Two days ago, I got a notion to finally walk to the big oak tree on the other side of the gully. It is a tree that I look at all the time from my studio office and yet, I had never walked to it. I am looking at it now as I type, just 1:00 off my monitor. Two winters ago, a large limb broke in a wind storm and ever since then, the broken limb looked like a big dear was lying beside it, eating from its base. (Can you see it in the photo below?) I thought for the longest time that the tree was on our property but just recently learned that it is a few feet off the property line. I get to look at it never-the-less.
This year we have barley growing and it’s at knee level. I walked out into the field towards the oak and the only thing I could think of was “I hope I don’t encounter a snake!” I am so scarred of snakes! Each step I took was like something out of a suspense thriller. You know, scared of what might be larking even though there are no signs of anything wrong. Maybe it was the fear of snakes but it may have also been the weird sensation of walking and not being able to see my feet. I had to completely trust what I was feeling. I walked gently with mindfulness, allowing all creatures to slither away as I trod near.
Walking with mindfulness allowed me to notice all the ladybugs! There was a ladybug in front of me every two steps! How many must there have been in that barley field?! I got half way from the house, turned around, and it felt like I had left the planet. Like outer space, I was someplace I look at every day but had never been.
Upon arriving at the Oak, I felt another sense of place. The old growth was distinctly outside of the planted area and the brown weeds were standing in peaceful defiance like aliens.
My walk to the Old Oak marks a similar path that I hope to take more often; revealing a closer look at what is right in front of us....simple journeys and introductions to people, homes, and little known spaces....exploring the humble, beautiful, ugly, resourceful, creative, and unique. Come with me.
Two days ago, I got a notion to finally walk to the big oak tree on the other side of the gully. It is a tree that I look at all the time from my studio office and yet, I had never walked to it. I am looking at it now as I type, just 1:00 off my monitor. Two winters ago, a large limb broke in a wind storm and ever since then, the broken limb looked like a big dear was lying beside it, eating from its base. (Can you see it in the photo below?) I thought for the longest time that the tree was on our property but just recently learned that it is a few feet off the property line. I get to look at it never-the-less.
This year we have barley growing and it’s at knee level. I walked out into the field towards the oak and the only thing I could think of was “I hope I don’t encounter a snake!” I am so scarred of snakes! Each step I took was like something out of a suspense thriller. You know, scared of what might be larking even though there are no signs of anything wrong. Maybe it was the fear of snakes but it may have also been the weird sensation of walking and not being able to see my feet. I had to completely trust what I was feeling. I walked gently with mindfulness, allowing all creatures to slither away as I trod near.
Walking with mindfulness allowed me to notice all the ladybugs! There was a ladybug in front of me every two steps! How many must there have been in that barley field?! I got half way from the house, turned around, and it felt like I had left the planet. Like outer space, I was someplace I look at every day but had never been.
Upon arriving at the Oak, I felt another sense of place. The old growth was distinctly outside of the planted area and the brown weeds were standing in peaceful defiance like aliens.
My walk to the Old Oak marks a similar path that I hope to take more often; revealing a closer look at what is right in front of us....simple journeys and introductions to people, homes, and little known spaces....exploring the humble, beautiful, ugly, resourceful, creative, and unique. Come with me.
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