Friday, November 8, 2024

Welcome Home - November

Today I took a 9-hour round trip that carried me through some of the Piedmont's prettiest country. The gently rolling hills and farmland along US 64 remind me of parts of New York state with the way they invite me to slow down and not just look at everything but to really see it. 

There's a gas station near Mocksville at the intersection of 64 and Dalton Road. The sign on the building says CROSSROADS MART in big red letters on a white background. Beneath that, in white letters on a red background it says, "Sodas Cigarettes Groceries & More." This is a really nice little market and service station, but I'm pretty sure that on certain nights some somebody most of us would rather not meet adds the word "Souls" to the white letter/red background part of that sign. Then it disappears once the deals are done.

It will be a long forever before I travel back to the Uwharrie, so I took advantage of not being in a hurry and wandered around historic downtown Mocksville for a little while. Truth is, I used that wander and the long drive to leave behind some energy I did not want to carry home with me. Mocksville seems to be a sweet little place with restaurants and shopping that caught my eye. Sorry for the energy drop, M'ville. It wasn't exactly a leave no trace visit, but I did my best to tidy up what I was laying down. 

That little side trip delayed the rest of my drive home with almost perfect timing. By the time I was approaching the mountains molten glass was pouring across the sky in thick layers of orange blossom honey, marigold, and tangerine. I don't know who was calling to me, but the message was clear. "I know you're tired but come, this is the way." ~ Rumi

By the time I slid down the far side of Old Fort Mountain the light was nearly gone. There was just enough light and shadow left to allow me to see the big buck that was standing near the edge of the road, head turned to look back over his shoulder. I rarely see deer here, so this sighting felt like an affirmation of some recent personal decisions. Ten minutes later I was talking with a friend and nearly home, so I looped around the driveway of the church at the end of my road. The headlights caught movement between two big trees, and suddenly I was looking at a mama bear and her cub of the year.

Baby was up a tree quicker than a wink, and when I backed the car away his mama called him down. They ran into the woods together. The list glimpse I had of them was his little rump wiggling as he ran after his mom. 

This was my second bear sighting after the storm. I felt a mixture of relief and elation upon seeing them, and feelings I have yet to decipher. They both looked healthy and had no trouble moving. Have you ever seen how fast a bear can scamper up a tree? Whew. And the sight is always accompanied by the distinctive sound of bear claws in wood. 

I could hardly ask for a more perfect welcome home. 





Saturday, September 21, 2024

On the Eve of Autumn

When I left home yesterday morning to travel away from these beloved mountains, the Cottage was wrapped in a gray and white comforter of dense fog. I first slid into it when I went out to tend the chickens and do morning garden patrol with Hank. The world becomes a living watercolor painting in these moments; vivid and soft, welcoming and haunting, cozy, safe, and holding a little hint of danger. 


"Don't go," the Fog said. "Have a lie in. Wrap yourself up like a fox in the dewy grass and explore the worlds inside your mind. Stay here with me." 

The invitation was tempting, truth be told. Had yesterday's adventure been mine alone I might have accepted; at least not physically traveled beyond the borders of the Cottage proper, anyway. There are worlds within worlds upon worlds to be explored right here. Sigh. Other days and times, perhaps. Adventure called, and I had to go. 

The Cottage is only two-tenths of a mile from the Swannanoa River, and my travel partner suggested that the fog would lift once we were away from the water. By the time I was driving across the I40 overpass, I knew that the river wasn't the source of the fog. And what I thought would be left behind after a wee bit of driving stayed with us for nearly 100 miles. Thanks to headphones and sleepy people, I spent most of that time on my own, musing about the mysteries of nature and people and how sometimes the nature of people doesn't seem natural at all. 

A few miles east of the Town of Black Mountain, I-40 climbs up Old Fort Mountain in a steep, winding route. The fog was so heavy in some spots I could see the road but not the surrounding landscape. Then the coolest thing happened. I drove around a curve and the fog ahead was backlit by the sun, creating a tunnel of light that appeared slightly above the horizon line. That tunnel appeared and disappeared as the road twisted and climbed, but every time it came back into view it was larger and brighter. 




(Side quest: The irreverent child within me heard clips from Poltergeist loud and clear: "Do *not* go into the light. Stop where you are. Turn away from it. Don't even look at it." But then, of course, once the truth of what was happening was understood, contradictory Tangina said, "Run to the light, Carol Anne!"

Right? There I was, having this beautiful experience of the Mysteries, and my brain did that thing. That's the way it should be, though, as expressed in one of my favorite lines from Doreen Valiente's Charge of the Goddess: "And therefore let there be beauty and strength, power and compassion, honour and humility, mirth and reverence within you." I don't know about all of that, but most of it is housed in this sometimes wonky being of me. END of side quest.)

As I neared the top of the mountain I expected the light to have dissolved the fog on the other side, but it hadn't. I didn't disappear into the light, or fall through a portal. I simply spent the next two hours singing along to one of my favorite playlists while I mused about people, mysteries, and myself. Sometimes the songs coincided with my musing, other times they took me in new directions. It was a beautiful day for a good drive, and a good way to spend the day before the day before Autumn. 

I woke this morning to sweet, cool air and another heavy fog. I spent more time in the garden than yesterday, observing, feeling, and just being present. I can feel the shift as the Equinox approaches and the Wheel turns the world into Autumn. There is an air of calm excitement mixed with the knowledge that preparations for the dark days must continue. There is so much work to be done. 

Although it is normal to have foggy mornings at this time of year, I believe these two were a particular notice to me to be mindful of the Mysteries in the days ahead. My life has seen big changes over the last few months, and to be sure, there are more to come. Tomorrow I shall do a bit of work to help make sure I maintain my balance through what lies ahead. 

Blessed Autumn, my friends. May you find your balance and your blessings equally in the light and darkness on the Equinox, and enjoy the abundance of your harvest. 

Love and Peace from Bear Path Cottage



Sunday, September 1, 2024

The First Day of September

 I was awake at 4:30 a.m. and thinking how oddly quiet that dark hour seemed when the spell was broken by a bear cub calling in distress. She was somewhere to the northwest of the Cottage, up the mountain I suppose, and her cries were first answered by the deep staccato barks of a dog whose voice was unfamiliar to me.

Hank went out to pace and add his own voice to the night. I walked to the fence line and, standing still, sang my own sounds to weave a new spell.

Comfort. Courage. A summoning of bear. A howl of defiance. Then, “hush now.”

Hank stood next to me, gone quiet. The other dog lost his voice. The cub stopped crying. In a few moments the normal and expected night sounds returned; crickets and whoever else sings under the stars at this time of year. The danger had passed.

I have felt the collective relief stirred by the shifting political energy of the last couple of weeks. There is new hope slipped into the basket with old hopes that have been washed clean and nicely folded. It’s a lovely feeling, for certain. But it doesn’t mean we can let our guard down.

It doesn’t mean the world is suddenly safe space.

It doesn’t mean we have time or space to forget who we are, the power that we have, or the work that is ours to do.

I know who I am, in the dark and in the light and all the spaces in between. Do you?

Good morning on this first day of September. This is a gentle reminder to begin (or continue) getting ready for the shift into Autumn.

I’m writing this morning, but later today there will be cleaning, cleansing, and clearing happening. And I’ve promised Larry a baked custard, so some kitchen witching as well.

Peace and love from the Bear Path.

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Thursday, August 1, 2024

Blessed Lughnasadh! Happy First Harvest!

I intended to start this morning with a small personal ritual out in the gardens. For me, Harvest is a celebration of earth and fire, and this morning, the natural expression of that came in the form of tending home and hearth.

I'll get outside later and harvest some of the bounty from the gardens while doing my ritual, although my thoughts on that have changed somewhat. I have made phone calls regarding health care for a family member, cooked scrambled eggs fresh from the Cottage chickens, had breakfast with a loved one, and responded to eight AWR hotline calls in the first hour of my two-hour shift. Earth and fire have been present all over the place, reminding me that while the Elements appreciate acknowledgment, we're going to do their work together whether I plan for it or not. 

Death has made her presence known; a deer that was hit by a car and a sick raccoon. I am grateful for people who care enough to seek help for our wild neighbors, and for the folks who choose to do the work that brings comfort or relief from suffering. We cannot move into the harvest season without acknowledging the lives that fall, methinks.

                Hoof and horn, hoof and horn, all that dies must be reborn.
                Corn and grain, corn and grain, all that falls must rise again. 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yZmrjl5J0kE

Sometimes, asking for help takes remarkable courage. Sometimes, accepting it takes even more. I think we cannot underestimate the importance of understanding and acknowledging this truth as we move forward into the changes taking place in our communities, countries, and the world. The seeds of compassion and understanding that fall during this process will grow into an incredible harvest of peace, love, and hope. 

Blessed Lughnasadh, peeps. May you never hunger. May you never thirst. 




Saturday, June 22, 2024

Hold the Lantern

 Hold the Lantern

If you cannot be the light,
Hold the lantern.
If you cannot hold the lantern,
Bring the fuel or 
Strike the match.
Serve strong tea to those
Standing in the gap.
Make the sandwiches,
Bake the bread.
Pick the apples.
Bring the tissues,
Tidy the room,
Do the dishes. 
Sweep the floor.
Say hello.
Just do something
to show you care.

Sheri Barker
June 2024



Friday, June 7, 2024

Firewheel Flowers and Choices

 I had an intense but beautiful morning that started with my feet hitting the ground so quickly I wasn’t able to get outside until about 2 pm. Wow did that feel weird.

When I cleaned out my craft supplies not too long ago I found some faery garden items. Putting those in place was my primary mission when I stepped out into this sunny, windy, chimes-dancing day. This mini homestead in the heart of my own mini homestead brings me great joy.
Today I added some extra pebbles and a small pond for the tiny ducks and geese. Can you see the coop next to the red mushroom? Can you see the magical blue water in the pond?



I believe with all my child heart that when humans are not paying attention to this special space it is full of life and laughter. I believe that with the same heart that believed my dolls and stuffed animals came to life at night when child me was sleeping. You cannot prove me wrong, so don’t even bother trying. (Also, not that most of you would ever try to steal someone else’s joy, but if you would do that, stick around so maybe your sad heart will heal.)
Of course while I was outside I paid attention to who is blooming in the garden. The first echinacea blooms are shining. The pink one stands next to the gazing ball and the plant is more than 3 feet high. The daisy circle has returned, a living crown for this little patch of earth. And the bees are dining on all of the flowers, but it seems especially the milkweed today.






I love these gorgeous orange, red, and yellow flowers but always misname them. Wanting to finally get it right, I checked the ID for them. Then double triple quadruple checked because the commonly used name is offensive and we should all know better.



From now on, I will call it Firewheel.
I hope you will too. I also hope you will read this insightful, informative, intellectually and spiritually relevant substack written by Peter Derrico.
Each one of us carries part of the burden of making our world a better place. We simply must take personal responsibility for making change happen when we learn where it is necessary. Being mindful of language choices is one way to do that.
Peace out and much love from the Bear Path.

Wednesday, May 15, 2024

The Middle of May - Growing with My Gardens

Every year, I say I'm done trying to grow vegetables, then I do it again anyway. For various reasons, I like being able to feed myself from my own gardens. I like the process of watching food grow. I like seeing the science and magic come together.

I think people sometimes get the impression that everything in my gardens is perfect and idyllic. I assure you, it is not. (As you can see from the photo below) The south yard, which houses the vegetable garden and the wood shop, and is Hank's primary play space, is generally a disaster area. Once upon a time, I'd have heard the ghosts of parental voices shaming me for the mess and been driven by guilt to keep the space perfect. Fortunately for me, I escaped that fairytale version of life quite some time ago.

I do my best, ask for help when I need it, and pay for help when I can afford it if I cannot do something on my own. I move along as I please. Sometimes, projects get started and then have to wait. Last year we planned to finally build a greenhouse and began the work by setting in a foundation. That took a little longer than anticipated, and by the time the foundation was done, material costs had doubled and were beyond my budget. At last check, the costs had tripled due to corporate greed. I would not pay them even if I could. Before the Wheel turns to Autumn, I will figure out an alternative greenhouse plan. In the meanwhile, there is a big hole covered with a tarp, stacked up wood, and cinder blocks to contend with.

My raised bed dreams for the vegetable garden called for those pretty green modular units from a certain manufacturer. It would have cost nearly $1,000 to trade out all the inexpensive food-grade plastic barrels for those nicer containers. My brain and my ego kept arguing, "But I want..." And this was one of those places where people might not realize it can happen, but Love eldered Ego and kept me from spending that money when it was needed more in other places. I'm not saying there's anything wrong with spending good money for things you want or need. Not saying that at all. But for me, in this situation, NOT spending the money was a better decision. Then someone gifted me three galvanized stock tanks that they were no longer using, and my evolving raised bed dreams are happening, just in a slightly different form. I am happy, content, and excited to see how it all turns out. And until I figure out what to do with them, I will have empty plastic containers taking up visual space in the south yard. Yes, of course, I will set them up more neatly than they are in the below image. Maybe Hank needs an obstacle course on his runway.

Over the last couple of days, I got the stock tanks set in place, transferred soil from the plastic containers into the stock tanks, mixed in some good stuff, put in some plant starts, and planted some seeds. That work will continue for at least another week, as there is one more tank to substitute in. I also have some smaller galvanized tubs that I can make use of as well. And next Monday, someone is coming to help Rhodes install a cattle panel arch at the entrance to the veg garden. Every once in a while, friends, I let my brain slide down the wrong pathways and I get momentarily overwhelmed by the volume of work that must be done. When that happens, I gently reign myself in with the reminder that I can only do one thing at a time, and so there goes my focus until I am ready to move on to the next thing. We are none of us perfect beings living Instagram perfect lives. Beauty and joy are often accompanied by mess and bother, and this is not only okay, it is normal. Thank you for sharing my messy, lovely, wonderful, sad, happy, joyful life. I appreciate the company. Peace out.



Friday, April 12, 2024

The Oneness

The Oneness

I am adrift and grounded on ethereal filaments
connecting Elemental energies to seasonal energies,
my thoughts and emotions and state of being
free flowing along conductors never created but
composed of every color ever imagined and unimaginable.
There was no making involved.
No maker.
Just the organic act of being that has been present
from this beginning.
All thought, emotion, spirit, word, scent, touch, taste,
dream, hope, perception, impression, darkness and light
that ever was or will be is slip-sliding along these
liminal ley lines in every dimension of time and space
in the same moment.
We are immense in our collective individuality.
We are infinitesimal in our oneness.

Sheri Barker
April 12, 2024

                                                               Golden Ragwort

Tuesday, March 19, 2024

Ostara Blessings - The Unfolding

Tuesday, March 19, 2024
Noon.43 degrees. Wind gusts up to 19 mph.

The Unfolding

Spring is unfolding
in her own way and time.
Daffodils, cold winds, and sunshine. 
Snowfall and tornadoes.
In some places, the snow melt
will bring flooding.

The patterns are shifting. 
We all know this. 
But as Earth's reclaiming unfolds
with this new season,
She still invites us to join her,
to help her, to grow and bloom with her.
To notice beauty. To heal. To love.

~~~
The Vernal Equinox is here. It is time to sow new seeds, and to feel and see the awakening of that which the earth has held safe over the cold days of winter. That which you have held safe within you is also ready to reach toward the light and grow. 

May this day bring balance to you, rebirth to your hopes and dreams, and abundance to the harvest in times ahead. 

Blessed Ostara!

With love from the Bear Path,

Sheri

The fairie roses are coming in strong and healthy this year, with new green growth already climbing the arch. I am eager, but patiently waiting the gorgeous pink and white blooms! 





Saturday, March 9, 2024

Beauty and My Mother

 My mother left this world behind 16 years ago, but I began this day solidly in her presence. She was here with me while I sat and talked with my husband about the day ahead of us and about our children. Her smiling, enraptured presence stayed by my side as we enjoyed Patricia Ballentine’s presentation, “The History and Magical Practice of Beauty.”

In the last months of her life, mom seemed to open herself to seeking beauty and expressing her interest in it as she never had before. Of course, I must acknowledge that she may have been like that at other times in her life that I didn’t recognize or see. When I was a small child she loved purple, and she loved cranberry glass. I remember her pastel pink jewelry box and the lipstick she wore when she was going to meetings or a party. Later, she loved oil lamps and making crafts with my dad. But towards the end, the search for beauty was more personal and more of what she wanted for herself.

I first noticed this with her deep interest in the television show “How I Met Your Mother.”
What really held her attention were the wardrobe choices for Alyson Hannigan’s character. Mom spent all of her life buying inexpensive clothes, most of which could double as work clothes. She chose tee-shirt style tops; casual, loose-fitting elastic waist pants with pockets; and simple jersey dresses with pockets as well. But all of a sudden, she was interested in fashion, and commented about how she would like this or that piece that “Lily” was wearing, and didn’t Alyson look beautiful in that outfit?

While I recognized that I was seeing something different in my mother, it took me years to understand that she had been expressing pieces of her own healing journey even as she knew she was moving closer to dying. Perhaps it was that knowledge of imminent freedom that released her from the childhood and lifetime hurts that caused her to stifle her sense of self-expression and her longing for beauty.

I would give nearly anything to have more time with her, and I am grateful for the effort she makes to share herself with me now.

There were not enough yesterdays held dearly in the there and then. Jean Marie Hill Barker, b. December 25, 1938, d. March 9, 2008.

At various times during my life, I thought my mother didn't love me; I couldn't stand her; she was my best friend; she was annoying, funny, cute, and horrible, but I needed her, and she needed me.

For most of our lives together, we did not understand each other because we did not know how to communicate. We never really fixed the communication part, but during the last 27 weeks of her life, we somehow began to understand each other. What a gift.

Hey Bean. I see you now with my heart instead of my eyes, and these years later, oh how you shine with true beauty! I miss you as much as ever, more than ever, and not at all because I carry you with me.

Photo: my mom with her mother in a photo booth at Sylvan Beach, mid-to-late 1950s. Jeannie and June.