October 6 - Katie

I had a best friend for 10 years who was part-shepherd, part-lab, and part-human:  Katie.

Some folks think she was named after me, but in fact I was named after her.  Up until I was about 25, I went by Kathy (hard to believe; she is a different person than I am now), but loved the name Kate (after one of my heroines, Kate Hepburn).  So when Katie was (literally) dropped in my lap, I decided to name her my favorite name.  It wasn't until 5 years later that I made the shift myself into a Kate.  

She was a CRAZY pup... all ears and legs and a strong, independent will... and as we grew together over the next 10 years she was my companion and protector.  I was able to live by myself as a single woman, go where I wanted to go, and do what I wanted to do because of Katie.  She was always game for anything.  And she was always watching me:  ears perked, eyes alert, her head resting on her front paws as she rested relaxed but ready for whatever I was going to do, the way dogs do.

There are lots and lots of stories about Katie, some of which I will tell during this month.  But for now, I have my most recent story of Katie to share.

Katie contracted cancer in her mouth, and after two surgeries we had to let her go.  She is buried in the backyard of my former country home south of Charleston, SC.  It was Jan. 26, less than a month after the love of my life Andrew moved in (on New Years Day 1984).  I am blessed that occasionally she visits me in my dreams.  This is such a tale.


In 2000, on the Spring Equinox after my mom's passing in February, I committed to a Vision Quest.  With my fellow questers, I prepared for six months in order to enter the woods for three days and nights when we would seek our visions.  It was a powerful process that springboarded me into my current spirituality.

As is true of other questers, the closer we came to our Quest date, the more nervous I became about going into the woods:  not from a safety concern but from a fear of not receiving a Vision.  I'd worked so hard and it all pointed to this special weekend (Labor Day... in every sense of the word!)!  Two nights before the Quest weekend began, I had a vivid dream:

I was walking in a forest of beautiful, lush green pine trees along a soft path thick with fallen russet pine needles.  All was silent.  I looked down to my left, and there was Katie walking beside me!  It was so like old times when we would walk together.  My heart leapt for joy at being with her again!  I was so excited that I started running along the path, and she ran alongside me.  Then she changed into a black bear, also running along the path with me.  This excited me so much that I lifted off my feet and started flying alongside her.

I woke up, jubilant that I had spent time with Katie/Black Bear, and knew my Quest would be a safe and successful one.

Two days later I went into the woods, early on a Saturday morning, in silence.  My teacher had selected my spot under a huge, beautiful old pine tree where the ground was blanketed in layers and layers of soft pine needles.  There were small pines scattered along the perimeter of my circle as well as some fallen pines peeking through the carpet of pine needles.

I spent 3 days in the woods, just me and Nature.  Each morning, my teacher would bring me fresh water for the day and to check to make sure I was ok.  That weekend, it rained 4 inches... and I stayed snug and dry under my tarp in my sleeping bag.  I felt Andrew and our kids sending me love and strength all weekend.  It was as if Andrew was there beside me saying, "OK, first put up the tarp, now set out..." guiding me in his wise woodsmanship way.

Katie,
always curious and alert

On Sunday, I was writing in my journal, recounting the dream I had had the few nights before.  I am thankful to have had the journal as I wouldn't have remembered most of my Quest experiences since I was in an altered state (which I didn't think about happening...).  As I looked up from my writing, my eyes rested on a small pine that had fallen over years and years and years before.  The base of the tree was all that was showing; the roots had been elemented away over the years, and the remaining base poked up in two soft peaks from the pine straw.  As I looked at it, I realized that it looked just like Katie did when she would watch me to see what I was going to do next.  And as I looked at it more, I realized it WAS Katie, still there companioning and protecting me.  I was -- and am -- so grateful for her presence.

I miss Katie so much.  I miss how she would howl with excitement when I would drive into the driveway; my very own one-dog chorus of joy.  Her salutations would literally lift her front feet off the ground!  Now THAT's love!  I miss her smell, the feel of her coat as I would pet her, her talking to me, the look in her eyes when she was having fun, her joie de vivre, her humor, and her undying love.

Well, I still feel her undying love.

There have been other puppies, but there will never be another Katie.

I hope that a memory of a loyal and loving animal will fill your day today.

Peace,
Kate

A Month of Story

I just returned from a full weekend at the SE Womens Herbal Conference at Camp Rockmont in Swannanoa, in the mountains of Western North Carolina.  Swannanoa... what a beautiful word!  It conjures peace and light to me.

I met Ramona Moore Big Eagle there, and she offered a session entitled Finding Your Story.  While I am a writer with lots of stories, I love to listen to and learn from others.  Ramona is a tall, graceful, powerful Legend Keeper, a storyteller of the Tuscarora Tribe, with dancing eyes and a welcoming, open countenance.  Everyone in our group of at least 60 ended up telling two stories about ourselves to someone in the group we didn't know.  We were all energized and excited about our adept ability to tell stories, even though that's what women do... we are all storytellers.  It's our legacy, and our universal way of teaching and leading.

After returning home, I read an article in Waverly Fitzgerald's October Living in Season e-zine where she writes about Curating Her Life.  There's a lot in that issue.  Waverly points out that October is a month of memories, stories, and ancestors.  So I have decided to do one of the things I love best (but seem to let slip to the end of my "to do" list) and write one story a day this month about memories and ancestors to honor this time of year.  All Hallow's Eve (or Samhain) is traditionally the time of honoring the dead, being thankful for our harvests, and slowing down in the cold and darkness, returning to the cave and the fire, and telling our stories.  So I will honor that ancient tradition.

Memories abound with my participating in a recent Small Book Exchange through Asheville BookWorks.  Memory Palaces was the theme, and each of the 15 participating artists interpreted that in her/his own way to create a rich cornucopia of miniature book art.  My book, entitled Rooms with a Clue, traced my connection to and passion for art and creative expression throughout my life (so far).

It all started with my Gaga's button box, and continues through many wonderful memories of art created with my hands and heart.  One of my very favorite memories as a very little girl was sitting at our kid's card table (just the right height for littles) in our pine-paneled den with my Mama.  She and I drew and traced pencil marks all over a page from the newspaper, making swirls and circles and intersecting curved lines over that generous expanse of newsprint.  Once we were finished drawing, we found shapes that reminded us of fruits and vegetables and colored them as such with our crayons.  I remember watching her color a green pear, wishing I could color as beautifully and regularly as she did, and also relishing the time we were spending together.  It was so lovely, nurturing, and just plain FUN!

My Mama was a fun lady who loved to laugh and put others at ease.  She was a Libra, and it showed; everything was about balance to her: relationships, bank accounts, give and take. People were the most important thing to her; she was the essential extrovert.   And she loved creating, too.  A needleworker (I still sleep under afghans she crocheted and have sweaters she knitted) she taught me to embroidery, knit, and sew as a girl.  I grew up surrounded by lace tablecloths, bedspreads, and handmade baby clothes which adorn my home today.  Holidays brought out major efforts in decorating:  the tabletop decorative Christmas tree she created with hundreds of hand-wound roses made of dark red crepe paper strips and attached to a cardboard cone that fit over a small table lamp so you could see a little bit of light every now and then through the roses.  And then there was the time that she created two huge (well, probably 3 feet tall) styrofoam bells shapes that she covered with hand-cut green felt leaves for props for one of our annual Christmas cards that showed how much my brother Fred (11 months older than I) and I were growing.  It was the 50s; the debut of the picture Christmas card.

She had a beautiful handwriting and always tried to write in green (she had a fountain pen she used all the time that only held green ink) because it was her favorite color.  Today, it is also mine.  Whenever I would ask her for her autograph in one of my autograph books (another 50s fad) or school annual, she would pen, "To my understudy."  And while I understand that now, it didn't satisfy my youthful daughter's need for superlatives about who I was... at least I didn't think so at the time.  Today, I am proud to be her understudy, to continue the creative self-expression that she nurtured in me, and to quote her wonderful, unique sayings.  Of course, we've all heard "This too shall pass" which was NEVER comforting when you heard it, but which I have said to my children as well.  My favorite saying of my wise mama is, "The sun don't shine on the same dog's ass all the time."  Now we call it Karma, but we didn't know that term back then.  Course, with her Charleston Geechee accent, it sounded more like "De sun don' shine on de same dog's ass all de time."  I can enunciate it exactly as she did.

I hope you take the time to savor a great story today.

Peace,
Kate

Reaping What We Sow

Lugnasad, or Lammas, is the cross-quarter holyday in early August which celebrates the first harvest of the grain.  The first harvest is always the greatest, and grain is important to us physically, emotionally, and spiritually.

I held a Peace Feast at my home a few years ago, and invited sisters to join me in focusing on Peace.  I invited everyone to bring something that represented Peace to add to the altar.  One friend brought grains of rice; she said if everyone were fed there would be peace.  How simple, and how true.  Conflict has always broken out been between the have’s and the have not’s.

The collecting of grains and the making of bread to share with family and community has long been an important seasonal ritual.  The age-old myth of Persephone’s return accounted for the reflection of Demeter’s joy in the fertility and bounty of the Earth.   Bread has been an important character in our stories, whether the unleavened bread of Passover or the sacred bread of Communion to more mundane rituals of sharing abundance and breaking bread together. 

Grain took on a whole new dimension to me two years ago when I visited crop circles in English barley fields.  I’d never been in a field of grain – other than corn – and as I walked the tramlines through the acres and acres of barley plants, I truly understood the term “the staff of life”.  The barley was alive – like the ocean – responsive to the wind, the sun, the clouds.  I recalled the scene from The Gladiator symbolizing his passage to paradise as I brushed my hands along the tickling tips of the barley plants.  I heard Eva Cassidy’s version of Fields of Gold in my head.  I deeply felt the joy that the plants had in growing towards the sky.  As they brushed against each other, it was as if in applause of their being.

I could feel the energy of the grain that was bent (not broken) to the earth in magical patterns as I walked in the crop circles.  Crop circles are mysterious occurrences, and I know that the Circle Makers mean only to give us wisdom, healing, and peace with their exquisite sacred geometric art.  During the growing season, the grain rises to stand straight and be harvested with the rest of the field.  The following year, however, there may be a “shadow circle” created by the seeds that were shaken off the heads of the grain by those walking the circle.

 

I’d never eaten barley before that visit.  Now I cook with it to celebrate any ritual of gratitude for the abundance with which we are gifted.  Barley soup, barley casserole.  I even use raw barley in some of my art.  The crop circles affected every aspect of my being.

While Lammas is the holyday that celebrates the harvest of the seeds we have planted, I also like to use this time to consider what seeds I want to plant now.  These are seeds of actions to come based on dreams and hopes. 

Blessings of an abundant harvest!


Peace,
Kate


(These are photos I took while in the crop circle shown (the bottom one shows the circle's proximity to Silbury Hill, an ancient sacred site) in the summer of 2008.)