New email went out to Journeys subscribers today: Check it out.
|
Summer Rain
Summer at Cedar Cross Retreat Center
New email went out to Journeys subscribers today: Check it out.
|
Walk with me on the Middle Trail to the South Hillside
Join me for a short walk in a gentle rain.
The trails at Cedar Cross bring surprises, and a sense of calm as nature welcomes us.
Light Still Shines
New email went out to Journeys subscribers today: Check it out.
|
We are living and dying at the same time.
Every time I go home from a day in the garden, my body reminds me that I’m not a spring chicken anymore.
Hauling rocks, shoveling dirt to and fro, crawling around on my knees, digging and yanking roots, lifting a rock in and out of its chosen placement until I can form the hole to fit it perfectly — all of this is hard work. Good, old-fashioned, hard work.
And it’s just what I needed.
When the pandemic struck with all the subsequent repercussions, it didn’t take long for me to realize that I was grieving. …Grieving the staggering forthcoming loss of life, grieving the fragile nature of our society’s compassion for others, grieving the reality of elevated risk for so many people I love, and grieving the loss of the business revenue I had worked so hard to secure for our family. The grief became so overwhelming that I needed a place to work it out. I needed a constructive way to haul and shovel and crawl and dig and yank that grief out of my body.
Many nights I’d lie in bed after a day with the rocks and try to find a muscle that didn’t hurt. I pushed myself sore many times, and turns out it was the best remedy I could find. The grief became clarity, and the time in the garden helped to create a deep sense of spaciousness within me as I prepare for the days to come.
The truth is that the world is complicated. Life is messy, and so is death. People worldwide are dying daily from COVID-19. And other people are trying to figure out how to get back to work. We are living, and we are dying; we are dying, and we are living. Both are true, at the same time.
What’s also true is that we have an amazing opportunity right now to synthesize the best of our world pre-pandemic with all the lessons we’ve learned about ourselves and our world during the pandemic into a new “third way” of life post-pandemic.
It’s been longer than six weeks since I began working with the garden. I am finally beginning to feel more centered and ready to discern moving forward with my business. Things will be changing, and I’m still listening to learn the details of the best way forward. Yet one of the things I know for sure is that the Sunny Garden and I will be pals for a long time to come.
Learning the Lingo
I could launch into a litany of words and phrases specific to goldsmithing that would not make a lot of sense to a non-smith.
No copper tongs in the pickle.
The girdle is uneven.
It’s time to sharpen the graver.
Pour the ingot through the flame.
Bleed the line.
I could continue, but I’ll spare you. The point is that any discipline or avocation is going to have its own vernacular. I’m learning the lingo of stone masonry.
Chinking helps to set.
The wall needs a good batter.
Two on one. One on two.
I found a book in the Cedar Cross library called Building Stone Walls by John Vivian.
I also managed to get another handy volume called Stonework by Peter McHoy.
As any good autodidact would, I’m finding it helpful to read/listen to several different perspectives and then engage each area somewhat methodically, taking note of what works and what doesn’t. Sometimes I don’t know what doesn’t work until it’s done and I notice that the drainage is off in a heavy rain, or that a wobble develops after some repeated walking.
So there are a few areas that I plan to revisit and improve. But for now I’m enjoying moving forward with what’s next. With the exception of a few tweaks to come, I have completed all the walkways at the main garden entrance.
Up next is The Pocket.
But first, let’s pause and celebrate this milestone!
Celebrating a milestone
Emerging from deep within me late yesterday, a hallelujah-style whoooop-yee-ha rung in the trees around the Sunny Garden.
It was a glorious moment!
I set the last stone in that tricky, curvy, slope-y section of the path that I’ve been working on for the last three weeks. I gathered up my tools, grabbed my water bottle, and stretched my back. As I swallowed, I looked down along those stones and realized that I had reached a milestone. (Pun intended.)
Hallelujah!
Weeks ago when I assisted Mac in the Moss Garden, we were wrapping up our work for the day when he invited me to take a stone next to him.
We sat there and observed the space where we’d been on our knees most of the day. Mostly we sat together in silence, with just a few thoughts shared aloud between us. It was a precious reminder for me. A holy pause.
Pause speaks to the very essence of Cedar Cross and why it exists. The spaciousness of respite gives nourishment and clarity to the soul. It balances launching with holding, studying with observing, doing with being.
So, after my big hallelujah moment last evening, I sat down just outside the space and reflected on the pathway, the work, the time, and the context. Putting together these hard pieces of earth is somehow leading me toward new truths about the hard pieces of life in this world. Maybe. Or maybe I’m just building a pathway.
Using what we already have
There are a couple of stone foundations and chimneys at Cedar Cross – remnants of the lives lived here in years past.
These structures were built using a resource of the land that occurs in abundance here – granite.
When an artist snatches the tail of her muse leading her toward a new medium, look out. There are entire commercial industries built around selling art supplies and teaching craft lessons and so on and so forth. And thank goodness for that, for the nurturing of creativity in folks however it shows up for them. I’m all for it.
But in my case, in this moment, less is more. I’ve lost most of my income for now because of this pandemic, so in my creative endeavors of late, I’m committed to working with what I already have, using what I already have, and not spending money if I can help it.
So THANK GOODNESS there is no end to the supply of rocks at Cedar Cross!
When this land was farmed, rocks were piled up out of the way of the plow. In the woods I can find piles here and there, lots of them. My understanding of the geology is that stone outcroppings tend to run northwest to southeast. That helps me know where to look. And John is helpful with directing me to outcroppings.
I have three piles going in the Sunny Garden. They are sort of sorted according to shape and function. Sort of. It’s all a work in progress.
One is for massive flat boulders. Those work well as steps, and I’m thinking of trying to do the main floor of The Pocket with those. That will be tricky and require the strength of Samson before his haircut. But, hey, since haircuts are hard to come by in pandemic times, maybe we can work something out. We’ll see.
Another pile is for stones with some depth and a lovely flat side. Those are for the pathway.
The third pile is for retaining walls. Smaller stackables are for the plant beds, and bigger rocks are for The Pocket wall.
John advised me when I started this project that with stone work, you’ll end up collecting more rocks than you’ll use, usually at a rate of three to one. Every rock placed is selected for that spot, so it makes sense that some won’t be chosen.
I guess that means at some point I’ll be making my own pile of rocks somewhere in the woods, available for someone else looking to build something some day in the years to come.
A walk in the early-morning midst as well as other reflections and news from Cedar Cross
New email went out to Journeys subscribers today: Check it out.
|
Jimmy Allen
Ginger Allen