Until the juice ferments a while in the cask,
it isn't wine. If you wish your heart to be bright,
you must do a little work.
-Be Lost in the Call, Rumi-
I was reminded of this stanza from a loved poem this last weekend went I spent two days on the Northern California coast. Of the importance of decidedly doing and not just wishing or procrastinated planning to achieve.
I left early Saturday, a quest to be ahead of the traffic along I-80 and all those roads that are unknown. It was a largely successful venture. I arrived at a camp ground on Bodega Bay to find myself with the last camping space available way out on the spit.
What glorious weather! There were clouds and a slight breeze, with spots of warm sunlight. Pelicans flew across the bay; their flight patterns seemingly choreographed as they dipped and flapped then rose one after another without missing a beat. On the far side of the jetty one could hear a group of California Sea Lions- unfortunately it would have been a long walk or very cold swim to actually see them and I had managed to forget my swim suit in my excitement.
Admittedly, I spent a fair bit of Saturday sleeping in my tent. The last few weeks of work have been hectic and increasingly stressful (the True Cause of this has yet to be determined) that culminated in an absolutely mad Friday that included a bad cut, rude customers, a car accident- no one was hurt- and half of the chicken flock getting out. Nothing beats repeat naps to recover from total exhaustion. Naps and a rather wonderful monkey flower tincture that is like sunshine in a bottle.
Sunday was the real reason for this adventure- the Hollowed Ground workshop with Sylvia Linsteadt of Wild Talewort. What a treat! A day of animal tracking, writing and drawing, exploring Point Reyes and learning about the natural history of the land.
It made me wonder about synchronies and how they happen; not to mention the genuine joy that occurs when they do. You see, I had been looking for an inspiration to start writing and drawing again for some weeks and finally had found it. When I am really able to get going again I'd like to share some here, but we shall see- that may be a long time coming.
On the dunes of Limantour beach we found the foot prints of swaggering ravens, bounding rats and one very intriguing ground squirrel who's paw ghosts we followed away from the grass-protected dunes and toward the water. We questioned the baseline movement of humans in comparison to raccoons (oh, how they amble so slowly) and hoped for bobcat or even the elusive cougar.
Away to the west the Farallon islands could be clearly seen, and as we set out on solo, questioning walks along a trail a slight rain began that was magical in its timing.
Most surprising of all was the sighting of a Tule elk, whose existence here I was not aware of until very recently.
What was quite lovely was a retelling of a very old version of Cinderella by Sylvia known as Catskin. If you've never read it before I highly recommend it. It is haunting and especially wonderful when you hold the story in you and walk the land that is calling to it.
I left the workshop with a journal well-underway and a wild desire to learn more about tracking and folk stories and bringing everything together in an effort to rewild our existence.
"The paths here run catacomb-wild, sometimes no rhyme or reason around grass patches or straight through thickets of blackberries. Do they [elk] have sacred spots or an ancestral memory of place too?" -Notes from the place Catskin called
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