One of a round of Robins scrounging for food amid the January 2024 ice and wind storm in the Pacific NW. photo by anne richardson
Welcome to the Storm Edition Dear Ones,
I began writing this Thursday, January 18th before I lost power a second time due to the storms in the Pacific NW. Instead of rewriting in the present tense, I’m going to leave the opening as is: “A cold spell is caressing the Pacific NW like hands just pulled from a freezer. I’m finding it difficult to string more than five words together as a malaise has settled into my bones. This Arctic Traveler didn’t followed the forecast and leave town on the scheduled flight yesterday and is lingering, unwelcome. The trees that thawed briefly are once again coated in a veneer of ice. A Hummingbird returns time and time again to the Rhododendron outside my window and sits for minutes, shivering. I can see the small heart beating, trying to maintain heat. Someone must be maintaining a feeder, for he does leave and return. Could I go out and cup him in my hands? Would that help?
“On Saturday the wind blew with such passion that I witnessed birds flying stationary in the sky simply to stay aloft. In my old neighborhood, four elder Firs decimated a friend’s home (no human was injured.) So my losing power for 52 hours seemed a minor inconvenience compared to many, especially since I had somewhere to go that was warm. Safe
“I have lived in this region of the world my entire life except my first four years. I have experienced ice and wind storms. Floods, wildfires, heat domes. Long stretches of gray, rainy days. Blue sky days, too. The Land has been thirsty…and had its thirst quenched. It has given with abundance and withheld its fruits. It comes with a mix of beauty and loss. Enchantment and practicality. The older I get…and as I inhabit my elderhood more comfortably, the more I understand I am not in charge. The more deeply I listen to the Land and the Beings of this place for their wisdom, the more willing I am to sit with the ordinary and the extraordinary. With sorrow and joy. To be with my own discomforts and not rush to alleviate pain. May I allow the entangledness of this life keep me messy and curious.”
The hummingbird that kept alighting outside my kitchen window during the ice and cold. photo by anne richardson
After the Storm: Gratitude
The second power outage was 24 hours, but as I pick this thread back up, my internet is still out. I have arrived at the North Oregon Coast for my now annual winter retreat, so I will post this blog before signing off to rest and contemplate. I am beyond grateful that temperatures have warmed, the breeze is gentle, and roads are clear.
After the Storm: Noticing Cycles
Yesterday I surveyed damage in the area. Roadways, roof tops, and landscapes were covered with needles thick as a shag carpet. Large limbs and fallen elder Firs were being removed from roads and homes. Whole landscapes have been shifted. Light will shine in where shade once hosted hostas and ferns. The cycle of death, decay, and new life under the carpet of needles is already in process, though I suspect our society’s seeming need to remove all trace of storms as quickly as possible will truncate this natural process with a storm of loud leaf blowers out in force soon enough. Though we are becoming more Grief Informed, this is often how we cope with Grief and Loss in our Western Culture…remove all outward traces lest we be reminded of the storm.
After the Storm: Honoring What Remains
I appreciate that my friend, whose house had the four elder Firs come down on it, wants part of a remaining fifth tree that needs to come down due to extensive damage, left as a snag if possible. And perhaps a nurse log for her naturescape from some of the remaining wood. She wants to honor these elders.
How can we look at these storms not only as disruptions in our lives (and her and family’s life has been severely disrupted) but as a way to engage with these events as our being part of nature, not apart from nature. Because we are a part of nature. (To honor all the elder Firs and Pines that came down in the storm, I suggest listening to Loreena McKennitt’s Ancient Pines.)
So lots going on in my still storm foggy brain (acknowledging typos, and I already realize there was more I was going to say but letting that go.) The Robins that scrounged for food in the bare patches out back persevered in the cold, their red-orange breasts dancing dots of joy amid a frozen cloth of ice. The absence of Crows during the coldest days (where did they go?) still baffles me. And that Hummingbird... Loss, Grief, Laments.
What storms are whirling around you…inner and/or outer? Whatever the weather where you are, I hope you are safe and nourished.
in deepest gratitude,
anne
Apple tree enduring the cold. A few kids braved the elements and lacking snow to make snowballs, used frozen rotted apples to toss at one another instead. Creative! photo by anne richardson
Robins eating popsicle berries for sustenance. photo by anne richardson
For Your Reflection
what storms are whirling around you…inner and/or outer? what do you notice when difficult times arise? what nurtures you when you are physically, emotionally, spiritually or otherwise in a situation you have little or no control over?
i’ve noticed a lot of chaotic energy around me recently…even before the storm, but the storm intensified it. when i get caught up in it, i get unsteady in an unhealthy way. so once i notice i can “recalibrate.” how about you? do you notice when it feels chaotic around you? how does that energy effect you? what are ways that help you recalibrate?
have you noticed a new loss or an old loss stirring in these winter months? winter is the anniversary of both my parent’s deaths, so i remind myself to be extra tender with my heart this time of year. how are you treating your Grief these days? i’m reminded of this poem:
Talking to Grief
by Denise Levertov
Ah, Grief, I should not treat you
like a homeless dog
who comes to the back door
for a crust, for a meatless bone.
I should trust you.
I should coax you
into the house and give you
your own corner,
a worn mat to lie on,
your own water dish.
You think I don't know you've been living
under my porch.
You long for your real place to be readied
before winter comes. You need
your name,
your collar and tag. You need
the right to warn off intruders,
to consider
my house your own
and me your person
and yourself
my own dog.
what do you notice when you read this poem? what conversation are you and Grief having these days (remember, no judgment, just be curious.)
usual question: are you treating yourself with kindness and gentleness these days? how does that look? if not, how might you make the shift to being kinder and gentler with yourself? how can you be kinder and gentler toward others?
Movie Review-ish
A couple of weeks ago, just before lights went out and internet disappeared, I watched “Good Grief” on Netflix. As Grief movies go, I give it a thumbs up. Complex relationships. A few plot twists. It showed close friends of the person who was grieving trying to fix their uncomfortableness. (“It’s been six months. You need to start dating!” And yes, when I was working in hospice and helping with bereavement, I had a widow who was married for 40 years have friends suggest this to her.) It avoided tropes and “stages of grief” language. It was messy. And these folk were in their mid to late 30s, a “grief group” that isn’t always addressed.
Sure, these people had money, so the loss of home and financial security issues were removed. It was a movie after all. And as someone in her crone years, I had to remind myself that folks the age these characters are, are still sorting out who they are in the first half of life. (Why are they doing that? Oh right, I didn’t have much sorted when I was that age either!) Plus, as the movie unfolds, we come to realize there isn’t just one loss to grieve. Like I said, messy and complex. A bit of a bow on it at the end, but not too tidy.
If you watch it, let me know what you think.
Upcoming Event
Oh lucky me! I am honored to be one of the readers on Feb 2nd at Coffee and Grief Community’s Coffee Talk #55. (That’s a Thursday evening, 7pm PT.) There will be five fabulous readers (I personally know two of the others who are both gems, but they will all be awesome because it always is!) Do I know what I’m reading yet? Uh, well, words in my head need to get written, but by next week it will be done. Please join us for some heart balm. Here’s the link to register:
Final Thoughts
In early January in lieu of resolutions, I sit and select a combination of a poem, perhaps a word, animal, or something outside of my usual frame of reference that might guide me for the year ahead. This year paradoxes have come to mind, along with Owl, a poem by William Stafford, Being A Person and two cards from my Weavers’ Oracle, Journey Cards & Travel Guide (Owl and Ochre) by Carolyn Hillyer.
The paradoxes: Expand & Contract. Simplify & Entangle. Plus allowing for the descent. Being with Death, Grief, Bereavement, Lament, New Birth. It is my call and where I feel comfortable, even in my discomfort. That is why I am able to sit with folks in their Grief, even if I didn’t realize it would be the thread of my life when I was young. It is always an honor.
Have you thought about what your thread is? And do you start your year with a ritual? If you want to share with me, I’m curious to hear how other folks approach the threshold of a new year.
Oh, and a reminder, I’m posting almost weekly on my Substack, following dandelion seeds. Sure, Grief is often threaded into those posts, but my pondering is broader…often pushing my own comfort zone. So if you are interested, it is a free subscription.
As always, if you like, please let me know how you are being.
“Being a Person
Be a person here. Stand by the river, invoke
the owls. Invoke winter, then spring.
Let any season that wants to come here make its own
call. After that sound goes away, wait.
A slow bubble rises through the earth
and begins to include sky, stars, all space,
even the outracing, expanding thought.
Come back and hear the little sound again.
Suddenly this dream you are having matches
everyone’s dream, and the result is the world.
If a different call came there wouldn’t be any
world, or you, or the river, or the owls calling.
How you stand here is important. How you
listen for the next things to happen. How you breathe.”
