Winter Magic

Another month has come and gone and the Wheel of the Year is turning ever on. Alban Arthan was a magical time. I was fortunate to be able to lead a program about the Winter Solstice at the nature center, which more than 100 people attended. We made evergreen wreaths, beeswax candles and tiny Yule logs, people tried fire-by-friction and I told stories as the Green Man. The following days were filled with special memories, shared by family and friends.

Now, I am ready for snow. Except for a storm on Mackinac Island and some other parts of Northern Michigan (which we had to drive through), much of our State has been without snow all winter. I love snowshoeing and the soft, white blanket that covers Mother Earth this time of year. It muffles city sounds and reflects the light of the moon to guide my way. I need its cleansing power, to cover the dust and grime of a tired landscape and to illumine my soul. Every flake a miracle of nature, every snowdrift, sculpted by sharp winter winds, a beautiful piece of artwork. 

I also need to take the time to curl up in front of the woodstove with a cup of tea and a snowstorm raging outside. To delve into the Gwersi of my Bardic studies, to focus and reflect on the miracles and mysteries of the Earth Mother and all her creatures. 

Even without snow, I was fortunate to have several amazing encounters with some animals over the past couple of weeks. My brother and I spent three days searching for Snowy Owls. There have been a plethora of reports from across North America of this far northern species making their way south this winter. Finally, on our third day in misty rain and fog we spotted an owl, along a lonely country road, perched on the roof of a house! Further down the same road, we came across another sitting on a short power pole. 

At the Nature Center, a family of River Otters have also been spotted numerous times this past fall and early winter. We headed out to the pond one day and hiked around it. After finding many scat piles of fish scales, we finally spotted two otters who quickly swam away. Quietly making our way along the shore, we were lucky to see them both swimming and exploring holes of an old beaver lodge. One was especially curious about us and it chirruped and snuffed at us several times before disappearing into its hole. 

Finally, my family was lucky to see a Pileated Woodpecker along a road on Mackinac Island. Though I wasn't able to get close enough for a picture, I later discovered another along a trail, patiently working on a tree. These crow-sized woodpeckers are the largest in North America (if the Ivory-billed is extinct), and seeing one is always a special experience.

May your days ahead, wherever you are, be filled with the cleansing power of Nature. Whether it's a blanket of snow, the warm sun overhead, wind in the treetops or the burble of a stream, let the magic and mystery of the land soak into your soul and bring you peace. Now, I leave you with part of a delightful poem, by Claude McKay.

The Snow Fairy

Throughout the afternoon I watched them there, 

Snow-fairies falling, falling from the sky, 

Whirling fantastic in the misty air, 

Contending fierce for space supremacy. 

And they flew down a mightier force at night, 

As though in heaven there was revolt and riot, 

And they, frail things had taken panic flight 

Down to the calm earth seeking peace and quiet. 

I went to bed and rose at early dawn 

To see them huddled together in a heap, 

Each merged into the other upon the lawn, 

Worn out by the sharp struggle, fast asleep. 

The sun shone brightly on them half the day, 

By night they stealthily had stol'n away. 

Yours under the Snowy Oaks,

Skybranch /|\

The Quiet

It's been pretty quiet here at DruidUU lately and I can hardly believe it's been since mid-October that I posted last. Of course, not blogging means I was very busy in other areas of my life, as usually happens in the wonderful autumn season. Community theater, a busy work schedule and taking time to enjoy the wonders of the natural world have filled my days, weeks and nights over the past month and a half.

Just a couple of days ago we got our first official snowstorm of the upcoming winter season. The woods were simply covered in white and the sun shone the next day, leaving a thick, glistening and glorious blanket over every branch and twig. I've taken time to walk about three miles each of the past few days, camera and binoculars in hand. Doing so makes me realize how much I've been missing. While I've done some trips and led some outdoor programs at work, the daily routine of spending time outside just to soak everything in was left aside for a little while. That's a slippery slope, my friends. Too soon, you realize that weeks start slipping by, nature eases into a new season and you've missed something important.

The first snowstorm of the season

Sunrise was beautiful this morning and I saw two Bald Eagles before I even stepped foot inside my workplace. From my office window I saw another fly by, then on my walk I witnessed two sub-adults soaring overhead. To miss the eagles would have been a tragedy. Yes, they would have gone about their business and likely wouldn't have missed my appearance. But I certainly would have missed something grand, spiritual and meaningful. They gave me gifts, you see, but I had to be present in order to receive them.

My wish for you, Dear Reader, is that you take time (even if you have to steal just a few special moments) to receive the gifts that Mother Nature has to offer us. Snowflakes and eagles, otter tracks and feisty chickadees are gifts of peace for your soul. They are there for all of us, given freely without payment, if only we decide to pay attention.

Yours under the Snowy Oaks,

Skybranch /|\

Among the Michigan Pines (1885)

Working as an environmental historian for the past 16 years, I have come to develop a great love and respect for the magnificent, ancient forests of Michigan's past. If Druids of ancient times could have walked among the forest groves of North America, I'm certain they would have discovered great power, beauty, meaning and majesty here, nestled among the Great Lakes. After decades of lumbering in the late 19th century, only scattered remnants of uncut forests now remain, such as those at Hartwick Pines State Park and in the Porcupine Mountains wilderness area. But our woodlands have undergone tremendous regrowth over the past century. Today, you still experience amazing sights and sounds among the trees over millions of wooded acres. 

Recently, I discovered a series of nine articles which were originally published in 1885, in the Chicago weekly magazine The Current. Written by columnist Charles Ellis, of Boston, the publication has been scanned and may now be found on Google Books. In short, much of what Charles wrote simply blew me away. 

In the winter of 1883 or 1884, Charles Ellis decided to head to Michigan in order to view our vast forests before they were gone and to spend time in a lumber camp. Of his decision, he wrote, "...packing my trunk in the early winter, I turned my back upon dear old Boston and was whirled away to the famous land of the wolverines."  After spending a few days in Saginaw, he traveled by train “about 70 miles distant”, ending somewhere in the Saginaw Valley watershed, which flows right through the Nature Center where I work. Below is the fifth installment of his articles. I've cut a few pieces out and added some additional paragraph breaks so you can read it more easily. I know its long, but I hope you enjoy it as much as I have! The full series of articles can be found here. 

AMONG THE MICHIGAN PINES

V.

A PINE FOREST.

There is a peculiar solitude in a pine forest. Alone upon the shore, the restless break of the waves makes ceaseless voices that wake companion voices in the mind. Alone upon the sea, the incessant change of its surface, the splashing waves as your boat dashes across the wind, or the idle flap of her sails as she rises and falls to their lazy roll under the summer sun, load the flying hours with delightful dreams. But the pine forest is alone. Time was when here the scarce hunters found abundance of game where now I see and hear nothing, save when the wind blows by, and high overhead I hear its breath as it is torn by the needles through which it is driven. This, indeed, is a varied sound, for at times it seems like a gentle prolonged sigh, and again, like Niagara's roar; or breaking waves pounding upon rocky shores are not louder nor more wild. But when the air is still and you stand alone beneath the pines no other solitude can compare with it.

Above, below, all peace!

Silence and solitude, the soul's best friends.
Are with me here, and the tumultuous world
Makes no more noise than the remotest planet.

The tall, dark columns all around you, the darker ceiling of the darker branches intermingling and blinding the sky above you, the utter absence of living things within range of your strained vision, all conspire to excite a sensation so new that you do not understand it for a time. I can almost understand, as it seems to me, how the ancients came to people forests with imaginary life; for as I look around me among the silent trunks, I feel the ancient impulse burning in my veins, and half expect to see elf or dryad beckoning me away. The silence excites imagination in her recesses and the Old becomes New; Ancient is Modern; I am a Pagan, like my ancestors, and at home. I become familiar with the trees. They know me and seem to shake hands. I am welcome among them. They tell me of the past. The inroad that civilization is making upon these grand old trees seems almost like sacrilege and murder; yet saved they cannot be... 

I recall a memorable ride among the pines. One day a foreman invited me to ride with him to a camp some fifteen miles away, and I gladly accepted the opportunity. Nine miles of the ride led through what might strictly be termed "unbroken wilderness," if such a thing can be found. Here and there was a small opening, where the pine had been cut and the brush burned, and there were two or three of these spots where courageous men had set to work to make farms. It seemed to me as if they might as well have gone to work to make a new earth! But what made hard farming made a most sublime picture to one unto whom the pine forest was a new revelation.

For miles we drove in and out along a narrow road with the trees so close that it required the strictest attention of our sylvan Jehu to carry us through without collision. As far as I could see across the snow, that lay smooth and unwrinkled like a spotless counterpane, rose the fair round columns of pine. Throwing back the head, one saw the branches reaching out to one another far overhead, interlacing and crowding to form a dark green canopy through which there fell occasional glimpses of a sky that seemed to rest upon the trees. The prevailing color is like a soft twilight that seems to express itself psychologically as Silence, but the monotony is agreeably lit up here and there by the reddish bark of the beautiful Norway pine.

The hard-wood growth is chiefly beech which, with its smooth, steel-colored bark, mottled with patches of green moss, gives a quiet variety and tone to the picture. The undergrowth (there is no "under-brush," as in a New England forest,) is also chiefly of young beeches that, as seen from the road, appear to be from six to twenty or thirty feet high. The beech is the most beautiful of our forest trees when stripped of foliage, as they are now, and when only their skeleton graces woo our admiration. As this tree grows here, among these tall, closely-standing pines, with but little sunlight ever falling upon it, and without hope of any, or of a glimpse of the world, unless it can push its head up through the dark roof that imprisons it, the beech seems to have set itself earnestly to the work of growing tall.

Sheltered from all winds it does not need strength, and so appears to be giving its whole attention to the development of delicacy, grace, and beauty of trunk and limb. Its lithe arms taper out from the shoulder long and beautiful, gradually dwindling to a pretty brown bud so finely pointed as to suggest the thought that the beeches might be running opposition to the pines in the production of needles. Every lesser branch, too, of every larger branch has its subordinate branches and twigs, and they all taper down in the same exquisitely graceful way to a beautiful brown bud. This undergrowth, standing everywhere through the forest, reaches out its long, slender branches in every direction until they mingle, touch, cross and interweave in all possible angles, curves and inclinations.

On every branch, twig and spray hang thousands of the dead, rust-colored needles that have fallen from the pine, and there form a seemingly intangible fringe of color. Looked at from a distance of a few rods, or as the picture deepens away from you into the background, it seems like nothing so much as an immense but strangely beautiful veil, the effect of which is to soften and tone down the heavy, dark figures of the pine that seem to stand behind it, while in fact they are in the midst of it everywhere. This vision begins and ends with the dense forest. Shut your eyes and open them upon the same spot again and again, you cannot be certain that you have ever seen the picture before, that while you even winked the scene was not changed. No whirling kaleidoscope ever presented a more varied picture of material always the same than does this silent panorama of the wilderness. As I saw it first it seemed to me that nothing could be added to it, that nothing could be more beautiful, and yet it was wholly void of speck or point of gaudy coloring, and no sign of living thing could be seen save in our own company.

Not even a ray of sunlight glinted through it, for the sky was overcast with clouds that portended a storm. Indeed, while we were in camp it came on. As we returned in the afternoon over the same road I saw that there had been a transformation. The snow had sifted down through the pine boughs, and in the still air had settled upon and covered every branch and twig of my fancied veil and converted it into the loveliest white gossamer that ever hung in midair. I knew that the scene had not been really changed, I knew that I had driven through and looked over all that same ground only a few hours before, but another factor had been added, that was all, and the effect was marvelous indeed!

Nothing could have been finer. I have seen a quite similar effect produced by a heavy frost under which, in the early morning, the forest everywhere looked as if a great gauze veil had fallen upon it; but in that picture the frost crystals, standing so much more loosely, show a darker color and less clearly defined lines than are given by the snow, which falls more compactly. So, of the picture, I repeat that nothing could be finer or more beautiful; and nothing like it will ever be seen save in just such a forest under similar conditions. No canvas can ever be made to show it, for no artist can ever carry its magnitude away with him. The trees are too tall, the vistas too deep, the perspective too far, to be manipulated on canvas. Nature defied Art when she built this magnificent forest of pine. Looked at from the outside and seen from a distance, such a forest seems like a belt of night bound around the waist of day. Looked at from within, it seems almost to be a community of individual, though mute, lives. The Pines are "daughters of the gods,"

Divinely fair,
And most divinely tall!

So sings my soul, and I, nothing loth, have found at their pagan shrine, if not the peace, at least a piece of Heaven.

-Charles Ellis

Summer's End

Another month has past and summer has now come to an end. The autumnal equinox is nearly here and a new chapter of the year is about to begin. Autumn is my favorite time of the year and I already have greatly enjoyed the crisp air, the turning leaves and the rich smells of the Earth as it begins to prepare for its Winter rest. 

Since my canoeing retreat in August, I have returned to the "real world" and have been very busy, indeed. As time has passed in a flurry of activity, I've still made time for the materials sent by the Order of Bards, Ovates and Druids (OBOD) each month in my training course for the Bardic Grade and still find them full of meaning, insight and inspiration. 

Today, I set up a small altar on a shelf in my room and have made preparations to lead the Alban Elfed ritual for the Ancient Shores Chapter of the Covenant of Unitarian Universalist Pagans. The rite will be performed on Sunday and and I hope the weather holds and we are able to gather in the lawn under the sky, among the trees. 

The major piece of the puzzle that eludes me so far is the formation of a daily routine which includes time for Druid meditation, ritual, and reflection. I am just so busy, especially with work and volunteer commitments, in addition to many ongoing family responsibilities that fill up daily life for so many of us. It seems that early morning might be a good time, but I am such a night owl and I've always found it difficult to arise with the sun (or before). Oh well...I fit things in the best I can for now and will continue to figure out a balance. Isn't that what we all must do always, each in our own way? Autumn has always been a natural time of reflection for me. It's time to pause, soak in the amazing beauty of the season with all my senses and make plans for the cold, quiet months to come. 

Tomorrow, I will perform a solo ritual to celebrate the changing season and finish preparations for the group ritual on Sunday. I am also getting ready to head back up North next weekend, this time leading a group for a wilderness adventure on slow-moving rivers, winding through changing forests as flocks of migrating birds fly overhead. 

In the meantime, I will see you, dear readers, along the trail, on the river and in the Sacred Grove. 

Yours under the Changing Oaks, 

Skybranch /|\

August Reflections

In my last post, I said my intention was to investigate the "Druids performing human sacrifice" question I received after I read my credo statement to our Unitarian Universalist congregation in July. After thinking  about it and even writing some, I decided it was simply not worth giving any more energy to, so I'm not going to expound about it after all. Even if Druids did perform human sacrifice as their culture and way of life was being systematically wiped out by the Romans, they certainly don't do it any more. And it has never, in my wildest dreams, been my intention to follow a reconstructionist form of Druidry that simply imitates the religion of an ancient past. Enough said. It's time to move on. And move on, I have.

This summer, I enrolled in the training course for the Bardic Grade of the Order of Bards, Ovates and Druids. Since mid-June, I have completed ten Gwersi, or lessons, and have found them to be informative, inspiring and enlightening. Suggestions for meditation, creating sacred space, and lessons on Celtic history and mythology have helped create a framework around which I can focus on a spiritual practice that is alive and very connected to the Earth and the web of all life.

This month I also had the opportunity to put my solo canoe on my car and head to Michigan's Upper Peninsula to do some paddling in preparation for a group trip I am leading at the end of September. The weather was fabulous and I was very much alone on wide open lakes and a meandering river, deep in the forest near Whitefish Point. I watched as two ospreys fished in the lake, splashing down with  tremendous splashes of water. As I was annoyed by flies at one point on the trip, I sang a little dragonfly song and (coincidence or not) had this large, amazing dragonfly hover right next to me, then alight on the front of my canoe, where some pesky flies had been hanging out!

I was able to study and meditate in my tent as ferocious thunderstorms raged outside, bringing the power of Nature very up-close and personal in a way many people miss out on while they are shut up in their houses, office buildings and automobiles.

Such days away are nothing less than a spiritual retreat for me, when I can recharge my batteries, connect in deep ways to the mysteries of all life, and let my flow and pace match the rhythms of nature. When I enter back into my busy schedule of "normal life", I keep these feelings and memories alive in my heart and draw upon their strength and energies for months to come.

May you, dear reader, also find such peace and connection in your life, whether it's in the backyard garden, under a sacred oak, or deep in a forest far from home.

Yours under the Sacred Oaks,

Skybranch

What I Believe

There is a tradition at our Unitarian Universalist Fellowship which invites people to share their credo statements with the congregation. As Unitarian Universalism and Druidry are both non-creedal paths, the responsibility for forming our beliefs lies with ourselves. Below is the statement I read before our congregation today. Without further ado, here it is:

The last time I stood before this congregation to read my credo statement was nearly three years ago, in October 2008. Only in a Unitarian Universalist congregation would I have the opportunity to share my beliefs again after some time has passed with any thought in the world that they might be different from before. I think it’s just wonderful that we have such opportunities to support each other in our search for truth and meaning as we grow and change together through the years.

So, after reviewing my credo from 2008, have things changed? I realize that some of you might not have been here last time and even if you were, you might not remember what I had to say (I doubt it’s tacked up on your refrigerator). As that’s the case, here is a review of my statement from three years ago:

I believe all living things are strands on the web of life. Trees, birds, insects, snakes, fish, amoebae and people share a spark of life that is sacred, wondrous and holy. We’re made of stardust and water – we live, we love, we die. And that’s it.

What we choose to do with the time we have will, in part, determine our future as a species on planet Earth. Only time will tell if Mother Nature’s experiment with “big brains” will work out. If people finally manufacture our own demise (and take a whole host of other species down with us), life will eventually find a way to persist, in some fashion, beyond humanity. Earth was not made “for us” by some omniscient, other-worldly God, any more than it was made “for” dinosaurs, pitcher plants or mastodons.

Big Two-Hearted River in Michigan's Upper Peninsula

I feel most intimately connected to the web of all life in natural places that are relatively unscarred by human hands. And I make it a point to seek out these places as often as possible, to reflect, connect, and renew my spirit. Sometimes in the wilderness, the persistent mental chattering of my mind slowly fades, like ripples on the surface of a lake receding to leave a perfect, mirrored pool. When I slow down, remember to breathe and pay attention to the world around me, I find my still mind acts not only like a mirror, but like a lens through which I can glimpse the depths of the universe.

I believe that most people pay precious little attention to the world around them. Bills, money, politics, hairstyles, cell phones, and other random minutiae consume our lives so completely we feel empty – cut off from the rest of nature and from our very own humanity. When I truly pay attention to others; when I listen, laugh, share and love, I begin to understand how inextricably connected we really are.

Life is constantly changing, flowing and growing. What never changes is our inherent dependence on one another. I believe the best way to live my life is in a way that honors the deep, fundamental connections between all things. Sometimes I forget, stumble or fail. But always trying again may be the most important thing I ever do.

Well, that’s pretty good. Not too much has really changed for me in the past three years as far as my beliefs are concerned. I must admit, I do have some doubts about the cheery, “we all die and that’s it” part. More and more, it seems to me that our fundamental spark continues on in some way. Transforming into something else maybe or merging with the energy of the universe. I guess we’ll all find out what really happens someday (or maybe not).

Symbol of Awen and of the
Order of Bards, Ovates and Druids

What has changed the most for me in the past few years is my discovery of the path of Druidry. Yes, I just said the word Druid. I’m not talking about the same priestly class of ancient Britain recounted by Julius Caesar, but a Druid tradition that honors the past, but is very alive and well in the present.

As you can tell from my statements above, my spirituality has always been strongly rooted in a connection with the natural world. Since discovering Unitarian Universalism fifteen years ago, I have appreciated that many UUs share this point of view and that our seventh principle recognizes a “respect for the interdependent web of life, of which we are a part”. But for me, much of Unitarian Universalism has still seemed too rooted in the humanistic, rational world which discounts magic, mystery, the unknown and the unexplainable. Something in me has yearned for something more. As Philip Carr-Gomm writes, “Only one aspect of our Being grows and is satisfied by the purely rational...Another great part of ourselves needs the nourishment of the trans-rational - the aesthetic, poetic, mythic sides of life that cannot fully be explained or described by the mind." 

At this point, I’ll refrain from my credo turning into a lesson on neo-paganism and the path of Druidry, but I will say this. Connecting with others in this Fellowship in our Ancient Shores chapter of the Covenant of Unitarian Universalist Pagans (or CUUPS) and in a broader sense, to Druids all over the world in the Ancient Order of Druids in America and in the Order of Bards, Ovates and Druids has been an immensely rewarding experience. Currently, I am enrolled in the training program of the Bardic Grade of the Order of Bards, Ovates, and Druids, which is based in Sussex, England. Each lesson, each reading, exercise and mediation has been like flinging open doors and windows of possibility – new, amazing ways to appreciate the magic and wonder of all life all around us.

As part of this experience, I’ve been keeping a blog, entitled DruidUU. A video I created is even featured online on the home page of the Order of Bards, Ovates and Druids, which is the largest Druid organization in the world. In my latest blog post, I wrote the following:

We are starstuff. Billions of molecules of vibrating energy, spinning electrons, protons, neutrons... All things are the same, really, "on Earth, as it is in heaven." We are not only connected to each other, as humans living on Mother Earth, but intimately connected to every other animal, plant, lichen, rock, droplet of water and gust of wind that blows. And when our short time is done here in this physical form, our energies don't simply disappear or fade away, they transform, connecting even more deeply to the whole that is everything, eternal, always.

No matter if you call it God, Goddess, Great Spirit, Yahweh, Allah, Awen, Buddha, Tao or any other name. Names do not matter. Everything matters. We are all connected. And we destroy any being, any mountain, any rock or river at the peril of All. We are caretakers, we are Wise Ones, watchers and protectors, spreading peace and harmony throughout the land, the sea, the sky and into the heavens.

Let the Inspiration of the Awen fill us up with imagination, creativity and love for all things, for all life and for each other. All of us, always.

Luminous beings are we...and we are ever so good at hiding the light. But still it refuses to go out. Wake up from the dream. Let your light shine!

After today's service, I received many wonderful compliments and warm remarks about my credo. The most touching was from someone who said, "You are our poet." What a lovely sentiment for someone who is in a bardic training course! 

In my next post, I'll share some thoughts and feelings about someone else's comment. He said, "Didn't Druids perform human sacrifice? Are we going to have one here?" While I'm sure he was trying to be funny, there are some underlying issues there I'd like to explore. Until next time, my friends, be well and let your lights shine! 

Yours under the Sacred Oaks,

Skybranch /|\

The Light Body

"Luminous beings are we, not this crude matter!" - Master Yoda

We are starstuff. Billions of molecules of vibrating energy, spinning electrons, protons, neutrons... All things are the same, really, "on Earth, as it is in heaven." We are not only connected to each other, as humans living on Mother Earth, but intimately connected to every other animal, plant, lichen, rock, droplet of water and gust of wind that blows. And when our short time is done here in this physical form, our energies don't simply disappear or fade away, they transform, connecting even more deeply to the whole that is everything, eternal, always.

No matter if you you call it God, Goddess, Great Spirit, Yahweh, Allah, Awen, Buddha, Tao or any other name. Names do not matter. Everything matters. We are all connected. And we destroy any being, any mountain, any rock or river at the peril of All. We are caretakers, we are Wise Ones, watchers and protectors, spreading peace and harmony throughout the land, the sea, the sky and into the heavens.

Let the Inspiration of the Awen fill us up with imagination, creativity and love for all things, for all life and for each other. All of us, always.

Luminous beings are we...and we are ever so good at hiding the light. But still it refuses to go out. Wake up from the dream. Let your light shine!

Yours under the sacred oaks,

Skybranch /|\

Pagan Values of a Druid UU

I'm flying in right at the end of the 3rd Annual Pagan Values Blogging and Podcasting Month. Truth is, I've started this post several times and have never been happy with the results. Being a Druid UU, my intention has been to fully examine Unitarian Universalist Principles and compare them to those expressed by my teachers in Druidry and my own inner voice. But each time I started I got bogged down in the details, winding down tangled, lengthy paths of words that confused things more than they brought clarity.

The past couple of weeks have actually been one of amazing transformation for me - of new beginnings. While I have explored the path of Druidry for the past two years now, I have recently taken a new step on my journey. Yesterday, I completed my initiation into the Bardic Grade of the Order of Bards, Ovates and Druids (OBOD).

In taking this step, I have come to realize the source of my writers' block in regards to my Blogging Month entry. It was too complex, too rational and intellectual and ultimately emanating from my head and not my heart. As Philip Carr-Gomm writes, "Only one aspect of our Being grows and is satisfied by the purely rational...Another great part of ourselves needs the nourishment of the trans-rational - the aesthetic, poetic, mythic sides of life that cannot fully be explained or described by the mind."

And THAT, I feel is the real difference between Unitarian Universalist and Pagan Values. While they share many similarities, a great majority of UUs have wrapped themselves so tightly in the blanket of reason, intellect and logic that there is no room for the mystical, magical and unexplained. And while their last stated principle is "Respect for the interdependent web of all existence of which we are a part," the Druid in me strongly believes this doesn't go far enough. In my experience, Pagan Values would place this as their first value or principle (not the last) and also word it differently. Instead, it should read something like, "Reverence for the interdependent web of all existences of which we are a part." 

So here it is, my 11th hour entry for the 3rd Annual International Pagan Values Blogging and Podcasting Month. May your path, wherever it leads, be filled with mystery, wonder and intimate connection to our glorious Mother Earth and the lovely universe in which she spins. 

Yours under the Sacred Oaks, 

Skybranch /|\

Another Step Down the Path

While I've explored the path of Druidry for the past two years now, I have primarily utilized resources provided by the Ancient Order of Druids in America (AODA) and joined the organization as a Druid Candidate. As time went on, I continued to read and absorb ideas and inspiration from other sources, notably several excellent books by Philip Carr-Gomm and music by Damh the Bard. Over the past couple of years, I had resisted becoming a member of the Order of Bards, Ovates and Druids (OBOD) for a couple of reasons. The primary reason was that OBOD was based in Britain and I felt a desire to grow my spirituality down the Druid Path on a very local level. The tree and animal lore of another continent, for example, doesn't tug at my spirit in the same way that the plants and wild creatures of my native Michigan do. The second was a more practical matter - cost. While the full training course offered by OBOD provides a much more structured system of instruction on a regular basis throughout the year than that provided by the AODA, it obviously cannot be provided for free. 

Canada Goose swimming on the Chippewa River

But I continued to find myself dabbling...drifting in and out of the Druid mysteries and struggling to maintain a more disciplined routine of study. I simply wasn't exploring the history, lore and resources of Druidry to the full depth which I really desired. I get busy and tend to let things slip. I needed more guidance on the path. 

Then, things began to fall into place that seemed just too good to be mere coincidence. First, I received an email out of the blue from Philip asking if he could use the video I produced on the Seven Gifts of Druidry for the OBOD home page. (I was thrilled and said YES!) And then just a few weeks ago, I had the amazing chance to meet Damh the Bard at the Michigan Pagan Festival. Not only did I not realize that Dave would be performing until the morning of his performance (thank you Facebook!) I hadn't even known about the festival in advance. Best of all, Dave knew about my video and was simply an amazing performer and all-around wonderful person. 

I finally woke up, realizing the Universe was telling me something. Instead of just waiting to "accidentally" run into all the other leaders of the Order, it seems it was time to dig a little deeper.

While sitting in my hotel room the other week, smack in the middle of the beautiful, rolling hills of West Virginia, I finally decided it was time for me to take another step forward down the path. And just the other day, I received my welcome packet from OBOD with an invitation to join the Order and undertake their course of study in the Bardic Grade. Much to my surprise and delight, when I opened the first page of the first booklet, I found this poem by Mary Oliver, which I had already typed into a new blog post in my attempt to express my values as a Druid UU. 

Wild Geese by Mary Oliver

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting. 

You only have to let the soft animal of your body

Canada Geese fly along the Dead Stream in the middle of Michigan's mitten.

love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting--
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

So here I am. Continuing my winding journey toward understanding and connection with the natural world, my sense of place, people around me, and the long heritage of those gone before. As Mary Oliver states above, "Whoever you are, no matter how lonely, the world offers itself to your imagination..." 

It's time to accept the invitation.

A meeting with the Bard

Since discovering the path of Druidry two years ago, I have felt blessed by the wisdom, guidance and inspiration of many teachers. In this particular case, mind you, I'm not referring to those with four legs, wings, compound eyes, leaves, branches or petals. This time I'm talking about those of my own species, particularly some who have taken time to write books, essays, poems and music to ponder, absorb and ultimately live by. Three individuals, in particular, stand out as my main sources of information and inspiration so far. They are, Philip Carr-Gomm, John Michael Greer, and Damh the Bard. 

If you follow the path of Druidry yourself, I'm sure these names will be of little surprise to you. Philip Carr-Gomm is currently the Chief of the Order of Bards, Ovates and Druids (OBOD). He is the author of many articles, essays, podcasts and books, including The Druid Mysteries and The Druid Way, and is co-author of the Druid Animal Oracle and editor of The Rebirth of Druidry and The Book of Druidry. 

John Michael Greer hails from this side of the pond and is currently the Grand Archdruid of the Ancient Order of Druids in America (AODA). He has also authored many books, articles, essays and more. Most particularly relating to Druidry are his excellent resources entitled The Druidry Handbook and The Druid Magic Handbook. He also keeps an active blog entitled The Archdruid Report. 

When it comes to pure inspiration, beauty and foot-tapping rhythms, however, neither Philip nor John Michael can hold a candle to Damh the Bard. On his website, www.paganmusic.co.uk, Damh (pronounced Dave), describes himself as follows: 

Damh is a modern-day Bard whose spirituality, and love of folk tradition, is expressed through his music, storytelling and poetry. Drawing on the Bardic traditions his performances are both entertaining and educational, weaving a tapestry of myth, peace, and anthems that speak directly to the heart, but never without a good splash of humour. Damh is a musical storyteller who works within the world of myth that cannot be proved; where the Faerie really do dance on Midsummer's Eve, where the trees talk, and the Hollow Hills take you into the realms of Annwn. Where the Goddess rides her horse, guiding you to magic, and the Horned God of old calls us from the shadows of the Greenwood. So relax, and let the music take you there.

Simply put, Damh's music has touched my soul as few other musicians or poets ever have. A true storyteller, he weaves a spell upon the listener, transporting us back to ancient times or simply to a new perspective in the modern day. He also currently serves as Pendragon of OBOD and keeps busy with a variety of performances and projects, such as The Spirit of Albion - the movie, which is currently being produced based on his music. 

But alas, this folk musician lives on the "wrong side" of the pond and I accepted the fact it would be highly unlikely (if not impossible) for me to ever catch his act live in person. But yesterday, when browsing Facebook, I was amazed to discover he would be performing at the Michigan Pagan Festival that evening! A quick look and I discovered that the Fest was just two hours from my home and I swiftly made plans to drive down and see the show. 

I'm happy to report that Damh the Bard delivered an amazing performance, even surpassing my already high hopes for the evening. In a pole barn at a county fairgrounds, with driving rain pounding on the sheet metal roof, the spirit and energy of the Gods and Goddesses, Mother Earth and the Blessed Community of Humanity filled that room to the point of overflowing. We cheered and sang along, clapped our hands, stomped our feet, got up to dance and even howled like animals in the night. And when the last song was sung, we all stood together, arms around each other, singing and swaying to the music. It was a blessed experience I'll remember and cherish always. 

Thank you so much, Damh, for making a stop in the Great Lakes State and sharing so much with us. Your gifts of story and music truly make a positive difference for many of us throughout this crazy world of ours. I'll cherish your CDs and signatures, smiles, kind words and (sweaty) hugs and look forward until the time when we shall meet again. Blessed Be. 

Kyle (Skybranch)  /|\

What is a "Druid UU"?

Bleeding Tooth fungus on Michigan's
Isle Royale National Park

I've entitled this blog Druid UU to best reflect the religious path I am traveling and the source of my spiritual inspiration. Modern Druidry means many different things to different people and is a highly personal spiritual path. Respect and worship of the divine in nature is a common thread for most of us, as is reverence for our ancestors. Awen's Light Grove, a chapter of the Order of Bards, Ovates and Druids explains: 


"One of the most striking characteristics of Druidism is the degree to which it is free of dogma and any fixed set of beliefs or practices. In this way it manages to offer a spiritual path, and a way of being in the world that avoids many of the problems of intolerance and sectarianism that the established religions have encountered."

If a Unitarian Universalist were to read the above paragraph with the words "Unitarian Universalism" in place of the word "Druidism" they would never know the difference! In many ways, the two are remarkably similar approaches to spirituality and religion. The Unitarian Universalist Association (UUA) website explains:

"Unitarian Universalism is a liberal religion that embraces theological diversity...While our congregations uphold shared principles, individual Unitarian Universalists may discern their own beliefs about theological issues. As there is no official Unitarian Universalist creed, Unitarian Universalists are free to search for truth on many paths."

Water Communion UU Chalice

Especially in the days before the internet, Unitarian Universalism has been quite a well-kept secret in most communities. Our denomination is a small one compared to other mainline religions -  we usually fall into the "other" category on polls and surveys about religion in America. Currently, there are about 200,000 UU's in the United States, with about one in every 1,300 people belonging to a UU church or fellowship. As an entity, Unitarian Universalism itself was officially formed in 1961 with the merging of the American Unitarian Association and the Universalist Church of America. 

Modern Druidry (or Druidism) is less well organized as a whole than Unitarian Universalism. Many groups exist, such as the Order of Bards, Ovates and Druids, the Ancient Order of Druids in America and Ár nDraíocht Féin: A Druid Fellowship (to name a the larger ones). According to the American Religious Identification Survey (ARIS) there were 134,000 Pagans, 130,000 Wiccans, and 33,000 Druids in the United States (as of their most recent survey in 2001.) With over 311 million people in the  United States the chances of running into a Druid on the streets (or in the forest) is a slim one!

[As a side note, ARIS figures on Unitarian Universalism are about twice as big as the UUA's own figures, because official UU numbers only report active, contributing members. Information on survey results and methodology is available at: http://www.gc.cuny.edu/faculty/research_briefs/aris/key_findings.htm]

Identifying myself as a Druid UU, I have become quite comfortable falling squarely into the "other" category of modern religion. As such, I am a member of the Unitarian Universalist Fellowship of Midland, Michigan and also a member of the Ancient Order of Druids in America. I find inspiration and wisdom from the trees and animals of the forest, written works of prophetic men and women and even from the realms of Star Wars and the Lord of the Rings.

It's not easy being "other" sometimes. But I have discovered kindred spirits in the plants and animals of  the forest field and a family of Unitarian Universalists who share in a quest for truth and meaning, even if we don't all believe the same things or share the same opinions.  

Next time, I'll dig deeper into the shared principles of the Unitarian Universalist Association. Learning from each other is one of the best gifts we can share on this wonderful journey of life. Thank you, dear reader, for sharing the journey with me.

Blessed Be,

Skybranch /|\

"We"

Today at our UU Fellowship we read the litany "We" by Rev. Joy Atkinson. I found it powerful and uplifting, an excellent example of why I have chosen to walk the UU path.

The womb of stars embraces us;
Remnants of their fiery furnaces pulse through our veins.

We are of the stars,
the dust of the explosions
cast across space.

We are of the earth:
We breathe and live in the breath
of ancient plants and beasts.

Their cells nourish the soil;
We build our communities
of their harvest of gifts.

Our fingers trace the curves
carved in clay and stone
by forebearers unknown to us.

We are a part of the great circle of humanity
gathered around the fire, the hearth, the altar.

We gather anew this day
to celebrate our common heritage,
may we recall in gratitude all that has given us birth.

Slowly the Wheel Turns

Spring is slow in returning to the Great Lakes State this year. Today is April 5 and it snowed this morning. At the same time, the rivers are rising and are cresting just above flood stage as I write this post. Small snow piles still dot the edges of driveways and big, dirty masses line the edge of parking lots.

I'm glad for the flood this year. For a while, it looked like this spring rite of passage would pass us by this time. The rivers melted slowly and the ice did not break in spectacular fashion as it often does, bashing into trees as it makes its noisy way downstream. But spring rains and melting snows finally did their job and rising waters will wash the riverbanks clean, ready for new growth as the sun returns to the land.

I can't help but think we need the cleansing power of nature, such as the floods in spring, to help us wash away our doubts and insecurities, pain and grief that builds up within us. Words sting, people pass away or leave our lives like ships passing through the night. But Nature heals, brings new growth, fresh possibilities and never-ending promise for a new day.

Tomorrow, I will watch the swollen rivers flow and feel the spring gifts of the Spirit-that-moves-in-all-things. Maybe I'll watch a flower shoot slowly poking its way through the soil or the last maple sap of the year dripping from a tree. And I will take a deep breath, feel the breeze in my hair and be thankful for a new day with new possibilities.

See you in the Woods,

Skybranch /|\

Signs of Spring

Canada Geese returning to their nesting grounds.

In spite of what the groundhog saw (or didn't see) in February, signs of spring are slow coming to the Great Lakes State this year. Snow is finally giving way to patches of grass in the yard and sap is starting to flow in the maple trees!

Syrup season is always a glorious time of year in Michigan. The first spring birds appear, cardinals and chickadees start to sing and goldfinches begin molting into their golden yellow feathers of summer. Snowshoeing and skiing are done until next winter and soon mud season will be upon us. What a wonderful time of the year, when life returns to the land!

I think what I begin to miss most as old man winter drags his feet are the sounds and smells of nature in all her life-filled splendor. In many ways, we're lulled into a restless sleep as winter weeks tick slowly by. The air is cold and dry and skies are quiet, unless the winter wind is whipping bare branches to and fro or sighing through the pines.

Water begins to flow as ice melts on the Dead Stream

Now it's time to delight as the sun returns to fill our days with warmth! Smell the soil beneath your feet as the ground thaws and the first spring flowers begin to poke their heads through the earth. Listen to the birds! Canada Geese and Sandhill Cranes are honking and squawking as they fly northward overhead. In your backyard or in the park down the street, chickadees, blue jays, cardinals and robins chirp and tweet as they find their mates and choose their nesting sites for the breeding season soon to come.

Hug a tree! So much is going on in the forest. Sap rushes upward from root to branch, sending life-giving energy to the tip of every twig where buds patiently wait to send forth new leaves. The entire woodland ecosystem is connected with energy beneath our feet as roots, fungi and wee beasties move back and forth, chatting in complex relationships we hardly understand.

Yes, it's bound to be sloppy out on the trail and we're sure to have gray days of rain and cold spells here and there. But the miracle of spring life returning to the world only comes once a year and lasts but a few short weeks. Before too long, our northern forests will be filled with green leaves on every tree and we'll hardly recall these glorious days of transition when everything is literally changing before our eyes. So get outside before you miss it! Mud washes off and a warm cup of tea awaits the weary traveler at the end of the road.

Spring is nearly upon us. Where is your place in the interconnected web of all existence? Can you see the strands of living energy all around? Can you hear the pipes of Pan?

See you in the woods,

Skybranch /|\

Druid UU Video

So far, I've only created one little video about Druidry and have posted it on my YouTube channel. It's an introduction to the Seven Gifts of Druidry, as expressed by Philip Carr-Gomm in his fine book, Druid Mysteries: Ancient Wisdom for the 21st Century. While summarizing his seven points, I put together a series of photos that help me visualize the connections expressed in the Seven Gifts. As I'm from Michigan, most of the images are ones I've taken in the woods and waters of the Great Lakes State, with a variety of others sprinkled in as well.

Imagine my surprise the other day when I received an email from Philip himself asking if he could post my video on the Order of Bards, Ovates and Druids website and on his blog. Amazingly enough, you can view it there now if you check out their home page at www.druidry.org. 

While not currently an OBOD member, I certainly have found a great deal of inspiration and insight from their online and written materials and am happy to make this connection. Hopefully my little production, especially the images of the natural splendor of Michigan, help inspire others to connect with nature in whatever ways they find meaningful. After all, if each of us were to find even a few special connections to the plants and animals around us, the world would be such a cleaner, happier, healthier and more peaceful place!

As winter s-l-o-w-l-y turns to spring, I hope you fully enjoy and appreciate the changing season in this special time of year. Peace be with you and blessed be!

- Skybranch /|\

In the Cold of Winter

After starting out with a flurry of activity, looks like DruidUU has settled into a once-a-month posting pattern this winter. I'm sure things will pick up around here as things change in the future, but that's just the way life is right now!

In case you haven't seen it yet, the Order of Bards, Ovates and Druids recently published this video on their YouTube page that introduces viewers to their Order and its work. It's a high-quality production that is certainly worth checking out!

I held a small, but nice Alban Arthan ritual for the Winter Solstice at the Unitarian Universalist Fellowship, but due to scheduling conflicts, my Imbolc ritual will just take place in a solitary fashion here at home. I've enjoyed sharing Druidry with those in our Ancient Shores Chapter of the Covenant of Unitarian Universalist Pagans and will miss the community aspect of the coming holiday!

Best wishes to all of you as the coldest days of winter settle in for a spell. May you find rest and inspiration in this quiet and beautiful time of the year. The cardinals have already started singing at my house as they reaffirm their life-long bond in preparation for spring!

-Skybranch /|\

Since Samhuinn

Well, it's been just about a month since my last post on this blog and so very much has happened.

First of all, my grandmother, June Grubbs passed away on November 9th. She was my last grandparent and a very kind and sweet woman. My middle name, William, is after her father and he was the only great-grandparent I ever knew, passing away in 1973. Will wrote a scrapbook for his family which included a great deal of family history in addition to the story of his own remarkable life, growing up on a small farm in Michigan's Thumb, going to college and earning a Master's Degree and becoming a teacher and superintendent of schools. My interest in history and genealogy grew very strong through these amazing relatives of mine. Grandma June, "Nana", will be missed by many very much.

Leaves have fallen, the calendar of the year is coming to a close and family life has been very busy this time of year. Unfortunately, that has left little time for further druidry studies, reading or daily meditation. This often seems to happen to me as the year goes on. While I continue to take walks in the woods nearly every day, teach others about nature and feel a strong spiritual connection to the Spirit-that-moves-in-all-things, my devotion to a course of study wanes. We'll see what happens as the year goes on. I believe that Druidry has much to offer me and the world and I feel grateful it's a part of my life.

The path is winding and long. So I'll grab my walking stick, open the door and step outside...

See you on the trail,

Skybranch /|\

Invocation of the Ancestors

A raft of tamarack needles floats on the Peshekee River
in Michigan's Upper Peninsula 

This Samhuinn, I led a Druid-based ritual for five other members of the CUUPS Group at the Unitarian Universalist Fellowship where I've been a member since 1997. In case you're not familiar, CUUPS stands for the Covenant of Unitarian Universalist Pagans and a group of us formed a local chapter, called Ancient Shores CUUPS, about a year and a half ago. (I'll write more about CUUPS in later posts.)

While much of my ritual was based on suggestions from The Druidry Handbook, by John Michael Greer, I also felt something extra was needed to complete the ceremony under our little grove of pines. What I came up with is something I call the "Invocation of the Ancestors" and I thought I'd share it with you here.

"As we receive the gifts of the Earth Mother and the Goddess at Samhuinn, when the veil between the worlds is thin, so too can we feel our ever-present ancestors, who may be gone from this world, but are with us, always. Through their courage and sacrifice, joy, laughter and pain, this world has been shaped for us to live in.  Indeed, our lives are the very real result of their everlasting love.

Druids know there is power in the sound of the voice. The resonant tones that escape our lips are the very echoes of Awen within us and the energy of Nwyfre, the life force, which is present in all things.

At this time, I invite us all to remember our ancestors together. As you feel so moved, let us speak aloud the names of those who have passed beyond the veil. Let us draw them near us, here in our sacred grove, as we thank them for their many gifts and feel their everlasting love."

As we spoke the names of our ancestors in the evening air, a powerful feeling came over our Grove. I truly felt the love of those gone before in a very real and immediate way. My Grandparents, Great Grandparents, Uncles and other loved ones who have passed on are still guiding my steps every day. And what a wonderful moment to share such a bond with the rest of our group at this special time of Samhuinn. 

May each of you also see clear the guiding light of your ancestors.

Yours under the Whispering Pines,

Skybranch /|\

Samhuinn Eve

So far this Samhuinn, I've taken part in the first of two rituals to celebrate this special time of year. My whole life, long before I'd even heard the term Samhuinn, I've had a special affection for Autumn and Halloween. Clean, brisk air tinted with the smell of woodsmoke, brilliant colored leaves on nearly every tree and shrub and Jack o'lanterns on every doorstep. My love for this season runs deep.

As I've learned more about the roots of this traditional Celtic holiday, I've come to hold a deeper appreciation beyond trick-or-treat and playful costume parties. As a Boy Scout in the mid-1980s, I had my first brush with genealogy. Since that time, the understanding of my family tree has grown into a glorious web of life, stretching far back in time. My connection with the past, my ancestors, and the source of all life is a real and present part of my every day.

Recently, my connection to those gone before has grown even richer with the addition of myth and tales of eternal truths from various cultures around the world. Ceridwen and Pan, Cernunnos and Herne come to life just generations of my own grandparents before me. Lessons from all these sources link me to the whole of humanity, the earth beneath my feet, and the heavens above.

This Samhuinn, when the veil between the worlds is thin, I hope each of you relish this time of closeness with your ancestors, wherever and whenever they walked the Earth. The truth is, each of them live within us still.

-Skybranch /|\

Swinger of Trees

When I see birches bend to left and right 

Across the lines of straighter darker trees, 

I like to think some boy's been swinging them.

But swinging doesn’t bend them down to stay.
                                   

From Birches by Robert Frost (1916)

In fifth grade, I learned where the sidewalk ends. All of us in Ms. Hartman’s class made the journey to that magical place together. We also sat on the carpet with bated breath as storks built their nest of sticks on a wagon wheel, perched on top of a schoolhouse, far away. I even read aloud to the class one rain-soaked afternoon.

Me as a Kid

Poems and stories filled the air as we turned pages, memorized lines, and shared them aloud with each other. I distinctly remember the warm fog of horse’s breath as we stopped by a wood on snowy evening. Teachers share gifts with their students in small ways every day. Some last a lifetime.

Richmond Middle School still sits at the edge of a small Michigan town, just as it did when I started attending in the autumn of 1981. Behind the playground was a woodlot of oaks and maples, crisscrossed with winding paths to entice the intrepid adventurer.

The wood was divided by a deep drainage ditch, bordered by a tall chain link fence. I have no idea who owned the property, but their fence was no match for boys. Wally and I roamed the place at will, crossing the ditch on a fallen tree. Our search for the mighty Excalibur lasted many moons, and scores of sticks were smashed to smithereens in the conquest.

One summer Saturday, I dragged Dwayne along for birdwatching behind the school. Blue jays and cardinals, chickadees and mourning doves were among the morning’s usual suspects. After birding we stopped on the playground and hopped on the swings, if only to get that much closer to our feathered friends. Soon after, an unusual sight pulled into the parking lot. Our swings came to a rest as we watched a man get out of his car and walk across the grass, headed in our direction.

The police officer told us that someone had been lighting off fireworks behind the school the night before and asked if we knew anything about it. Our resulting pleas of ignorance and claims of watching birds were initially met with some degree of skepticism. Clearly he thought the culprits had returned to the scene of the crime. The glint of victory sparkled through his glasses.

Until we uttered the words, “Yellow-shafted flicker.”

Even at my tender age I could instantly discern that while a badge and a gun provide some measure of authority, they do not impart one whit of knowledge about birds. “If you boys see anything suspicious, let us know,” he said as he smiled and drove away.

Now back to Mr. Frost. Reading his poem Birches had introduced me to quite a new idea. The concept of “swinging trees” was, I must admit, most intriguing. Climbing trees had already been a favorite pastime of mine for years, starting with the gnarled old apple trees in our backyard. But climbing a slender sapling to the very top, then flinging outward with a swish to the ground! What a grand and terrifying idea!

Poem in hand, it was time to search for a candidate. While I had no need to “fetch the cows” as the boy in Mr. Frost’s musings, it still seemed to me this line of work was a solitary calling. This would especially be true if things didn’t go quite as planned and I ended up breaking an arm or something. I certainly wouldn’t want anyone to witness such a spectacle. That kind of story would be whispered behind my back for years or maybe end up in the local paper.

So off to school I go, when no one is around. Except for the scolding jays, the woods sure are quiet and peaceful. It feels like the trees know I’m up to something...

There aren’t many birches around here, but I’m sure another kind will do. Maples are strong, don’t they make baseball bats out of those? Or maybe that’s hickory. There’s a hickory tree over by the high school where we race squirrels to collect nuts every autumn, but that sucker is huge. Maybe Paul Bunyan could swing it, but I weigh about 80 pounds.

Now concentrate…maple it is. Those helicopters sure make a mess of our yard, but that ice storm a few years ago was even worse. Giant branches were down everywhere and the neighbors were out on the street, surveying the damage. I wonder if any of these bent saplings got arched to the ground then and stayed that way. “Like girls on their hands and knees that throw their hair before them over their heads to dry in the sun.” Robert Frost is so cool.

That one looks pretty good, but the branches sure are skinny. Oh well, might as well give it a whirl. My hands are kind of sweaty and it’s not even hot out. Holy crap, this thing is already swinging all over the place. I’ll never make it to the top. Back down. Try again.

This one looks better. Probably grew a bit slower under the shade of this big guy. Chickadees sure have small feet. They could cling to one of those tiny twigs way up there and barely make a leaf move. Mom sure loves those little guys. I bet they’re really soft.

This isn’t as easy as Mr. Frost makes it sound. “He always kept his poise to the top branches, climbing carefully with the same pains you use to fill a cup up to the brim, and even above the brim.” Well that doesn’t sound so easy after all.

I know, how about those low branches on that big tree over there. Now this is no problem, and I can just reach the top of this sapling. Holy cow, I must be twenty feet up here. It would really suck if this thing just snapped in two.

“Then he flung outward, feet first, with a swish, kicking his way down through the air to the ground.” Okay Robert, here we go.

It worked! And I became a swinger of trees. I clenched my sweaty hands into tight fists around the thin taper of the crown. Feet extended, I jumped from the larger tree, descending in a furious rustle of green leaves and invisible wind, smiling all the way to the ground.

Lightly stepping off, the tree sprung skyward, (mostly) returning to its upright position. For the next little while, I enjoyed the natural ride again and again. Saplings were at my mercy. “By riding them down over and over again until he took the stiffness out of them, and not one but hung limp, not one was left for him to conquer.”

Then it was time to go. This wood and I would meet again before my youth was done. As I turned to say goodbye, fresh memories swirled in my brain. But then I saw the trees. The jays were right to scold me as I arrived that day. After my thrills, a row of saplings bowed their heads to the ground. They looked sad, if leaves and branches somehow share our feelings. Their neighbors stood nearby, leafy arms reaching to the sky, soaking up the sun. At that moment, I sure hoped Mr. Frost was right and they wouldn’t stay that way.

Today, I cherish the day I became a swinger of trees. I had come to know the quiet sentinels of the little woodlot behind my school in a new way. Our arms were intertwined as swirling wind rushed through our hair. The trees brought me back to earth with the softest touch, stripping me of fear and worry, leaving nothing but joy.

Since that day, I have never again been a swinger of saplings. Now when I climb (and you better believe I still do) I only choose trunks strong enough to support me. Young trees have a more noble task than riding my somewhat-more-than 80 pounds to the ground. Slender leafy heads belong above us for chickadees to perch on.

But I must admit, when I see a sapling bent to the ground, it makes me wonder and have to smile. Let the children play. Let them know the trees.