I walk with my child outside through the woods at night beyond the reach of artificial light - no flashlights or phones.. starlight, moon light, snow ‘light’ only.
My day begins with a tour of the yard to see what’s blooming and what’s thirsty. I fill the birdbath and check to see if the female robin is still on her nest atop a roll of garden hose (why here?), her mate is a scold. Last year they fledged four young. I check on an area next to the shed where I’m encouraging the violets, bugle weed, and lemon balm, an out-of-sync camellia, a decades-old azalea and newly planted hellebores that act like they’re still potted. I’ve been fighting with bishop weed for years-- it’s smarter than me, but I might prevail against the ivy and brambles. The undesirables pull out by hand when the dirt is moist, it’s not too hot and the bugs are still sleeping. Lemon balm is wonderfully fragrant and so is forgiven for weaving a thick basket of woody roots that make it tough to divide into smaller groups. What’s not to love about a burning bush except the rate and extent of its propagation? There are already several, so seedlings aren’t welcome. They come out of the ground easily if your leverage is right, even when they’re a couple of years old. It’s kind of a dumb plant that relies on overwhelming numbers to survive. Last year I took apart a flagstone wall in an effort to control the lilies of the valley. This year they’re laughing at me, and sending their roots to China. I’m conflicted because I love their scent. Nellie’s hostas came with us from Connecticut 40 years ago and are thriving in Virginia. This early spring a rabbit ate the shoots but they’ve recovered. I divide the big ones and plant them down in back where the deer browse the tops off everything. I want to make a deal not to eat the lily buds before they bloom, but a young female comes just before they open and eats most of them like it’s her personal salad bar. Last year I pulled into my driveway and saw her at the bottom of it with her mouth full. She just looked at me like “What?”
Have you noticed how the birds will tell you to put out more seed or turn on the sprinkler?
I like your concept of decolonizing the western mind. It describes what happens when I get going in the yard, hours pass, and I forget about myself. Thank you for the question.
On a rainy day, I lift my face to the sky and let the cool rain drops bounce off or run down my cheeks. I stick out my tongue and taste the flavor of the day.
Some wildings, daily and on occasion; also in memory.
--Walking the block down to Mosquito Lagoon on a late afternoon, and watching the ibis, cormorants, and several varieties of herons and egrets fly toward their roosts in the mangrove tangles, following their evening’s direct purpose.
--Simply sitting in the backyard on one of those mornings in Florida when it feels as if you are wading through the air, and watching and listening to calls and stirrings of life, even the neighborhood truck with the loud muffler.
--Opening the window in my study at midnight to let in the scent of night-blooming jasmine.
--Daydreaming of the two years, over a third of a century ago, when Amy and I were the only two human beings living fulltime in a 90,000 acre recreation area in the Upper Cumberland Plateau of Tennessee. O...how we and our hounds did wander!
I submit to the judgement of the birds, trying to be keenly aware of their energies in response to my presence. If they are extra shy and cautious, keeping a very protective distance I have my hints at the energy I’m projecting, and when they mostly ignore me or even seem drawn in with curiosity, wanting to flutter in close and observe, that too is a sort of biofeedback. One can tell a great deal by the effects one’s energy elicits in the behaviors and proximity of other sentient beings.
Inside the walls of my suburban home, I hear the birds singing each morning. I don’t know what kind of birds I am hearing, but they are pleasant and remind me that I am not alone, though I live alone.
I am wondering about the phrase ‘decolonizing the western mind’ in your essay. I think I know what you mean and why you use that phrase as a part of talking about rewinding ourselves.
At the same time, I’m skeptical as to whether it is possible (or desirable) to get out of the western mind context into which I was born and raised? While I would never want to limit myself by only learning about western ideas or art, the fact that I have learned about so much of it has, in some ways, shaped my perceptions of wildness and nature and spirituality. I well might encounter something in a text or place from a different context that gives me an ‘aha’--yet it’s always in some way connected to something else or something I’ve seen before.
Everything is connected to something else, though nothing is exactly the same as anything else. The joy, the wildness of though, comes through the wondering and reflections on that irony.
You can download the Merlin app and it will help to identify most of the birds that are singing near you. Choose the app for your section of the country. It works like Shazam-- you click on 'identify bird calls,' and then click on the microphone symbol. It records and saves.
When I see a small branch waving vigorously, I wave back. When I walk in a forest I I thank the trees for their oxygen and cooling shade. After reading Braiding Sweetgrass (3 times) I greet wild life (including rivers, rocks, and plants) as beings in our world, and it has become a habit to not use the word “it” when referring to them. I usually use “her” unless the animal is obviously male.
Janisse, what a beautiful list. How wild and reciting to return to ourselves, to return home. This morning I did yoga listening to my teacher’s voice tell me to stop getting in my own way. I then watched a mating pair build a nest together. I then went for a hike with my dog and tried to identify the different types of coniferous trees. I think I was pretty bad at it but I’m trying.
My add would be I watched a woodpecker making a complete mess of his breakfast.
My post tomorrow will be on two natural things in our part of the world that are bringing me hope if anyone wants to check it out. Hope everyone gets outside today and every day! 🤗
What a beautiful list! I am happy to say I have experienced most of these rewilding joys. I would add fishing, especially fly fishing, and being able to eat the fish caught when not in a catch-and-release area. Thanks for gathering and sharing these wonderful ideas for staying close to nature.
This is wonderful. All great ways to rewild. Today, I’ll go to the water and jump in when I get there. Love your thoughts on the universe, the earth and our creative spirits as it’s expression also. Much Love.
Listening to wild animals in their language--a mustang's breath; wild turkeys' gurgles; the coyote barking, another answering, the crescendo that follows--it fills my heart to be part of the conversation, through listening. Like listening to snowmelt dripping and the creek raging.... Thank you!
I walk with my child outside through the woods at night beyond the reach of artificial light - no flashlights or phones.. starlight, moon light, snow ‘light’ only.
We also kayak or swim at night.
My day begins with a tour of the yard to see what’s blooming and what’s thirsty. I fill the birdbath and check to see if the female robin is still on her nest atop a roll of garden hose (why here?), her mate is a scold. Last year they fledged four young. I check on an area next to the shed where I’m encouraging the violets, bugle weed, and lemon balm, an out-of-sync camellia, a decades-old azalea and newly planted hellebores that act like they’re still potted. I’ve been fighting with bishop weed for years-- it’s smarter than me, but I might prevail against the ivy and brambles. The undesirables pull out by hand when the dirt is moist, it’s not too hot and the bugs are still sleeping. Lemon balm is wonderfully fragrant and so is forgiven for weaving a thick basket of woody roots that make it tough to divide into smaller groups. What’s not to love about a burning bush except the rate and extent of its propagation? There are already several, so seedlings aren’t welcome. They come out of the ground easily if your leverage is right, even when they’re a couple of years old. It’s kind of a dumb plant that relies on overwhelming numbers to survive. Last year I took apart a flagstone wall in an effort to control the lilies of the valley. This year they’re laughing at me, and sending their roots to China. I’m conflicted because I love their scent. Nellie’s hostas came with us from Connecticut 40 years ago and are thriving in Virginia. This early spring a rabbit ate the shoots but they’ve recovered. I divide the big ones and plant them down in back where the deer browse the tops off everything. I want to make a deal not to eat the lily buds before they bloom, but a young female comes just before they open and eats most of them like it’s her personal salad bar. Last year I pulled into my driveway and saw her at the bottom of it with her mouth full. She just looked at me like “What?”
Have you noticed how the birds will tell you to put out more seed or turn on the sprinkler?
I like your concept of decolonizing the western mind. It describes what happens when I get going in the yard, hours pass, and I forget about myself. Thank you for the question.
On a rainy day, I lift my face to the sky and let the cool rain drops bounce off or run down my cheeks. I stick out my tongue and taste the flavor of the day.
Some wildings, daily and on occasion; also in memory.
--Walking the block down to Mosquito Lagoon on a late afternoon, and watching the ibis, cormorants, and several varieties of herons and egrets fly toward their roosts in the mangrove tangles, following their evening’s direct purpose.
--Simply sitting in the backyard on one of those mornings in Florida when it feels as if you are wading through the air, and watching and listening to calls and stirrings of life, even the neighborhood truck with the loud muffler.
--Opening the window in my study at midnight to let in the scent of night-blooming jasmine.
--Daydreaming of the two years, over a third of a century ago, when Amy and I were the only two human beings living fulltime in a 90,000 acre recreation area in the Upper Cumberland Plateau of Tennessee. O...how we and our hounds did wander!
90,000 acres! Sounds like a suburb of heaven.
I submit to the judgement of the birds, trying to be keenly aware of their energies in response to my presence. If they are extra shy and cautious, keeping a very protective distance I have my hints at the energy I’m projecting, and when they mostly ignore me or even seem drawn in with curiosity, wanting to flutter in close and observe, that too is a sort of biofeedback. One can tell a great deal by the effects one’s energy elicits in the behaviors and proximity of other sentient beings.
You are so prescient. This is powerful.
Inside the walls of my suburban home, I hear the birds singing each morning. I don’t know what kind of birds I am hearing, but they are pleasant and remind me that I am not alone, though I live alone.
I am wondering about the phrase ‘decolonizing the western mind’ in your essay. I think I know what you mean and why you use that phrase as a part of talking about rewinding ourselves.
At the same time, I’m skeptical as to whether it is possible (or desirable) to get out of the western mind context into which I was born and raised? While I would never want to limit myself by only learning about western ideas or art, the fact that I have learned about so much of it has, in some ways, shaped my perceptions of wildness and nature and spirituality. I well might encounter something in a text or place from a different context that gives me an ‘aha’--yet it’s always in some way connected to something else or something I’ve seen before.
Everything is connected to something else, though nothing is exactly the same as anything else. The joy, the wildness of though, comes through the wondering and reflections on that irony.
You can download the Merlin app and it will help to identify most of the birds that are singing near you. Choose the app for your section of the country. It works like Shazam-- you click on 'identify bird calls,' and then click on the microphone symbol. It records and saves.
Mind-boggling.
I'm thinking of you, Laura. You listening to the birds is a beautiful image.
When I see a small branch waving vigorously, I wave back. When I walk in a forest I I thank the trees for their oxygen and cooling shade. After reading Braiding Sweetgrass (3 times) I greet wild life (including rivers, rocks, and plants) as beings in our world, and it has become a habit to not use the word “it” when referring to them. I usually use “her” unless the animal is obviously male.
Ha! I love that you wave back at branches waving at you. That's the best.
Great list! I watch the trees breathe.
Perfect! This one's going on the list.
I also like to study animal scat!
It's going on the list!
Janisse, what a beautiful list. How wild and reciting to return to ourselves, to return home. This morning I did yoga listening to my teacher’s voice tell me to stop getting in my own way. I then watched a mating pair build a nest together. I then went for a hike with my dog and tried to identify the different types of coniferous trees. I think I was pretty bad at it but I’m trying.
My add would be I watched a woodpecker making a complete mess of his breakfast.
My post tomorrow will be on two natural things in our part of the world that are bringing me hope if anyone wants to check it out. Hope everyone gets outside today and every day! 🤗
I'm going to check out your post about hope. Thank you for being here.
Thanks so much for checking it out. It means much. Thank you also for cultivating this beautiful space.
What a beautiful list! I am happy to say I have experienced most of these rewilding joys. I would add fishing, especially fly fishing, and being able to eat the fish caught when not in a catch-and-release area. Thanks for gathering and sharing these wonderful ideas for staying close to nature.
Great addition! I'm putting it on there.
This is wonderful. All great ways to rewild. Today, I’ll go to the water and jump in when I get there. Love your thoughts on the universe, the earth and our creative spirits as it’s expression also. Much Love.
I hope you got to get to the water & jump in. I'm thinking of you, with love.
Listening to wild animals in their language--a mustang's breath; wild turkeys' gurgles; the coyote barking, another answering, the crescendo that follows--it fills my heart to be part of the conversation, through listening. Like listening to snowmelt dripping and the creek raging.... Thank you!
So beautiful, Kat.
I open the windows and play Chopin on my piano.
That is the best, Campbell! I love this image of you.
I stand barefoot outside and paint the wild around me.
Glorious! I love this.
Sleep outside when it’s very cold out.
Great one!!! Thank you, Steve.