O Christmas Tree!

Today was the day. Early on this cloudy morning I was not sure, but as we approached noon, the skies cleared to that brilliant blue that so beautifully embodies the best of a Vermont winter's day. Gary and I gathered what we needed - hand saw, cornmeal, tarp and gloves - and we drove down the road.

The tree farm is just down the road from our place, and there have been years in which we carried the tree home on a sled or sharing the load with our children, but this year it was just us. Involving the car seemed the sensible option. No need to stress our backs or our bodies unnecessarily. 

We thought we had found the perfect tree almost as soon as we set foot in the field, but that felt strange to me. The choosing of a tree process is supposed to take time, properly reflecting the solemnity of the occasion. So we marked that tree with an arrow pointing toward it in the snow and dutifully wandered through the rows of trees, stopping to check one out here, another out there. Gary called me over to examine one he found and I, in turn, did the same, until we had three contenders, including the first one we spotted. 

We returned to the trees we had marked and gave each of them a thorough going-over. Finally, we settled on a tree that, on close examination showed signs of a bird having nested in its branches, as well as an entire dry snake skin, which seemed auspicious to us. I accept that these "signs" may have been the exact things to turn someone else off, but that's okay with me. I fully embrace our eccentricities... most of the time.

Having made our decision, Gary and I spoke words of gratitude and sprinkled a dusting of corn meal before taking out the saw and cutting our chosen Christmas tree down. (This is a ritual we were taught to show respect for the life of the tree.) I was able to carry it out of the field on my own, leaving Gary free to carry the saw and cornmeal, and slip ahead of me to open the car. Once home, it was a surprisingly simple matter to find the stand and settle the tree into its new home. 

"That almost felt too easy," Gary said.

"Yeah, it seems strange, doesn't it?" I replied, pouring water into the stand.

We both smiled contentedly, breathing in the sharp scent of pine, happy that it was beginning to feel a little more like Christmas. Content also, with the thought that, despite the challenges that are so rampant in the world today, maybe life doesn't have to be a struggle. Maybe some things can be as easy as finding the perfectly imperfect Christmas Tree.

 

Seeds of Community & Hope

As the daylight started to fade, Gary and I stoked up our wood stove and bundled up to go out into the wintry night. A friend had invited us to come over and help create a seed mandala using the beautiful multi-colored corn he had grown. 

We had participated in creating mandalas before, and had seen Tibetan monks as well as Navajo artists working with colored sand to do the same. We were eager to put our minds and hands to good use, breathing our prayers for community, for healing, for hope, and for peace into the pattern we would choose to create.

The colorful ears of corn were hanging along the ceiling, having spent the past month or so drying out. Our friend brought some ears down and we got to work stripping the kernels from the cobs, and then carefully sorting them into bowls of yellow, pink, orange, red, blue, purple, and some of surprising yellow and red stripe. 

Sharing a potluck dinner, we took a break and talked about possible designs. The three young children, still dressed as fairies in their fanciful outfits complete with iridescent wings, chimed in, eager to help. Deciding on a Tree of Life, each of us took hands full of kernels, carefully arranging them into a strong trunk, then deep and intricate roots. Once the Tree was established, each child chose a color and helped design a rainbow effect of pillowy leaves across the tops of the branches.

Mandalas are often created as an active prayer, a sign of hope. Their intricate patterns and designs are imbued with sacred meaning. Ours was no different. When we had finished, we all sat back around the edges of the Tree and spoke in hushed tones about what we saw in the beauty and intent of the design. 

As we prepared to leave, we knew that the mandala would last for the night, perhaps, and then the corn would be gathered into bowls to be stored for food this winter. Even though the mandala itself was ephemeral, as most mandalas are, the prayers and intentions it brought forth will, we hope, spill out into our lives and into the world around us. 

The cozy evening spent with a few other creators of beauty and hope, kept my heart warm as we made our way home. I imagine it will continue to keep my spirit hopeful whenever I reflect on it. My earnest desire is that it does the same for others who were a part of the experience, as well as for you, who are hearing about it now.

 

NaNoWriMo

NaNoWriMo is short for National Novel Writing Month, which takes place in November each year. The challenge is to write 50,000 words in the course of one month. This works out to 1,667 words per day for each of November's 30 days. 

At first I didn't really think NaNoWriMo had anything to do with me. I am not a novelist, for starters, but the folks who organize the event are great at making everyone who likes to write in any form feel welcome. They even held a virtual memoir writing camp this summer, which I did not attend, but the idea of it brought home the thought that I could participate this November and write whatever my heart drew me toward. So I did.

I have been wanting to write my memoir for at least 25 years, and I have managed to jot down ideas and even entire essays over the course of that time. However, this all felt disjointed. There was no clear flow to the writing, no underlying theme. I was not sure how to organize my memories and the stories that accompany them into some kind of coherent whole. 

When this year's NaNoWriMo approached, I decided that I would use the month as a springboard for the project. My intention was to focus on a different memory each day, beginning with my earliest ones and going as far as the thirty days would take me. I knew I needed a theme, and after trying and discarding several possible concepts, I settled on "Connections". I figured that this could reflect my connections with Spirit, with the natural world, with family, with friends, with myself, even. It seemed broad enough as well as specific enough to work as a framework on which to build.

November is over, and with it the challenge that I accepted of writing 50,000 words, a day at a time. I am happy to report that I did it! Some days in particular were difficult for me to take time out for writing. Thanksgiving, with its attendant activities of cooking, celebrating with friends and family, travel, etcetera, features in there. And it comes close to the home stretch, so that puts a bit of pressure on, to keep up your word count so you don't have a word mountain to climb during the last few days.

As a way of celebrating the fact that I successfully rose to the challenge, I decided to print out my month's worth of words. They totaled 50,212 words, and filled up 204 pages. Carefully wrapping the pages to protect them from the rain and from being jostled into chaos, I brought them to Staples and had them bound. Mostly I did this to see what it looked like, and how it felt to have something physical to
show for my efforts. Even though I know it is a draft, and a rough one at that, it surprised me how good it feels to hold that book in my hands. 

All of this reminded me of how important it is to just get started on whatever it is that your heart is calling you to do. I am hopeful that this message will continue to draw me forward into the life I imagine.