambition– Ulysses by James Joyce—wish me luck.  

How was your reading/listening year?  What books are awaiting you in 2023? I came across this great quote on Facebook “Think not of the books you’ve bought as a “to be read” pile. Instead, think of your bookcase as a wine cellar. You collect books to be read at the right time, the right place, and the right mood.” Luc Van Donkergoed. 

Books for 2023

Please visit my other blog www.thetimelesstarot.com

Trees

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When I was a little girl, we had square brown music box with a picture of a boy and girl on the front.  When I pulled the string, a lovely little tune played as the string wound back into the box. It hung in our laundry room and I would often pull it as I went though there into the garage. I remember my mother telling me the song was called Trees. She had a sheet music version of it and would often sing it in her beautiful soprano voice.

I think that I shall never see

A poem lovely as a tree.

A tree whose hungry mouth is prest

Against the earth’s sweet flowing breast;

A tree that looks at God all day,

And lifts her leafy arms to pray;

A tree that may in Summer wear

A nest of robins in her hair;

Upon whose bosom snow has lain;

Who intimately lives with rain.

Poems are made by fools like me,

But only God can make a tree.

This sweet and sentimental poem was first published in 1913 and quickly became popular and subsequently turned into an equally sweet and sentimental song. I remember seeing the author’s name on the music, Joyce Kilmer, a unique name for a man. This poet, theologian and orator’s life was tragically cut short in World War 1 at the age of 31. Joyce lived a full life in such a short time, leaving many writings and a family of five children. He was on his way to becoming an influential theologian but is best remembered for his deeply spiritual poem about trees.

This classic poem came alive for me last week as I went for a hike in the Joyce Kilmer Memorial Forest in North Carolina, a portion of the Natahala National Forest dedicated to Joyce’s memory.  The trail is a couple of hours from my house and some of my dear hiking friends and I headed there on a cool and misty November morning. It is a long and very curvy journey through the mountains on the infamous “Tail of the Dragon” – a stretch of road 11 miles long with 318 curves and greatly loved by motorcyclists from around the world.  But this day we were the only ones on the slick road covered with downed branches from the previous night’s storm.  It is a beautiful drive with vistas of the Smoky Mountains, lakes surrounded by mountains, and lots of beautiful trees. 

The Joyce Kilmer Memorial is a small section of remaining old-growth forest, many of the trees are exceptionally tall for this part of the country. There is a delightful two-mile loop over a couple of streams and along mossy rocks to the quiet giants that were much older than Joyce’s poem and had probably looked at God all day for a couple of centuries. During the hike we had a few glimpses of blue sky but mostly the forest was shrouded in the mists of winter.  I took my time and enjoyed the childhood memories of the music box and my mother singing.  Nothing makes me happier than a wander through trees, no matter the season or the weather. The great cathedral of nature becomes a living prayer.

I never like leaving the forest, but it was time for lunch, so we all happily went up the road to Tapoco Lodge, which was all decked in Christmas spirit. Warmed by a fire and hot cider, we had a wonderful lunch and then headed back through the 318 curves to our homes.  It was a delightful day and a wonderful adventure and that really embodied the spirit of the Christmas season. Joyce gave the ultimate sacrifice but left behind words of joy as his living legacy.

Gemmi sleeping under the library tree

This, the darkest time of year, we bring living trees into our home to bring light in the darkness, evergreen life into our lives to remind us that the sun will come back. Decorated and sparkling trees become the center of the celebration of life, family and joy. Over the years I have added many Christmas trees to my house so that I can have the glowing light in every corner of the front of my house to beckon my friends and family who visit for the holidays. First thing in the morning, I light the tree in the warm family room and the candles in the kitchen to bring a soft glow for my morning coffee and warm snuggles with the cats. This is my little kitten Gemmi’s first Christmas and she is delighted with the endless supply of toys hanging from the tree.  Joyce’s poem about trees maybe sentimental but it speaks of the joy we a carry in our hearts this time of year as we gather round the evergreen trees of Christmas.

A Dickens’ Christmas Carol themed post on my new blog—go to www.thetimelesstarot.com

Opening Doors

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This month is the 10th anniversary for my blog. And in this season of gratitude, I am forever grateful that I took the leap ten years ago and started writing. Actually, it probably wasn’t a leap—more like a push.  I needed an online presence to be interviewed about my travels in Egypt and at the time I didn’t even have Facebook and had barely enough computer skills to even start a blog.  I took the dare/challenge and never looked back and never missed a month posting.

Writing was incredibly hard for me and at the time the only thing I wrote were shopping lists and thank-you notes. Not exactly good qualifications for starting a blog. But somehow, I knew that I needed to overcome my deep reluctance, find my voice that had been stifled for so long and just start writing. It is my good fortune to have married an English major, so Hamilton would edit my blogs and I learned better writing mechanics. Reading helped my understand style and grow my own style.  Learning to write on a computer was a big help since I’m a poor speller, an inaccurate typist and find handwriting exhausting. All this to say—I had a lot to overcome. But like a good Taurus, I just plodded along and posted every month and it definitely got easier. As I would take my daily walk, blog posts would magically write in my head. But the next steps in my journey I didn’t plan for or could even anticipate. For this little blog, this new skill, opened doors that I hadn’t imagined. 

I should have known that the name of the blog would necessitate that I go on the best known of Christian pilgrimages—The Camino—in Spain.  Well, after five weeks of walking and 500 miles, I became a perpetual pilgrim. That pilgrimage led to the second door opening– writing a book. I always felt I had a book or two to write but the Camino set that into motion. Now writing books and blogging are really two different things and I had to push through another round of resistance and find new ways to write. I went on a retreat to write. I had to go to coffee shops to write. Finally, I finished my book and eventually saw it on the shelf of the local Barnes and Nobles. 

My blog and book writing led to a third door opening and in 2017 and once again I pushed past a lot of resistance and started graduate school. I had absolutely no interest in going back to school and really did not want to write academic papers—yet another totally different writing skill.  But I felt called and opened that door and some how made it though 16 long research papers and everyday I’m grateful that I persevered and answered that call.

Writing might not be easy for me but I know it has been a powerful way to move my life forward and find my voice in the world.   Now I’ve opened yet another door and have started a second blog, The Timeless Tarot.  In the past, I wrote many posts about the Tarot and one about Lemniscates remains my most popular post. Now I want to write more about my 25 years of experience with the Tarot, this beautiful “tool for transformation”. There are many mysteries and misconceptions around the Tarot and I hope you can look past your resistance or maybe find your curiosity about the cards. I write about the 78 cards as a practical, soul-filled way to discover the psychological lessons and everyday challenges of life here on Earth.  This unbound book of wisdom has much to say and lessons to teach.  www.thetimelesstarot.com

Like any birthday or anniversary that ends in a 0, there is much reflecting on the past and in turn envisioning the future.  I’m so grateful that I persevered despite my struggles. I will say that it has gotten easier and definitely more rewarding. I’ve let my passion for sacred travel, home and Tarot move me through my reluctance to write. Where can a passion help you move past inertia? I will keep writing and see what new and unexpected opportunities and challenges are ahead for the next 10 years.  Thank you for reading. I hope I have inspired you to find the sacred places in your world and life.

****Books by Pat Schneider that have really helped with the psychology of writing: 

How the Light Gets In: Writing as a Spiritual Practice

Writing Alone and with Others

Sedona

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Even though I had not consciously planned my trip to Arizona to be about my dear mentors and teachers, it quickly became clear that my time in Arizona was a pilgrimage not only to beautiful sacred places but to the memories of my dear friends. The day we were traveling from Canyon de Chelly to Sedona, October 4, was my dear spiritual mother Rachael Salley’s 80th birthday. Rachael loved her birthday. Rachael has been gone over two years now and I miss her every day. I was so glad Val and I were together to celebrate. Rachael always said we were her cosmic daughters and spiritual sisters. That night, we had supper on the restaurant patio, in beautiful Sedona, under the crescent moon shining just over the red rocks as we celebrated Racheal’s memory and legacy. We had a special dessert as Rachael had a real sweet-tooth and never missed a good dessert.

I’ve been to Sedona, Arizona, twice before but it had been over ten years and I felt really called to visit again.  I also wanted to visit Sedona again in the memory of my dear friend Page Bryant. I knew Page over 20 years and spent many happy hours in her home. Page was a very wise woman and fortunately left that wisdom for all of us in 14 books. She was very connected to land and sacred sites and the powerful earth energy at those sites. In the early 1980’s Page was the first to identify the energy spots in Sedona that are now the famed energy vortexes that draw so many people to that land. (Starquest Sedona, by Page Bryant) When she moved to North Carolina in the 1990’s, she connected to the same earth energy and wrote her most popular book, The Spiritual Reawakening of the Smoky Mountains.  Page taught me about sacred land and the honoring of holy places; her work weaves through all my writing.

So, with great devotion to Page, Rachael and Peter Calhoun, I was grateful to be back on that holy ground again. It really didn’t matter what I did in Sedona, just being surrounded by the beautiful red rocks and deep green forest was why I came back to visit. But you know me, I have to get out and be a part of the that places as much as I could  We started our visit at the Chapel of the Holy Cross, a beautiful chapel jutting out of the rock with uninterrupted views of the dramatic landscape. It was a perfect place to meditate and remember Rachael on her birthday. I lit a candle for her, Page and Peter.   

The first full day, we hired a wonderful young guide to take us to some lesser-known places. Fortunately it was not a jeep tour as we had enough of four-wheeling in the Canyon de Chelly.  Instead, we stopped by Airport Mesa to look at the beautiful view. Conner, our guide, talked about the geological and spiritual history of Sedona. Then we went to the Peace Park where two Buddhist Stupas were nestled close to the forest and towering red rocks. It is a place for meditation and prayer and I felt the great peace of those millions of prayers flowing from the prayer wheels.  The third spot was Rachel’s Knoll, named for the woman who had preserved the view for visitors far into the future. I just sat on a rock and breathed the warm western air, so content to take in all of the energy of the land.  After a pizza lunch, Val and I visited some crystal shops and bought some rocks and some incense.

Val and I were staying in the Amara hotel which happened to have a great pool with an even greater view. Since I am a pool person, I spent the afternoons soaking up the October sunshine, reading and swimming—my favorite things. Every evening, Val had made dinner reservations at some nice restaurants and we enjoyed eating and drinking, talking and remembering all of our wonderful trips we’ve taken together. 

Our last day in Sedona, we were invited to visit an internet acquaintance of Val’s, Rhianne (www.rhiannenewahnd.com) a long-time resident of Sedona.  Although we had never met before, it was like we were long lost friends. First, we had a tour of her beautiful garden and then settled in for a long chat. Rhianne has hosted women’s groups for many years and I was very interested in how she formed and ran the groups.  She also has developed a wonderful system for spiritual guidance by tapping into the different feminine archetypes that we all hold in our hearts and minds and was kind enough to allow Val and I a chance to experience one of our own archetypes.  Three hours past as if there was no time.  It was hard to leave our new friend but it was getting late and we were very hungry.  That afternoon I spent down by the river, relaxing and reading and enjoying some quiet reflection until the bugs started after my ankles.  Another beautiful dinner and a visit to some art galleries made for a perfect last evening.

It was time to head back to Val’s home in Santa Fe and we felt we did what we needed and wanted to do in Sedona. I enjoyed the people we met, the beautiful scenery, delicious food, and sacred land.  I felt Page, Rachael and Peter’s kindness and wisdom with me. I loved honoring the land and the dear souls who influenced my life. I couldn’t be more grateful.

Canyon de Chelly

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Many years ago, I was fortunate to study with a former Episcopal priest come shaman, Peter Calhoun, author of Soul on Fire. He and his wife Astrid took people on vision quests in the Southwest, especially Utah and Arizona.  Although I never did a vision quest, Peter talked about Canyon de Chelly on Navajo land in northeast Arizona.  Peter found the canyon to be sacred and his comment has been in my memory for almost two decades waiting for the right time for me to visit this sacred site.

Last year, my dear friend Val and I started planning another girls’ trip in the southwest where she now lives. I mentioned I really wanted to see Canyon de Chelly (pronounced deshay). Since we have visited Chaco Canyon twice and loved the experience, I knew that Canyon de Chelly would be the perfect place to explore next. On the land of the Navajo nation, the canyon is sacred to the native people who live there. We started planning our trip which was not as straight-forward as visiting most national monuments.  Covid has hit the Navajo hard and the canyon was closed for 2 ½ years. They also protect access to the canyon as their spiritual land.  There are roads to look down into the canyon that anyone can drive but to get down into the canyon proper requires a Navajo guide and a four-wheel drive vehicle. 

    Val picked me up at the Albuquerque airport, and after a quick lunch we headed northwest to the far corner of Arizona, not far from the famed Four Corners region. I always enjoy seeing the big sky, barren land and deep colors of New Mexico and Arizona. It is so foreign, beautifully desolate and grand compared to my lush, green Tennessee.  I find the change refreshing as we watched the storms in the distance—you can actually see the rain falling from the clouds in the distance while still remaining in the sunshine. Just under four hours later, we arrived at the little town of Chinle, Arizona, checked into the Holiday Inn and had Navajo tacos in the adjacent restaurant.  I love fry bread and it was the perfect start for our adventure. 

    The next morning, we were met with an unusually rainy and chilly day for our tour. But the rain didn’t last long and we were able to take off layers of clothes as the day went on.  There are half day and whole day tours of the canyon and of course I wanted as much time as possible. We were the only two people taking the all day (6 hr) tour and our driver David quickly got us on the road. Now in the canyon, ‘road’ is a relative word, and because of the recent rains, the first part of the road was actually a river that we forded back and forth several times.  But soon we were at the first pictographs in the canyon: horses, hands, Kokopelli (the flute-playing trickster god), lines representing water and other figures covered the sandstone walls. We also stopped by ancient Anasazi ruins tucked into the cliffs. When they were occupied a thousand years ago, the bottom of the canyon was 30 or more feet higher. But it is a testament to the builders that the mud bricks still remain and we can still wonder at their ancient civilization. Today, there are a few older Navajo that still live in the canyon during the summer.

    Every thirty minutes or so David would stop our vehicle and come alongside the back and tell us more stories and point out more wonderful things in his Navajo-accented English. David has taken visitors into the canyon for over twenty years, and on that day, I was very grateful for his detailed knowledge but, more importantly, his expert driving.  The tours out of Thunderbird Lodge are in open Swiss Army vehicles that seat around ten on two bench seats. These heavy-duty six-wheel drive trucks were essential for the deeper parts of the canyon. Every once in awhile, David would get stuck, have to back up and engage more wheel power. Several times, Val and I just closed our eyes and counted on David’s expertise to get us over a very rough patch without rolling down the gully. We would later refer to the day as the “Raiders of the Lost Ark” tour. It was all an adventure and I love a good adventure. Our final destination was worth all the jostling and white-knuckle gripping, for the Cave of the Mummies is otherworldly and like walking in a dream. High in the cliffs were large Anasazi ruins, extensive and well preserved. We ate our lunch on a picnic table and reveled in the quiet wildness deep in that long canyon. David would give a shout and the echo would extend deep into the cliffs. We headed back to the canyon entrance and I enjoyed each new view of the 1000 foot rock walls in the changing light.  Every moment was beautiful, new and ancient at the same time.  

    Cave of the Mummies

    By the time we got back to the entrance we were both pretty tired from the long day of four-wheeling—make that six-wheeling. After quick supper of another delicious Navajo taco and a nice hot bath we were ready to lay down and just be still. But the memory of that beautiful land will linger and remain a highlight of my year. Peter Calhoun was so right, Canyon de Chelly is a very sacred place.

    The Forest

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    Here on the farm, September is still hot and very dry.  The only hint of fall are Dogwood and Tulip Poplar leaves turning yellow and red. This is a transitional month that won’t totally let go of summer but a bit of a taste of autumn. But, the last few years we have been using the dry early fall to get some work done in the forest.

    My father-in-law was obsessed with trees and bought acreage many decades ago so that he could have his own forest and farmland.  Now that we live on the old farm, we are also obsessed with trees and forest. Our mile-and-a -half trail through the woods and along the meadow gets used multiple times a day. Caroline never misses a day in the woods—rain or shine, heat or cold. She considers her daily walk to be essential as food and oxygen. Hamilton usually walks before lunch and lets me know that he is off to the “enchanted forest”. I use my time on the trail as meditation, usually with some sort of soundtrack to accompany the whispering trees.

    Caroline at her desk

    Not long after Caroline moved to the farm in 2016, she started to roam further into the forest and found all the wonderful patches of wildflowers, mushrooms and lichen. As she combed every inch of the land, she also found cave entrances and oak and cedar trees grown together as well as the unique winter phenomena, frost flowers.  At the beginning of the 2020, we built a footbridge across the fair-weather creek so we could get to the trout lilies and phlox that bloom in March, the most magical time in the forest. But all the seasons provide their own unique beauty and difficulty.  Spring brings beautiful wildflowers but also ticks.  Summer has the lush green trees but a trail full of spiderwebs to negotiate.  Fall has the beautiful golden leaves but is very dry and the creek disappears. Winter is enchanting with an occasional crystalline snow, but the trail can be very muddy.  Our forest is beautiful but there are also problems with invasive species plants that make the forest floor too crowded with non-native plants.

    This time of year, the creek and the trail are very dry and we can get vehicles deep into the forest. So for the past few weekends, Hamilton, Caroline and I have gone armed to wage war on the invading plants and big snags blocking the flow of the creek. Hamilton loads the chainsaw, two different types of weed-eaters, lawn mower and chains in the bucket of the tractor, I drive the farm pick-up, and Caroline wanders over after her morning coffee.  With all the proper tools we set to work on the invasive privet and downed trees.  Hamilton mans the heavy equipment and Caroline and I wrangle the offensive brush into an enormous pile.  We had two particularly challenging areas over the creek where trees had fallen, backed up the stream and were causing erosion. The tractor and the Bobcat made quick work of the snags and the creek will be able to stay in its banks this spring.  More snags need removing in the future but this will be a big improvement for this season.

    Very quickly we have cleared big areas of the creek side and our forest is shaping up to be a delightful open space, still with plenty of trees but now room to wander around and admire the flowers.  This summer we added a picnic table near the footbridge and it has become our favorite place to sit and listen to the creek, read a book or chat with friends. The forest is our beautiful outdoor home, and of course I like to make it tidy and inviting. We take pride in maintaining our land and love sharing it with our deer and turkey families. I also like knowing the I can get in and do some hard work and drive the big truck off road. Maybe next year I will learn to drive the tractor. The forest needs me, and I in turn need the forest.

    As I was sorting through the last remaining books from my parents, I came across a real gem, The Singing Wilderness by Sigurd Olson (1899-1982), a Swedish-American nature writer. His beautiful writing is a gentle exploration of nature and our amazing wilderness.  “These are days of quietly falling needles when after each breath of wind the air is smoky with their drift.” If you love nature writing like I do, Sigurd’s writing is perfection.  A final quote that really reflects my love of forest and land: “Wilderness to the people of America is a spiritual necessity, an antidote to the high pressure of modern life, a means of regaining serenity and equilibrium.”

    Ancestors

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    In July, I made the long pilgrimage to my ancestral home here in the United States, the beautiful state of Minnesota where my mother’s family has resided for 140 years.  We went to be family and celebrate all the things of life: birth, marriage and death.  All these events came together in one weekend that called the family together. 

    My mother passed away in November after a long decline. She was 87 and had lived a wonderful and full life. I’d been taking care of her for the last 6 years and her care had taken a toll on me the last couple of years.  Since 2009 I’d been taking care of both Hamilton’s and my parents, a job I was very willing to take on but was a constant responsibility and a lot of sadness.  My mother was the final parent in my care.  Now it was time to lay her to rest next to my father in the family cemetery on a beautiful hill in northern Minnesota.  A long and arduous era of my life was closing and this was my final duty.

    My great-great grandparents immigrated from Sweden in the 1880 and found a new home in Minnesota, a land so like their homeland.  My great-grandparents met in the little local church and married and soon had a large family on the homestead by the lake.  There the generations would gather throughout the decades, carrying on a bond that was formed by the land.  Their beautiful Swedish/American farm nurtured the family-we always felt called to come home in the summers to be together, swim in the lake, eat delicious meals and most of all breath the fresh air of the land.  It was the love of family that held us together but the land provided that essential container for our love.

    My Swedish Ancestors

    The morning of my mother’s 88th birthday we gathered once more on the land where my great-grandparents met and married.  The church is gone but the graves of the parishioners still remain.  Over 25 of my ancestors are buried there—four generations of Olsons and Lindblads. Four generations gathered to remember their lives and place my mother’s ashes next to my father and amongst her beloved Swedish family. That morning, seven generation were together on that hillside, including cousins who still live in Sweden.  I placed vases with flowers on all their graves, remembering them individually, remembering the others that are buried around the country.  We remembered my mother and her love of beauty.  We were so happy to have her back in her homeland.  Two days later I gathered all the vases and laid the flowers on my mother headstone. It felt like a welcome from her beloved family into their arms.  It was a fitting closure to her life. And it was closure to my long journey helping beloved parents to their final resting place.  

    The next day my cousins Abby and Fred were commemorating their second anniversary with a long-awaited family celebration.  They have recently purchased beautiful lake property and were gathering the family to enjoy another Minnesota summer.  The land was different but yet the same. The property was once again a beautiful container for our love and family.  The evening ended with a fire in one of my cousin Charlies’ magnificent burning sculptures.  We sat around the sparking, roaring fire– capturing the imagination and lighting something deep in our ancestral bones. 

    Over the weekend we had the best news of all, a new baby in the family.  Cousins Erich and Amanda have a new baby girl—Aletha Jane.  We were so happy for her safe arrival and beautiful newborn pictures.  But we were also thrilled with her name.  She is the 7th member of the family to have the name Aletha—a very special name for all of us.  It is mine and Caroline’s middle name as well as my grandmother, aunt, cousin, and niece.  The family continues to hold the love of family through our name. 

    Americans are so interested in their ancestral heritage. Ancestry is part of what defines us and gives roots to our lives. My mother was very proud of her Swedish ancestry, and we carry on some of the traditions in a very Americanized way. It was the land that held those memories together for so many generations.  I still hold those generations in my heart but now I like to think of those as a deeper part of me but I have become less tied to that heritage and feel that fading to the background.  My family has been in America for generations now and has loosened the ties to other homelands.  We are Americans now, a heritage that has built its own traditions. So I enjoy the moments of looking back and honoring the ancestors, but now my life is free to look forward to a time without caregiving. A time to lean even more fully into my life and my voice. Yes, the echoes of the ancestors, the family will always be there, but the future has arrived and I want to enjoy the unfolding.  

    Olympic National Park

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    Olympic Mountains, Washington

    Last year Hamilton and I went hiking in Yosemite and loved it so much that we wanted to explore another national park on foot. We also wanted to stay in the US to let some of the pandemic travel hassles ease a bit more. Both of us have traveled extensively in the US. I have been in all 50 states—most of them more than once.  Hamilton has been to every state except Oregon but neither of us had been to Olympic National Park in Washington State.  It was an easy choice as we have some delightful second cousins just outside of Seattle. Family and nature are the perfect combination for our travels.

    We happily left a heatwave in Tennessee for the much cooler Pacific Northwest. The last bits of cool, cloudy weather were receding and the first days of bright blue summer sky were on the horizon.  Our flights through Houston went well and we quickly got a rental car and headed south in a slight drizzle.  We were met by our dear cousin LaVona and her perfectly tidy house and garden.  She had done a lot of cooking for our stay and we were made to feel so welcome and loved.  Hamilton and LaVona’s grandmothers were sisters from a lively group of 8 siblings all with “L” names.  We had great times remembering Lizzie, Leona, Lula, Lillie and Laura, the five sisters who were all raised in south Mississippi at the turn of the last century. 

    The first full day in Washington we visited Mount Rainier National Park, just an hour away. It was overcast and the enormous mountain was invisible behind dense clouds. I wasn’t convinced there really was a mountain (elev. 14,411 ft)  but the surrounding land was picture perfect as we drove through dense evergreen forests, past gorgeous waterfalls, over glacier-made valleys and finally to the main visitor center which still had a 10 foot snowpack.  We watched a short movie about the mountain, so large that the circumnavigating trail is 93 miles.  We had a picnic in the light drizzle and were entertained by the Gray Jays who show no fear when food is around.  Don’t tell the rangers but I fed one of them grapes out of my hand; his little feet were so soft and gentle on my finger.  The Stellar Jays kept their distance but are they ever a beautiful blue.  The rest of the weekend we visited with more cousins and Hamilton and I had our first attempt at Pickleball. I can see why it is so popular.

    Mt Rainier National Park

    Monday morning, we headed toward Olympic National Park, my third national park in five days—I just finish climbing Mt. LeConte in the Great Smoky Mountain the week before. Cousins LaVona, Keren and Kate joined us for our week’s adventure as they had never been to Olympic either.  On our way to our Airbnb in Forks, WA, we stopped by our first rainforest path and rocky beach, both so beautiful that we were glad to have three more days on the western side of the park.  The Airbnb was clean but otherwise basic with a strange Hogwarts theme. Hamilton and I had the Slytherin room. Forks, Washington, is the setting for the Twilight books and movies because it is the cloudiest/rainiest town in American—prefect for vampires.  I watched my first-ever Twilight movie so that I could get in the spirit of the town. Magic, Vampires and a local Sasquatch legend—something for everyone.

    Rialto Beach

    The next three days we spent time on the magnificent rocky beaches. Rialto beach was just a half hour away and had beautiful rock islands close to the shore. We walked about 1.5 miles to a big arch in the rocky coast and explored the tidepools filled with anemones and starfish. On the forest edge of the beach were whole spruce-tree driftwood that were like giant whalebones, gleaming white and smooth, perfect for sitting and just staring at the surf on the rocks. Or stacking the surf-smoothed stones. Or breathing the cleansing salt air. It was an overcast day so the whole world was a gray-scale wonder: green-black trees, deep-gray stone, light-gray water and sky, white caped waves and bone-white driftwood trees. Another day we walked the .8 mile path through the forest to Second Beach where we had a whole mile of sand and surf in front of us without another soul in sight, my kind of beach.

    Second Beach
    giant driftwood on First Beach

    One of the crown jewels of Olympic is the Hoh Rainforest.  We set out early to beat the crowds in the parking lot and were rewarded with a perfectly cloudless morning and a visit with one of the resident Roosevelt elk enjoying her breakfast of weeds in the stream.  The sun shone through the tendrils of moss hanging from every tree. There were patches of sun highlighting the ferns on the forest floor. It was so hard to know where to look next, so we slowly wandered around the trails, taking pictures that will never come close to showing the beauty of this full sensory place.  The sacredness of the forest was palpable, and we kept our voices to a whisper in reverence for this holy ground.  It was so primordial that a T Rex or Brachiosaurs could come wandering by at any moment or a fairy could be flying around, flitting between trees and ferns.  We stopped by the Hoh river for our picnic lunch on one of the rocky bars in the middle of the river.  It was hard to leave the forest but the crowds were growing and we wanted more beach time.

    Roosevelt Elk
    Hoh Rainforest in the sunshine

    Our evenings in Forks were so pleasant.  LaVona had made several delicious casseroles, one for each evening. A salad and cake made each meal a feast. Then we would settle in for some binge watching.  Hamilton and cousin Keren watched all of ‘1883’ and I watched/slept through a couple of the Twilight movies. The five of us were happy and compatible, everyone looking out for the other’s needs and wishes.

    Our final day together we headed east to Hurricane Ridge visitors center to get a full view of the Olympic range.  At 5000 feet, there was still big patches of snow and we definitely needed our warm jackets. We climbed the steep short path that gave a 360 degree view with the snowcapped Olympic mountains on one side and the Puget Sound on the other.  It was a clear, bright day and we could see Vancouver Island, Canada, and Mount Baker in the distance.  After lunch we said our goodbyes to our dear relatives as they needed to head home.  I had booked our last night at Crescent Lake where we enjoyed a picnic supper in our room with the view of the sapphire lake for entertainment.  The next morning, we took a short walk to Marymere Falls and then a hike on Spruce Railroad Trail, a former railroad bed complete with tunnels.  The bike/hiking trail meandered along the lake’s edge and we enjoyed the changing views of the mountains. We hiked to the end and back for a total of 8 miles.  It was the perfect ending to our time in Olympic and we couldn’t have been happier with our six days in this wondrous park.

    Crescent Lake

    On our way back to the Seattle airport we finally saw the elusive Mount Rainier and it is massive.  It made for a fitting farewell for our delightful time on the Olympic peninsula.  Olympic has rainforest, mountains, lakes, beaches, waterfalls. The only thing it lacked was a desert to be about every type of climate. We were blessed with great weather, good company and our amazing sacred earth.

    Mt Rainier on the drive back to Seattle

    The Hermitage

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    The Hermitage, Nashville, Tennessee

    In between two longer trips in June, I had two mini-trips in my home state of Tennessee. I once again climbed Mt. LeConte in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park and stayed in the off-grid lodge at the top with my Wednesday hiking group.  Last year was a very cold hike with beautiful hoar frost on the trees and this year was a very warm hike with the rhododendron and mountain laurel in bloom. I always enjoy a hiking challenge and this year I was rewarded with probably my all-time favorite mountain moment—sunrise over the gorgeous layers of mountains.  It was worth the journey to see the sunrise in one direction and the beautiful moon, Venus and Jupiter on the opposite side of the sky.  Fifteen minutes after sunrise, the fog rolled in and my view was instantly white but the moment of sunrise is with me forever.

    Earlier in the month, I went west to my hometown of Nashville to see my dear friend Melynie who was finally able to get back to the US from her home in Taiwan. It had been several years since I was last in Nashville and I have some favorite places I always want to visit.  Top of my list is the beautiful Athena in the Parthenon in Centennial Park and then the gorgeous Bi-Centennial Park just a couple of miles away.  Both hold such a special place in my heart and no trip to Nashville is complete without a visit.  We finished off the afternoon with a long trip to the used bookstore as we are both voracious readers and then a delicious dinner at Adele’s.

    Athena, Centennial Park
    Bi-Centenniel Park, Nashville

    There was one place in Nashville I particularly wanted to revisit, The Hermitage, the home of the 7th US president, Andrew Jackson, and the third most visited presidential home in the United States. The Hermitage holds a special place in my memory and heart.  I visited it often as a child for we only lived about 20 minutes away. I have very vivid memories of the grand Greek Revival façade and the beautiful rooms with antique wallpaper.  The beds seemed so small but with elaborate curtains flowing from the canopies. The mansion was never sold outside the family, so it still has all the original furnishings and is well preserved.  I loved wandering the gardens and seeing the carriage house with the old carriage and artifacts from so long ago.  It certainly made an impression on me as a young girl.

    It was a beautiful June morning and the breeze was gentle—perfect for my return after more than 20 years.  Now there is a big new visitor center/museum a ways from the old home and we spent some time learning about Andrew Jackson while we waited for our entry time into the mansion. Andrew Jackson, the president on the $20 bill, has become a more controversial figure in the last few decades as history is revisited but the museum focuses on his illustrious war career and the power he had as president.  I’m sure this was all important, but I was only interested in one thing, the house.  I wanted to see that beautiful home again.

    With much anticipation I walked down the path to the front of the home. It was almost as I remember with the tall Corinthian columns and beautiful old brick.  It was no longer bright white but a soft beige which apparently was the original color.  We wandered the mature English style garden but mostly I was happy to sit and look at the beautiful front porch and stately columns.  It was finally our turn to go into the entrance hall—I love that entrance hall with spectacular hand painted scenic wallpaper of the Odyssey, a Greek myth, perfect for a Greek Revival home.  The tour guide gave many details in a very sing-song style and then we wandered down the hall to hear more stories and see the main bedrooms.  The tour continued upstairs and then down.  Each room was just as I remembered.  

    Looking back on my fascination with The Hermitage, I can see my early love of homes and architecture. That beautiful old mansion was the beginning of my deep love of historic homes and places.  For me, houses are people too and I love to feel their presence and sense the essence of their long lives. There is a soul to a well-loved old home that I really connect to and cherish.  I have had several more special meetings with great houses and feel they have much to say.  What I didn’t know then was I would eventually move to an old Greek Revival home and build a special relationship with my own bit of history. 

    What from your past turned out to be more influential than you realized?  Have you ever had the chance to visit that person or place again?   I found my morning with The Hermitage to be so sweet and joyful.  I was meeting a beautiful old mentor again, and that home’s influence started me down a wonderful path.