Wild Mountain Laurel

Wild Mountain Laurel

Life in these mountains can be hard on women.
There are hard rock walls and hard rock times and
Rock hard faces in the midst of all this beauty,
But still we grow.

Our limbs are twisted, turned by cold winds and hard days
When the sunlight seemed frozen and the rain was harsh
And we could not find our way home.
But still we grow.

Then comes the day when we find our truth,
We find our way to our own salvation,
Whatever that may mean.
And still we grow.

We realize that our roots run deep and strong,
Running down through the rocks
To touch the earth and water.
And so we grow.

In our truth we find the Spring time of our lives.
The sunlight is brilliant and the rain is nourishing,
Washing over us with warmth and love as we lift our faces to the sky.
And so we grow.

Our feet are planted in the hard rock of these mountains
and in the bedrock of our faith
While we grow into believing in ourselves.
And so we thrive, like wild Mountain Laurel.



Photos by Bill Rhodes

                                                       Mountain laurel (Kalimia latifolia) 

                                                        Mountain laurel (Kalimia latifolia) 

The Spell of Spring

When I was a small child, I wanted to be a writer. I had a voracious appetite for the written word, for the new worlds and information that came to life in the pages of any book I could put my hands on. I loved the rhythm and flow of words, and I loved the magic they created. Before I even knew I was a witch I understood why making magic was called Spelling; because all the power is in the words.

My mother encouraged me to write. I like to believe that she knows what I am getting up to these days. I like to believe that she would be proud of me.

For years I have worked on my writing in fits and starts, floating pieces on social media, and finally publishing one poem in an anthology, My Wandering Uterus: tales of traveling while female. (Thank you Kate Laity and Byron Ballard for making that wonderous project happen!) I have been encouraged and supported by friends and loved ones, and have tested my voice time and again.

And finally, here I am, with not only time on my hands but desire in my heart. In this here and now, in this time of Spring, the seeds that were planted all those years ago, held in some sacred space inside me, held dear and nurtured and loved; those seeds are finally growing, reaching for the Light.

I hope you will continue to follow my writings as I share them with you From the Bear Path; writings (soon to be) from our new home at Bear Path Cottage.

Peace out, and blessed be.

The Beaver Dam Battle

Spring time is bringing big changes to the Mountain, and to the valley below us. We are leaving, of course. We’ll be gone before the Summer Solstice, settling into a new magical home in a new magical valley. The changes made by our absence will likely be long and slow to be seen. 

But down the main road, at the end of the valley, there is a little creature making a big change in very quick time. A North American beaver (Castor canadensis) has altered the flow of a small creek that normally moves gently along, running under a small bridge and continuing on its way.

Our new neighbor has built a dam which created a small pond, and then built a lodge in the pond. The normally well-behaved creek has now changed course and is flooding the hay field that marks its boundaries. From this morning to this afternoon, the water level moved an additional 25 yards or so and is now encroaching on an old barn. Two low waterfalls have appeared, and the water dances merrily along. It still moves under the existing bridge, but it also flows through a tunnel dug by a groundhog who appears to have been ousted by the flooding.

The groundhog tunnel channels the creek well out into the tomato field across the road. We’ve noticed obvious wet spots in the dirt of that field and wondered if it was connected to the water changes. We saw the tomato farmer today, raking the field. The redirected water actually acts like a fountain in the field; he’s had to dig a separate ditch in an attempt to redirect it. Farmer Steve told Rhodes that he enjoys seeing the beaver, but he’d rather see him elsewhere.

The folks who own the hayfield attempted to route the beaver by knocking his lodge and dam apart about three weeks ago. Obviously he didn’t leave; instead he rallied with a vengeance by building an even bigger dam and even bigger lodge. I can’t decide which image of a determined beaver is more accurate: standing atop his new lodge, shaking one raised fist in an “eff you” gesture, or just calmly going about his business of rebuilding. I rather like the first.

They’ll try to get him again, I know, and the next attempt will probably be lethal for him. Beavers are not a protected species, and I suspect any wildlife officer would deem him a nuisance and agree to his extermination even if he was protected.

We’ll keep going down the valley, hoping to see him. Maybe I can have a chat and convince him to move on, but I doubt it. Rhodes and I talk in endless but interesting circles about who was here first, and whose rights matter most, but there really isn’t a solid answer. The kind thing, the right thing, it seems to me, would be to re-engineer the creek below the beaver pond and mitigate the damage from the flow of water. There’s a little wetlands already forming there, and we are seeing new birds and plants. How lovely it would be to keep them. But here we are in a State (country) that frequently cares less and less about helping the underdog, and where there is no money to pay teachers, to house the houseless, to feed hungry children, there won't be money spent to save a beaver.