An argument with an owl

& reflecting on year 33

Current sketching inspiration: bears and grandmothers

I let Odin out into the night. He disappears completely from sight once he reaches the boundaries of the porch light. All I can sense of him now is the crunching leaves where he trots along. There is no fence in the yard to separate human spaces and the wild forest just beyond the grass line. I think he likes to go out at night just to walk the perimeter and listen for any shuffling in the underbrush.

This night I hear him barking which usually means he indeed found something carrying on with its nighttime rituals. I went outside and accidentally interrupted an intense argument. Odin would bark, then our resident owl who must’ve been sitting in the tree just above him, would respond with an amused hoot. It continued to go back and forth like this for some time.

Usually when I hear him barking, I corral him back inside, but their banter was almost too hilarious to break up. Instead I sat down on the porch and listened to the nightly drama.

Even though I’ve never seen him, I know the owl that lives here is a barred owl. I spent one evening listening to the calls of all of the native owls in Michigan online just so I could identify his voice. I can picture him now, probably sitting in the oak tree along the edge of the forest, large brown and white face staring down at this pesky dog.

While this lively debate is entertaining, I also think about something I heard a traditional sheep herder say. He keeps the tradition alive in the Carpathian Mountains of Poland where his summers are spent deeply intertwined with the lives of his herd and the surrounding wild spaces.

He said, “if nature and animals can’t teach you about peace, nothing can”.

This may seem contradictory as Odin and the owl continue their disagreement, but the lesson holds true. Nature doesn’t ruminate or fixate. In five minutes Odin will prance back inside, blissfully unbothered by what just unfolded and the owl will go back to scanning the ground for food. Life goes on.

As I enter my (potentially) final week of pregnancy, I’m doing my best to build a little bubble of peace around me and my home. Of course you can’t always tune out the world completely, and as we come out on the other side of the election, I will just leave it at this.

Continue to do the good work.
Continue to build bridges not walls.
Continue to lead with compassion.
Continue the demanding work
of liberation for all.
Continue to dismantle broken systems,
large and small.
Continue to set the best example
for the children.
Continue to be a vessel of nourishing joy.

Continue right where you are.
Right where you live into your days.

~ Venice Williams

This is what nature and animals teach us about peace. It is the secret the shepherd knows from his days observing the wild. Peace comes from continually embracing the good work, from letting the negativity and potential pain wash over us like a river over smooth stones. Because fish die, bacteria colonize, the cycle is broken when rivers become stagnant. The same happens when our emotions muddy our purpose, our driving force.

Something is wrong, I know it, if I don’t keep my attention on eternity. May I be the tiniest nail in the house of the universe, tiny but useful. May I stay forever in the stream.

~ Mary Oliver

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Yesterday also happened to be my 33rd birthday. I like to reflect on each year as it passes, and this theme of finding peace continues to pop up. This year has been one of complete surrender to the idea, the promise, the process, the good work, the healing waters of peace.

In my reflections I’ve realized that it’s only in the presence of these monumentally intimidating tasks that peace shows its face. In the small hours of the morning when all is well, in the woods where a renewing breeze winds through the trees, in the crunch of a tart ripe apple.

Peace lives in the cracks of uncertainty.

This year I’ve learned I can choose peace over and over and over again. Each moment I spend otherwise is like a branch added to the beaver dam, slowly building my walls against the world higher and higher. But branches are not concrete, they can also be easily dismantled again and again so the water can flow and the rapids of forward momentum can be restored. Each day is a test of my river management skills.

I asked my best friend who is a mom to a three year old, if she had any advice for making postpartum manageable. She told me to not feel guilty about embracing the things that make you feel good, whether it be new clothes that fit your new body, taking time to have someone else do your hair, or buying food that nourishes you.

This is actually already been something I’ve started doing during pregnancy too and it feels so good. I think these sort of indulgences can also be valuable in any time of adversity to restore peace. The November Full Moon Guide I wrote (coming out next week) talks about the power and value of tools and talismans that are created with intention, even in our modern consumer society.

Today though, I wanted to share some of the things that just feel good. Things that help to restore little moments of peace between the moments of uncertainty:

• Golden Sun Solid Serum from Cedar Hill Homestead

• How To Take Good Care Zine by

  Farai
  who writes The Hillbilly African

  

• Earl Grey Tea from Light of Day Organics

• Ceremonial Grade Cacao from Four Visions

• This custom Amish quilt made with the colors and designs I chose

  

• Fuzzy slippers for my sore feet

• This Rosół Chicken Soup recipe

• The Mother Artist by Catherine Ricketts

• The little creative space nook I organized with books, art supplies, random herbs, etc.

  

• Long daily walks to the mailbox

My wish of peace for you: may you shed arguments like the dog and the owl, find yourself in the chaos rather than get lost in it, cling to things that make you feel alive even if you think they’re frivolous, look for lessons everywhere, never stop tending your river.

Much love,

Val

P.S. Feel free to share, it’s always appreciated!

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