Category Archives: Great Wheel

Switching Rails

Samhain                                                               Winter Moon

In late January when this kind of cold usually comes a few days of it can bring on an intense desire to be outside, be anywhere other than inside.  This is the condition often called cabin fever.

Having this deep, long cold spell come up front in winter, though, has not produced the same kind of grousing and low murmurs as a January dip.  This is still bracing.  Or, well, what do you expect?  We live here, don’t we?  Ruth, our financial advisor, said a mutual friend, Larry Schmidt, the late investigative reporter for WCCO, told her winter cut gang activity out for a season which he said, “Gives us an edge over L.A. and Detroit.”

This kind of seasonal change switches rails in the roundhouse of the mind.  No doubting now that the growing season is far behind us and the earth’s orbit has swung us into different astronomical territory.  We can concentrate on activities like snowshoeing, bird feeding, igloo building, cross-country skiing, ice-fishing, dog-sledding.  There’s even the few, the hardy who have sails rigged on “boats” with ice-skate like runners.  Others will go winter camping, hiking in the boreal forest.  And, yes, there will be snowmobilers, too.

Some will concentrate on feasting, reading, indoor games.  This is the concert and theater and dance season, too.  And all those holidays with their bright lights and festive music and gift giving and family and friend get togethers.

And the cold says winter.  Time for all that winter offers.

The Garden in Winter

Samhain                                                         Thanksgiving Moon

Went outside this afternoon.  Something I do less and less as the cold time deepens.  The IMAG1160dogs’ paths stand out now with fallen leaves on either side of bare ground.  It’s possible to see to the far southern fence of our property through the woods, impossible during the growing season.

Checked the cardboard sleeve for the bees.  It’s fallen down and I had to prop it up.  I may staple it.  I wanted to avoid that because thumping sounds inside the hive tend to activate defense on the part of the colony and I don’t want to wear a veil.  But, I might do it anyhow.

The mulching, leaves, that I put down in the vegetable garden, partly as a weed suppressor and partly for soil nutrition, have blown off from the asparagus patch, the sun trap and the herb spiral.  We have more leaves and tomorrow I’m going to remulch those areas while I put down the mulch over the newly planted bulbs.  The soil has frozen so this is the time. IMAG0746 It’s also best to get it done before the snow falls and it looks like we may have snow next week.  At least I hope so.

When that’s done, the outside garden work is over for the winter with one exception: pruning the fruit trees.  We’re going to have Javier come in and do it since it’s a specialized skill and we’d like to get them on the right path.

This winter will find me outside, out back more than usual.  At least that’s the plan. Pruning the forest, building up cut wood stores for future bonfires.  Creating yet another beeyard.  I have a new pair of gloves, a new chain and a new bar on the Jonsered, so I’m ready.  I’ve got my felling and limbing axes, too, and I plan to cut down some trees the old-fashioned way.  I’ll limb most of them with the limbing ax.  Safer than using the chain saw.

 

Following the Great Wheel

Samhain                                                       Thanksgiving Moon

The Thanksgiving Moon has become a crescent, my favorite shape of the moon.  When it matches up with Venus or Jupiter in the evening sky, what a wonder.  As the Thanksgiving Moon wanes, we are in the middle of Samhain, the cross-quarter holiday beginning on Summer’s End, October 31st, and running through the Winter Solstice.  Samhain covers the first 8 weeks of the fallow time.  Winter the next 8 weeks.  At least on my sacred calendar.

Following the Great Wheel as it rolls through the sky, a human, mythic rendering of the earth’s orbit, helps me stay in touch with the seasonal nuances.  Following the moon through its phases adds a wheel within the larger wheel, two eccentrics moving through the universe and around the sun together.  This would, in itself, be enough for me.

The other holidays though, Deepavali, Easter, Boxing Day, 4th of July, the Eve of St. Agnes, the Posada, Christmas, Hungry Ghost, the various new year’s dates add spice, are the flavors of others sacred sight added to the earth tones of my own observances.  And I love them, too.

We can experience this life as a series of holidays, one after the other.  Delightful and evocative.  Why not?  Perhaps one year, maybe my 70th, I will decide is a holiyear and try to celebrate as many festivals as I can over the course of a year.  Could be fun.

Be Glad You Exist

Samhain                                                            Thanksgiving Moon

Thankful.  Grateful.  Still here.

Yes, that’s the  prerequisite to all that follows, my living presence to write these words. And, yes, damn it, I’m grateful to be alive.

When I visited Constanta, Romania a year and a half ago, I went there as a pilgrimage to the place of Ovid’s exile.  This is a city that has Roman (Romania!) roots.  Outside an excellent museum of Roman and Greek antiquities (it was a Greek trading port first.), there was a collection of grave markers.  On one of them was this line:  Be Glad You Exist.  That’s what I would call ur-gratitude.  Thankfulness for living.

It’s where I’ll start.  Beyond consciousness and good health in my own case I’m thankful for the same in Kate, the dogs, family, friends and even a few others.  Our home.  Our buddies and colleagues the bees, the soil and the plants which grow in it, those past and those to come.  The orchard and the trees in our woods.  All the critters, sleeping and active that call it home.

Extending all that in a generally cosmic direction, I am grateful for the physics that allow us to exist at all, the sun for its energy, the planet for its hospitable climate (sorry about that hot pack, Gaia) and the North American continent for its wildness and its cities and towns.  Yes, the suburbs, too.  Even Andover.

Language.  English.  Being able to communicate with each other, even through such a flawed and miraculous medium.  What would life be without language?  Western medicine.  Often maligned, but my fav.  Western civilization.  Also often maligned, but mine and yours.  At least most of you who read this.  And just as worthy a human artifice as anyone else’s.

Of course the internet.  Cyberspace.  What a wonder to an old man raised with bakelite phones, 6 digit phone numbers, a time before tv.  So much.  So much to say thank you for. More than can be expressed in any list, no matter how long.

How about, for example, oxygen?  Or the properties of water?  We are made of stardust, animated elements spun out so long ago at the birth not of our nation, not of our planet, not of our solar system, not of our galaxy, but of our universe.  And now they walk, talk, consider their origin.  How damned amazing is that?

So.  Thanks.

 

Holiseason Begins to Put the Pedal Down

Samhain                                                              Thanksgiving Moon

We’re in that pre-holiday time when the air begins to take on a certain quality.  It’s part hope for a Thanksgiving (this time) that we both recall and imagine, a desire for an ideal time with family, with busyness, with good food and good memories made.

There are those other times, the times before, when the magazines had turkeys in their ads and the Whitehouse spared a turkey.  This year it will be a Minnesota turkey.  The times when we all had to put on our Sunday clothes even though it was Thursday and drive to an Aunt’s or to Grandma’s or to a friends.  Football and stuffing, a browned turkey and mashed potatoes.  Too many people around a too small table.  That drowsy, sleepy feeling, a tryptophan haze.  The turkey drug.

Those times mesh with hope, give it a flavor, a scent, a sound, a cast.  Those are, for me at least, good memories.  They give the time, this time, a pleasant before hand buzz, a family inflected smile.

This is holiseason.  It has these moments one after the other.  Times when others and the world of commerce and the world of religion and the world of small children all begin to bang into each other, making the world merry.  Yes, it’s chaotic and capitalistic. No doubt of that.  But it’s also fun, filled with good songs and lights.  Gifts and cold weather.  At least here.  Not so much in Singapore and Muyhail.

To all of you headed over the hills and through the woods.  Have fun.  Eat too much.  Laugh a lot.  Drive safely.

 

The Journey and the Moon

Samhain                                            Thanksgiving Moon

The last two nights the Thanksgiving Moon has hung like a pale lantern behind the clouds. The moon draws out of me such tender feelings, yearnings.  Maybe it’s the corollary of the old lover’s cliche, we’re seeing the same moon tonight.

What crosses my mind are all those long ago relatives, bearers of my genetic markers, on the trip out of Africa.  They may have moved on nights like these when the moon was full. Or, would they have huddled around the campfire, wary of predators who saw better in the gloom?

In either case they would have looked at the same moon unchanged from the time they began to move on that most ancient human trail.  Unchanged, that is, until July 20, 1969, a hot night in Muncie, Indiana when my flickering black and white pulled in the live–live–signals of Neil Armstrong setting a space-suit (space-suit!) boot on the lunar surface.

What a journey, if you think about it, from that trek across northern Africa, up into what we now know as the Middle East, to that boot touching down on the eons long undisturbed (by other than passing meteoroids) moon.  Even now when we look at the moon it appears the same as it did then.  Really, it’s only our knowledge that has changed, not the way it looks at night.

It pleases me to think of those, my people, in this season of the year, somewhere perhaps in a temperate latitude after thousands of years of journey, feeling a November wind chill in their face and what would become my Thanksgiving moon overhead.

Over the Plains and Through the River

Samhain                                                               Thanksgiving Moon

Beginning to get that over the river and through the woods feeling.  This coming Sunday we head out for Denver.  Kate discovered, in a drive to Denver that she made this spring, that if she drives, her back doesn’t give her fits.  So, she’ll drive and I’ll watch.  Lot of good book thinking between here and the Rockies.

Holiseason has begun to assert itself more and more.  I’ve heard the occasional Christmas song, seen the articles about Hanukkah and Thanksgiving, been asked what we’re doing for them.  Now the feelings, those old, yet always new feelings, Holiseason feelings have begun to bubble up.  They’re positive for me, though I know they aren’t for a lot of folks.

As a pagan these days, I focus on the lights, the many festivals of light, the Christmas tree, the Yule log, the Thanksgiving medieval banquet, the turn of yet another new year, but reserve my real longing for the Winter Solstice.  It has become my favorite and most significant holiday of the sacred year.  I’ll be writing more about it as it approaches.

Now it’s Thanksgiving.  When growing up in Indiana, we went to my Aunt Marjorie’s for Thanksgiving.  She was the acknowledged queen of the kitchen in the Keaton family universe, consistently turning out great meals.  The kids got the card tables in the family room while the adults had the dining room table.  After the meal, the men would retire to watch football and smoke cigars.

I would read comic books, generally try to huddle in a corner somewhere, usually overwhelmed by the mass of people.  Too many and too little chance to escape.  Even so Thanksgiving was a strong part of the glue that held the Keatons together, me and my 21 first cousins.  It’s now a shared memory, several blocks in the quilt that covers our generation.

Later on Kate and I cooked many Thanksgiving dinners here in Andover, for many different configurations, but those days have waned with the movement of the kids to lands far from here.  So now we pick up and go to Jon and Jen’s who cook in their renovated kitchen.

We’ve done a couple of family Thanksgivings at Lutsen and I hope we can again.

And I don’t even like turkey.  Go figure.

Everything You Need

Samhain                                                                                                         Thanksgiving Moon

“If you have a garden and a library, you have everything you need.”
Cicero

I’m set.  The library surrounds me as I write this and the garden is two weeks into its winter slumber.  Cicero and I agree about life’s necessities, books and a place to grow food and flowers.  Between them they service the body and the mind.

It’s a dull, grey November day. Rain dribbles out of the sky, unwilling to commit.  The temperature remains in a warmer trend, 45 today, a trend our weather forecaster says will remain until early December.  I hope so since we’re headed out across the plains a week from tomorrow, exposing ourselves to the wind driven weather coming down, with no topographical resistance, from the Arctic.

Finishing up ModPo and getting off the Latin plateau I had inhabited for many weeks has left me in a satisfied Holiseason state of mind.  Before them Modern and Post Modern ended and the garden got put to bed, the Samhain bonfire held.  So this is a time of endings, as Samhain celebrates, and festival season beginnings.  The unusual confluence of Hanukkah and Thanksgiving means the whole last week of November will be celebratory. In December then we can focus on Yule, the Winter Solstice and the pagan side of Christmas.

In the coming weeks I look forward to finishing Missing’s 5th revision and getting it off to the copy editor, learning Dramatic Pro and using it as I develop Loki’s Children while I continue to work in the new “in” the Latin style that Greg pushed me towards.  This will also be a time when I consolidate my understanding of the Modern and the Post Modern and do some more writing around that, especially as it changes and informs my Reimagining My Faith project.

Reading poetry more regularly will also be part of the next few weeks, too.  I want to continue my immersion in poetry.  One of the ModPo teaching assistants, Amaris Cuchanski, said poetry is the leading edge of consciousness and I believe she’s right.

 

Asleep

Samhain                                                                        Thanksgiving Moon

Another implication of the fallow season had escaped me, at least at the level Jim Gilbert describes in a recent phenology column in the Star-Tribune:

Hibernation is a winterless life chosen by reptiles, amphibians, insects and some mammals. During the winter untold millions of animals — including toads, frogs, salamanders, snapping turtles, garter snakes, bats, woodchucks and mosquito larvae — are hibernating across Minnesota.

We often miss the warm period lives of these creatures because many of them are small, secretive and prefer to remain well away from humans.  Their winter lives, in the millions, untold millions Gilbert says, never massed together in my mind.

(this wonderful piece by Travis Demillo.)

Walking in our woods right now there are thousands of salamanders, toads, frogs, garter snakes, woodchucks, various insects, ground squirrels and gophers in a state of suspended animation, dreaming small animal dreams until the weather becomes more suitable for their life again next year.  It gives the woods a haunted, Snow White sort of atmosphere with so many of its active and vibrant lifeforms stilled to the point of coma.  And by intention.  Well, evolutionarily adapted intention that is.

Here’s a lifted glass to their long night, a safe sleep and a welcome return.