Butterfly cloud over Hart’s Mill
My ears strain to catch the sound of trickling water. If I can find the wetland or the stream, I’ll know where I am and can shadow it home. Is that it? No, it’s giggling trees being tickled by the breeze. What about that? No, it’s a shower of yellowed leaves taking the autumn plunge (and not going quietly.) Now, it’s silent. There’s nothing but scrub trees, brush, and brambles all around me, and I’ve lost my way. The Equinox sun is high overhead and not providing a lick of aid, at least not for my rudimentary navigational skills. It’s hot and I’ve been out here for hours and don’t have any water. Help me–which way do I go?
I was happily exploring, seeking the cardinal east and southeast nodes on the Hart’s Mill 120-acre sweep of land. I didn’t mean to do it; the plan was to take a quick morning walk on a groomed, woodland trail before getting back to work. But lately I’ve been powerfully drawn to the wetlands, seeps, and traces along our uncharted eastern border and was lured as by a siren’s song to stray from the path.
Turns out that this was excellent timing. The sun rises due east on the Equinox and sets due west. (It has something to do with the celestial equator which I haven’t figured out yet.) Honestly, I thought, all I have to do is head directly towards the sun, pick my way carefully through the thigh-high stilt grass, jump over a few rivulets, and I’m golden. With my single piece of equipment—a sturdy hiking stick—I can slice through the woof of spider’s webs threading a loose weave through the trees’ warp, pound the earth at every step to discern snake-free, firm ground, and endeavor to spot the hot pink surveyor’s plugs sunk nearly flush with the fallen leaves. Should be easy…right?
It’s a nice day for a walk, and this exploration is not just a whim on my part; it’s a sacred trust. Our community is being gifted with a Land Dome Ceremony* by one of our members, Maria, who follows the Sweet Medicine teachings brought to us by the Deer Tribe Metis Medicine Society. It will take over a year to prepare ourselves and the land for this offering, which is scheduled for Earth Day, April 22, 2018. At this stage, we are placing shepherd’s hooks festooned with pertinent symbols at each of the 8 directions along the border of our land. All are done except the East and South East, which lie in a frontier where few of us have yet ventured due to the wide, soppy spread of beaver-dammed streams and rills barring the way.
I’ve already participated in a several stages of preparation for this Ceremony and learned that it’s a systematic and multi-layered way to clarify and attune our human intentions with the land. Done well, it will form a harmonious and coherent container to support and foster our goals. Ultimately, it will help us to attract people and energies aligned with our intent and prevent energies that are counter to the intent from entering the land.
So today, I decide to be a scout. I’m not wearing the super-duper rain boots that help me feel invincible to mud, pools, ticks, chiggers, and slithery things; just regular old sturdy shoes. No matter; the water level is low and I know my way across the wetland by now. For the first time, I’m carrying a google-earth map of the land. Though the bright-red boundary lines are firm and clear, the landmarks are fuzzy and hard to discern from the ground.
I head slowly up the rise beyond the marsh, hugging the eastern line (and the sporadic mature hardwood trees) as best I can, basking in the forest sounds and soothing shade, reading the dips and crags with my feet, pausing at a rare assembly of boulders, and keeping the sun ever to my left. But mostly, I’m following my nose which after a while surprisingly takes me in a westerly direction for several yards. Randomly looking down, I see a boundary marker at my feet, though it’s a pipe with orange tape, not a pink disc. I nonetheless declare this to be the southeast node, marvel for a moment or two at my luck, and decide to turn back, fervently wishing I had a roll of surveyor’s tape to mark the way.
This is where it gets confusing. I move in a supposedly westerly direction down the hill. But that can’t be right, because at the verge of the wetland, I look down and miraculously see another survey plug, the right color this time. Amazing! But is this east, or west? Well, I’ll figure that out later; it’s getting late. The stream here is wider and deeper and I can’t cross it, but wait—around the next bend there is a little fallen- log bridge. Perfect! I’ll just step over it and follow the stream to the left. In about 25 minutes, I’ll be home.
This is where it gets interesting. Suddenly, nothing looks familiar. I come upon a mini-meadow with a wide, weed- and briar-choked path on either end. Choosing one direction, I encounter a substantial wooden deer blind 20 feet up a tree. Never seen this before. Bumbling on, thorns sink into my cheek, tear at my dirty clothes, and scratch my sweaty arms. I decide to head into the shrubby woods again, but that’s no easier, and everything looks the same. I admit that I’m utterly lost, can’t possibly re-trace my steps, and turn up the volume on pleas to the greater intelligence to show me the way. Ultimately I find the wide, overgrown path again and go in the opposite direction, pledging to walk it to the end no matter what. At last, I come to a gate, and a road, and eventually figure out what it’s called and where I am—miles by car from home. My husband is out of town, and my roommates aren’t at the house. What am I going to do now?
I call my dear friend, Elizabeth, who lives nearby and who just at that moment has passed the Hwy. 40 Efland exit on her way to work in Chapel Hill. Hearing that I’m stranded and have no water, she makes a U-turn to return to said exit, come get me, and drive me back to Mebane. Did I mention that later in the day she’s driving to Wisconsin? Oh, and she gives me her water bottle, too. And she delivers me to my door, safe and sound.
On this wild walk today, I learned what our land is NOT. I also know that I was impetuous, charging ahead and not listening to my gut which knew that I was standing on foreign ground. But it was also kind of fun to get lost, and be rescued, and have a story to tell. I won’t forget that this adventure happened near the Equinox, a day when both hemispheres are equally illuminated by 12 hours of sunlight, when I knew not east or west. When intuition led me to the exact cardinal directions. When hubris got me into the weeds, surrender showed me the road, and love rescued me. I’ll remember that the Equinox brings us the blessing of balance and wholeness no matter how far we’ve strayed.
One of the pledges I made when going into those southeastern acres is that I am going to get to know this forest and wetlands really well. I’ll take it slow, visit often in every season, make friends with the trees and memorize the landmarks, sit by the stream, be serenaded by gentle beaver-made waterfalls, greet the wildflowers by name and squint at the birds flying by. I’ll always know where I am because this will be my home, too. I imagine that the Land Dome Ceremony will sweetly feed this feeling until it’s full to overflowing and I can carry this orientation to all the Directions, rooted to place, for the first time in my life, by heart.
*For more information about the Land Dome Ceremony, and to participate, contact Maria Silvia, mariastawsky@gmail.com
Land Dome Ceremony, blessing the Medicine Items (photo by Joe Cole)
