Where
we are in time and space: Today we’ve hit the mid-way point of September, a
month that, to me, is all about settling back into the rhythm of our lives
after the long-march of the summer scatter.
I’m starting to feel my feet more on the ground and my mind more focused
than it’s been since Summer hit in earnest 3 months ago. In the Northern Hemisphere, the balance of
our year will tip towards darkness in just over a week, and yet we still have
the amazing autumn months that seem to be everyone’s favorites no matter where
you live. There’s a pull inward, and yet
there is still so much warmth and beautiful light, we stay out just a little
longer, as if we are children who’ve already been called in for dinner once and
can’t seem to stop while there is still even a hint of light.
About
10 years ago, an odd series of thoughts led me to a book that was all the rage
when I was growing up, but I was too young then to read it or appreciate
it. The book (which over time became a
series of books) was called Foxfire,
and it was born of a quarterly magazine created by a group of high school
students and their teacher in Georgia in 1966.
It was an exercise in gathering the oral history of their elders as old
ways of life were quickly fading. Foxfire celebrated the home life,
seasonal living, and storytelling traditions of Appalachia.
 |
| My Mammaw and Papaw around 1970. |
I
grew up in a university city in the foothills of the Great Smoky Mountains, near the Appalachian range, which runs from Newfoundland to Alabama, though
we primarily think of their expression in Kentucky, Virginia, Tennessee, North
Carolina, West Virginia, and Georgia. The mountains there are soft and rolling, and
the seasons—at least during my upbringing, though I fear with human-induced
climate change that has likely changed—were distinct and clear cut.
My great grandparents on my father’s side
were mountain farmers who lived and farmed in the Cumberland Mountains in the southeastern section of the Appalachian chain. I remember as
a very young child driving what seemed an incredible distance every so often to
visit their farm. I remember they had an
outhouse, which was thrilling to a pre-schooler. My great grandfather wore “overhauls”
and my great grandmother wore calico printed dresses with a full apron, work
boots, and a bonnet on top. It was like Little House on the Prairie! Mammaw wore her long hair, which was gray
with auburn streaks, braided and in a neat bun.
The farmed tobacco, grew their own food, and kept bees. I remember, in
particular, how they spoke in what I later learned was old English. Appalachia and the southern mountain ranges were really the last part of the
country to have television in the household. They were cloistered and with no
outer influence via network television, they spoke as their ancestors had. They said “thee,” “thy,” thou,” “ye,” and
“yon.”
When
I discovered Foxfire, it was like
discovering my great grandparents and their way of life—an incredible
gift. I learned about the tradition of
planting by the moon, and, in fact, using the moon for all manner of things
from planting above ground crops (waxing moon) to below ground crops (waning)
to cutting your hair for more growth while the moon waxed and for less growth
while it waned. I was fascinated and
started paying more attention to the cycles of the moon and the seasons than I
had before. Perhaps, because I had moved
to Northern California, which natives will tell you has seasons, which of
course is true, they are just . . .
subtle . . . I had a yearning for a seasonal rhythm that I had not even
realized I was deeply connected to until I moved to the Golden State. Paying attention felt right in my cells, and
I knew that it was more than just me, but all of us who must be yearning for
something known that had been lost.
In
2008, during an October trip to New Mexico, I made a conscious decision to
begin living my life more based on the earth wisdom and natural cycles that my
ancestors (all of our ancestors!) had moved with. Trust me, I’m not someone who is interested
in turning back the clock to some silly idea that long-ago and far-away was
better. (We may be battling superbugs
that have adapted to antibiotics, but, really, it’s just silly to think that we
were better off without them, and if you aren’t sure about that, you wouldn’t
have to go far back in your own family’s history to find the child that died
from something ridiculous to us now.)
So, what is it to follow the Old Ways in 21st century
California?
When
I say “the Old Ways,” I’m talking about realizing that our lives have rhythms
and cycles. They ebb and flow. There are outward periods and inward periods. There are times more conducive to growing and
more conducive to releasing and everything in between. Time is a circle, not a line. Problem is, our modern life doesn’t
acknowledge it whatsoever. We can have
daylight at any time of day, 72 degree heat in winter and 68 degree air
conditioning in summer. We can eat tomatoes from California or Mexico all year
round, and even my beloved autumn persimmons can be procured from the Southern
Hemisphere in the spring if I so desire.
We’ve
lost our connection to nature—our own nature and the nature around us.
The
good news is: it’s actually a pretty easy fix—start paying attention. Watch the moon. Feel the subtle shift of the
season before it’s outwardly obvious because you are spending time outside every
single day. Yes—eat local and in season, and if you live in Maine where local
and in season looks different than in California, maybe consider learning to
“put up” the bounty of the summer. Use
the dark half of the year to do projects that are more inward. Honestly, it’s
not that hard. We are wired for this. We just forgot.
I
had forgotten, and I’m still learning..
And, what I’m finding since embarking on this path 10 years ago
casually, 6 years ago actively, and late this spring formally—it is such a rich
way of engaging in the world. At first, to be honest, so much feels impossible,
counter-intuitive, because at this point, we’ve grown up outside of this
rhythm. But, you see, your DNA is old and
wise. It knows the Old Ways. I’m not a
farmer, nor much of a gardener, but I follow the cycles across the wheel of the
year in the rhythms of my life and day. Some
projects are better suited to June than January. And when nature speeds up or slows down, and
I’m attuned to that, I actually live and work at optimal amounts of ease and
effort. I more readily delight and adapt to change.
Following
the cycles of nature and her seasons is something we should all be able to
agree upon regardless of religion or political persuasion, and the fact that we
can’t, is the very proof of how far off we’ve gotten. We may have screwed a lot up. That’s a fact.
But, I really do believe that a lot more than we realize could actually be
solved by paying attention to our own nature and to nature itself, because they
are one and the same. My by-the-moon planting great-grandparents were
down-home, red-state, backwoods Christians.
Your Jewish grandparents were (and are) following the moon for Rosh Hashanna,
Sukkot, and Passover. Stepping into this flow doesn’t need a label,
though there are words people use to describe themselves or others who do
it. If you need a label for this, here’s
a suggestion: call it being a Human Being.
I’m a human who is finding her human-ness reflected in
the seasons.
I’m
a woman finding her womanliness reflected in the moon.
