Deepening with a Sense of Place
There are over 500 hiking trails within an hour of where I live…or so I’ve read. At first, the stay at home order challenged me as I was walking or mountain biking nearly every day at Deep Creek, part of the Great Smoky Mountains National Park. It was a very short drive and the waterfalls, creek, forest…a wonderland of beauty. I missed that.
But then, as I walked the quiet little mountain where I reside, I began to make friends with it and the wildlife and trees here. I know where the hooded warblers hang out. The northern parula has one little area he inhabits and loudly proclaims his territory. The wood thrush lives near me.
And now, since I’ve started flying the drone most every day, I have come to know the mountains and valleys here, in this little dot on the planet. There are two places I fly. One near my home in a meadow and the other is my driveway. The driveway is a straight-up and down flight. And sometimes I want to explore further yet every time I fly up, I see my friends. The mountain ridge across the valley…national park, Clingman’s Dome…those big friends. But the smaller ones here are showing me their secrets.
For instance, one particular mountain–just northwest of where I fly from my driveway—seems to attract fog. It seems to send out the call to the fog tiptoeing upslope. Today, the mountain valley in front of my home had a small rainbow or fogbow. There’s something very sweet about knowing the place where you live. And perhaps, to truly live in a place there must be some level of intimacy that develops.
The park is open again but I haven’t visited. I don’t want to miss a morning walk here…are the hooded warblers still in their respective places? Is the northern parula still here? Oh, look! There are now three fire pink flowers shyly peeking out from the lush green foilage and only two days ago there was one. These are my friends. The mountains and valleys are my pals. There is a deepening sense of Oneness within my heart as I really open myself to this green dot on this blue planet.
I’ll return to ride and walk in the national park. But first, let me deepen my acquaintance with life here in the place I live.
It’s been ten years today.
After documenting the oil spill for a year on the Alabama Gulf Coast, I thought it would be the wake-up event that would shake the world. I was wrong. Completely wrong. As soon as the well was capped…which wasn’t soon–85 days, 16 hours and 25 minutes–that mile-deep gusher polluted the Gulf of Mexico.
Chemical dispersants were used that made the spill MUCH worse than letting the oil float to the surface for removal. I watched tide pools of fizzing oily water along the beach and witnessed the destruction first-hand.
My heart broke open. I felt grief beyond anything I had known. I felt anger. I felt shame at being human and part of the problem. And now, ten years later, I feel rather hopeless because there wasn’t an awakening…for some of us, sure. But overall…now regulations are fewer and more lax thanks to the current USA administration…worse than before the spill.
We have an even greater opportunity to awaken on a worldwide level with a tiny virus making a huge impact. My greatest fear is we will not take advantage of this opportunity to make major changes that will improve the health of all life on planet Earth…and that would be the saddest of all outcomes. With such a high death toll my prayer is that it will fuel a world-wide awakening to positive change so these deaths will not have been in vain.
I wasn’t going to write about the oil spill disaster today but how could I not? It was an awakening for me and I will never be the same. Which is a good thing because I won’t go back to sleep…ever.
P.S. I don’t know why I tasted oil in the air that night in Curacao but I suspect on some level I sensed what happened. We are One, connected to all life. Perhaps my cetacean self got the message loud and clear.
The other day as I was walking up the mountain in my solitary reverie, the idea of time arose as I wondered what day it was. Many humorous comments have been recently made by individuals suddenly removed from daily schedules about not knowing what day it is. I found myself not caring whether it was Monday or Thursday, April or March or May. I have never liked schedules or boxes as I call them. If I am free to follow the sun and stars, the weather, the chill or warmth of the air, I am most happy. Following the ebb and flow of tides, the changing of seasons seems a more natural way to be in the world. Plug me into a schedule that defies natural rhythm and I begin to get weird and jittery.
During my walking contemplation, I felt my body attune to the rhythm of Nature–spring…morning light…blooms…moving water…cool air…unfurling leaves. During this experience where the entire world has slowed down, I find myself relieved and hopeful. Perhaps we, as a collective, will remember the rhythms of Nature and open to the truth that we are part of the whole and will be happier and healthier by paying closer attention to these sacred rhythms.
For as long as I can remember in this life I have known there would be something that would stop the world and make us face the path of destruction we have been on with industrialization. It is my deep hope that we will make a collective effort during this time of pause to reconnect with natural rhythms of life and recognize what is truly valuable and important and what isn’t.
Curves, circles, spirals. Ambling here and there, led by a turkey track, an elk rub, an otter track. No longer a slave to goals and distances.
The elk rub was fresh, the little hemlock victim to raging hormones of the bull.
Standing beside the rushing water I think of the white sands along the Gulf Coast, knowing they came from here in the Appalachian Mountains. The cold, clear water leaps and pushes down, down, down from its source. I attach a thought of love for sea turtles to the water molecules as they tumble toward the Gulf and know that someday those water molecules will reach sea turtles and deliver the thought. And then I ponder the connection we all have with each other, with Source. There is only separation when we imagine it to be so and even then we exist in Oneness whether we believe it or not. Whether we are even aware or not.
The Tuckaseegee River winds around daily life and is the central river upon which each day flows. It begins in Jackson County above Cullowhee and flows northwesterly into Swain County where it joins the Oconaluftee River before heading through the center of Bryson City. It then enters Fontana Lake then the Little Tennessee River which flows into the Ohio River and finally the Mississippi River…and then the Gulf of Mexico.
The facility where I work is on the bank of the Oconaluftee River. During my breaks I walk along the sidewalk in Cherokee and connect with this beautiful river. It begins as several small creeks join near Newfound Gap and this stream flows south along the base of Mount Kephart. It converges with Kephart Prong, Kanati Fork and Smith Branch to form the Oconaluftee River. It flows south cutting a valley and strengthens when Bradley Fork at Smokemont adds to its flow. It continues its flow along the national park boundary and flows through Cherokee and finally joins the Tuckaseegee River.
I feel the connection of water through us all, through all landscapes…through all life. It is life-giving, vital to survival.
One of my favorite quotes is by John O’Donohue: I would love to live like a river flows, carried by the surprise of its own unfolding.