Who are your neighbors? What are your stories? Who are you in relationship with? Here are a few stories from people in the WholeHeart community’s experiences of loving and listening with earth. We invite you to revel in their reflections.
This month’s blog offering is an ode to earth and our the relationships in our collective ecosystems. We celebrate the launch of WholeHeart’s first wall calendar! Purchasing or gifting a $30 2023 calendar includes an invitation to be part of monthly Second Sunday Earth Circles where we will gather to share stories from our many places on the planet. We look forward to a year of listening with you in community and care.
This red pine stands near a lakeshore that has likely been a canoe route for thousands of years. The scar you see was made over a period of about 50 years, 200 to 150 years ago. Anishinaabe people made that cut and others in nearby pines so that they could gather pitch to caulk their canoes. Done with care for the tree, and with offering fire to clear the understory, the tree flourishes. When Mary and I found this old tree, both marked and flourishing from its interaction with people, I found myself wondering….What wisdom do I hold that can help me repair my culture’s broken relationship with this place, and our earth home?
Jonathan
(Wisconsin)
Beaver are here again, widening the brook to reflect an open vista. This brook and I share a forty year friendship - longer than the beaver's dam and older than many of my human friendships. Today, the water is still, the sky is vibrant. Yet I know water and time keep flowing, even in the depth of winter or worries when things can seem frozen or stuck. One human, one place - and so many moments of connection.
Holly
(Vermont)
This time of year - fall moving into winter - pulls me into darkness and the hours in between the light and dark of the day. Nowadays, I carry a flashlight with me wherever I go, suspecting I may have a use for it on my daily travels.
This is a time of shadow and silhouette, when the trees share their form against a backlit sky and the stars begin to twinkle in ways that I'd forgotten as the earth rotates. The moon traces a steadily changing line across the sky, day after day, waxing and waning, rising and setting at different hours, while a lone planet seems to hang still. A month from now, I'll likely look up in that same spot and notice its own pattern tracing. This time of celestial body movement slows me down. I no longer watch for the creep of a night cricket or the buzz of a bee in goldenrod at high noon, but instead attend to the movement of giants that would otherwise be invisible.
Nate
(Vermont)
In Autumn, my bicycle rides become more steady and serene. Pedaling atop the crunchy carpet of a foliated forest path, my cadence slows and my attention shifts from the euphoria of sun-drenched days, to a measured and meandering equanimity. Spinning through the shades and shadows of Fall, I return to a rustic, restful rhythm, rooting deeply, and grateful for the calm.
Julie
(Pennsylvania)
A couple days ago I walked barefoot along the grassy + moss covered paths to the mailbox at the end of my neighbour's driveway. The thick moss separated my toes and kissed the in-between parts of me. I had my eyes and ears focused on the flock of starlings in the bare maples. Their song a full chorus of chatters, chirps and tweets. I noticed three crows land in amongst them, and their song immediately changed. In sharing this experience with a soul friend, she reminded me of the wisdom message in this noticing; I have the ability to change my own song... and she, her song too. It is much easier to hear the chorus when we sing, share + notice together.
Tarah
(Nova Scotia, CAN)