Drinking Color

Traveling from here to there I am drinking color.

 This fall it seems the trees are offering a celebration. 

I know they do every fall, but this year I find my spirit 

bowing in deep reverence to the magic of tree-color.  

On my trips to town for groceries, I pull the car over

and climb into the embrace of a forest gone wild. I

wish that photos could capture the exuberance inside 

me. 

  

I fall more in love with the land in this little town,

dressed up for the autumnal display. 

After a walk in the forest with Pasha, 

I sit under a hemlock and swim in a sea of gold.

I traveled north to Vermont to hang a show at the 

Bennington Arts Guild, stopping frequently 

along the way to photograph. 

An overcast day with muted greens and golds, 

and the mountain terrain of Southern Vermont.  

While driving, I felt as if I was at times within my own 

paintings, and took note of how after seven years of 

living here, the landscape is inside me. 

Driving home, I see a  familiar road anew,  

noticing how the gentler foothills invite a 

more intimate experience of the land.

As I turn onto the dirt road that winds up 

the hill to my home, I notice the raven, 

and that the big maple is almost 

undressed to her bones. 

Remembering with the Land

Summer's fire releases with the exquisite

burst of fall leaves in New England - a 

perfect moment to make art with the land.

Embrace in progress

My class, Exploring the Natural World, came 

to RavenWood for a day of environmental art. 

They were divided into three groups, each picked a 

word out of a hat. The words were shelter, embrace 

and flow. They picked a spot, and could use only 

what they found on the land. 

"Embrace" completed: embracing tree, embracing water.

All three groups used leaves in some way or another,

the color so astonishing in contrast to the green mosses 

and brown trunks. 

"Embrace" - a surprise burst of color from a distance.

Students sewing leaves together for "Flow". 

We noticed how quickly the sun moves as places 

that were chosen for the light were soon in shadow. 

"Flow" the next day, having lost a section

of leaves to the wind in the night. 

The chain of leaves mingles with submerged

mushrooms. After such a long drought, we had two 

weeks of rain, over seven inches, and strange 

things like underwater mushrooms!

"Flow" - detail of sewn leaves. 

"Shelter" - an arch sheltering the path 

down the hill.

"Shelter" - in progress.

"Shelter" and a moment of me spinning. 

I've been offering this event for several years now, 

I love what happens to the class as they work on the land. 

When I first mention the mandatory Saturday field-trip to 

my house an hour and a half away, I get some groans...

Once here, however, stress sinks into the leaf mould, 

breathing is deeper, and eyes shine with a bit of the wild. 

The following Monday at school, when reflecting on the day, 

several students said they felt whole again.... and that 

their roommates noticed. So, art is good, but wholeness,

 well, what could be better?

Remembering with the land- that's how I think of it.

Re-membering - like Isis who travels the earth finding pieces 

of Osiris, putting them together, and bringing him back 

to life. Trees - and stones - sing me back to life. 

The Whole World in Tree Rings

On afternoon walks with Pasha, my pace 

is slow, reverent, my voice, hushed. 

My small friend's enthusiasm is contagious.   

On a cushion of moss, the remains of a mourning dove.

I wonder if it was one of the pair that often 

pecks around in the garden.  

I wonder at the vibrancy of the moss, 

even though we've had months of drought.

We have our places: the places where we always pause.

 The huge split boulder is a favorite. I call it the 

"whispering stone", because when I sit there, I whisper. 

 Its where we first met the barred owl the year we moved here. 

A flash of white in a tree, then she was perched on a 

branch near us - watching. Pasha saw her, too, as he 

rolled on the soft forest floor near the pond. I got up 

to move closer to him, just in case, but knowing he 

was much too big a critter for her. I thought that would 

be the end of our visit with the owl, but she didn't 

mind my movement at all. We sat, all three of us in the 

same, small circle of hemlocks for an hour. Me not 

wanting to lose a moment of encounter, Pasha hanging with 

me because that's what he does, and the owl because this is

her place, I guessed. She jumped around from limb to limb, 

focussed on the ground, and very little on us, until 

the blue jay came and pierced the silence with 

loud warning cries.  

Towering hemlocks hide all kinds of 

creatures, and only if we don't seem threatening, 

do we get a glimpse. Root systems

wrapped around stone ledges - dark 

hiding places everywhere. 

I took a slight detour on my usual path and found my 

drawings in the scars of an old tree. I thought of all the 

things you wrote in response to my drawings - 

time, tree time, finger prints, labyrinths, and suddenly 

you were all with me on my walk... you from Australia, 

England, Wales, Atlanta, South Africa, Canada - the whole 

world in the rings of a tree...

A tree shouting red through branches - 

releasing the fire of summer. 

Back in the clearing, 

only a small bit of wood left to stack. I stacked 

a cord one day and that got me over the hump. 

I'm waiting for a slow moment in my work-life to get

 back to fall tasks. I find comfort in a stocked shed and the 

clinking sound of well seasoned wood. I think 

the squirrels know what I mean.  

Mums dress up the front step, and the nicotiana is 

tall and hanging on until the first frost which the 

grocer said is coming this weekend. 

Our owl friend came to visit the other day, briefly.

I haven't had a good visit with her in years, so 

I was excited when I saw her perched in her spot 

in the dead hemlock. Folks say I should cut that tree 

down, but I know she likes it. 

She stayed until someone made a racket on the road 

with a loud truck. The moment she tucked in her head 

just so, I knew she would fly.... 

Wind, Water, Cloud-filled Skies and Rain

Though I am still thinking about tree rings, 

the spinning of time and spirals, 

life has taken me on other adventures. 

My last weeks of summer break started with well 

challenges. The above photo is what ended a 

week of very little water use in the house. 

Thank goodness for the privacy of many acres 

of forest.... what DO city folks do if their 

indoor facilities are not in service? 

After a summer with almost no rain, 

my twenty year old water pump decided it 

had had enough. Most of the plants in the vegetable 

bed had to be dug up in order for the small tractor 

to dig out my well. When the men and heavy 

equipment moved into the center of my 

garden, I did my best... 

which wasn't very good!

Once the work had finished, I still had to use the 

well sparingly and wait for the chlorine to flush out

before drinking. I've been visiting a friend up the street

to fill water bottles, and taking very short showers, 

but luckily I am no longer digging little holes in the 

forest floor to use as my outhouse. As of today, 

I think the water may be safe to drink again.... yipee!

And with the start of the school semester, it was days 

before I got into the garden to repair the damage 

caused by clumsy men's feet and the huge tractor wheels. 

Finally last weekend, I graded, re-edged, spread topsoil 

and copious amounts of mulch. In the house, 

I am speaking my gratitude to the water 

as it pours from my shower, and appreciating

the quiet click of the water pressure tank 

 that replaces loud growls 

and roars of the old pump.

sprial post along the trail at Moore State Park, Paxton, Mass

Out and about in the world of teaching, 

classes are in full swing, and two days a week 

I am pulled away from RavenWood and forced into 

much more social interaction than I've had all summer!

My class, Exploring the Natural World, visits numerous 

parks, farms and ponds to draw, photograph and collect 

materials for mixed-media work. 

 

Yesterday was a breezy, cool fall day for our drawing

trip to a nearby state park. I walked the "Enchanta" 

trail from the parking lot through the forest to the pond. 

Looking up, the damage from the ice storm a few years 

ago is still very evident and many piles of limbs and brush 

sat on the side of the trail. These higher elevations 

were severely damaged in the storm and what used to 

be a relatively thick stand of trees is now open and airy

because so many trees were so severely thinned. 

At the end of the trail, a lovely pond where I became 

obsessed with photographing the clouds reflected in 

the gently moving water. 

 

I was mesmerized by the undulating surface of 

the water and the changing patterns 

of clouds forms. 

       

        

I thought of Monet's huge water lilly series and found 

myself longing for a smooth wood panel and oil paint. 

On the way back along a road, 

I thought this tree was painted with orange. 

Upon closer inspection, I discovered that it 

was hollow and the blaze of orange was 

sunlight reflecting off the interior.

 

It was really quite magical....

a tree filled with late afternoon sunshine. 

Back at our meeting place, 

a stand of American Chestnut hybrids 

is growing nicely. I've been watching 

the progress of this important project 

for years now.  Most of the native 

American Chestnuts were killed by

 disease years ago. These trees 

are a hybrid with a European Chestnut, 

I believe, and finally this year look more 

like trees than small sticks with 

big ideas.  

I'm happy to report that while I write, 

the rhythm of raindrops taps away 

on the metal roof, the first serious rain 

in weeks! I am hopeful that the garden

might last a few more weeks now. I

haven't been able to water, and 

felt horrible watching things wilt and 

dry up. Thank goodness for 

cloud-filled skies

and

RAIN!