A Harvest Loaf

by Kate May-Price

The colors grow richer in these early fall days – even here in San Francisco, though it pales in the shadow of upstate New York’s autumnal fires. I can still sense the natural rhythm as the weather blows the golden grains on our California hills.

It is harvest time, but nowadays it can be hard to see the relevance of ensuring the winter stores. Traditionally, this was a time for reaping grains and preserving the fruits of summer. Some of us continue this work, but many of us do not.

There is however much more than seasonal harvest nostalgia, many of us are looking for a return to the lessons learned from traditional or indigenous diets. Let us then look to Jessica Prentice’s book “Full Moon Feast: Food and the Hunger for Connection.”

True to their personification, squirrels are clever – burying each acorn fools it into thinking its been “planted.” While the squirrel continues its gathering, the buried nut begins to release nutrients that are key to a germinating plant. In the spirit of coevolution,  these nutrients are exactly what is nutritionally required by the squirrel if it hopes to survive the barrenness of winter.

We can mimic this – increasing available nutrients – through the process of sprouting or fermenting grains. The recipe – without further ado.

From the “Full Moon Feast” book –

Sourdough:

Take 1 tablespoon of sourdough starter and mix it together with ½ cup filtered water and 1 cup freshly ground whole wheat (or spelt) flour in a clean jar. Let this sit for 8 hours at room temperature or between 48 hours and 1 week in the refrigerator before using in the recipe.  You can use it at room temperature, or cold.  Each time you cook with your sourdough, reserve 1 tablespoon of starter, mix with ½ cup of water plus 1 cup of flour, and store in the fridge for the next recipe. You can keep your starter going indefinitely this way.  Mine is about 15 years old.

The best way to get a good sourdough starter is from a friends or an artisanal bakery…The great thing about a real sourdough starter is that it is made up of wild yeasts – that’s what you want.  Try G.E.M. Cultures for sourdough as well.

You can also make your own starter.  Our hands have natural yeasts on them, so if we add the water, the flour and “get into the mix,” we have starter unique to ourselves. For more specific information, check out the new book, “The Lost Art of Real Cooking: Rediscovering the pleasures of Traditional Food One Recipe at a Time” by the Bay area’s own Ken Albala and Rosanna Nafziger.

“May we feel wonder for the gift of grain, which through dying is born again, or else gives its life to us.”

Kate is an educator, artist, gardener, and cook carrying on her family’s culinary history by following her nose. She currently resides in the San Francisco Bay area. Her web site is called Pen, Trowel and Fork.

Portions of this article reprinted from Full Moon Feast, ©2006 by Jessica Prentice, with permission from Chelsea Green Publishing (www.chelseagreen.com). All of the photos are courtesy of Kate May-Price.

Mid-August, New York

The old Celtic and Gaelic calendars marked the beginning of autumn at August 1st, and here in farm country that makes a great deal of sense.  While spring has a feeling of galloping joy and summer a tone of happy waiting, now there is a small but noticeable tension.  It’s time to start thinking about the approaching winter – the countdown has begun.

The first cutting of hay is in and the second underway, tree fruits are in or waiting, fields and vegetable gardens are bursting with ripening crops.  Even if crops aren’t ready yet, a practiced eye can see what the yield will be, and there’s no more time for adjustments: we’ll get what we get, and any changes will have to be made next year.  Stores are full of canning supplies; man and beast alike are stashing away the bounty.

Looking down over the swamp (we prefer the term “wetlands”), where a month ago it was pink and blue with wild phlox, cornflowers and mallows, now it’s the deep rose of Joe Pye Weed and milkweed, with fluffy white Queen Anne’s Lace and touches of early goldenrod.

The flower beds have hit a lull, with only echinacea (thank goodness for all the new varieties!), Phlox “David” and “Bright Eyes” and a few lingering daylilies still in bloom.  Mums haven’t cracked color yet.  The summer annuals are still in bloom, but are starting to look a little tired – time to gather seeds for next year and make notes in the garden journal.

The birds aren’t as full of conversation as a month ago, now that the babies are fledged, but crickets, grasshoppers, humming bees and a few cicadas are heard during the day, and the full chorus of katydids at night.  Still a few frog voices, but not as many.  I haven’t seen any monarch caterpillars on the milkweed yet, but they should be along any day now.

The skies darken earlier, of course, and are more likely to be free of haze.  We’ll be watching for shooting stars around the 15th!

Karen Albeck is an amateur naturalist and natural journal-keeper who watches for Signs of the Season in central New York state.

Photos were provided by Karen Albeck.

Preserving Summer Herbs

by Erin Fossett

September is a month of changes. When our lives were bound more closely to the land, it was a time of hope, and celebration of the harvest. It was also a busy season, as farmers worked feverishly to bring in their crops before the first freeze. There was a feeling of abundance, but also of transition, of letting go.  We still feel it, watching the change of the seasons. The days continue to shorten, leaves change colors, and even in the glory of Indian summer the nights take on a chill. In our own gardens, the plants that we nurtured so carefully for months are now going to seed, losing their summertime glory. Soon it will be time to clip away the old growth and turn the soil over, preparing the ground for winter.

One way to celebrate the energy of September is to preserve the flavors and scents of summer through herbal teas, vinegars, flavored oils, and honeys. Whether you have a full garden, a kitchen window box, or buy your herbs dried and in bulk, these creations are fun and relatively simple to make, and offer another way to share seasonal bounty with your friends. (For buying dried herbs in bulk, as well as herbal making supplies, visit Mountain Rose Herbals.)

Herbal Iced Tea Cubes. In September, I try to make daily batches of strong herbal tea, using the last of my chamomile, lemon balm, peppermint, and catnip. I let the tea steep for up to eight hours, and then pour into ice cube trays and freeze. The finished ice cubes will store in freezer bags for up to three months, and can be added to smoothies, or melted and diluted with hot water for a refreshing cup of herbal tea.

Ice cube trays are also handy for freezing big batches of fresh tomato sauce or pesto, using the last basil from your garden. Let the sauce cool thoroughly before freezing, and store the frozen cubes in freezer bags for up three months, thawing as needed.

Herb Infused Vinegars. Herbal vinegars make a flavorful addition to salad dressings and dips, as well as a nourishing daily tonic to help strengthen the blood or tone the digestive system. Good herbs to use in your vinegars include garlic, basil, oregano, thyme, tarragon, and sage. Experiment with combinations. Pairings of dill and peppermint, or fennel and ginger, are wonderful for upset stomachs.

Place about a cup of finely chopped fresh herbs (or ¼ cup of dried herbs) into clean pint-sized glass canning jars. Cover the herbs with organic apple cider vinegar, leaving about an inch of room at the top of the jar. (Avoid white vinegar, which is bleached with harsh chemicals.) Cover the jar tightly, label with the ingredients and date, and then store the mixture in a dark place at room temperature, shaking vigorously every few days.

After about four to six weeks, strain out the vinegar by pouring it through a colander lined with a doubled piece of cheesecloth or an old sheet. Be sure to squeeze out all of the infused liquid from the plant material before composting. Store the mixture in glass jars or tincture bottles, carefully marked with the ingredients and date. The finished vinegar will keep for a year.

Herbal Oils. You can also use herbs to make flavored olive oils, for both internal and external uses. In this case, place 1/3 cup of already dried plant materials in a clean, dry glass jar. (Make certain the jar is completely dry, as any moisture can ruin the oil.) Cover the herbs with high quality, organic olive oil, leaving an inch or two of room at the top of the jar. Cover this mixture with a cloth for the first few days, before you seal the lid, as the plants will continue to expel gasses as they absorb the oil. Also be sure to check the mixture after a few hours to see if more oil is needed to cover the herbs.

Let the oil sit in a sunny window for 10 to 14 days, shaking daily, before straining the plant material out. Store the finished oil in a dark place, and use within a year. You might want to try garlic, oregano, or basil for use in cooking or dressings. I also like to make a mixture of calendula blossoms, lavender, and plantain for a wonderful skin conditioner.

NOTE: An easy way to dry herbs is to scatter them across an old window screen outside or in a sunny window, or hang bunches upside down until the blossoms dry and can be extracted.

Herb Infused Honey. Herbal honeys provide a wonderful addition to hot teas during the winter cold season. To make these, melt a quart of locally grown (if available) wildflower honey over low heat until it is just warmed through. (Don’t let it boil.) Add ½ cup of finely chopped fresh herbs, such as lavender, ginger, lemon balm, or chamomile. (Use only ¼ cup if the herbs are dried.) Leave the mixture on low heat for 15 to 20 minutes, stirring occasionally, and then pour the honey (without straining) into heat-resistant glass canning jars. Secure the lids and label with the ingredients and date. The herbs will continue to infuse the honey as it sits. You can then either strain out the honey as you use it, or drink the tea with the herbs still in it. The honey will keep for 18 months.

Erin Fossett is a freelance fiction writer and editor living in Colorado. Her fiction has been awarded by the Colorado Council on the Arts. She provides writing coaching and editing services through wild Word Writing and can be reached at wildwordmedia AT msn DOT com.

All photos taken by Erin Fossett.

The Autumn of Life

by Edia Stanford-Bruce

The year I turned 40, I disappeared.

It had been coming on gradually, this “fading,” but I waved it away as the mere product of an over-active imagination or peri-menopausal anxiety. The atmosphere in several areas of my life was shot through with an unsettling chilliness and the earth seemed to be holding her breath; waiting for something.  Then, one night, frost hit. The next day, I was “middle aged.”

I began to notice magazine covers in bookstore racks. There were articles about how to be a sexy lover; how to be a beautiful bride; how to be a happy mom-to-be; how to be a good mom, how to pay for college and then, that was it. There was no sign life existed after 35.

I would pick through the mall attempting to dress a body that was betraying me, not shedding the creeping weight gain, shoving me toward the women’s sizes.  “My size” clothes were now located deep in the innards of stores hidden well away from the “career” misses and miles away from the uber-trendy petites on the highly visible outer aisles. Clothes after 35 were cheaply made, boring colored and fashion null. The personnel in my favorite stores began to ignore me and I sought solace in new boutiques especially for “my size”.

The changes growing older brought frightened me. Every year something that to my mind affirmed my identity as a woman, as a mother, as a productive member of society, dropped away. I shriveled inside like leaves denied the summer sun. At the point I thought that there was no more purpose for living and no more reason to expect anything but to blow away, I turned 50.

My gardens and all the earth became my professors. I began to listen and examine closely the lessons about living they were teaching. The first, most important lesson is that each season has its own specific work. Autumn is the season of harvests. The work of autumn is to gather in– whether for dinner, for preserving, or for next year’s seed. So, with same the purposeful energy that I harvested my peppers and tomatoes from the gardens I gathered in the produce my soul grew in the summertime of my life.

At 40 I was examining the early fruit harvest of my poison beds (habitual negative thought) — lack of self esteem and depression. However, by 50 I had learned that there were several more harvests to come before the killing frost that signals the beginning of winter. Now was the time of the fruit harvest of the more prosperous intellectual groves of beautifully ripe love for art, literature and spirituality. Not only that, the grain harvest of the second career 30’s and 40’s was standing in the field, ready for the scythe. That meant the half-century mark of my life was no time to mourn the passing of life’s summer. There was still work to do.

Most mind bending of all, I discovered an “interim” planting time—a time to sow the seed of a third career. Then I really began to appreciate the benefits of the season when the oppressive heat cools into twilight glow. The invisibility of the autumn woman came as a surprising blessing. The pressure was off to be pretty, perky and cute. People would carry home my words like prized cuttings because I was now someone who would be seriously listened to. Some of “Mami’s wisdom” gained from living would be preserved, not in Mason jars, but in scrapbooks and the memories of those who heard the stories.

This was not a time to categorize myself as “lost potential.” It was not a time to envy the energy, smooth skin, and toned muscles of youth. I began to notice more positive—even sexy– images of autumn women boldly looking out at me from magazine stands and more stylish clothing in stores as I turned 56 last month. However, there is still resistance to full acceptance and understanding of the seasons of adulthood after summer. I disappeared as a customer to the media and businesses that pandered to the youth market. Yet because of this, I entered a new season of freedom where I did not have to cater to images of how I should look or behave. There indeed was life—a new adventure– after 35. I embraced the crone and danced into the autumn life.

Edia Stanford-Bruce is a freelance writer and the Vice President for Public Relations, Booz-Allen Hamilton Toastmasters Club in Tyson’s Corner, VA. She earned the BA from Norfolk State University School of Journalism and also holds a M.Ed. in early childhood education from Rutgers University, specializing in literacy. Currently, she volunteers with Reston Interfaith as an administrative assistant supporting Stonegate Village Residents Services Office in Reston, VA. She and husband, retired pastor Rev. Dr. George Bruce, are happily empty-nesting in Reston’s Historic Lake Anne neighborhood. Her commentary about searching for work in the second half of life, “Victoree’s Blog: No White Flag”, is available on wordpress.com.

Making a Corn Dolly

By Jo Sullivan

When the last fall grain harvest was gathered in, ancient farmers in Europe (from England to the Baltics) always kept a few sheaves aside to be woven into “corn dollies,” shapes and figures thought to manifest the spirit of grain. Called the corn mother in Northern Europe, the hag in Ireland, and the corn maiden in parts of England, the spirit inhabited the fertile fields, and once the grain was harvested, needed a place to dwell until replanting time in the spring. Those final sheaves kept her spirit alive through the fallow winter.

Despite their name (corn evolved from ‘kern,’ the old English word for grain, and “dolly” is thought to have evolved from “idol”), corn dollies weren’t made of corn and didn’t always resemble the human form. More often, they were interpreted as circles, hearts, loops, goats, and stars that could be displayed in the home during the dormant winter, then plowed back into the earth in spring. When modern mechanical threshers came into use, the art of making corn dollies was almost lost. But in the past few decades, it has experienced a revival, usually under the name of wheat weavings,

Waverly published an article about wheat weaving in this magazine last year. You can also interpret the spirit of the grain in your own way. We chose to make ours look a bit like a proud, wild goddess with a head and hands of seedheads and a corn husk dress. This style is easy to make with older children, although an adult should be present for wire cutting.

Start with a four-ounce bundle of wheat and cut the seedheads off, leaving a little of the stalk intact for a base. Separate the taller seedheads from the shorter ones, then make two piles of short ones for the hands and one pile of big ones for the head. Wire the seedheads into bundles with 22 to 24-gauge wire.

Soak the long stalks for a few hours so that they’re pliable, then cut two piles of stalks: one for the body and one for the arms. Bind off each pile at each end, then wire the ‘hands’ to the end of the arms, the ‘head’ to the top of the body, and the arms to  the body. Hide the wire under raffia. Cut a piece of paper and secure into a cone shape. Anchor body in the cone either by poking wire through the paper and wrapping it around the body stalk or any other method that works for you. Now you can make the dress. We used corn husks and pinned them to the paper cone. This is just one simple way to make a corn dolly without being skilled at wheat weaving. Even without those skills, my daughter and I felt like we were taking part in an ancient tradition as we made our dolly.

Joanne O’Sullivan writes about art, culture, and traveling with kids from her home in Asheville, North Carolina. She can be reached through her blog, the Wanderlists.

Photo taken by Jo Sullivan: a corn dolly in front of a chocolate cosmos.

Books on Uncluttering

By Virginia Roberts

Most people engage in spring cleaning. I do. But I also believe in a full, plentiful and productive harvest—starting with my living quarters. Now, I am a packrat. I won’t go so far as to say I am a hoarder on the level of those folks found on reality television or in Homer and Langley, a novel by E.L. Doctrow based on the lives of two brothers who were found dead in New York early in the last century, essentially victims of their own mad collecting—but what my home contains is well, rather intense. (And the aforementioned are really good inspiration to clean out closets).

I am not ashamed to say my book and media collection is larger than the local library. This is what happens when a librarian marries a literature professor and they breed. When the shelves were outgrown in the formal living room, more were built elsewhere. Closets have been taken over. Books line stairs, and are stacked against walls (they make exceptional insulation). I justify my yarn and craft item stash by giving away most everything created from it. I cannot justify three generations of shoe and clothing collection. Except to say most was given to me.

That is how it often happens. I am a stuff magnet. People know I know how to give it away. And I do. It is almost a second job. I have many area charities and shelters programmed on my cell phone. Local schools, libraries, churches, and most of the adults and children I know have been recipients of windfalls of items that have no use at my work or in my life (with consent—I always ask). No one seems surprised by the amount of stuff.

But let’s be honest. What to do with all this stuff? Well, there is lots of stuff advice out there. Some good and some, well, completely useless.

First, some practical advice, don’t buy the “organize your stuff” books and vids, borrow them. I am not saying this because I am a librarian. I am saying this, because in the land of the chronically disorganized the organizational media rarely takes priority.

But, if you are looking for a justification for your mess, Eric Abrahamson and David Freedman, authors of A Perfect Mess:  The Hidden Benefits of Disorder—how crammed closets, cluttered offices, and on-the-fly-planning make the world a better place will make you feel better. They discuss the messy but organized strategies of millions. They also believe messy is the root of creativity as well as invention, and that oldie but goodie: a clean house (or desk) is the sign of someone with too much time on their hands. They do give great tips on how to optimize your messy (organizational) style, and how not to look a mess. So, even they recognize the psychological truth that it just isn’t socially acceptable to live in a fire hazard or have your life a walking designated disaster.

But<gasp>there are TONS of books on the shelves of the library! So now organization is overwhelming!  Well, for a traditional approach, I recommend Organizing from the Inside Out by Julia Morgenstern, which contains several different styles, levels of organization, and bullet points. It also has a very good what works and what doesn’t section at the end of each chapter. She recommends schedules for when to do things and using lists of supplies, either preprinted or in an designated area, to organize shopping so over-purchase—and therefore clutter does not occur. Now, to be fair, almost every one of these books offers a certain amount of this, but Morganstern is realistic about the amount of prep time and the actual time organization can take. She is less realistic about the skills and cost required to organize your space. Her latest book When Organizing Isn’t Enough—SHED your stuff, change your life explores the emotional connection with personal belongings at length, and how to separate the wheat from the chaff and easily chuck the stuff from life that might be a drag.  I like this book. I like it a lot. It offers personal stories. It gives excellent reasons and allows time for someone to get used to the idea that the stuff needs to move on. And then it offers encouragement to remove the stuff. Because removing the stuff does change you. A weight can be lifted.

There is an Idiots Guide for organizing and a Dummies book on the same topic. The Idiots Guide by Georgene Lockwood is a comprehensive guide that is sympathetic to the plight of being disorganized, and its various permeations. She examines organizational goals by areas of life rather than where you live. While there are clear rules of engagement, she also gives endless possibilities based on different styles so it’s not a lock on how organization has to take place. The For Dummies book by Eileen Roth is more like that famous organizer and housecleaner (and pitchman) Don Aslett in that it has less exploration of the emotional wheres and whyfors and more on the this is your space, this is your mind, and this is how it should be organized. This book does offer some neat tricks and gadgets (you can buy more stuff!) to organize the stuff. If operating with very clear boundaries is the goal, this is the book for you.

HGTV Mission Organization is for those folks who have no time to read a book but do have time to sit in front of a video. Host Gail O’Neill works with individuals and spaces. As reality television, this series strikes me more as inspiration rather than a how to, unless you want to purchase or make stuff to organize your stuff.

For the paper-challenged there is also Flylady.net a website that offers tips, tricks, and if you email her, personal encouragement. While there is an online shop, that is not her purpose. The first message you see on her site is the question: “Do you live in CHAOS (Can’t have Anyone Over Syndrome)?”  She literally has a “baby steps” tab that which begins with the suggestion you “shine your sink” daily because if you can clean that every day, other cleaning is sure to follow. She isn’t kidding. I cleaned under my sink (after shining it) for the first time in 10 years. The stuff that didn’t get thrown out, and did not go into immediate circulation landed at a local shelter. I don’t need 100 small containers of stuff or 15 tubes of lipstick—and before you get upset, they were less than a year old and unused, beyond that, I am not saying.

For more specialized or different models of organization that are not just for the specified audiences—Organizing the Disorganized Child by Martin L. Kutscher and Marcella Moran is a short, readable book for parents. It discusses different learning and organizational styles and encourages parental involvement. The authors stress life skills, visual organizers and planners, the importance of routine and the possibility that some other factors may be in play, like ADHD.  There is also Organizing Solutions for People with Attention Deficit Disorder by Susan C. Pinsky. It’s a great place to start, with its bold font and one tip per page. Pinsky lists the rules of organizing in the front of this thin completely useable volume and stresses  visual organization and routine—clear bins, stuff on shelves rather than cabinets (easy enough to do—remove the doors), papers kept in clear files and binders and placing things like mail and keys in the same place every day—so needed items are seen rather than stored.

Ultimately, you alone determine what to harvest, what to store and where to send your surplus. But as a nation, the bulk of us cannot travel with our houses on our backs anymore—or even in a house and storage unit—and wouldn’t know where to start if we tried. So it might be good to plan a little fall harvest, even if you don’t have a vegetable garden. Next month, books regarding a more traditional harvest.

Virginia Roberts is a library director, currently embroiled in an organizing frenzy, in a small, rural, northern great lakes village where she enjoys wind, water, and the abundance of the seasons.

Mining the Magic of Mercury Retrograde

by Cindy Morris, Priestess Astrologer

It feels like Mercury is always going retrograde these days. Things going wrong. Endless juggling of different sized balls. Life generally askew. Every time Mercury goes retrograde (which is three times a year for three weeks at a time) a collective groan can be heard and mournful sighs of: “Wasn’t Mercury JUST retrograde?”

Well, it can certainly feel like that, especially in these mercurial times where communications have speeded up to a point where we can hardly keep up, causing things to crash all about us. Cars break down. Motors need to be replaced. Belts in washing machines need tightening. Everything needs to be re-written (I mean EVERYTHING) and cell phones might as well be flushed down the toilet for all their mess-ups. You can do pretty much do anything on your cell phones these days but hear the person on the other end.

Mercury retrograde periods happen three to four times a year as Mercury appears to be going backward in the skies. These are times for regrouping, reorganizing, re-doing, reconfiguring, and reconsidering. That’s why it can feel like you are going over things you have already done. You are!

Mercury retrograde periods are not so great for signing contracts but if you have to, triple check the fine print. Also not such a great times to purchase appliances or large mechanical items. If you must, save the receipts as you just might be returning them.

Depending on the time of year Mercury will move retrograde in different constellations. From August 20 through September 12, 2010 Mercury will be moving retrograde in the sign of Virgo. Virgo happens to be one of the signs that Mercury rules (he also rules Gemini) so this should be somewhat of an easier retrograde period than when Mercury moves through a sign whose nature does not at all resonate with that of our fleet-footed friend.

Mercury retrograde in Virgo gives you a nice three week period to go back and dot the “i”s of what you have already created, revisit ideas and plans that need tightening and tidying, and re-organize your thoughts and paperwork.

Mercury is a bit of a trickster, a magician, and likes to keep a whole lot of balls juggling in the air. The best thing to do during Mercury retrograde, which is challenging at best, is to tap into the magic inherent in this part of the Mercury cycle and find new ways to flow with the flow that’s already flowing. In other words stop trying to make things happen. Tune in to what is already happening and go with that. Mmmmm. Interesting concept. And so not easy to do.

When Mercury is retrograde magic is afoot so loosen the reins a little and let the magic flow! Miracles are waiting everywhere to be welcomed into your life. Couldn’t we all use some miracles right now?

Cindy Morris, MSW, is the talk show host of Priestess Entrepreneur: Kitchen Table Conversations (http://PriestessTV.com),

author of Priestess Entrepreneur: Success is an Inside Job, and astrologer-at-large.

If you want to know where transiting Mercury will fall in your chart, schedule a session with Cindy to take a look-see. She can be reached through her web site, Priestess Astrology, or by phone at 720. 480. 9322

Dragonflies in Summer

by Kate Stockman

A few years ago, I decided to create an altered book depicting the things I love about summer: the ripeness, the abundance of scents and flowers, the birds and the bees. I found a wonderful book at a thrift store published by the Smithsonian and entitled The Fire of Life. I re-titled it “Summer Solstice.” Some of the pages I left as they were because they were about the summer solstice. Other pages, I altered by covering them with decorative papers, rubber stamp impressions, photos, postcards, calendar art, etc. I even took multi-page articles from magazines (such as article on the Monarch butterfly from an old National Geographic) and made them into booklets so that I created books within the books. It was a labor of love, and made the heat more tolerable.

The book contained many images of dragonflies since I associate them with summertime and warm weather. When I was young, my mother and I went to the cemetery where her mother was buried once a month on Saturday morning. While she trimmed around the gravestone (and I’m sure “talked” with her beloved mother), I walked, skipped and ran around, reading the grave markers and admiring the statues. I remember always seeing dragonflies hovering and flying around a large statue of an open bible. They were so beautiful and iridescent in the richest colors imaginable! They could hover, zip forward, glisten in the sun, and dart wherever they wanted.

As an adult, I remember being led by dragonflies down a country road in Tennessee. Andrew and I were looking for mountain land to buy where we could live when we retired. This was outside of Nashville and dragonflies literally led us down the road to the entrance to the property. While we didn’t buy that property, it was a procession to remember!

A few years ago, I was enjoying an afternoon swim in a nearby lake. Dogpaddling, I watched at eye level the dragonflies skimming above the water on their various missions. After my swim, I sat on the side of the dock and looked into the water. There, suspended beneath the surface were carp languidly watching me. Shifting my focus, I watched dragonflies busily zipping from cattail to tall grasses and through the air above the water’s surface. Shifting again, I saw my own reflection mirrored in the tranquil water’s surface. It was an aquatic epiphany:  deep below the surface was calm, above the surface was furiously active, and in between was me, watching it all.

In Native American medicine, Dragonfly symbolizes “Illusion”. According to the Jamie Sams and David Caron, the authors of Medicine Cards, “some legends say that Dragonfly was once Dragon, and that Dragon had scales like Dragonfly’s wings.” They advise you to call on Dragonfly if you need to make a change as Dragonfly will “guide you through the mists of illusion to the pathway of transformation.”

Dragonflies have been around for 300 million years. One prehistoric fossil had a wingspan of 2 1/2 feet, making it the largest flying insect ever recorded. Today, the largest dragonfly is found in Costa Rica with a wingspan of 7 1/2 inches.

Dragonflies and damselflies are similar. Both belong to the order of Odonata (the toothed ones). Dragonflies belong to the suborder of Anisoptera (uneven winged) and damselflies to the suborder Zygoptera (even winged). One way to tell them apart: dragonflies hold their wings out to the side when at rest, but damselflies usually fold their wings up over their back when resting.

As with other species of insects, the dragonfly has six legs but it is unable to walk on solid ground. Their large compound eyes contain up to 30,000 individual lenses. (Human eyes only have one.)  Because of this, the adult dragonfly can see nearly 360 degrees at all times.

It is their lucent wings that give them such amazing flight abilities. Dragonflies have two sets of wings. They don’t beat their wings in unison like other insects do. Their front wings can be going up while their backs ones are going down, giving them the ability to move up, down, forwards, backwards, side to side, and hover.  They flap their wings at about 30 beats per second (bps) (compared to a bee’s 300 bps) and can attain speeds of over 30 mph.

When you see two dragonflies flying through the air attached to one another, it is almost always a male and female mating. Male dragonflies can be very territorial, staking claim to a particular area alongside a pond or stream. When you see two adults chasing each other through the air, it is often one male chasing another from its territory.

Female dragonflies lay their eggs in or near water, often on floating or emergent plants. The dragonfly eggs hatch into nymphs (or larvae). The nymphs live beneath the water’s surface, from a few months up to five years. When the larva is ready to metamorphose into an adult, it climbs up a reed or other emergent plant.

Exposure to air causes the larva to begin breathing. The skin splits at a weak spot behind the head and the adult dragonfly crawls out of its old larval skin, pumps up its wings, and flies off to feed on midges and flies. After leaving the water and becoming flying insects, they only live for about a month during which they mate. Their phenomenally quick and accurate flight makes them well suited to eat other insects right out of the air. Fortunately, mosquitoes are one of their primary food sources.

One more dragonfly story: the week I was writing this piece [in July 2009], I was in the car with my son Allen when a dragonfly bounced into the windshield and slid down into the wipers. Allen asked if he should turn on the wipers to help set it free. I said I thought that might injure it more. So we pulled into a parking lot and Allen got out and gently untangled the dragonfly from the wiper. We thought it was injured so Allen intended to place the dragonfly on the ground in the shade of a bush. But as Allen lifted the dragonfly from its entrapment, it lifted up out of his hands, hovered a bit, then flew off. The look of wonder and joy on Allen’s face was a beautiful sight.

Kate Stockman is a multi-media 3-D artist living in Western North Carolina. She writes a column, The Hand-Crafted Life, for her local newspaper, and offers playshops under the name The Cre8tive Flow. This article is adapted and expanded from an article she wrote on her blog, Wanderings of a Wondering Mind, which was inspired by a crop circle showing a dragonfly design. You can read the original post here.

Late Summer

Another great essay from Bill Felker’s lovely essays about his seasonal observations in Yellow Springs, Ohio, taken from Poor Will’s Almanack. This is from August 2004:

When I get up before five these mornings, I sit by my window and I feel the fall moving toward me. Outside, there is no wind; the yard is quiet. The trees and flowers are motionless. The early summer chorus of birds has almost ended. Only a cardinal and a bullfrog sing off and on. Sometimes, the jays are nervous and whine in the trees. Sometimes, I hear crows across town. The katydids stopped calling in the middle of the night. It is too early in the day for cicadas and bees. The August crickets are still growing up; they won’t chant for a few days.

I can’t decide whether the shift in the season has followed the silence or preceded it. I don’t know if my perceptions are real or imaginary. Maybe I’m just restless. It’s been hot since the end of May. The heat wears me down like it wears down the plants and animals, draws life from the garden, the pond, and the brain.

Of course the varieties of flowering plants are different now from what they were a few weeks ago, and the tint of the leaves has deepened in some places, faded in others. There is a haze to the sky; it builds up through the sluggish fronts of middle summer. Maybe that lack of purity is what tells me the earth has shifted on its axis, that it is turning back toward the sun for winter, that I have run out of summer one more time without having kept the promises I made to myself in April.

I have often tried to list the births and deaths of plants, insects and animals that define the shift to autumn. But I have never looked closely enough, have not watched or listened or thought carefully enough, and so the emotions of late summer can comer over me quickly and hard, and I listen to the stillness, trying to understand what has happened, wishing I had paid closer attention, thinking maybe if I really understood the process better, then I wouldn’t feel so bereft at the end.

But no matter how many notes I take, I know that when the birds are quiet in the morning and the wind stops blowing, I am at the end of one more cycle of planning and longing and then I can’t help repeating the same questions I asked a season ago. What next? What should I do now? Will there be enough time? Where do I go from here? How can I make amends for what I haven’t done? Whom should I still love? What does it matter?

The beautiful photo of a haybale on a hazy day was taken by Cate Kerr of Beyond the Fields We Know.

Bon Odori Dances

For years, my holiday calendar contained a reference to the silent, gliding dances of the Bon Odori perfomed during the O-Bon festival in Japan. The image always seemed marvelous to me, and even more so, when I read this fantastic description of the dances written by Lafcadio Hearn, in 1894:

And at another tap of the drum begins a performance impossible to picture in words, something unimaginable, phantasmal—a dance, an astonishment.

All together glide the right foot forward one pace, without lifting the sandal from the ground, and extend both hands to the right, with a strange, floating motion and a smiling, mysterious obeisance. Then the right foot is drawn back with a repetition of the waving of hands and the mysterious bow. Then all advance the left foot and repeat the previous movements, half-turning to the left. Then all take two gliding paces forward, with a single simultaneous soft clap of the hands, and the first performance is reiterated, alternately to right and left; all the sandaled feet gliding together, all the supple hands waving together, all the pliant bodies bowing and swaying together. And so slowly, weirdly, the processional movement changes into a great round, circling about the moonlit court and around the voiceless crowd of spectators.

The Bon Odori dances are part of the O-Bon festival honoring the dead, who return to visit their families at this time of the year. The festival is celebrated on the 15^th day of the 7^th month in Japan (July 15; although in some parts of Japan it’s celebrated on August 15), but it used to be celebrated on the full moon of the seventh lunation in the Chinese calendar, which would be the full moon of July 25, which is also the Moon of the Hungry Ghosts. Like our Western festival of the dead, Halloween, this holiday mingles several elements: the traditional end of the summer retreat for Buddhist monks, the Full Moon of the Hungry Ghosts, and a midsummer lantern festival. The dances were designed to welcome and honor the spirits of the ancestors; one can see that reverent and otherworldly aspect of the dances in Hearn’s description.

A few years ago, my friend, Susan told me about the O-Bon festival held at the Betusin Buddhist Temple in Seattle. And I finally got a chance to see the dances. My first impression was that they were not particularly gliding. And they are not silent: each is accompanied by recorded music, which is played on a loudspeaker, accompanied by a drummer. The crowd gathers in the street and makes a long shuffling circle around the yagura, a temporary stage set in the middle of the street, from which the dances are announced and where the drum is placed. In Seattle, everyone is invited to participate, even if you don’t know the dances, and so the crowd is diverse, with people dressed in traditional summer kimonos and people in jeans and flipflops, some who perform the dance elegantly, others who look lost and are always off the beat.

Some of the dances are quite playful and whimsical. The Wikipedia article on Bon Odori describes some the various dances, some of which are quite old and others which come from popular culture, for instsance, the Pokemon ondo. Another website, which calls the Bon Odori dances, the spiritual dance in the midsummer night (I love that phrase), describes and provides videos of several types of bon odori dances.

I was a little disappointed in my first Bon Odori, although I enjoyed the friendly crowd, the camaraderie of the dancers, and the generosity of the Buddhist temple which opens its doors to make this festival possible. It has the atmosphere of any small community event, complete with princesses (beautiful young women wearing tiaras and kimonos), food booths, a beer garden, a display of crafts (including ikebana arrangements and bonsai trees), and little kids sitting on the curb to watch the dancers lining the street.

But this year, I attended the festival again with my niece, Shayla, and this time I really did see the gliding dances of my fantasy. Perhaps this was because the temple sponsored practice sessions during the weeks before the event (you can see one in this You Tube video) and more of the dancers knew what they were doing ahead of time. Perhaps it was because of the elegant grace of the dance leaders, women in pink kimonos who walked alongside the dancers, demonstrating the movements.

But suddenly, I could see how the gestures were intended to welcome and honor the spirits. I watched the dancers move slowly along the street, in a gliding, undulating line. And I saw all the elements Hearn saw in 1895: the swaying, the supple hands, and most of all, that sense of otherworldliness. No silence, but the beat of the drum and the repetition of the movements that began to have a trance-like, hypnotic effect. I even got up and danced to one song and felt I had truly honored the ancestors.

This video was not taken in Seattle but at the Bon Odori at the Senshin Buddhist Temple in Los Angeles. I think it gives you the feel of the dancing. In LA, they were dancing in concentric circles, which creates an interesting effect. Several of the dancers are very elegant and attentive to what they are doing; others have that dazed look of people just trying to keep up. And from time to time, passers by, oblivious to the camera wander by, making you feel like you are there.

Next Page »