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What does a woman write when she turns 65 and feels rebellious about being labeled “senior”? When she creates a website to help launch her next book, saying to herself and the world, “Here is my roller coaster life so far...stay tuned!”--? When she, as so often, asks, “Now what, what next, oh Universe, oh Mystery?”
What does a woman write who as often as not procrastinates, spills words of discouragement into her journal, calls a friend to confess both her slowness and the hopelessness that overwhelms, then revives, crafts a haiku and goes off to walk a labyrinth or do contra dancing?
She writes, “Hello! Greetings on this sunny or stormy day! I am glad to meet you on these pages, in the midst of the great stream of life.” She remembers how pivotal it is to be grateful, gives thanks her website designer and photographer, and writes further, “Thank YOU for browsing here, and blessings on your journey . . .”
August 28th
Almost a month later and almost time to return to Montreal, too. What paradoxes we humans are --at least I certainly am! I don’t like things to change; I hate getting ready to go and feel sad to be saying goodbye again to my favourite haunts. Yet, in another way, I don’t think I would love it here as much if I lived in Britannia all year round. Some part of me craves difference and new vistas, too --but today I mourned my departure, longed for it all to stay exactly like this late afternoon late summer scene in warm sunlight, as I biked home from the library along the river and through the back way to Mud Lake. As I turned away from the river, there was a big heron, poised in the long reeds, and I shouted out “Ho, heron!” to him, saluting his presence, conscious I only have three more days for these precious, soul-grounding sightings.
When I reached the back end of the lake, I stopped and picked a small bunch of purple loose strife for a bouquet, and then pushed my bike along the lake edge of the filtration plant grounds. The reflecting water was so still I could hardly tell it wasn’t sky, white clouds floating across it, along with white water lilies, green lilypads and tiny white waterfowl feathers, an occasional duck arising in alarm. Then I got to a midpoint not far from the road, where I often pause to survey both directions of the lake, and after looking way out opposite me and to the right, towards the beaver lodge, I looked left, and gradually my eyes came back to rest on the bushes immediately in front of me --and THEN I finally saw the young great blue heron who was standing still as a grey stick, right there, barely 20 feet away. I thanked her and cried big tears of farewell, trying not to blow my nose and frighten her. Remembering again the importance of quiet centering, affirming my own precious goodness, I felt my inner self gradually become calm, and said another “Ho, you heron!’ that was a farewell for now.
July 31st, 2010
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I am big on feeling securely anchored, and always root in lovingly wherever I live --but I am especially attached to my own little house in Britannia, on the West side of Ottawa. After working in Montreal since late last August, living in a little “three and a half” apartment (Montreal’s term for a one bedroom), and after about a month of visits here and there in June and half of July, I am back in my old home for the summer! It’s lovely to see the leafy green morning light in my bedroom or to stand at the sunny sink and wash dishes, looking out at my flourishing (and weedy!) garden.... Whenever I come back to Britannia, I try to get over to the conservation area behind my street as soon as I can, so I can check out the general state of nature in and around Mud Lake, as well as search specifically for herons. This return has not only yielded an entire tree of perching herons in a new location that I have never seen before, but also a spectacular beaver show! |
Friends and I walked all the way around the lake last Sunday evening, and as we circled back from the road at the north end, we started seeing and hearing beavers --adults AND kits. Turned out there’s a brand new lodge in Mud Lake, right beside a rock platform that gives viewers a terrific vantage point --and somehow, the beavers don’t seem to mind humans standing there. We saw at least three adults and four kits the first night, occasionally hearing a little chirping noise that seemed to be beaver talk, as they swam about, their tails like long, hidden propellors, noses like prows, with small perky ears defining their heads low to the water.
Then Monday night we went back, to see what else we could see --and at first, there were no beavers, only the cold beady-eyed stare of a huge snapping turtle very close to the shore! Finally he dove away, with an ominous flip of a spiky paw, and --at least that night-- no apparent baby beaver meal. Soon after the adults began circling and diving, and then two of them locked into some sort of territorial struggle, we guessed, with a lot of pushing back and forth and very sexual sounding noise (but surely beavers don’t mate outside of their lodges?). Later an adult started gnawing on a branch and it seemed as if s/he were calling to the kits, who joined him/her to feast, which we could hear quite clearly as “mmm, mmm, nibble, nibble” sounds.
While we stood and watched all this, we also spotted two herons flying overhead in the pink sunset light, returning to the heronry I know is about a mile away. It all seemed so rich, especially as this whole conservation area is in the shadow of distant apartment high rises, and its peace is undergirded by the hum of distant traffic. Ironically, my friends say these beavers gave them more creature sightings than on their entire recent canoe trip in the Algonquin wilderness. As for me, I feel truly welcomed home --and I plan to make frequent pilgrimages to my nightly beaver show place. The Mud Lake scene is way better than summer movies!
Where are you on your own spiral journey?
Share your thoughts at carolinebp [at] sympatico [dot] ca.
Unless otherwise noted, all Contents © 2010, Caroline Balderston Parry
