For a Solstice treat, Margy and I went to Kettle Cove beach a little before sunset. Santa was gathering seaweed for the garden. Now you might not think Santa would be out on Solstice, but the ancient European pagans laid claim to this gentle gift-giver from the north much before St. Nicholas. In fact, in the old old days, they say Santa was female. I think they might be right.
A group of hikers passed by and seaweed-gathering Santa was a big hit, with many photos taken. Job done, it was time for a little rest. Thankfully, there was a handy log nearby to sit on.
Oh look, who is that with Santa? It’s me! I was also sitting on that log. It’s a Santa selfie. The setting sun was bright upon our faces and we gave thanks for all the sun brings to us.
And then we had another surprise treat. The local mermaids came to the beach for a Solstice swim in the cold ocean. We did not join them but we had fun watching them brave the waves.
May all the blessings of this Solstice day be upon you! May the darkness be fruitful, and peace return with the lengthening days, peace upon Gaza, upon Ukraine, upon Sudan, and all the hidden sorrowful places.
It is raining here in the northeast and the wind is blowing mightily, with gusts past 50 miles per hour. This healthy spruce tree suddenly fell down from its very roots. I was inside and heard something, but didn’t realize what had happened until I poked my nose out the door. Thankfully, it just missed our deck! And our house!
I found this little squirrel within the branches, perched on a cherry tree branch, probably wondering what the heck just happened! And also eating a seed. The spruces are like squirrel highways over here.
I went fully outside into the rain to survey the damage and was amazed by how we lucked out. The spruce landed in the orchard, tucked neatly between the trees. Some orchard tree branches are bent or broken, but not the trunks. Also, it could have hit our house if it had fallen in a different direction, but it did not.
Earlier, I had been worrying about an entirely different spruce–a dead one with a squirrels nest. That one is still standing so far, but this one took me by surprise. The whole root ball had come out of the ground. This photo is from that root, from the bottom of the tree, looking to the top, where you can see how it landed between the white painted trunks of apple and peach. The patterns of the branches are so beautiful, even in its dying.
I don’t know how much damage the orchard trees suffered. When Margy got home from an appointment, she went out in the rain immediately to begin cutting spruce branches that were interfering with orchard tree branches. I guess that is something else that I love about her. Going outside in all sorts of weather, and caring about trees. I think if the branches can be freed from where they are bent, they might have a better chance of recovering.
Meanwhile, I am inside thinking about how vulnerable we all are to the wind and weather. How even with so much care put into this orchard, it could be wiped out with a storm. Or a tree could fall on our house. I tend to worry, to imagining worst case scenarios. Yet, I have been so blessed in so many ways, protected from harm by what magic? I can’t put it on “being blessed,” because I don’t think people who face tragedy or catastrophe do so because of not “being blessed.” (I don’t think people being killed in Gaza are outside of the view of that Mystery who blesses all, and who is especially with those who are suffering.)
Luck? Fate? I am reminded of the Chinese story about a farmer whose horse escaped into the hills. When his neighbors came by to sympathize with the old man over his bad luck, the farmer replied, “Bad luck? Good luck? Who knows?” The next day, the horse returned with a beautiful wild stallion. This time the neighbors congratulated the farmer on his good luck. His reply was, “Good luck? Bad luck? Who knows?” Then, when the farmer’s son was attempting to tame the stallion, he fell off its back and broke his leg. Everyone thought this very bad luck. But the farmer again replied, “Bad luck? Good luck? Who knows?”
Some weeks later, the army marched into the village and conscripted every able-bodied youth they found there. When they saw the farmer’s son with his broken leg, they let him off. Now was that good luck or bad luck? Who knows?
When a tree falls I am reminded that the world we live in is much bigger than we can understand or imagine.
We have our first snow-covered morning here in our yard in Portland Maine. In places further from the shore they got several inches, but we had mostly rain until early morning. Now it feels like winter is really here. My internal clock has felt the shift, as the days grow shorter and darker. A few days ago, I started working again on sorting through my old documents–my winter project of the last few winters. This year, most of the documents are digital, though there is at least one box of paper files to go through in the basement. In prior winters, I looked back on all the years before we moved to Maine in 2005. This winter, I am looking through my time as minister of Allen Avenue Unitarian Universalist Church here in Portland, before I retired in 2018.
I started by reading all of the “annual reports” I wrote for the church to summarize the work of that year. It was a simple way to quickly turn the pages of thirteen years of ministry. I was astounded at the sheer number of times I marched in protests, or spoke at vigils in solidarity with issues of justice or worked on legislative change in support of human rights, usually along with other members of my congregation or other ministry colleagues. My life now is so much quieter and less intense, but also less connected. It was good to have that public voice, and to use my voice in service to all that I believe. I feel so far removed from that life and that work.
I suppose in some ways a blog is a kind of public voice, but much quieter and less visible. My life these days is much quieter and less visible. That is chronic illness, compounded by our continued COVID precautions in our household. I can’t put my body out on the line for love and justice. It takes most of my body’s energy just to manage our household tasks. It is like I am looking out a window at all that is happening in our world.
I was surprised to notice that I hadn’t blogged for a few weeks. Lately, all I can think about is Gaza and the way the people there are suffering and dying. In my files I found a sermon I preached in 2014 about Palestine and Israel. In many ways, the issues are all the same. In other ways, everything has gotten worse, much worse. So many deaths, so much destruction. I can’t even imagine the words I could say about it, and then I don’t have words for anything else. My heart is on the ground. My heart is on the ground.
And then, out the window I see a large flock of small birds visiting the hazelnut hedge and the bird feeder. They find their way to our yard each day, traveling together as a group. They usually arrive mid-day, but today they are early. Tufted titmice, chickadees, goldfinches in their winter garb, sparrows, juncos, finches, even a bluebird. (Maybe they come more than once a day, but you have to be looking out a window to see them so I am not sure.) Often a few chickadees even stop at our back porch pecking for stray seeds. It is not so easy to take a photo of a flock of small birds. They scatter themselves across the orchard. They come through and then they are gone again. Traveling all together on their mysterious rounds.
And my heart is lifted just a little, with their flight and their community.
Finding Our Way Home 