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.