Suddenly it is summer in New England, and I have 'gone to the woods' to listen to the singing there: the birds, the wind, the pond, the frogs and bees. The amazing effect of these beautiful sounds is sweet stillness.

common cinquefoil

Bullfrog, photo by my son Seth

Then the LORD said: Go out and stand on the mountain before the LORD; the LORD will pass by. There was a strong and violent wind rending the mountains and crushing rocks before the LORD—but the LORD was not in the wind; after the wind, an earthquake—but the LORD was not in the earthquake; after the earthquake, fire--but the LORD was not in the fire; after the fire, a light silent sound. When Elijah heard it, he wrapped his face in his mantle ~1 Kings 19:11-13a

In the woods there is golden sunlight and dark shadow. There are mothers and fathers leading and protecting. There are children following and learning.

"To romanticize the world is to make us aware of the magic, mystery and wonder of the world; it is to educate the senses to see the ordinary as extraordinary, the familiar as strange, the mundane as sacred, the finite as infinite ". ~Novalis

Luke holding a spider, photo by Seth

 

Mallard couple - photo by Seth

If I were a woodland creature, I could imagine myself as a chipmunk. I rather resemble one, I think, with my round face and nut brown coloring, Like them, I can be shy and friendly at turns. Plus, I am attracted to their cozy, underground homes. What woodland creature would you be? Emmeline said that she would be a unicorn. 

Once, while walking in the woods, I glimpsed a magical, white creature prancing merrily through the trees. The creature's delicate grace arrested me, and I gazed at it in wonder, fully expecting to see a single horn upon its head when it turned to face me. What on earth was it, you ask? A lovely white poodle!

For a glorious week, the air was perfumed by the heavenly fragrance of black locust blossoms. These trees are native to the southeast but have become invasive here in the north and are on Massachusetts' prohibited plants list.

 

On one evening, we discovered that a barred owl had made its nest in the hollow of a big oak tree right next to the trail. Inside the hollow were two large, fuzzy owlets.

Perched in a nearby tree across the trail, we found the mother owl watching us with her great dark eyes. Barred owls are large birds, about eighteen inches tall. According to Peterson's Guide, they are one of only two species of owls in eastern North America that do not have yellow eyes. The other species are barn owls. From The Owls Trust: "Owls with yellow eyes hunt mainly during the day, owls with dark eyes hunt during the night, owls with orange eyes hunt at dusk or dawn."

As I gazed up at Mother Owl, and she gazed back at me, the rest of the world ceased to exist; there was just She and Me and the Mystery between us.

The experience reminded me of a painting by Meinrad Craighead that my friend Kortney Garrison posted on her blog back in 2011 (how has so much time passed, Kort??)

Holy Wisdom by Meinrad Craighead:

"those owls, her familiars.  she holds the labyrinth’s string, the red cord. our connection" ~Kortney's beautiful words, to which I would add, "and the ever-changing constancy of the moon."

The next evening, my sons went back to the tree, after fishing in the pond, and saw the mother owl fly into the nest. 

Mother Owl, photo by Seth

Two days later, the owlets had fledged.  We were fortunate to see one of them perched high in a tree across the trail from the big oak. Mother Owl was in another tree on the hill about 200 feet away. We have not seen them since. But, they are so silent and so well camouflaged that I wonder how often they are there in the evening shadows, watching, without us knowing.

Moon Over Horn Pond, photo by Seth

Perhaps the facts most astounding and most real are never communicated by man to man. The true harvest of my daily life is somewhat as intangible and indescribable as the tints of morning or evening. It is a little star-dust caught, a segment of the rainbow which I have clutched. ~ Henry David Thoreau

It is just so, isn't it?

Love and roses,
Sue

Do you know this flowering shrub? It grows wild in one spot near the pond, or at least it is wild now, although someone may have planted it long ago. It has the most heavenly fragrance. I believe it is called 'summersweet', but I am not certain.
                                                                                                                                                                     

 Someone left this lovely painted stone on one of the trail markers. We were so happy to see it.

 My front door.  Welcome! ♥

New England spider cake (recipe below).

This morning, a baby cardinal came to our garden and inspected the feeder.

It was a mostly quiet week which was just lovely. We've had a lot of out-of-town company this summer, with more on the way, so it was nice to have time to potter around the garden and walk in the woods and read and just be.

A couple of weeks ago when I was in Gloucester, I found the slim paperback book pictured above. It is a historical novella called Moss on Stone about Susannah Norwood Torrey who lived on Cape Ann in Rockport during the 19th century. The novella incorporates excerpts from a diary Susannah kept early in her marriage and reads like a memoir. I feel I owe a debt to the author Sandra Williams for introducing me to Susannah. In 'Susa' I have found someone very kindred to myself. The book is a lovely, lovely volume with beautiful illustrations by the author's artist husband, and though it is not an exciting book or a particularly compelling tale, it captures the spirit of a person and place that have captivated me. You can read more about Moss on Stone here.

In the book, Susannah and her husband make a New England spider cake for supper one evening. I had never heard of spider cake. I found a recipe for it here and made it for breakfast yesterday. It is made with cornmeal but does not have the same texture as cornbread. It reminds me of Clafoutis. It was quite good with maple syrup, but I think it would be excellent with fruit preserves, as well.

 New England Spider Cake

Preheat oven to 350°F.
Combine 4 teaspoons of white vinegar in two cups of milk and set aside to sour (it helps to warm the milk slightly first).
In a separate bowl, combine 1 cup of yellow cornmeal, 3/4 cup all purpose flour, 3/4 cup sugar, and 1/2 teaspoon baking soda.
Whisk two eggs into the soured milk. Mix into dry ingredients and set batter aside.
Melt 2 tablespoons butter in a 12 inch cast-iron skillet (I used a regular oven proof skillet). Pour in the batter. Pour 1 cup of heavy cream into the center of the batter. Slide skillet into oven and bake for 40 to 45 minutes or until top is set and golden. Slice into wedges and serve warm with maple syrup or fruit preserves. 

♥

These are my favorite months of the year: August~September~October~November. The golden, sunlight, deepening shadows, ripening fruit, showy blossoms, hum of insects and bats--I'm always happiest and most productive in late summer and fall.

Everywhere there are signs of the beautiful, holy circle, 'world without end'.

Jewel weed and goldenrod are beginning to bloom.

And the meadows are five feet tall and thrumming with life. 

Sometimes I like to leave little messages among the pebbles on the trail for people to find.

This is the first year that my pitiful little peach tree has borne fruit--there are four exquisitely blushing peaches.

For a few years, I wore my hair quite short, but for most of my life I've worn it long (for a period of twenty years I rarely had it cut.) But then, last year in March, I gave up haircuts altogether (too expensive). My hair hasn't seen scissors or a hair dryer in almost a year and a half. This is what it looks like now--my old witchy waves are back, threaded with silver.

If you want to know where I am, you can find me here: in the woods, tending my roses, swimming, exploring old towns, wading in the sea, sitting by a fire under the stars, painting messages on pebbles, searching for old postcards in the early morning light at the Flea. Perhaps where we are defines us more than anything else.

I came across this quote on Lis's blog (linked below under "West"--you must see her gorgeous nature journal!)

It’s all too easy to get stuck inside our own heads, to live out of our imagination. But the deep, honest, authentic ancestral wisdom we’re looking to reclaim is the wisdom of the land, the wisdom of place, and in order to develop that wisdom we need to get out of our heads and out onto the land.

 - Sharon Blackie, "Becoming Native to Place" from Reclaiming the Wise Woman

Yes, if you want to 'find yourself', get to know your neighborhood: the goldenrod, the birch, the little brown bat, the monarch butterfly, the lichen, the hill, the moon, the trail around the pond, the clouds and rain, the moss-covered boulder. There is much truth in knowing your place.

Need a compass? You might find these posts as inspiring as I did:

North
South
East
West