You mentioned your substacks in class and I finally had a chance to explore this wonderful treasure. I was prompted, if it's ok, to share with you my own daily wilding that was published in the Dispatches section of The Common. You can trust the link: https://www.thecommononline.org/a-sliver-of-wild/ . Sometimes we have to find our wild wherever we can get it!
For me, writing is a balancing act between being spontaneous and being disciplined. My father was a minister and one of the directives that he encountered during his formal education was the suggestion in the preparation of a sermon, was to spend 1 hour of preparation for each minute of delivery. I'm not that disciplined. I would like to be more structured, however I tend to be restless and have tendencies to not buckle down.
The wild exerts a strong pull on me. I celebrate it in our own yard of .45 acre and by driving to an area 35 miles north of here where I spent a couple of my formative years. There are many varied habitats on public lands surrounding the town where I lived when I was 10 and 11. On the steep rocky slopes west of town, there are thousands of trout lilies, that I know are beginning to bloom beneath the shiny, evergreen leaves of mountain laurel. A couple of miles to east of the slopes are dozens of disjunct prairie plant species that I was surprised to encounter at a prairie being returned to its previous condition, through restoration, when I visited northern Illinois some years ago. Perhaps the strongest attraction that draws me, are to the peaks of the Blue Ridge, where I can travel to a high-elevation landscape clothed in wind-sculpted spruce trees that provide dense shade and aromatically scented needles.
Re: writing and spirit, your question provoked an extended inner inquiry! I’m from a family who saves correspondence and writes notes on photos and in the margin of clippings so that future generations will know how things were or who they were. These are breadcrumbs leading to ‘the truth’ of some matter that could not be talked about because many things weren’t discussed at the time. I’m fascinated by what was deemed worthy of saving, how someone thought, how they expressed themselves.
My parents met in 1944 at a USO, she was 19 he was 21; they wrote letters daily (when possible) for a year, while my father completed infantry training, deployed to Europe, camped and fought on the front line (Ardennes), survived battlefield injuries and a forced labor camp... when they married she was 20 he was 22. They did their best and died too soon. Their letters and mementos were stored in a carton— a time capsule ticking away in the attic until I finally organized it, transcribed the letters and ultimately became a student of the Second World War so I could write their story for my kids.
A small bundle of my mother‘s letters circa Oct/Nov 1944 were grimy from handling; my dad had them when he was captured and hid them in his clothes. He read them repeatedly. They kept him focused. Actually I made up those details, altho it’s true there was a packet of grimy letters. On the blank back pages he wrote the names and addresses of other prisoners, also a few notes about Allied progress at the end of the war. The juxtaposition of their puppy love and the hellscape he inhabited is moving and inspiring. It is wonderful and crazy that they saved their gooey letters— as a child of the 60s I experienced my parents as strict, strait-laced, and taciturn. !!They were intimate before he shipped out!! While writing their story, I danced and conversed with them in a manner not possible while they lived. They were in my head and inhabited my dreams, resurrected as a smart, funny, adventurous couple, committed to their life together. They’ve been gone for >30 years but their written words remain fresh and link them, me, my kids and grandchildren to a narrative I was able to write because their spirit is so strongly manifested in the stuff they saved. Thank you for asking 🤗
Can I just say, in addition to your writing, which is always so beautiful to read, I truly enjoy the comment thread on your newsletter! You’ve cultivated an amazing community because of your writing and they all seem to be wonderfully passionate and soulful people. ❤️ And happy belated birthday! 🥳
This title made me laugh! You were really destined to have that Pyrenees! Nothing you can really do in the energy wants to move in the way it wants to move. Sometimes maybe spirit knows what we want more than we really do?
As to those questions, I can’t say I ever think about being wild. I wasn’t wild when I was young.  and the second question. I don’t know where the words come from. When they come through me, I can’t say why some resonate more than others. But I 100% believe that there is something more than just the words. I believe it because I see it in the photos I take too. Millions of people take photos. I see tons of them all the time, but only some resonate with me. It’s the same with words. Yet the words that resonate with me might not be the ones that resonate with someone else. The words that resonate with me, one day might be different than the words that resonate another day. So I think there’s a spirit in the writing, and in the receiving.  this feels like a big topic that warrants more than a quick response.
PS - I often find that what I think I want to write and what wants to be written are different. And in the end, I have to write what wants to be written. If I keep trying to write what I want to write, it will turn out horribly. So where is that energy coming from?
Thank you for the question to ponder. I have certainly felt the power in words from an author, and I think it can be in response to either great writing, personal circumstances, or a combination of both.
For instance, I recently read a preview for a novel with one page that hit me with that zing you mentioned. I purchased the book, and while it was an OK story, nothing else in the book hit me in quite the same way. I think the author’s words about the grandmother selling her house and telling the granddaughter that it was time to “release it with gratitude” spoke to me as I helped counsel a friend whose family home had been destroyed by a burst water pipe. She does not live there and only visits the homeplace occasionally, she had no siblings or children or anyone who would be moving into the home, and from the distance of it not being my homeplace, I could see that it was time for her to let go of the physical past of the place as she struggled to determine which flood-soaked items she could rescue from the disaster. I could not do much to help, but I was able to share this author’s words and hopefully give my friend a phrase to consider as she has to let go of some things from her past.
I have experienced other zinging moments from books, and yes, I guess Mary Oliver is just that good with words. Much of her writing touches me whether or not I can relate to the environment or events she describes. Her words remind me to pay attention to my own environment, to find ways to be astonished at the beauty in this world. Maybe it’s a combination of her talent and the fact that often I choose to read her words when I need to be reminded of such things.
And, not that you are asking for personal feedback, but I must tell you that you once wrote a passage that zinged me for sure. It was in Ecology, in one of the chapters focused on the long-leaf forest. Your words sang as you described the excitement of exploring a new forest area then slowed as you absorbed the beauty of the place. I felt the excitement and then the calming effect of being in a space of great beauty and peace. I pull out my copy of that book and find that passage when I want to remind myself to let the words sing and immerse the reader in an experience.
Writing and spirit? Maybe that’s what every writer hopes to achieve—to share the spirit of their experiences with others. (Not really sure how to define “spirit” as it relates to my comment, but I guess it means a writer might want to share the feelings, hopes, dreams, maybe even fears or nightmares, that an event aroused in the writer and that the writer wants to pass along.)
OK. This has been mostly a “free-write,” and before I am tempted to begin editing, I think I’ll reply to your post. Thanks, again, for posing the question.
I am so flattered that you posted about receiving my gifts. I had intended to mail them out last Monday, but made to the PO the following day and they arrived In Reidsville GA a day earlier than I expected. The line at the local PO was long and 1 clerk was handling all the customers,. with the possibility of a truck arriving and the counter having to shut down. This is in the suburbs of Raleigh in a county of 1 million + residents..
I will comment later about writing because I don't want anything to interfere with my own creative process. I have promised my monthly, Monday poetry that I will write about a subject that has intrigued me since learning of it. During WWII Ukraine was invaded by Germany and the Jewish population suffered greatly. A few of the survivors of that persecution are are still living and some of them were recently offered sanctuary in Germany after Russia invaded Ukraine. Since my great-grandparents immigrated from that country I have a sense of connection to that part of the world.
Happiest birthday and happy retreat! I’m 62 this year and am feeling the change and need for doing more of what feels like joy than when I was younger. Downsizing the number of responsibilities frees us up for that goal. Then family (or pets or farm animals) brings more responsibility. It’s about balance and about embracing the remaining “good” years that we are blessed with. Neil Young coined it as “the third act” of life! I just love that. Cheers to your third act, Janisse!
I find as a (much) older city girl it’s a greater challenge to find time, place, and ability to rewild. Physical limitations can become obstacles as we age— but almost anyone can take off shoes and socks and take a walk in the rain, or go barefoot through the grass at dawn or twilight. Sometimes these simple things are a wonderful reset.
You asked about ‘writing and spirit.’ Everyone has a story, but not everyone can tell it in a way that causes a connection or reaction that actually transcends the images the words create. The well chosen word elicits feelings in the reader — those feelings connect the reader in some unexplainable way to the writer. When I read something exquisite from a gifted author, I often feel I have been ‘let in on a secret.’
I've been rewilding myself by going to concerts at the 40 Watt Club in Athens. It's an easy drive from Macon (no driving through Atlanta), and I can stay at the Holiday Inn nearby. The last couple of shows I've been to, I've spent hours dancing among people near my age. I feel as though I've been sending lifelines back to my younger selves, assuring them that the future will be bright. I used to go dancing or to shows weekly in my late teens and twenties--but then it got more difficult, and shows more expensive, and dance clubs harder to get to (and I'm just not into going to places that open at midnight, as I once was). I've been so glad the last couple of years to have found a much more accessible outlet for my dancing, music-obsessed self. I so love being completely immersed in an experience.
I turned 69 last November and I am slowing down. I haven't rewilded in quite some time. A friend warned me about entering the mid-late 60s. She was a real go-getter and said she just no longer had the energy or desire to do the same things(in her case travel long distances to horse shows). I thought it wouldn't happen to me but it has. I haven't been camping and riding my horse, kayaking nearly as much, or taking many trips. My trip last year to ride horses in WY was not a vacation but an endurance test and was not a lot of fun. As I tell Meredith, "Life is a series of adjustments," and it is true. If you want to travel to places that require stamina and energy, do it now in your early 60s. Do not wait. I find I now get most pleasure from observing and contemplating in nature and it brings me joy. People who walk quickly down the trail miss a lot of wonderful things. I suppose I now sit in one spot and rewild in place!
Happy birthday! Sixty-one is not old. It is just extended maturing time. I get wilder by quiet time to think and rethink. Before this gift of quiet time, my life was too busy.
I think that the connection between a writer’s words and the reader’s perception of those words is dependent upon the reader experiencing those words at a particular moment in time. At that magic point in time, conditions are aligned for the two minds to connect, the maybe the reader’s memory and the words bond, and if one is lucky, the words stay there embedded forever.
Many years ago, I read a passage in James Jones’ SOME CAME RUNNING. I never forgot thé two or three sentences in which Jones describes how Bama, his fictional character, chose to drive his car. It was a simple explanation of a mind game Bama played when driving long distances, but I never forgot it. Years later, I had the occasion to correspond with Jones when he was living in Paris. I told him about remembering the Bama section in his book. He and I struck up a correspondence that continued until his death, and he thanked me for telling him about my fondness for the Bama description. Jones and I connected, and no one had ever mentioned that Bama description to Jones before I told him that I always remembered it when I drove for any long distance. His words written years before I read them connected him to me at a point in time. Then later, I had the opportunity to tell that writer about the experience. Don’t you wish you could do that same thing with a writer whose work you admire? It can be important to the writer in ways that you will never know.
Oh, I miss my big, dancing part-Pyrenees pupper! That said, happy birthday and good on you for retreating.
I rewild myself by re-being my 11 year old self in nature. When my mama remarried she married an outdoorsman. He taught me to shoot a 22 rifle, then they turned me loose to roam the Arkansas woods where we had a little summer cabin on Spavinah Creek. I was a town-raised girl and I fell in love with the creek and the woods!
A deep breath, thanking the trees for the oxygen. Looking closely at the curve of the land, where water flows and has flowed, shapes and surfaces of rocks, naming plants or wondering who they are (and now introducing myself, thanks RWK!), reveling in this wondrous world that was here before and will likely outlast humans.
I have quite literally had panic attacks when separated from nature for too long.
I think words stir us when they touch or awaken something in us. I recently finished Demon Copperhead, and some of the descriptions of sights, sounds, and smells just bloomed inside me from recognition and memory. When I was young I read White Fang. I recall that although I had limited experience with nature and none of the great Northwest, I was moved with a longing for it.
So, is it inner nature that the words speak to? You know, how some folks are outdoors people and some folks are indoors people. We all have an inner nature, and words can speak to it, can awaken a part of it.
I’ll close with - can’t wait to see you in the Blairsville bookstore next month!
Hi Janisse,
You mentioned your substacks in class and I finally had a chance to explore this wonderful treasure. I was prompted, if it's ok, to share with you my own daily wilding that was published in the Dispatches section of The Common. You can trust the link: https://www.thecommononline.org/a-sliver-of-wild/ . Sometimes we have to find our wild wherever we can get it!
Best, cindy
I love what you wrote. It's a beautiful piece. Thank you.
For me, writing is a balancing act between being spontaneous and being disciplined. My father was a minister and one of the directives that he encountered during his formal education was the suggestion in the preparation of a sermon, was to spend 1 hour of preparation for each minute of delivery. I'm not that disciplined. I would like to be more structured, however I tend to be restless and have tendencies to not buckle down.
The wild exerts a strong pull on me. I celebrate it in our own yard of .45 acre and by driving to an area 35 miles north of here where I spent a couple of my formative years. There are many varied habitats on public lands surrounding the town where I lived when I was 10 and 11. On the steep rocky slopes west of town, there are thousands of trout lilies, that I know are beginning to bloom beneath the shiny, evergreen leaves of mountain laurel. A couple of miles to east of the slopes are dozens of disjunct prairie plant species that I was surprised to encounter at a prairie being returned to its previous condition, through restoration, when I visited northern Illinois some years ago. Perhaps the strongest attraction that draws me, are to the peaks of the Blue Ridge, where I can travel to a high-elevation landscape clothed in wind-sculpted spruce trees that provide dense shade and aromatically scented needles.
Re: writing and spirit, your question provoked an extended inner inquiry! I’m from a family who saves correspondence and writes notes on photos and in the margin of clippings so that future generations will know how things were or who they were. These are breadcrumbs leading to ‘the truth’ of some matter that could not be talked about because many things weren’t discussed at the time. I’m fascinated by what was deemed worthy of saving, how someone thought, how they expressed themselves.
My parents met in 1944 at a USO, she was 19 he was 21; they wrote letters daily (when possible) for a year, while my father completed infantry training, deployed to Europe, camped and fought on the front line (Ardennes), survived battlefield injuries and a forced labor camp... when they married she was 20 he was 22. They did their best and died too soon. Their letters and mementos were stored in a carton— a time capsule ticking away in the attic until I finally organized it, transcribed the letters and ultimately became a student of the Second World War so I could write their story for my kids.
A small bundle of my mother‘s letters circa Oct/Nov 1944 were grimy from handling; my dad had them when he was captured and hid them in his clothes. He read them repeatedly. They kept him focused. Actually I made up those details, altho it’s true there was a packet of grimy letters. On the blank back pages he wrote the names and addresses of other prisoners, also a few notes about Allied progress at the end of the war. The juxtaposition of their puppy love and the hellscape he inhabited is moving and inspiring. It is wonderful and crazy that they saved their gooey letters— as a child of the 60s I experienced my parents as strict, strait-laced, and taciturn. !!They were intimate before he shipped out!! While writing their story, I danced and conversed with them in a manner not possible while they lived. They were in my head and inhabited my dreams, resurrected as a smart, funny, adventurous couple, committed to their life together. They’ve been gone for >30 years but their written words remain fresh and link them, me, my kids and grandchildren to a narrative I was able to write because their spirit is so strongly manifested in the stuff they saved. Thank you for asking 🤗
Sent from my iPhone
Can I just say, in addition to your writing, which is always so beautiful to read, I truly enjoy the comment thread on your newsletter! You’ve cultivated an amazing community because of your writing and they all seem to be wonderfully passionate and soulful people. ❤️ And happy belated birthday! 🥳
Happy birthday but I do think you owe us a photo of your new dog soon! Enjoy your retreat! Sometimes that focus is the best way to get things done!
And a big happy birthday! I’m glad you’ve gotten your retreat for yourself.
This title made me laugh! You were really destined to have that Pyrenees! Nothing you can really do in the energy wants to move in the way it wants to move. Sometimes maybe spirit knows what we want more than we really do?
As to those questions, I can’t say I ever think about being wild. I wasn’t wild when I was young.  and the second question. I don’t know where the words come from. When they come through me, I can’t say why some resonate more than others. But I 100% believe that there is something more than just the words. I believe it because I see it in the photos I take too. Millions of people take photos. I see tons of them all the time, but only some resonate with me. It’s the same with words. Yet the words that resonate with me might not be the ones that resonate with someone else. The words that resonate with me, one day might be different than the words that resonate another day. So I think there’s a spirit in the writing, and in the receiving.  this feels like a big topic that warrants more than a quick response.
PS - I often find that what I think I want to write and what wants to be written are different. And in the end, I have to write what wants to be written. If I keep trying to write what I want to write, it will turn out horribly. So where is that energy coming from?
Thank you for the question to ponder. I have certainly felt the power in words from an author, and I think it can be in response to either great writing, personal circumstances, or a combination of both.
For instance, I recently read a preview for a novel with one page that hit me with that zing you mentioned. I purchased the book, and while it was an OK story, nothing else in the book hit me in quite the same way. I think the author’s words about the grandmother selling her house and telling the granddaughter that it was time to “release it with gratitude” spoke to me as I helped counsel a friend whose family home had been destroyed by a burst water pipe. She does not live there and only visits the homeplace occasionally, she had no siblings or children or anyone who would be moving into the home, and from the distance of it not being my homeplace, I could see that it was time for her to let go of the physical past of the place as she struggled to determine which flood-soaked items she could rescue from the disaster. I could not do much to help, but I was able to share this author’s words and hopefully give my friend a phrase to consider as she has to let go of some things from her past.
I have experienced other zinging moments from books, and yes, I guess Mary Oliver is just that good with words. Much of her writing touches me whether or not I can relate to the environment or events she describes. Her words remind me to pay attention to my own environment, to find ways to be astonished at the beauty in this world. Maybe it’s a combination of her talent and the fact that often I choose to read her words when I need to be reminded of such things.
And, not that you are asking for personal feedback, but I must tell you that you once wrote a passage that zinged me for sure. It was in Ecology, in one of the chapters focused on the long-leaf forest. Your words sang as you described the excitement of exploring a new forest area then slowed as you absorbed the beauty of the place. I felt the excitement and then the calming effect of being in a space of great beauty and peace. I pull out my copy of that book and find that passage when I want to remind myself to let the words sing and immerse the reader in an experience.
Writing and spirit? Maybe that’s what every writer hopes to achieve—to share the spirit of their experiences with others. (Not really sure how to define “spirit” as it relates to my comment, but I guess it means a writer might want to share the feelings, hopes, dreams, maybe even fears or nightmares, that an event aroused in the writer and that the writer wants to pass along.)
OK. This has been mostly a “free-write,” and before I am tempted to begin editing, I think I’ll reply to your post. Thanks, again, for posing the question.
I know which passage you are referring too and felt it as well when I first read Ecology!
I am so flattered that you posted about receiving my gifts. I had intended to mail them out last Monday, but made to the PO the following day and they arrived In Reidsville GA a day earlier than I expected. The line at the local PO was long and 1 clerk was handling all the customers,. with the possibility of a truck arriving and the counter having to shut down. This is in the suburbs of Raleigh in a county of 1 million + residents..
I will comment later about writing because I don't want anything to interfere with my own creative process. I have promised my monthly, Monday poetry that I will write about a subject that has intrigued me since learning of it. During WWII Ukraine was invaded by Germany and the Jewish population suffered greatly. A few of the survivors of that persecution are are still living and some of them were recently offered sanctuary in Germany after Russia invaded Ukraine. Since my great-grandparents immigrated from that country I have a sense of connection to that part of the world.
Happiest birthday and happy retreat! I’m 62 this year and am feeling the change and need for doing more of what feels like joy than when I was younger. Downsizing the number of responsibilities frees us up for that goal. Then family (or pets or farm animals) brings more responsibility. It’s about balance and about embracing the remaining “good” years that we are blessed with. Neil Young coined it as “the third act” of life! I just love that. Cheers to your third act, Janisse!
I find as a (much) older city girl it’s a greater challenge to find time, place, and ability to rewild. Physical limitations can become obstacles as we age— but almost anyone can take off shoes and socks and take a walk in the rain, or go barefoot through the grass at dawn or twilight. Sometimes these simple things are a wonderful reset.
You asked about ‘writing and spirit.’ Everyone has a story, but not everyone can tell it in a way that causes a connection or reaction that actually transcends the images the words create. The well chosen word elicits feelings in the reader — those feelings connect the reader in some unexplainable way to the writer. When I read something exquisite from a gifted author, I often feel I have been ‘let in on a secret.’
I've been rewilding myself by going to concerts at the 40 Watt Club in Athens. It's an easy drive from Macon (no driving through Atlanta), and I can stay at the Holiday Inn nearby. The last couple of shows I've been to, I've spent hours dancing among people near my age. I feel as though I've been sending lifelines back to my younger selves, assuring them that the future will be bright. I used to go dancing or to shows weekly in my late teens and twenties--but then it got more difficult, and shows more expensive, and dance clubs harder to get to (and I'm just not into going to places that open at midnight, as I once was). I've been so glad the last couple of years to have found a much more accessible outlet for my dancing, music-obsessed self. I so love being completely immersed in an experience.
I turned 69 last November and I am slowing down. I haven't rewilded in quite some time. A friend warned me about entering the mid-late 60s. She was a real go-getter and said she just no longer had the energy or desire to do the same things(in her case travel long distances to horse shows). I thought it wouldn't happen to me but it has. I haven't been camping and riding my horse, kayaking nearly as much, or taking many trips. My trip last year to ride horses in WY was not a vacation but an endurance test and was not a lot of fun. As I tell Meredith, "Life is a series of adjustments," and it is true. If you want to travel to places that require stamina and energy, do it now in your early 60s. Do not wait. I find I now get most pleasure from observing and contemplating in nature and it brings me joy. People who walk quickly down the trail miss a lot of wonderful things. I suppose I now sit in one spot and rewild in place!
Happy birthday! Sixty-one is not old. It is just extended maturing time. I get wilder by quiet time to think and rethink. Before this gift of quiet time, my life was too busy.
I think that the connection between a writer’s words and the reader’s perception of those words is dependent upon the reader experiencing those words at a particular moment in time. At that magic point in time, conditions are aligned for the two minds to connect, the maybe the reader’s memory and the words bond, and if one is lucky, the words stay there embedded forever.
Many years ago, I read a passage in James Jones’ SOME CAME RUNNING. I never forgot thé two or three sentences in which Jones describes how Bama, his fictional character, chose to drive his car. It was a simple explanation of a mind game Bama played when driving long distances, but I never forgot it. Years later, I had the occasion to correspond with Jones when he was living in Paris. I told him about remembering the Bama section in his book. He and I struck up a correspondence that continued until his death, and he thanked me for telling him about my fondness for the Bama description. Jones and I connected, and no one had ever mentioned that Bama description to Jones before I told him that I always remembered it when I drove for any long distance. His words written years before I read them connected him to me at a point in time. Then later, I had the opportunity to tell that writer about the experience. Don’t you wish you could do that same thing with a writer whose work you admire? It can be important to the writer in ways that you will never know.
Oh, I miss my big, dancing part-Pyrenees pupper! That said, happy birthday and good on you for retreating.
I rewild myself by re-being my 11 year old self in nature. When my mama remarried she married an outdoorsman. He taught me to shoot a 22 rifle, then they turned me loose to roam the Arkansas woods where we had a little summer cabin on Spavinah Creek. I was a town-raised girl and I fell in love with the creek and the woods!
A deep breath, thanking the trees for the oxygen. Looking closely at the curve of the land, where water flows and has flowed, shapes and surfaces of rocks, naming plants or wondering who they are (and now introducing myself, thanks RWK!), reveling in this wondrous world that was here before and will likely outlast humans.
I have quite literally had panic attacks when separated from nature for too long.
I think words stir us when they touch or awaken something in us. I recently finished Demon Copperhead, and some of the descriptions of sights, sounds, and smells just bloomed inside me from recognition and memory. When I was young I read White Fang. I recall that although I had limited experience with nature and none of the great Northwest, I was moved with a longing for it.
So, is it inner nature that the words speak to? You know, how some folks are outdoors people and some folks are indoors people. We all have an inner nature, and words can speak to it, can awaken a part of it.
I’ll close with - can’t wait to see you in the Blairsville bookstore next month!
That "inner nature" phrase is very helpful to me. I'm going to use it, if you don't mind.
I had hoped some small part might be of use. I received the concept of inner nature from a small book, The Tao of Pooh.
Nice post - thanks!