Morning fog rising from the valley below. Yes, that is Mt. St. Helens (Louwala-Clough) in the distance. Oct 3, 2022. photo by anne richardson
Welcoming a New Season
Autumn has arrived in the Pacific NW. That certain crispness in the air that nips at you when you walk out the door pre-dawn. The crunch of leaves underfoot that creates wildness even in urban settings. And my favorite—morning fog rising like steam from the valley up to The Summit when I take my morning walk. Summer seemed to last f o r e v e r. And even unseasonably hot days continue to float into the forecast and suddenly I’m wearing shorts again for a day or two. But night is overtaking day earlier and cools off the heat with its breath. And I say to myself, “You made it.”
I’m sure when I was a kid I liked summers. Time off school riding my bike to friends. Picking berries to earn pocket money. Reading every book I could get my hands on, sequestered between two giant cedar trees. I still enjoy the fruits of summer: vibrant colors of flowers, expansive selection of fruits and veggies, eating dinner outside on my little deck. Now though the season outstays its welcome past the equinox and into early October; feels hotter and dryer than I remember from my younger years and I find I am less enamored with the glories of the season. More impatient for it to end. What spats of rain we have had have not quenched my thirst and certainly not the land’s.
Grieving for the Earth
This laboriously long summer stirs my Grief for the planet, what is known as “environmental” or “eco" grief. Yes, that is a thing. Perhaps you have even felt it.
And yes, I am full of contradiction in that while I take action to alleviate my impact upon this Earth I love, I do things that are less than stellar. Human, right? So I have these continually underlying losses being a human living on this planet surrounding my relationship with the land. And joy being with the land. Such is the complex nature of Grief.
I love the color-fest found at the farmers’ markets this time of year. Hillsdale Farmer’s Market. photo by anne richardson
Sister Trees—My Forever Elder Teachers
My beautiful Sisters, those wise maples that have accompanied me on my journey the last five or so years, continue to be teachers as I navigate the waters of eco-grief and more. Dry from lack of rain, their leaves are turning from green to brown with no hint of fall color. Crisp. And yet, as they make way for the next generation, they send forth shoots, especially the three that fell during the ice storm of 2021 (read this post for more on my relationship with The Sisters.) They show me how to use what resources they are offered…and how to age with a fierce grace. I love them so.
The Sisters in early Oct. 2018 before ice storms, wildfire smoke and drought shifted their way of being in their space. They have taught me many lessons in the four years since this photo was taken. In my naivety I thought they would stay like this forever…or at least long after I was gone.
Cycles of Life & Death
The Sisters are in a time of transition. Not just the seasonal summer to fall, but aging toward their latter years. I see it in how they have closed the center of their circle off. It is no longer the inviting place they welcomed me into when I needed nurturing (I spent a lot of time there meditating, crying, grieving.) Now it is entwined by young boughs “fencing” it off. Their bark is shifting. Grayer. Rougher. It also seems more susceptible to disease. These Sisters began life from another maple parent (or more than one.) And now they are preparing for the next generation. They are Elders.
Transitions in Life: Anticipatory Loss, Grief, and Curiosity
I am also in transition. Life is shifting and I’ve been listening. Listening takes energy, as did a couple of projects that diverted me from blogging recently. August was focused on a presentation I did for Oregon Care Partners on Anticipatory Grieving & Ambiguous Loss in Dementia Care (not available for viewing, but if you would like information, contact me and I can offer resources.) And in September I was fine-tuning a set of poems for a special submission. Plus, and here’s where you can do a drumroll if you please, I have begun looking for a home to buy!
Now that is a big change as I have lived in my apartment for seven years and am content here. Sure I was restless when I returned from my latest sojourn (Sojourning with Stillness: blog posts May 13 - July 28) but I had no inclination to move.
However I’ve lived here seven years which is the end of a cycle and the Universe has not so subtlety nudged me to make a change. (Has that ever happened to you?) Some of my call is shifting and I need the sort of space I inhabit to shift too. Though ideas and details are still forming I know I need to be on land I can steward and be in communication more intimately. A space I can build a small labyrinth on. Space I can share and be part of a community in a different way than I am now. So I will be leaving the familiar and am trusting the home where I will settle is preparing for me as I am preparing for it. Fortunately I have the BEST real estate agent…my daughter.
Claiming my Inner Hag
Will there be Grief at leaving behind what has been a nurturing space that has walked me through some big losses these last seven years? Yes, definitely. I like my cozy space, routines, and trust me, I kept checking in, “Are you sure it is time to move on?” Yup. And I could say “no.” But it would hurt my soul. I feel that. And part of me is excited, too. I am entering into a rich phase of my life. My Elderhood. My Crone Years. This can be a powerful time in a woman’s life if we are open to claiming it. (psst…you can claim your power and voice at any time in your life.)
I am currently reading Hagitude: Reimagining the Second Half of Life, Sharon Blackie’s newest book. It has given me a lot to ponder. Stirring what shape this shifting call might look like (alongside other readings and actual dreams.) And, as a postmenopausal woman, I am ready to claim my place in my community. To have my voice heard. And to listen to the wisdom of other wise elders. I have a lot to offer.
My Mentor Grief…Still My Teacher
So I hope you’ll stay around a while longer as this all unfolds. Grief, loss, change, joy, some fear and anxiety tossed into the mix. And please, let me know what is going on in your life. What transitions are you going through? How are Grief and Joy part of your journey?
I can’t say how often I will blog…I seem very inconsistent these days. At least you can’t say I fill up your inbox. And my mind is on poetry writing these days, but my mentor Grief still taps me on the shoulder, whispers in my ear, “I’m not done with you yet.” So there will be more.
May you be receiving the shifting of the season (however you define “season”) with gentleness and kindness toward yourself and others.
as always, grateful for you,
anne
For Your Reflection
are any transitions occurring in your life? do you feel a shift or nudge that perhaps you are hesitant to acknowledge? or, if you are in one, how are you approaching it and caring for yourself? how have you coped with transitions in the past…ones welcomed or unwelcomed?
how are you treating yourself with kindness these days? how do you show kindness to others?
repeating this one because as the election season heats up in the US, I have found the need to cut back on social media consumption! have you ever considered taking a day off of social media and the other chatter of life once a week/bi-weekly/once a month as a way to nourish yourself? does it appeal to you? how might that be considered an act of self love?
how are you connecting with your community (however you define community)? what interactions help sustain you and what ones drain you?
A Bit of Celebration
speaking of being postmenopausal, my poem “post menopause landscapes” will be in The Poeming Pigeon-Issue #12, a Journal of Poetry & Art. Available for pre-order.
and on Oct 24th my poem “aging” will be in the Tiny Seed Journal’s blog and will be included in their upcoming anthology, Plant Your Words.
