tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33776631101591155022024-03-13T12:20:27.246-07:00Teatime TravellerNaohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16417928081308905395noreply@blogger.comBlogger92125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3377663110159115502.post-43307933127590997202011-09-08T15:51:00.000-07:002011-09-08T15:53:48.703-07:00A New ChapterOver this past year, much newness has been unfolding. It has kept me from blogging. <div><br /></div><div>However, there is a new blog now, as well as a new adventure...if you are intrigued click <a href="http://honeygrovefarm.wordpress.com">here</a></div>Naohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16417928081308905395noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3377663110159115502.post-11680111021464930982010-09-29T09:58:00.000-07:002010-09-29T14:49:46.833-07:00A Note Of Thanks~<div><br /></div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_2K5UZtkkDyo/TKN_jtwDbMI/AAAAAAAAAzc/619Vwz5vwSs/s1600/bees.gif"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 294px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_2K5UZtkkDyo/TKN_jtwDbMI/AAAAAAAAAzc/619Vwz5vwSs/s400/bees.gif" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5522397819639655618" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>Hello Dear Sweet Blog Friends, <div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>How are you?<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>I hope you are all infinitely well, enjoying the autumn harvest, reaping the glorious abundance of the past year. I hope this year has been one of magic and splendid-ness. Mine has been a little of everything. Up and down, here and there and all over everywhere. There have been good days, bad days, happy days and some understandably sad days. Over-all though the main theme of my year (if I had to choose just one), would have to be: ACCEPTANCE~ This has been a year of acceptance.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>I am writing today, because over the course of this past year some of you have written to enquire as to where on earth I am. Thank you for that. It is such delight to know you are out there, interested in my human journey, offering your heartfelt encouragement and kindness. The world could use so much more of this, don't you think? I cannot tell you how much I appreciate it, how much I appreciate each of you.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>So where have I been? ( Geeze, I am so tickled that you even ask and I don't really know what to say) Mostly I have been busy with bees and for those of you curious about this, you may wish to go <a href="http://www.beecausepollinationproject.com/blogs/news">Here</a>. And when I am not busy with bees there are gardens to tend and dog friends to visit with, and books to read, and food to cook, and lovely people to see and beautiful places to go... and well you know, I suppose you could call this life. eh eh eh. And when there are not delicious moments to soak up, to taken in, to digest and be nourished by, there are also emotional meltdowns to have, and difficult feelings to process, and niggling negative thoughts to discard of. (you know, the usual human business) I think the wise one's call this BALANCE?</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 311px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2K5UZtkkDyo/TKN_J7NM0BI/AAAAAAAAAzM/4xlTmmtYxiA/s400/86.gif" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5522397376574967826" /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><div>I am afraid my curious contemplations of each new and beautiful day have not made it outside of my own busy head and out into blog land simply because I have too many other things asking for my attention. And then sometime last summer, I found myself sitting amongst a mountain of thoughts and plans and it became clear to me that I could really do without so many ideas and agendas.</div></div><div><br /></div><div>And so, you see, I vowed to spend my days attempting something the Zen One's call "being"(and although I have not come anywhere near experiencing this "being-ness" as much as I would like, I do find great relief at the trying). So this said, I am doing less thinking and more observing.</div><div><br /></div><div>And well, this new style, it has taken me away from my computer keyboard and out into the world, and this just seems to work better for me. So that's where I have been. I don't imagine I will find myself here in blog land very much over the next while, but, saying this, one never really knows what each new day will bring. It does however mean so much to me that you have enquired as to my whereabouts. What an honour, truly, I feel such gratitude for your encouragement.</div><div><br /></div><div>For now though, I wish each of you skies upon skies of happiness ~</div><div><br /></div><div>Happy Harvest~</div><div>Thanks for being out there,</div><div>Nao</div><div><br /></div><div>P.S.- Gus sends his love. He offers you the happiest of howls and reminds you that the secret of the universe is "not to worry."</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div>Naohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16417928081308905395noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3377663110159115502.post-11846952907408526032009-10-26T11:16:00.000-07:002009-10-26T11:17:24.557-07:00<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10px; color: rgb(100, 95, 94); white-space: pre-wrap; "><object width="400" height="270"><param name="allowfullscreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><param name="movie" value="http://vimeo.com/moogaloop.swf?clip_id=7229580&server=vimeo.com&show_title=1&show_byline=1&show_portrait=0&color=&fullscreen=1"><embed src="http://vimeo.com/moogaloop.swf?clip_id=7229580&server=vimeo.com&show_title=1&show_byline=1&show_portrait=0&color=&fullscreen=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" allowscriptaccess="always" width="400" height="270"></embed></object><p><a href="http://vimeo.com/7229580">Backyard Beekeeper Nao Sims</a> from <a href="http://vimeo.com/jaimekowal">Jaime Kowal</a> on <a href="http://vimeo.com">Vimeo</a>.</p></span>Naohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16417928081308905395noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3377663110159115502.post-31991390029689619842009-09-14T09:14:00.000-07:002009-09-14T09:50:46.805-07:00Good News~<div style="text-align: center;"><blockquote></blockquote><blockquote></blockquote></div><br /><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_2K5UZtkkDyo/Sq5y90Vf3rI/AAAAAAAAAy0/ArhtO0NEDo8/s400/IMG_1827.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381365011100720818" /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>It has been a while since I have sat down with my tea on a quiet morning and ran my fingers across a keyboard. Weeks have been spent getting the bees ready for winter, harvesting the fruits of our labours and making all kinds of wonderful plans. In amongst our many plans, there is one I am bursting to share, one that I think you will also be inspired by. <div><br /></div><div>As you know, there has been much time spent with the honeybees this year. Much time spent in awe of their diligent ways. Much time spent learning about what more we might do to support these winged friends in their important work.</div><div><br /></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_2K5UZtkkDyo/Sq5zFr_A7yI/AAAAAAAAAy8/Pq2sM6oikBY/s400/IMG_2286.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381365146297888546" /><div><br /></div><div>We have come to the conclusion that we must do whatever we can to help the honeybees at this particular moment in time, for reasons that you can read about in just a moment, if click on the link at the bottom of this page.</div><div><br /></div><div>And so I invite you dear readers, to have a look at what we have been building and creating over here. Welcome to <a href="http://www.beecausepollinationproject.com/">Beecause Pollination Project</a>.</div>Naohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16417928081308905395noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3377663110159115502.post-31528999558309229932009-08-16T07:48:00.000-07:002009-08-16T08:52:30.364-07:00Back to the Garden~<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2K5UZtkkDyo/SogoFXVZKsI/AAAAAAAAAyc/o7r08Dsk_2Q/s400/IMG_2294.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370586628267518658" /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>There is much to be thankful for this season. The bounty is truly something to marvel at. The plum tree is heavy with fruit, the squash are hiding their full round shapes under canopy's of green, the honey is just now off the hive and sitting on the kitchen table like a sweet golden elixir.<div><br /></div><div>My hands are cracked and dry from dirt and sun, my body is sore from lifting 80 pound supers of honey and my is heart filled to the brim with awe for this incredible earth. The satisfaction is deep, the gratitude is infinite, the happiness that comes when eating spoon fulls of honey from the flowers in my own garden is simply indescribable.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>I have spent very little time writing this summer, very little time thinking about how to put my experience into words and this has been a great relief. My mind can be as unruly as the vines climbing up our back shed and pruning back the thoughts has been rather a good thing for me. Instead of thinking about how to write about the honeybees magic I found myself sitting by the beehive, in a warm place, just listening to the hum. I enjoyed steamed greens from the garden without thinking about how to describe their flavour. I waded into the water with my dog without wondering how to document the suns effect on the waves. I can't say I have mastered this technique of "being in the moment" by any stretch. I can't even say it happens as much as I would like it to. I am definatly nowhere near enlightenment and I am sure that the Buddhists have a heckofalot to teach me, but I can say, that there are moments, when for a brief time, I have not been thinking. And I can say, that I liked this.</div><div><br /></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2K5UZtkkDyo/SogoB5mSW-I/AAAAAAAAAyU/nS7vX4nfDsI/s400/IMG_2262.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370586568745704418" /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>One whole year has gone by since I began this blog. And what a marvelous journey it has been, what a lot of fun and inspiration, what a lot of lovely folks I have met. I am so thankful to have had your company and experienced your kindness. Your encouraging words have given me so much joy and courage, thank you.</div><div><br /></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2K5UZtkkDyo/SogoK6brm2I/AAAAAAAAAyk/27HATXOuvLU/s400/IMG_2320.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370586723588479842" /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>And now I am going to push away from the computer keyboard and head back into the garden where I will be taking the advice of my wise dog and doing less thinking and more being. I am not sure when I might be back in my cyberspace living room, but until then I wish you all basketful's of goodness. I wish you sweet mornings of golden light. I wish you peaceful afternoons and enchanted evenings. I wish you health, happiness and wholeness. I wish you magic in each and every exquisite moment of your life. </div><div><br /></div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_2K5UZtkkDyo/SogoPCqPkmI/AAAAAAAAAys/gPReQ__jqNs/s400/IMG_2328.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370586794516517474" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Just think of how sweet my tea will be this year!</span></div><div style="text-align: center;">BLESSED BEE~</div>Naohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16417928081308905395noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3377663110159115502.post-64386793431339497722009-07-19T13:08:00.000-07:002009-07-19T15:46:21.303-07:00Garlic Harvest~<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2K5UZtkkDyo/SmN9Rcb5QDI/AAAAAAAAAx8/Ye3HjIYfLGc/s400/IMG_2068.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5360265720145461298" />I am not sure what it is about the garlic harvest that brings me so much deep down glee. This might be my favorite thing to harvest, if there could be such a thing. Perhaps it's the time that it takes a clove placed in the Autumn ground to mature into a complete bulb, 10 whole months. Sometimes it's the waiting that makes the goal that much more glorious. Or maybe it's in my blood, an ancestral inheritance from my Eastern European roots, perhaps this is a cellular love. Whatever it is, it is as strong and healthy as the garlic itself. <div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Garlic is my food and medicine, and it has been this way for as long as I can remember. There is no soup or stew complete without it, no better way to cure a cold or keep the flu away, of course you also run the risk of keeping others away too, but sometimes that's not so bad. Tis hard to tell, who's a vampire and who isn't sometimes. eh eh eh. <div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Otherwise these days have been spent far away from keyboards and indoor activities. There is an inch of dust covering everything in the house. There are 100 tasks needing doing, but I simply cannot give myself to them. The moment I am out of bed in the morning, I am outside, barefoot in the garden, as busy as the bees.</div><div><br /></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_2K5UZtkkDyo/SmOiDOgAZpI/AAAAAAAAAyM/tGBdq7zuSqc/s400/IMG_2078.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5360306157816669842" /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div>Naohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16417928081308905395noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3377663110159115502.post-86012659716285846052009-07-04T17:02:00.000-07:002009-07-05T15:27:32.430-07:00Ode to the Campfire!<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_2K5UZtkkDyo/SlAX9Gc3gJI/AAAAAAAAAw8/NdMYgDA9RMA/s400/IMG_1940.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5354806295414669458" /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>There is a place in the wilds of British Columbia's interior where folks of all different kinds can live together in relative harmony. You don't believe me? Well, you should. I saw it myself, more than once, and I have marvelled at it for sometime now.<div><br /><div><div><div>I am not sure what makes it possible for the redneck and the hippy to live on the same dirt road and manage to respect one another. I am not sure how the meat- eaters and the vegetarians can sit round the same campfire and marvel at the dinner before them. I still don't know what makes the hillbilly moonshine brewed in the back-shed still taste as lovely as the 10 year old single malt imported from Scotland's Isle of Islay. I can't understand what those who ride horses and those who ride Harley's have to talk about. And I can't figure out how the campfires built in those rugged hills can warm hearts as much as they do cold hands and feet, but you know, I don't think I care if I ever know the answer to these questions. I simply like that it happens.</div><div><br /></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_2K5UZtkkDyo/SlAX3Qj2jfI/AAAAAAAAAw0/coELN1AzmbI/s400/IMG_1929.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5354806195049106930" /><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">Campfire and Kettle</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>I just spent a week camping beside the most magical lake, in the forested hills near my home town.</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_2K5UZtkkDyo/SlAYaYN3V-I/AAAAAAAAAxc/nPvJwGgFtps/s400/IMG_2002.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5354806798399789026" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-size:x-small;">View from our tent</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><br /></span></div><div> The mornings were spent with my little niece Senay collecting wild flowers and building sandcastles. The afternoons spent reclining on smooth soft drift wood with a good book, while Senay painted beach stones. The evenings were festive gatherings of good people.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2K5UZtkkDyo/SlAYTOhp_1I/AAAAAAAAAxU/R8Wa4F-qw_s/s400/IMG_2001.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5354806675539361618" /><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-size:x-small;"><div style="text-align: center;">Breakfast on the campfire</div></span></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_2K5UZtkkDyo/SlAYENjsjmI/AAAAAAAAAxE/fPChDDJ6eMY/s400/IMG_1949.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5354806417581444706" /><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">Morning's Flowers</span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Out there, under that starry sky, miles away from the civilized world the most interesting folks found there way down the dusty path to our Gypsy campsite. When the sun went down over the snow capped peaks and the campfire roared with flames, the people roared with laughter. All kinds of people sitting round a campfire with almost nothing in common, except perhaps a deep appreciation for this wild and wonderful earth. There is something really delightful about that, something hopeful and inspiring about a group of people gathered together who have nothing more than their humanness in common.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Indeed, I must admit, that as the years go by I am more interested in what makes us the same as opposed to all of those things that make us different. And I have to be honest and say that this hasn't always been the case. My life for a longtime was dedicated to being different. Oh the pains of proving ones uniqueness.</div><div><br /></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_2K5UZtkkDyo/SlAbVuAN6bI/AAAAAAAAAxk/Yn69rDC7hhY/s400/IMG_1982.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5354810016883665330" /><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">Setting Sun</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><br /></span></div><div>When I was 18 years old I moved as far away from hometown as I could to celebrate my differences, to be known for my individual flare. Now almost 15 years later I have to laugh hard at the pull of my healthy and youthful ego. Sitting there with my wild family and those mountain people, I realized that what made me the most different from these good folks was my own harsh judgment, my own desire to be something other than what I am ~ a small town girl with an enormous love for the wild lands of my childhood.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>So this post is dedicated to good hearted country people everywhere. What an honour it is to warm myself by your fires, to be accepted exactly as I am, for better or for worse. Ha! Your an inspiration!</div><div><br /></div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2K5UZtkkDyo/SlAcRLndcrI/AAAAAAAAAx0/iIyWUie--_8/s400/IMG_1928.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5354811038445171378" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div></div></div>Naohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16417928081308905395noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3377663110159115502.post-53650489317550518752009-06-22T18:22:00.000-07:002009-06-23T07:20:53.432-07:00Summer Days~<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2K5UZtkkDyo/SkAy-gTMVlI/AAAAAAAAAwk/_5pUzQono1E/s400/IMG_1866.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5350332406719862354" /><div style="text-align: left;">The summer days are passing by and there is much happiness as we munch on greens from the garden like goats, as we water and weed and stop to smell the flowers. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2K5UZtkkDyo/SkAzFObesGI/AAAAAAAAAws/Vw0elZCTqN8/s400/IMG_1870.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5350332522181865570" /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div>There is no such thing as time when I step barefoot on damp earth and bend down to harvest the green sweetness of new peas. No such thing as stress when I watch flowers open and surrender to their fate, whatever that may be. There is nothing else to think about when watching bees come home after a long day laden with pollen and purpose. Nothing to want when you are eating a dessert of freshly picked strawberries and whipped cream. Nothing to worry about when you realize that all things are born, bloom, fruit and eventually go back to the earth, only to be born again.</div><div><br /><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_2K5UZtkkDyo/SkAy4c0_n3I/AAAAAAAAAwc/OXVlykW7400/s400/IMG_1864.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5350332302708678514" /><div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div>And on the days that take me out of the garden into the world of 9-5, the world of bus stops and hot asphalt, of scrubbed hands and shooed feet, I have only to think of the oasis that awaits me when I cross the threshold back into the growing paradise that is my blessed garden.</div><div><br /></div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_2K5UZtkkDyo/SkAyuwQhtVI/AAAAAAAAAwM/IZ5tAlDAjKY/s400/IMG_1857.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5350332136125740370" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">There is so much to be thankful for.</div><div><br /><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2K5UZtkkDyo/SkAy0GpWpyI/AAAAAAAAAwU/hguBZYh_LQM/s400/IMG_1862.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5350332228034799394" /></div><div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div></div></div>Naohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16417928081308905395noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3377663110159115502.post-30877296470602757702009-06-15T12:01:00.001-07:002009-06-15T15:04:45.358-07:00Oh the hum~<div><br /></div><div><br /></div><img style="text-align: left;display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2K5UZtkkDyo/Sjaa3RfXefI/AAAAAAAAAwE/rnN7a0lbwg0/s400/IMG_1827_2%5B1%5D.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347631881927490034" /><div style="text-align: center;">There are bees buzzing and flowers blooming. </div><div style="text-align: center;">I cannot come in from outside. </div><div><br /></div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2K5UZtkkDyo/Sjaap8GlcFI/AAAAAAAAAv0/kedWkVQqC3s/s400/IMG_1811%5B1%5D.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347631652848103506" /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">These days, I spend my mornings singing with the bees down by the hives. The bees hum their musical drone and lull me into their world of vibration and sweetness. I watch the flowers opening to their honeybee lovers, under June's morning sun, and I marvel at the blessings all around me. Gus sniffs the sweet honey smells at the hive entrance, curious, <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">intrigued</span> and very cautious. The cats slumber in the shade of the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">raspberries, and M</span>ark sips his coffee on the porch. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 0); ">Tis</span> a most magical time~<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_2K5UZtkkDyo/Sjaau3JW1bI/AAAAAAAAAv8/FlDD7pdngeM/s1600-h/IMG_1829_2%5B1%5D.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_2K5UZtkkDyo/Sjaau3JW1bI/AAAAAAAAAv8/FlDD7pdngeM/s400/IMG_1829_2%5B1%5D.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347631737416897970" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div><div style="text-align: center; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Thou </span><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 0); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">seemest</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">-a little deity!</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Anacreon, Ode 34,</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">To the bee ( fifth </span><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">century</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> BC)</span></span></div><div><br /></div></div></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_2K5UZtkkDyo/Sjaamkv0_NI/AAAAAAAAAvs/K0cOQh15LNE/s1600-h/IMG_1806_2%5B1%5D.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_2K5UZtkkDyo/Sjaamkv0_NI/AAAAAAAAAvs/K0cOQh15LNE/s400/IMG_1806_2%5B1%5D.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347631595039030482" /></a></div>Naohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16417928081308905395noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3377663110159115502.post-52863401390719710202009-06-07T08:50:00.000-07:002009-06-15T15:05:23.613-07:00Beetime Traveller Chapter 3~<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2K5UZtkkDyo/Sivyuf8SE_I/AAAAAAAAAvc/cL6RDMJyB9I/s400/IMG_1815.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5344632263467471858" /><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">The bees new home back behind the veg plot</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>Well, a week has gone by since the arrival of my honeybees. Their presence in my garden is as magical as I had hoped. Their industrious ways can only be marveled at. The urge to sit outside the hives and watch them for hours is constant. Every morning at dawn, you will find me there, teacup in hand, gazing in awe. Every afternoon I go into the garden and weed to the sound of their hum. Every night I walk down behind the veg plot and watch them coming home from their last forge, the orange and yellow pollen on their back legs weighing them down.<div><br /><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_2K5UZtkkDyo/SivzCHH9bmI/AAAAAAAAAvk/waolohm7Yj4/s400/IMG_1789.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5344632600402947682" /><div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">My bees</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>They arrived in the night. My good Dad was here to help me transfer them into their sparkling new hives from the small, hot wooden boxes that contained them, their queens, and frames of brood, honey and pollen. After 4 stings and much careful attention, they were safely transferred. By the next morning at 5 am, they were hard at work, buzzing around the garden gathering nectar and pollen in their expert style. They wasted no time, they didn't hesitate, or stop to wonder what next.</div><div><br /></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2K5UZtkkDyo/Sivybtpc3_I/AAAAAAAAAu8/9vQgfp_5x-w/s400/IMG_1777.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5344631940729069554" /><div><br /></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_2K5UZtkkDyo/SivygfODTzI/AAAAAAAAAvE/JJsHqLr1hUA/s400/IMG_1778.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5344632022755397426" /><div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">Dad and I picking the bees up</span></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>As they adjusted to their new home, they appeared perfectly at ease. I have to admit, the neurosis was all mine. My desperate desire to take care of them to the best of my ability was taken to extremes. I was worrying about everything. I worried about the health of the queens, the honey supply, the heat of the day, my own beginner's clumsiness whilst working in a hive.</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_2K5UZtkkDyo/SivyqLAYiFI/AAAAAAAAAvU/9WrIG_m-23g/s400/IMG_1802.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5344632189128050770" /></div><div>By 4:00 yesterday I was a mess, collapsed on the living room floor in tears, saying to Mark, "I don't want any of them to die. I want them all to be happy and healthy and whole. I want good weather for them, the right food, and the perfect conditions..." and as I spoke between sobs, Mark lending a kind ear (as men sometimes do when their wives are weeping uncontrollably), I began to laugh, and the harder I laughed, the more I realized the absurdity of my wishes and the gigantic metaphor that the bees were offering my whole life.</div><div><br /></div><div>Oh, my desire to control, to be God, to take away variables, to eliminate disaster, to avoid death at all costs...how very human of me. Perfectly forgivable I think, but not the most Zen style.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>And as the summer breezed through the door, and Mark and I laughed at my hilarious and honest human quest, a small part of my "need to control" went with the breeze. </div><div><br /></div><div>What was left was a kind of relief, a recognition that everything is unfolding without my helpful interference, and beyond this, that it always has been. That honeybees have been doing what they do for millions of years and who am I to think I can make their world perfect. Who am I to think I can make anyone's world perfect. And as my swelled ego shrunk a wee bit, my shoulders dropped and my breath deepened and something dissolved both physical and mental, something let go, something that I can only describe, as me. I let go, and this, was the relief.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Indeed, beekeepers do loose bees and sometimes they don't. Bees, like us, live and then die. Sometimes bees are sick and and sometimes they are healthy. Sometimes there is lots of honey and sometimes there is not. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Yes, if I learn as much about myself as I did this first week of beekeeping I am in for some fascinating discoveries, and if I learn nothing more about myself, well that will be fine too. (Relinquishing control is task enough)</div><div><br /></div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2K5UZtkkDyo/SivykpLdevI/AAAAAAAAAvM/5OTB8VlmjBg/s400/IMG_1801.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5344632094148360946" /></div><div>For this day though, sitting by the hive in the morning, with my tea,watching these buzzing winged ones work, is profound enough.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div></div>Naohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16417928081308905395noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3377663110159115502.post-73543859263254215072009-05-24T09:09:00.000-07:002009-05-24T15:51:52.162-07:00Philosophical Sunday~<div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_2K5UZtkkDyo/Shl47vENoPI/AAAAAAAAAu0/usrnobgDXQk/s1600-h/IMG_1769.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_2K5UZtkkDyo/Shl47vENoPI/AAAAAAAAAu0/usrnobgDXQk/s400/IMG_1769.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5339431800866185458" /></a><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div>Not so long ago I was bent down in my garden planting seeds. A few days later, I was there again, doubting their ability to sprout. Every year and without fail, I find myself wondering if my garden will grow, if the flowers will bloom, if the plum tree will fruit...and every year despite my disbelief, the garden grows, the flowers bloom and the plum tree fruits.. and every year I stand in awe at the miraculous ability of nature.<div><br /><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2K5UZtkkDyo/Shl4yQjcH2I/AAAAAAAAAuk/k5O_BUqiqSk/s400/IMG_1767.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5339431638056836962" /><div><br /><div><div>It occurred to me just recently that I might benefit from considering the possibility that this is also what is happening for humanity. That my part in the garden of creation is only that, just a part. That as much as our lives are governed by the way we think about them, there is also something beyond our minds, beyond our thoughts (which lets face it, are not always sweetness and light, at least mine aren't) beyond our "control." That beyond our thinking there is a magnificent indescribable momentum that propels all life forward toward bloom and fruit, death and rebirth. </div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2K5UZtkkDyo/Shl42gsapdI/AAAAAAAAAus/WC9yybaxlKg/s400/IMG_1768.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5339431711108933074" /></div><div>On my knees, there in my garden, the sun beating down on my shoulders, the moist earth between my fingers, I felt relief as this thought washed over me. I let myself sink into the possibility that I was being carried, like all living things held in the arms of the Great Mother. Moving like a river does, destined for the sea. Perhaps life then is a balance between active and passive, between doing and not doing, between knowing and not knowing, and this, at least for today, is a great relief to me.</div><div><br /></div><div>My book shelves are lined with books whose pages are dedicated to teachings that explain "how to create a glorious reality," and looking at their bold titles and colorful spines, on this quiet Sunday morning, seems really quite hilarious, like a lot of work and pretentious notions. Today I am considering the possibility that my reality is already perfect. Today at least, there is no better reality to create, no more perfect way of thinking or being anything other than what and who I am. As for tomorrow, who knows what new and clever notions will be taking for forefront, but I'll keep you posted.</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2K5UZtkkDyo/Shl4uYZPasI/AAAAAAAAAuc/xFGNIuisktk/s400/IMG_1766.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5339431571442068162" /></div><div> </div></div></div></div>Naohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16417928081308905395noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3377663110159115502.post-91868349654080398052009-05-17T09:43:00.000-07:002009-05-18T15:00:06.992-07:00Papa Sigi and Ravi Shankar ~<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2K5UZtkkDyo/ShGeF72lALI/AAAAAAAAAuU/qaIpQRXa1fw/s400/IMG_0896.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5337220858213892274" /><div style="text-align: center;">Papa Sigi (my grandfather) and I ~</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Yesterday, I spoke with my grandfather. He turned 92 last week. He still looks like he's sixty; out in his garden on most days planting seeds and digging weeds. He's often found in cut off jean shorts and gum boots, chopping wood and stacking it against the shed.</div><div><br /></div><div>He told me that it's hard to believe he's 92 this year and that he remembers 29 like it was yesterday. He told me that he has lived the best life and that he can barely believe his good fortune. He told me that the luckiest thing to have happened to him was to have lived through the hungry thirties. "After that, he said, a person is never in want of anything again. Yes, he said, I have had a good life, I am still having a good life, I am the luckiest person in the world Nao."</div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>"What is the secret to such happiness," I asked him, and he said, three things: "not worrying, not envying and lots of sleep." After a half an hour of delightful conversation, I put the phone down, without saying goodbye of course, as my grandfather believes that there is too much finality in those words, and that nothing is ever final. So when we part ways, we only say, I love you, and then we hang up the phone, or walk away, and there is never a goodbye between us.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Later that same day, I spent the evening, in an old baroque theatre, listening to the 89 year old Sitar Master, Ravi Shankar. It was one of the most extraordinary things I have ever been privileged to witness. There he sat, on that elegant stage, in his Indian slippers, speaking only to announce each Raga and then he played with a radiant smile on his face, his eyes closed, his head tilted toward the sky. He played 2 songs over an hour and a half. It was like being inside a prayer.</div><div><br /></div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 289px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2K5UZtkkDyo/ShGd5uPL4RI/AAAAAAAAAuM/xoeyoBtnqFA/s400/RaviShankarwmp1.jpg.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5337220648400576786" /></div><div>While I sat there, the classical sitar music of India enveloping me in like sunshine, I thought, here is another wise man, who like my grandfather has also lived through the majority of this past century. And despite the fact that he has lived an entirely different life to my Papa Sigi, the quality of the smile on his face seemed to reveal the same sense of gratitude that my grandfather, in his little wooden house, in a small Canadian town, on the edge of a grassy field also knows.</div><div><br /></div><div>The wisdom of one who has lived and loved and lost is truly a wonderful thing to experience. </div><div><br /></div><div>This post is dedicated to Papa Sigi Kuraoka and Ravi Shankar, both Gurus in their own right.</div><div><br /></div><div>Namaste~</div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;font-size:7;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 57px; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;font-size:48px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;font-size:130%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; line-height: normal; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0px;font-size:16px;"><br /></span></span></span></span></div><div><div><br /></div></div></div>Naohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16417928081308905395noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3377663110159115502.post-52116592842171597092009-05-11T07:48:00.000-07:002009-05-11T14:52:29.952-07:00Beetime Traveller Chapter 2~<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_2K5UZtkkDyo/SghI0Z17W_I/AAAAAAAAAt0/Bu34BOyagcI/s400/IMG_1734.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334593823747824626" /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>Four months ago, on a rainy wintry day, I called the local honeybee center, and registered for a four day long, "Basic Bee Keeping" course. The course was to be taught by a local <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Beemaster</span> and would include both classroom and field study. The cost was 250 dollars, which I paid without hesitation.<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>A week later, I bought all my honeybee equipment including the veil and safari type hat. Of course, once I had those things in my possession, I tried them on every chance I got, and stood in front of the mirror dreaming of bee keeping, like a child does Christmas. I was on the count down. And as the blossoms bloomed in the garden, one after another, the way they do at this time of year, I knew I was getting closer to the course scheduled for the beginning of May.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>You see I have this "way" of looking forward to an event that has to do with what flower, or vegetable, or fruit is in season, on the day that the event is scheduled for. It's a childhood ritual I simply cannot help but still do, and it goes like this: I knew that on the 1st day of my bee course the plum trees would be in flower, and so instead of looking on the calender to when my course would be, I waited for the plums to bloom before preparing. </div><div><br /></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_2K5UZtkkDyo/SghJF29Z_tI/AAAAAAAAAuE/AKbWwjtt95M/s400/IMG_1705.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334594123621596882" /><div>I invented this planning style as a child when I couldn't understand calenders and time lines. I could however, understand what time of year it was when the violets were out, or when the pumpkins were ready. I knew that my birthday was just before violets and Halloween was sometime around pumpkins. My niece understands this logic very well, and she asks "when will I see you again Auntie, and I reply, "when the raspberries are ready to eat, or when your mom plants the squash, or when the sunflowers are out." And she gets this, more than she might if I had said in two months and five days. For, what does two months mean to a child?</div><div><br /></div><div>( Funnily enough this is how beekeepers think too, as they respond to the needs of their bees based on what is blooming, and they ask themselves "are we in dandelion season or blackberry?")</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>But back to Basic Bee Keeping, a course due to start when the plum is in bloom.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Two weeks ago the plum tree's bloomed. A week later I got in my car and drove for an hour into the fields where I met up with twenty others who wanted to learn about honeybees. And I have to say, as far as I can tell, people interested in honeybees, seem like a pretty good bunch. These folks were the most down to earth, unpretentious, good hearted group I have met in long time. I think it takes a certain kind of temperament to be interested in such things. Opening a hive of 60, 000 honeybees is not for the angry impatient ones, it really isn't.</div><div><br /></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_2K5UZtkkDyo/SghIGMkz2gI/AAAAAAAAAtk/YypDCaLMOqA/s400/IMG_1745.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334593029912386050" /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>And so together, with our unbelievably knowledgeable and inspired teacher, we ventured into the land of the honeybee. We donned our bee suits and headed out into the Bee Yard, we opened hives, inspected frames of bees, lit smokers, counted eggs and larvae. We read books, we took notes, we watched slide shows, and we were tested, both on the field and in the classroom. There was an exam which I proud to say I did rather well on (little geeky grin), and a certificate awarded to all of those who past the test. It was one of the most informative and interesting things I have done in a very long time. </div><div><br /></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_2K5UZtkkDyo/SghIAStOleI/AAAAAAAAAtc/_aMrbcmPXis/s400/IMG_1747.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334592928479090146" /><div style="text-align: left;">I learned more over the course of those four days than I can fully <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">integrate</span>, but I expect I will figure much of it out along the way. It's a bit like all things that way, gardening, parenting, getting a dog, buying a house, going traveling, falling in love, first kiss, loosing ones virginity, all daunting things in the beginning. You can only prepare so much for any one of them, and then, you just do it, and you figure it out. eh eh eh. ( I hope I haven't offended any bee keepers out there by comparing bee keeping to "loosing one's virginity," but you get my drift, I hope).</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>So that said, here I go, two weeks until my Bee's arrive! I know a little bit more now then I did last week, and I will learn a whole lot more over the many years that I hope to do this. I have no doubt that this is going to be a life long learning, but I am truly okay with that, cause let's face it, what isn't?</div><div><br /></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_2K5UZtkkDyo/SghI4nR2-iI/AAAAAAAAAt8/Fe0dyy03LHQ/s400/IMG_1751.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334593896074115618" /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Naohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16417928081308905395noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3377663110159115502.post-55235084334907051542009-05-03T06:22:00.000-07:002009-05-03T08:26:32.631-07:00Gramma Bell<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_2K5UZtkkDyo/Sf2p0qEonDI/AAAAAAAAAs8/c-LOl_B5hAU/s400/bleedingheart_4.jpg.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5331604255988554802" /><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">Image from interent</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">When I was a little girl, my grandmother used to take me to this tiny spot of green beside her house, where the wild violets grew, over the graves of the family pets. Only two things grew in that little shady patch of green, that lay between those two old buildings, on the main street, of that small mountain town. One was the wild violet, and the other, was the bleeding heart.</div><div><br /><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 294px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_2K5UZtkkDyo/Sf2qUMPboVI/AAAAAAAAAtM/gHrxIb7yZnI/s400/JP+Overby+Wild+Violet.preview.jpg.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5331604797736591698" /><div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">Image from Internet</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The violets, she would tell me, grew there because flowers naturally grow on the graves of those we love. The bleeding hearts however, grew there to tell us a story. The story was of an unhappy princess who refused the love of a charming prince. Eventually the prince killed himself because the princess would not return his feelings. "Hearts bleed," my grandmother would say, "when we believe that only someone else can bring us happiness."</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>My grandmother was indeed a wise woman, she was also a heavy drinker and an angry woman. She was perfectly human, and in her humanness she was the most colorful, loving and raging woman I have ever met. To glorify her as a saint would be more than untrue, it would be unfair, for it was her ruckus laughter and big bellowing whiskey cheer that made the people love her. It was the way she sat on the piano bench and sang "Just a closer walk with thee" after a bottle of booze with her friend Dorris on a Sunday, that brought the house down. It was the upside down pineapple cake she made for us on our birthdays, and then force fed us, that was her charm.</div><div><br /></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 313px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_2K5UZtkkDyo/Sf2q4m1Y9II/AAAAAAAAAtU/TSuZ4cZhwn0/s400/justacloserwalkwiththee.gif" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5331605423350412418" /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Who am I to judge her way of coping? Who are any of us to judge anyone? I know there was a sad and secret story from her past. I know her heart was broken in a thousand places before my grandfather fell in love with her, and even the love they shared, it never fixed hear heart permanently. The love between she and my grandfather was strong and real, but it was more like the glue that holds a potted vase together after it has already been broken. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>I know it was her brokenness that made her understand the sad wayfarer passing through. She had the kind of empathy that comes from experiencing the rugged and treacherous landscape of living. How many of those shoeless, womanless, penniless people, did she invite in off the street for a hot meal and a bath? How many broken hearts did she hold to her breast and with that big warm soft body, whisper that it would be alright? </div><div><br /></div><div>When she died the whole town mourned. And I swear that little mountain town became a quieter place over night. "Just a closer walk with thee," has gone back to being sung by church congregations, and I am sure everyone would agree that it seems to have lost a certain kind of zestful deliverance.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>I am not a believer in perfection. The more days that go by in my life, the more I am aware that our imperfections are what make us human. As far as I can tell it is the mud of who we are that is what really rounds us out, gives us depth and color and character, that makes us the passionate and perfectly imperfect beings that we are. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Joseph Cambell once said, "Be careful of the demons you cast out, lest they be the best parts of yourself."</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">And so, on this May morning, I am thinking of my Gramma Bell. Just a few days ago I noticed the bleeding hearts in my garden are in flower. Whenever I move into a new house I plant two bleeding hearts for my grandmother and every year when they offer there soft pink shapes to the world, I raise a glass to that wild and wonderful woman, who taught me so much about being myself.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">~ To Gramma Bell</div><div style="text-align: center;">Isobel Elizabeth Kuraoka</div><div><br /></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 272px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_2K5UZtkkDyo/Sf2p6UqJ3mI/AAAAAAAAAtE/seMChfBIUJM/s400/perennials-for-part-shade-1.jpg.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5331604353319558754" /><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">Image from Interent</span></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div></div></div>Naohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16417928081308905395noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3377663110159115502.post-2846508512708876892009-04-27T08:25:00.000-07:002009-04-27T09:49:06.041-07:00The Light Of Encouragement~<div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_2K5UZtkkDyo/SfXg9kv8KhI/AAAAAAAAAs0/qXfOMlYqszk/s1600-h/P1010027.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_2K5UZtkkDyo/SfXg9kv8KhI/AAAAAAAAAs0/qXfOMlYqszk/s400/P1010027.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5329413082504243730" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">Last years Peony</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>There is something about encouragement that makes <i>possibility</i> grow and bloom and become. I think encouragement is a most vital nutrient for all living beings to thrive, to live radiant and happy lives. I know I could drink vats of the stuff and only benefit. If encouragement was a healing elixir, there would be thousands of different honeyed flavors. For encouragement is one of those wonderful things that appears to come in infinite forms. Sometimes it rides into our hearts on a phrase spoken by someone that sees us, and other times it is brought to us by a sunrise a dawn, or by dog licks on wet tears, or cat purrs, or a child's song, or a grandmothers homemade soup...<div><br /><div><div>My little niece called me last week and said, "Auntie, Auntie, you will never believe it, but a rainbow stopped by our house yesterday, the most beautiful rainbow. It came to bring us the best luck Auntie, I wish you could have seen it, it would have brought you luck too, I am sure of it." I told her that was indeed a lucky thing, when a rainbow "stops by" your house. And when I put the phone down I thought isn't it wonderful the way the universe encourages us.</div><div><br /></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2K5UZtkkDyo/SfXeQCs8YPI/AAAAAAAAAsc/HOISxc86bCY/s400/IMG_1613_2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5329410101247500530" /><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">Senay (My neice making Easter Eggs)</span></div><div><br /></div><div>All this is to say, I have had the most wonderful encouragement from so many beautiful people over my latest bee keeping adventure. Even the plants in my garden appear to be cheering me on. Somehow I can't help but thank you all for your kind and supportive and unwavering enthusiasm. Please know how very much it means to me. </div><div><br /></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2K5UZtkkDyo/SfXeVoK38kI/AAAAAAAAAsk/v6VAJ2GcAHc/s400/P1010029_2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5329410197204496962" /><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">Rose from last years garden</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">And now I leave you with a poem from our Dear Hafiz:</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">How Did The Rose?</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">How </div><div style="text-align: center;">did the rose</div><div style="text-align: center;">ever open its heart</div><div style="text-align: center;">and give the world all of its beauty?</div><div style="text-align: center;">It felt the encouragement of light against its being,</div><div style="text-align: center;">otherwise we all remain too</div><div style="text-align: center;">frightened. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>~Hafiz Sufi Poet 14th Century </i></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div></div>Naohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16417928081308905395noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3377663110159115502.post-6775540758924948092009-04-19T08:16:00.000-07:002009-04-20T17:01:09.191-07:00Beetime Traveller Chapter 1~<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 325px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_2K5UZtkkDyo/SethXhL6n6I/AAAAAAAAAsM/6ZbkwarXnNM/s400/honey_bee.jpg.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5326458040968978338" /><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">Image from Internet</span></div><div style="text-align: left;">Well, I think most of us in the northern hemisphere can officially agree that spring has at last come. There are flowers blooming and birds singing and seeds sprouting in all directions. If I had a favorite time of year ( which I don't) this would be it. Of course I feel like this at every turn of the seasonal wheel. I am like a child trying to decide my favorite color, at first I declare it's red and then swiftly change my mind to, oh no it's blue, and then, actually no it's green, before I say, "no it's all of them, give me the whole rainbow." Yes, I am somebody who loves it all, including spring, winter, summer and fall.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><div>And speaking of loving it all, I will take this opportunity to share with you, my latest endeavour, Bee Keeping. Because, let's face it, spring would not be spring without adding BEES to the mix of birds, flowers and trees. Indeed, the earth as we know it, would not exist without these busy little pollinating friends, whose miraculous ways pollinate 90% of the earth's plants. In fact, if we really think about it, it is quite possible that we humans wouldn't exist without them. For, I believe it was Albert Einstein who said, "if the bee disappears from the surface of the earth, man would have no more than four years to live."</div><div><br /></div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 323px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_2K5UZtkkDyo/SethP1I-40I/AAAAAAAAAsE/YHbcDyEA8RE/s400/european-honey-bee-080826.jpg.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5326457908886430530" /><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(41, 48, 59); line-height: 18px; ">Image from internet</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#29303B;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span></div></div><div>As many of you know, there is much discussion with regard to the decline of honey bee's. Indeed, this is a rather enormous problem on our planet at this time, amongst a very long and frighting list of other enormous problems. I don't know about you, but I could get very sad if I let my heart break for the present state of our Good Earth. However, after much thought on this difficult topic, I have come the conclusion that sadness is not the best style for me to adopt in an effort to make positive change during these troubled times. And so, Instead of cultivating sadness I am endeavoring to cultivate happiness and although this is not always easy, it feels like the best option. I, Nao Sims, choose to dedicate myself to loving the earth with nothing but joy in my heart and a radiant unwavering belief that we can indeed heal this beautiful world.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>When I first learned about the problems with pollination I cried for two hours straight. And, when I realized that crying wasn't going to do anything for the bee's, I got up off the floor and got organized. Within a week I had ordered 20,000 honey bee's, two bee hives, and registered for a course with a Master Bee Keeper in a large field, under a big sky, an hours drive my house.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>I spent the last days of winter cozied up with tea, reading books on back yard Bee Keeping, dreaming of my own honey, and remembering those long ago days when I was a little girl and my father was a bee keeper. There is nothing like the smell of fresh honeycomb, like seeing a bee on a dandelion after a long winter, or like the smell on my fathers hands when he'd come back from checking on a hive.</div><div><br /></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2K5UZtkkDyo/SetgcsABYTI/AAAAAAAAAr8/mj-fdCKzhzM/s400/IMG_1694.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5326457030259597618" /><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Yesterday, the boxes containing my hives arrived. After a song and a dance, Gus and I gleefully opened our packages. Gus was just as keen as I was to see what was inside, although his canine sense of smell gave the contents away well before I opened the lid, and the smells of honeycomb permeated the living room. What we found in those big cardboard boxes resembled a jig saw puzzle more than it did a bee hive. Apparently bee hives, like most things, need to be assembled. Our boxes were filled with parts of hives, and one poorly photocopied pink piece of paper, with very few instructions as to how to put the parts together. I laughed for a long time before I considered how to begin.</div><div><br /></div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_2K5UZtkkDyo/SetgCqvX0YI/AAAAAAAAAr0/TRXkNQ4Cdns/s400/IMG_1660.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5326456583244730754" /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>And then, without further adieu, I began...</div><div><br /></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2K5UZtkkDyo/Setf1BtnutI/AAAAAAAAArs/CmGRUc7LHvQ/s400/IMG_1662.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5326456348893231826" /><div style="text-align: center;">I hammered.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_2K5UZtkkDyo/SetfmkSqggI/AAAAAAAAArk/OTPSUaIORtI/s400/IMG_1675.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5326456100477370882" /><div style="text-align: center;">And I painted.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_2K5UZtkkDyo/Se0L74cc9sI/AAAAAAAAAsU/hNdtKYDsaHY/s400/IMG_1701.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5326927057641076418" /></div><div style="text-align: center;">And eventually,</div><div style="text-align: center;">I did it! </div><div style="text-align: center;">(This is Bee hive number one of two)</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Gus and Mark cheered me on through my trials and tribulations and an old friend came over with lunch and together we shared the painting. All this said, my first day as a bee keeper, went very well. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>The Bee's don't officially arrive until June 1st, but the preparations for their new life, in my garden, have already started. I shall keep you posted as to how it all goes.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>To read more about what you can do to help support Bee's and the important work of these winged friends <a href="http://www.davidsuzuki.org/about_us/Dr_David_Suzuki/Article_Archives/weekly04170901.asp">click here.</a></div><div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div></div>Naohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16417928081308905395noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3377663110159115502.post-25342119484093244682009-04-12T11:34:00.000-07:002009-04-13T08:51:38.480-07:00Going Home~<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2K5UZtkkDyo/SeI_5-glkoI/AAAAAAAAArE/a4OQXX9K-x8/s400/lumby52007.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5323887974770119298" /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">Image by Martina Lang</span><br /></div></span><div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>There is a feeling I get whenever I go to my hometown that always surprises me. It comes the instant that I arrive in that valley surrounded by those familiar hills and mountains. At first it comes in the form of a kind of amnesia, where the memories of my new life disappear. As the car meanders down the winding road to the place of my childhood, I am nowhere else but HOME. In these moments I can barely remember that I ever left and I marvel at this feeling that seems to come up from the very ground I walk upon. </div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div>In my mind I can still hear my grandmother's voice showing me the buttercups blooming on the hillside just before town. "Spring is here" she would say, and the way she would say it, those three simple words, would always make me think that the whole world was new and beautiful and filled with promise. As my mother slows the car to round the last bend into town, we both look up at the hill to those tiny yellow blooms that speak to us of all the days before this one, and all of those to come after. We are silent for a moment, before we look at one another and say, "Grandma's buttercups."</div><div><br /></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_2K5UZtkkDyo/SeJBuYOwdYI/AAAAAAAAArU/BDlKsE8uXx0/s400/buttercups-daisies.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5323889974539482498" /><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">Image from Internet</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:10px;"> </span></div><div>I have heard it told, that in the indigenous traditions, the people believe that the spirits of the land welcome us back to our birthplace. That the elemental beings and the guardians of the earth who dwell in our homeland, never forget us. That we are as much a part of the land as the trees and the blades of grass, as the yellow buttercups on the green hillside.</div><div><br /></div><div> </div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2K5UZtkkDyo/SeJArN2n7MI/AAAAAAAAArM/2UcJdytGSR4/s400/shuswap_river_03_640.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5323888820702670018" /><div> </div><div> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">Artist Unknown</span></div><div>Walking by the creek with my little niece, looking up at a circling hawk in the April sky, I think I might agree with those wise indigenous ones. That indeed there is a kind of invisible magic inviting us to sink down into the roots of our own beings and drink up the nourishment of being HOME.</div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div>When I get on my plane tonight and I fly over these beautiful and sacred mountains I will give thanks to this good earth for reminding me of this beautiful circle I am a part of. And when I walk through the front gate of my little green cottage, 300 miles away from my hometown, another feeling will greet me. Another sense of HOME, and one that is just as wonderful. When my dog licks my face in his <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">enthusiasm</span> to see me after four long days, and my man put's the kettle on, I will remember my new life in all of it's beauty, just as I have remembered my old life. </div><div><br /></div><div>Someone once said, "Home is where the heart is," and I think I would have to agree.</div><div><br /></div></div>Naohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16417928081308905395noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3377663110159115502.post-42117786119859909172009-04-06T20:23:00.000-07:002009-04-06T21:08:25.185-07:00Gus~<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2K5UZtkkDyo/SdrKHzaEiMI/AAAAAAAAAp8/_Dc_n-Xc5M0/s320/P1010038.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5321788145099114690" /></div><div style="text-align: center;">On this day, 3 years ago,</div><div style="text-align: center;">I met the most extraordinary being.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_2K5UZtkkDyo/SdrKNAZRbiI/AAAAAAAAAqE/uTbaG3obtJw/s320/P1010011.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5321788234484772386" /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Who grew into the most extraordinary Dog.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_2K5UZtkkDyo/SdrLcSK4AZI/AAAAAAAAAq0/W5pTpHkt0RM/s320/IMG_1538.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5321789596465889682" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Whose wisdom, I am quite sure, reaches beyond the stars...</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Who reminds me every day of the most important things:</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2K5UZtkkDyo/SdrKillWgqI/AAAAAAAAAqk/G7FpjDwV1q0/s320/IMG_1518.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5321788605244801698" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Like running with the wind in your hair.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2K5UZtkkDyo/SdrKmngWnHI/AAAAAAAAAqs/12wOlzrjlzY/s320/IMG_1551.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5321788674480184434" /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Like sitting by the sea in the sun.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_2K5UZtkkDyo/SdrKZPt1l8I/AAAAAAAAAqU/9uY6O9xOGoA/s320/IMG_1525.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5321788444755990466" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Like getting your feet wet, in the in-coming tide.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2K5UZtkkDyo/SdrKdfhHVUI/AAAAAAAAAqc/8CONr89__cU/s320/IMG_1546.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5321788517717071170" /><div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Like loving, with all of your might.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Happy Birth Day Gus~</div><div style="text-align: center;">How blessed I am to have you in my life.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div>Naohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16417928081308905395noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3377663110159115502.post-78660034740699298822009-04-02T15:11:00.000-07:002009-04-03T09:13:07.812-07:00Waking with the Sun~<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_2K5UZtkkDyo/SdVFzv8IBxI/AAAAAAAAAps/spxCtoGFONU/s400/IMG_1514.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5320235290152404754" /><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">"Though we seem to be sleeping, there is an inner wakefulness that directs the dream, and that will eventually startle us back to the truth of who we are." </span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">~Rumi</span></i></div><div><br /></div><div>I must say that I find these the best sorts of moments, that is, being startled by a wonderful truth.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Just the other morning I was out in my garden doing sun salutations with Gus ( who, by the way, does the best downward dog I have ever seen) and I found myself in the midst of one of these waking moments that our dear Rumi eludes to. </div><div><br /></div><div>Standing there, the rising sun on my face, my arms stretched up toward the sky, I realized that I was feeling as blessed to feel the warmth of the sun as the dazzling daffodils, standing in their yellowness beside me. That I was not so very different from these stemmed ones in my desire to grow toward the light. Somehow, in that moment, I "woke up" to something golden and divine, something that can be felt more easily than explained, some kind of mysterious wakefulness.</div><div><br /></div><div>Sometimes, when I cannot remember who I am, I spend time with plants. You see, as far as I can tell plants are sure about what they are, sure about their beauty, about their purpose, about their goal, which appears to be nothing other than simply <i>B</i><i>EING </i>what they are. And I have always been a believer in learning by example.</div><div><br /></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 333px; height: 256px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2K5UZtkkDyo/SdVG4zfusPI/AAAAAAAAAp0/9qQg8aeT8gY/s400/sufi.jpg.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5320236476518019314" /><div><br /></div><div>I am convinced that dogs know about this too and so do trees and rivers and stars and mountains and all the four legged and feathered and gilled ones. It's just we two legged's that seem to have this habit of forgetting.</div><div><br /></div><div>It's a good thing that there is a whole beautiful world out there, just waiting to remind us~</div><div><br /></div>Naohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16417928081308905395noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3377663110159115502.post-53108273406013964252009-03-26T17:01:00.000-07:002009-03-26T21:10:04.161-07:00An Irresistible Urge~<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 234px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_2K5UZtkkDyo/Scwh65OsqII/AAAAAAAAApk/Ocl2c4iAa-U/s400/rackham_fairies.jpg.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5317662555696310402" /><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">Image by: Arthur Rackham</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:10px;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; ">"There is a herb, also, a fairy grass, called the Faud Shaughran, or the "stray sod,"and whoever treads the path it grows on is compelled by an irresistible impulse to travel on without stopping, all through the night, delirious and restless, over bog and mountain,through hedges and ditches, till wearied and bruised and cut, his garments torn, his hands bleeding, he finds himself in the morning twenty or thirty miles, perhaps, from his own home. And those who fall under this strange influence have all the time the sensation of flying and are utterly unable to pause or turn back or change their career."</span></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; ">~ Lady Francesca Speranza Wilde ( 1826-1896)</span></div><div><br /></div><div>I don't know about you, but this is just how I feel when spring knocks on my door. When that glorious sun of ours lights the sky for longer each day and everything is alive with possibility. Instantly I find myself in constant motion without a desire for stopping. I am out there digging and planting, plotting and planning. And once I have begun, there is simply no turning back.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Today,I am out of bed after a bothersom little flu, ready to feel the sun on my face and the wind in my hair. Too many days indoors is a challenging thing for me. </div><div><br /></div><div>To celebrate feeling better I put my peas in the earth, 2 inches down, 1 inch apart, just like mom taught me all those years ago. The robins chirped and the crows cawed their approval from the trees over head. </div><div><br /></div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 281px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2K5UZtkkDyo/Scwh1mtPqLI/AAAAAAAAApc/OagW7Y9ssjs/s400/3281292495_5fe0ea08ba.jpg.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5317662464824813746" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">Image by: Arthur Rackham</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Let the gardening begin I say. For gardening is a another kind of journey, an adventure of the best kind, full of surprises and challenges and wonder. It doesn't matter how well you think you've planned it, you never really know how it's all going to turn out, but isn't that the way all adventures are? And this never stops us from going, or in this case from getting our hands dirty. No gardener worries about dirt under fingernails, or torn trousers, or sore arms. In fact all these things are evidence of a job well done and when the first salad is on the table, well, there is no question, that this is a venture, of the most worthy kind. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div>Naohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16417928081308905395noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3377663110159115502.post-86924454529505398072009-03-20T18:04:00.000-07:002009-03-21T11:07:54.022-07:00Petals in the Morning~<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_2K5UZtkkDyo/ScUehB83c6I/AAAAAAAAApM/LOc_xt1osh8/s400/IMG_1500.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5315688487988982690" /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I am someone in constant awe of <a href="http://www.bluedeer.org/psm.html">Plant Spirit Medicine</a>. As my garden begins to bloom, I am preparing to gather the magical elixirs offered by my petaled friends. Making healing flower essences is one of my joys. My gratitude for the wisdom here reaches to the stars and back again.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2K5UZtkkDyo/ScUecYynqII/AAAAAAAAApE/ZPTFaZeexGQ/s400/IMG_1498.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5315688408220674178" /><div><br /></div><div>Just today, I was outside with the first spring beauties, gazing upon their dazzling blooms, my heart stirring with enthusiasm at the thought of discovering their healing properties. Standing there in the spring sun, I remembered that <a href="http://www.bachcentre.com/centre/drbach.htm">Dr. Edward Bach</a> first discovered the homeopathic healing essences of flowers by licking the dew accumulated on flower petals at dawn. I have heard it told that Dr. Bach was not the first one to do this marvelous thing. That ingesting the dew on flower petals was a tradition the wise woman of the old world were very much aware of. That sending their patients out into dewy meadows at dawn, to lick the dew drops off flower petals, was a known medicinal practice.</div><div><br /></div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2K5UZtkkDyo/ScUel3MpmDI/AAAAAAAAApU/7L1APtW07Jg/s400/IMG_1499.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5315688571001739314" /></div><div>All this is to say, that if you have never bent down to lick the dew off a flower petal, I highly recommend it.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div></div>Naohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16417928081308905395noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3377663110159115502.post-25984956480912402442009-03-19T07:19:00.000-07:002009-03-19T12:52:00.923-07:00Spring Equinox~<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 245px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2K5UZtkkDyo/ScJc6QuH6QI/AAAAAAAAAoM/hpSEZSpUChg/s400/easterchap6.jpg.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5314912666241198338" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></i></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Spring Equinox 2009, March 20th, </i></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Sunrise 7:03 am Sunset 7:12 Pm.</i></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>They say that the Sprin<img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 228px; height: 325px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_2K5UZtkkDyo/ScJf-ZeAw4I/AAAAAAAAAok/b4gnyMM1RFw/s400/SpringEquinoxEgg.jpg.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5314916035843900290" />g Equinox is the festival of balance and awakening and alchemy. The magikal re-birth of the earth. The mingling of sun and rain. The time when opposite forces merge together in a divine act of transformation. The Alchemists call this merging, Conjunctio, meaning higher transformative union of two unlike substances. Like flint struck against stone to make fire, like sun and rain reaching down into the earth inviting green shoots and pink blossoms. On the day of the Equinox, day and night are of equal length. The sun and the moon spend the same amount of time glowing in the sky. It is indeed, a magikal time.<div><div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2K5UZtkkDyo/ScJfj8rBf3I/AAAAAAAAAoc/gMZSWuE4-Qk/s400/springequinoxImage+1.jpg.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5314915581437247346" /><div>Gus(best canine friend) and I have plans to walk to down to the sea, to light candles and burn lavender and sage. To set our intentions for the next cycle and give thanks for the bountiful blessings that surround us. I might sing to the earth and the sky before we dash wildly through the green woods celebrating the return of life. Later we will join a dear friend for more singing, a fine cup of tea and some delicious food.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><br /></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><br /></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><br /></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><br /></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Sending Spring Blessings to you~ </b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>May the most wonderful things be sprouting in your life. </b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div></div></div></div>Naohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16417928081308905395noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3377663110159115502.post-76345684923540844242009-03-16T07:56:00.000-07:002009-03-16T09:19:35.646-07:00Sing a Song~<div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2K5UZtkkDyo/Sb56v66JSjI/AAAAAAAAAn8/s_D7EUiLvaA/s1600-h/1chicks004.jpg.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 260px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2K5UZtkkDyo/Sb56v66JSjI/AAAAAAAAAn8/s_D7EUiLvaA/s400/1chicks004.jpg.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5313819574029339186" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">One thing that I have learned about myself is that a good ol' heartfelt song always helps me to feel better about the world. No matter what the circumstance, there is always a song fit for the occasion. Always a melody rising up out of my own human experience ready to work it's healing magic. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I sing in sadness and in happiness. I sing when my heart is broken and when it is beating with joy. I sing because sometimes I simply don't know what else to do. I sing because I cannot help but sing.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 315px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_2K5UZtkkDyo/Sb5338drQOI/AAAAAAAAAns/tTNwjsRcF-4/s400/HMUR1064+singing+in+the+rain.jpg.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5313816413350871266" /><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I don't think that song is just for the musicians of the world. I think that song is for all human beings. Recently I went snow shoeing in the mountains for the first time, and when I asked a friend if she thought I would be able to snow shoe, she said "if you can walk you can snowshoe," and, well, I think a similar thing could be said about singing, that "if you can talk, you can sing." </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">On that note, a poem for your day~</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;">Only If You Join Me</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">By St. Catherine of Siena (1347-1380)</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">One more song tonite, okay, but only</div><div style="text-align: center;">if you join me.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Once, when I was sad, I said to a kind old priest,</div><div style="text-align: center;">"Have you learned any secrets</div><div style="text-align: center;">to unburden the </div><div style="text-align: center;">heart?"</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">And he responded,</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">"Hum a favorite melody;</div><div style="text-align: center;">wine will always rise</div><div style="text-align: center;">to the top</div><div style="text-align: center;">of oil."</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>Naohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16417928081308905395noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3377663110159115502.post-90452058791590618222009-03-14T10:47:00.000-07:002009-03-14T11:34:06.120-07:00A Dog Day~<div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2K5UZtkkDyo/SbvutIy66tI/AAAAAAAAAnk/VdQb-dmv5qI/s1600-h/IMG_1495_2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 303px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2K5UZtkkDyo/SbvutIy66tI/AAAAAAAAAnk/VdQb-dmv5qI/s400/IMG_1495_2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5313102644636216018" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><i><b>Gus</b></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><i><br /></i></b></div><div>Today, it is raining, and Gus and I are having a day of rest. We have decided against busyness of any kind. We are curled up with cozy blankets and hot nettle tea, re- reading <i>"Women Who Run With The Wolves."</i> Our only plan ( inspired by our excellent reading material of course) is a wild run through the spring woods sometime tomorrow. </div><div><br /></div><div>For today however, our "wildness" has more to do with un-brushed hair and a dedication to leaving all things that require doing of any sort. This includes the civilized activities of washing dishes, doing laundry, making beds, and maintaining respectable tidy appearances ( not that this is a forte of ours anyway). </div><div><br /></div><div>I have heard the wise one's say: "We do without doing and everything gets done" </div><div><br /></div><div>This is my meditation for today, as the sweet spring rains make the world green around me, I shall simply let everything be.</div><div><br /></div><div>There's my kettle now...off I go to re-fill the tea pot for the second steamy green cup of herbal magic. Gotta love rainy days~ </div><div><br /></div><div>Thanks for stopping by.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Naohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16417928081308905395noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3377663110159115502.post-46582869335079993162009-03-12T09:11:00.000-07:002009-03-12T14:13:08.773-07:00Earth~<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2K5UZtkkDyo/SblBI5HxmWI/AAAAAAAAAnE/SAygF6XH0sw/s400/P1010026.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5312348856488401250" /><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Last Years Peonies</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></div>I am a child born of the 70's. My parents were the kind of people who raised their children on 160 acres in the mountains of British Columbia's wild interior. My babysitters were the dogs and my playgrounds were the fields and trees and streams of the land. My father plowed our fields with horses and built our home from logs that he harvested with those same two beige clydesdales. My Mother grew vegetables and fruit trees. We had chickens, ducks, sheep, dogs, cats, goats and honey bees. All of these creatures were my friends, except one goose who had it in for me, and would race toward me with his neck outstretched, honking loudly whenever I entered his pen.<div><br /><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_2K5UZtkkDyo/SblBbHQbzdI/AAAAAAAAAnM/UU_AQs_YM4o/s400/nandb-bean.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5312349169520463314" /><div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">My sister and I in the bean patch 1979</span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>To a child, to me, my life there was an idyllic Utopian world. Unaware of the "grown up struggles" my parents were having in their young 20 something lives, it was paradise. On the day my mother sat me down and told me it was time to move to town, without dad, and start a new life in a shared house, my paradise ended. I felt like my identity without the land was non-existent. I didn't know who I was, or what I would do without the earth. I cried and I cried and everything felt broken.</div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Much has happened between then and now, and the details of those in between years are not important. They have something to do with growing older, acceptance, and faith in something bigger than myself.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Today, I live in a city with a population of 3 million. The town that my mother moved us to when I was seven, had a population of 1500. At the time I thought 1500 was huge ( imagine my shock when I first left home to travel the world and found myself in Asia, in city's like Bangkok, and Jakarta).</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>As I look out my window this morning, onto this small plot of earth, upon which my little green house sits, I realize that I have filled the dirt surrounding this house to maximum capacity with green and growing things. That I am a steward of the earth, as my parents were.</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2K5UZtkkDyo/SblDWYjLUMI/AAAAAAAAAnU/R5EzSQ9VlNc/s400/P1010033.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5312351287286386882" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Wild garden in front of house last May</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 10px;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;">Despite the numbers of people and buildings that co-exist here with me, I feel as close to the earth as I did as a child. Looking out my window this morning, considering the best spot to put my honey bee hives this spring, I realize that the earth never leaves us. Even when we feel we have left her, she never leaves us. The plum trees that grow in lines down my street show their pink beauty to the world every spring, without hesitation. The roses bloom year after year, the garlic comes up right on time, the honeybees tickle the lemon balm, like they always have done.</div><div><br /></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2K5UZtkkDyo/Sbk_zVS_EPI/AAAAAAAAAm0/cID2oXYIWvQ/s400/P1010028.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5312347386582864114" /><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Last Years Garlic</span></i></div><div><br /></div><div>And on those days when the world feels crowded and I cannot hear the wind in the trees, I can still feel my feet on the earth, and know that the soil that I walk on, is the Great Mother. Each step then becomes a prayer for her, an act of gratitude, a recognition that she is always a part of me, that I am a part of her, that this has always been this way, and that it always will be.</div><div><br /></div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2K5UZtkkDyo/SblA3YizC9I/AAAAAAAAAm8/xBPboaKcoCk/s400/IMG_0973.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5312348555685596114" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Last years Garlic Harvest</span></div><div><br /></div></div></div></div>Naohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16417928081308905395noreply@blogger.com8