Nature Sings

[Speaking of dandelions] They are little beacons of the it'll be okay, and if they had a soundtrack, it would be "O-o-o Child."

Ross Gay from his essay "Truly Overnight Sometimes It Seems"

I had a plan today to get back to Six Mile Cypress Slough, somewhere I haven't been since May, and decided I would go despite the 92% humidity. Right before I left, I read the Ross Gay essay noted above and I immediately knew I had a purpose: find plants that are singing a song.

Entering the slough, I felt an incredible amount of energy. I haven't been walking enough, so this felt like a real treat. Yes, it was muggy, but nothing I couldn't handle after living here for 26 years.

A Red Maple tree was the first to show up with a song:

Sing, sing a song

Make it simple to last your whole life long...

I walked deeper into the slough, and the next to sing out to me were a collection of Resurrection Ferns growing on the side of a Cypress tree. They were singing:

We are family
I've got all my sisters with me...

I walked the rest of the slough, 1.3 miles in all, and got back to my car dripping with sweat. I was feeling super inspired by this trip, and on the way home, I started thinking about the songs that were showing up. And that's when I realized there was a clear connection between them.

First, Ross Gay mentions "O-o-h Child" by the Five Stairsteps, one of the many songs that got me through my first year without Jim. I wrote about it on this blog post from October 18, 2024. 

https://helenbluespace.blogspot.com/2024/10/up-n-down.html

Next, I thought about the Carpenters' "Sing a Song." Not one I often think about, and when I do, I recall my brother Richie's 4th grade class singing it at his funeral in 1975.

Finally, "We are Family" of which I have no real personal connection. However, I remembered my friend Melody telling me that when she got together with her three sisters, they would sing this song. Sadly, Melody's sister Beth made her transition this past week.

Then I knew what was happening. Jim, Richie, and Beth are our angels and ancestors. They are always with us and as a reminder, sometimes nature sings their songs.

Voice

The louder the wind howled, the stronger their voices became, until their singing seemed to soften the blow of the storm.

-Terry Tempest Williams 

I've recently been making my way slowly through a new book by Terry Tempest Williams called The Glorians. If you're wondering what a glorian is, rest assured that it is not a word you would know, as it is one that came to Williams when she was watching an ant carrying a flower petal. She has determined a glorian is one of three things, or perhaps a combination of any of these:

an encounter

a message

anything that reveals the force of life

This has been deeply inspiring to me, and as I read each chapter, I grab onto some kind of message or meaning for me, then I reflect on it. I am about half way through the book, and today I realized I wanted to share what I wrote.

In a chapter called "Wind Song," Williams relates a tale of Harvard Divinity Students making a trip to Utah. One of the places they went were the Sun Tunnels. As described by Williams:

The Sun Tunnels are a remote piece of land art made by Nancy Holt...four concrete cylinders, eighteen feet in length and nine feet in diameter...arranged in an open cross formation aligned to frame the sun on the horizon during the summer and winter solstices.

While the students were there, a terrific sandstorm blew in with winds at 85 mph. The students wanted to stay, so they made their way into one of the tunnels where they sang until the storm called down. 

Combining this reading with the fact that Jim and I were married 40 years ago tomorrow, I wrote the following:

This final sentence (quoted above) spoke to me deeply. 

I sit on the cusp of our 40th wedding anniversary and 

all I can think is that Jim and I always raised our voices together 

against life's storms in order to soften them. 

And now I have found I've had to increase my own voice 

as his is silenced except in my heart. 

I have become the one who has to stand strong, seemingly alone.

But not really.

What We Own

 The world is beyond us even as we own it.

--Jack Gilbert "Winter Happiness in Greece"

This morning I was determined to get to the beach, where I haven't been since Easter. But when I woke up today I was checking weather and found that the air quality is quite poor out there. I opened up my sliders and the heat, humidity, and air full of Saharan dust and smoke remnants from various fires felt stifling. I realized that walking outdoors was not going to be in my best interest. I've already noticed some symptoms of the  Saharan dust in my eyes and lungs, and I didn't need to invite trouble.

My usual routine is to step outside when I first get up and say my prayers. Today I stood in front of the altar I have in my bedroom, a wonderful little arrangement I sometimes forget to honor. Today was a return to what serves me. It's weird how sometimes things are right in front of my face and I fail to notice them. So, of course I had to write about that.

It was a returning back

to things which have sustained me

a beautiful quote from a medieval mystic

a stone pulled from the New River with

 the ancient rune symbol for Courage

my dad's rosary he got at the Vatican

lying across a hunk of brain coral

Jim plucked from the reef at Chemuyil

and so much more

reminding me I have all I need

all the touchstones and words

gentle meaningful items.

How easily we get lost in the beyond

forgetting what we own.

A Moment

 We lose everything, but we make harvest of the consequence it was to us.

--Jack Gilbert "Moreover"

When I read the poem mentioned above, I pulled one line out and thought, hey, I should write a Golden Shovel poem for this. You may or may not know or remember that a Golden Shovel poem is one where each word of a sentence for the end words in each line of a poem.

Today I read another Gilbert poem called "The Manger of Incidentals." I pulled out the golden lines and considered them. I realized there could be a connection between the two. So I wrote the Golden Shovel poem.

We are but a moment. We

love as if we will never lose

what we love, for everything

changes, transforms, but

we are oblivious, willfully blind. We

believe in forever. We make

plans, build things, and harvest

the return joyfully, ignoring the fact of

what may disappear, the

mourning, the grief, and consequence

of loving with a full heart. It

is not foolish, however, it was

the wise way, for this love survives, to

be a moment, a presence, to be everlasting us.

Declaration

 Who cares really what you think about babies, whether you find them a blessing, a bore, a bramble, a key, a window, a door, a wormhole, a wonder, a Whac-a-Mole, a babble, a blather, adorbs or a bad idea...

-Ross Gay "Babies Again (Seriously)"

As part of my journaling practice, I've been reading a selection from Ross Gay's The Book of (More) Delights. I read the essayette (as he calls them) and then I make note of what literary techniques he is using to creatively get his point across. I then use his theme as a prompt for myself, or a try to imitate something I think he is doing that is fun, unique, a challenge, or just plain good writing. The alternate is to use my dissection to write my own poem, which is what I did today.

In today's essay (the opening graces the top of this blog), he does this listing thing twice, where he goes a little off the rails with it. But it is what makes his description of an encounter with a baby being carried on a mother's hip so enchanting. I was coming to the conclusion that I could not do what he does because I don't have his voice.

Then I stopped and thought...well, that is just a ridiculous idea. 

What would I tell my students? Try it. So I did:

I came to the realization
that no matter

how much I study and

analyze the essays

of Ross Gay

I will never be able

to do what he does 

without sounding stupid.

It's because of his voice.

And since I have made this

declaration

in my voice

I will add

that whether you find my

poems delightful, dippy, dopey,

drippy, repetitive, reachable,

rusty, ridiculous, or just fine,

thank you --

     they are mine -- seriously!

"Sloughness"

As you take in the environment, think about the sloughness.

-Dr. Bill Hammond-

This past Saturday I had the pleasure of spending time at a Nature Journaling Workshop at Six Mile Cypress Slough. The workshop leader was Dr. Bill Hammond, a legendary figure in Southwest Florida, as he is one of the people who spearheaded and fought for saving the slough decades ago. He has left an incredible legacy, and he has stories to tell!

During my B.A. program at Florida Gulf Coast University, I took a class with Dr. Hammond called Issues in Ecology and Environment (Fall 2002). I learned quite a lot in his class, which wasn't strictly academic by any means. We had to keep a nature journal and that is where we took notes, observed nature, and brainstormed for assignments. When I knew I needed a journal for this workshop, I pulled out the one from his class and had a wonderful time reading through how that semester went, what my reactions were, and how I gained so much knowledge about what mistakes were made in the Florida environment, and the safeguards that are supposed to prevent the issues that inevitably show up.

Saturday was about getting out to the slough and taking it in, what Dr. Hammond called the "sloughness." He asked us to see if we could define just what that invented word means, and after doing some sketches and mind-mapping (we were required to use both sides of our brain), I wrote an acrostic style poem on "sloughness."

Spending treasured time with Dr. Hammond

Saturday morning by Gator Lake

Light bright, breeze slight

Opening to nature with purpose

Untold stories all around me.

Giving myself a new direction

Has taken me by surprise.

Now...now is all there is.

Experience the freedom this brings.

Sloughness is everywhere in the flow,

Structure, and everything in between.

Blue Marble

 Inspired by David Kirby’s poem “It Just Keeps Getting Better.”

I am grateful for the sun lighting up my living space and the

new lamp for my bedroom I'm going to set up today. I'm 

grateful I know how to stretch and listen to my body. I'm grateful

for incredible musicals, especially for my favorite, Jesus Christ

Superstar. I'm grateful I can cry. I'm grateful I'm a reader and a

writer and a photographer. I used to think I missed my calling, but

I'm grateful for the life I've had, especially with Jim. I'm grateful

for my home and that I can afford it and Jim made sure it was

paid off.  I am grateful I know how to listen and make good 

decisions. I'm grateful for my church community and grief groups, 

and the friends I’ve made.  I'm grateful for all my family and friends, 

going back to the earliest days. I'm grateful for my neighbor Kara.

 Being with her is a joy. I'm grateful for the many historians and writers 

and thinkers and political analyzers who help us understand the bigger 

picture and maybe, just maybe, give us hope. I'm grateful for NASA and 

Artemis II who have sent a photo of earth from space we can

contemplate and breathe with, reminding us this

blue marble is where we are supposed to learn to love one another.

I'm grateful I know that.

P.S. I challenge all of you to write your own I'm grateful piece. Feel free to send it to me.