Sense of Place Consulting Blog
Terroir, noun (pronounced "ter-wahr"): The conditions in which a food is grown or produced and that give the food its unique characteristics. Dictionary.com
A Taste of Somewhereness
Our neighbors up the road here in Colrain, MA are credited with the revival of the hard cider industry. They moved here, to the land of old apple trees, in the 70s and started brewing the historic drink in their basement.
This week, we woke to the first real frost, which beautifully lined the leaves overnight with sparkling white trim. Tuesday, we got up at dawn to see the lunar eclipse, which turned the moon a stunning, dusky rose, while stars still lit up the sky. Experiencing moments like these reminds me that we're part of a much larger universe that works without our input or control.
Moments like these also make me feel a sense of gratitude. It can be something big (like an eclipse) or something small (like taking a bite from a delicious pear), but I have found that deep appreciation can change my entire outlook, and it has taken me from gratitude cynic to fan.
“Live in each season as it passes: breathe the air, drink the drink, taste the fruit.” Henry David Thoreau
Summer is in full tilt here, and luckily, we’ve had lots of beautiful weather to enjoy. I’ve been relishing time spent just reading! I've read a few books so far with the eye of “How are they organizing this? How are they putting this together?” It’s helping me move towards organizing my own writings and has inspired me to offer a new series centered around a writing process book by John McPhee starting July 19th.
"And now we welcome the new year, full of things that have never been."
Rainer Maria Rilke.
I hope you're finding some ways to stay cozy this winter, wherever you are.
What's ahead for you for the new year? Hard to say. I know...unsettling. I love this cartoon that one of my writing class participants posted this week. The dialog went like this:
Creature One: "Aren't you terrified of what 2022 could be like? Everything is so messed up..."
Creature Two: "I think it will bring flowers."
Creature One: "Yes? Why?"
Creature Two: "Because I'm planting flowers."
Now We Are 60: Reflections and Gratitude. This past weekend I celebrated a big milestone birthday. We had a campfire party in the backyard that I called "Now We Are Sixty," my nod to this poem that I love and my mother used to read me:
It’s August and it’s the time for gardens overflowing with zucchini and tomatoes, and it’s when the countryside is dotted with small, local agricultural fairs. These small fairs are the ones that steal my heart with their sincerity and root me in a local sense of place.
During July, I've been exploring the theme of Pilgrimage and Place. In the last newsletter, I asked you to reflect on what kinds of places you are drawn towards visiting. I shared how going anyplace can be a pilgrimage if you think about it that way. It’s all about your intention, your reason for heading off in that direction. It’s about going someplace you feel called to go, even if you’re not sure why. Below is a story about the value of listening to the power of place, and a few tips to try.
Place as Pilgrimage
Whatever your plans are this summer, I hope they include making a few jaunts to a special place or two that you've been missing over the past year. As we've been considering places to go ourselves, it makes me think about how each place holds its special quality: it’s medicine.
Writing is one of the paths that can help you process experiences. Taking time to find your stories and craft them in a way that is so detailed that it nails a moment in time can be so rewarding. It helps you think things through and make sense of your life and your world. Then, sharing those stories so that others may gain a glimpse of what you feel and experience is a powerful act of real connection. And that's something that many of us have been missing in our world lately.
Unexpected. That seems to be the word that wraps up 2020. Each time things shifted, it was always followed with unexpected deep lessons to learn. For almost everyone, it's been a time of re-evaluation -- both of who and where we are.
The title song is dedicated to all the people who "provide alternatives to selling off the family farm." It's a story song, not a preachy song. It's crafted so the listener draws their own conclusions about the changes or losses they see in the world.
The one tool that I always return to no matter what is going on, is the practice of shifting my focus to connecting with place. It's what helps me feel grounded, no matter where I am. I noticed it last month. We were visiting a small town here in New England, and I was irritated by how people were behaving (or not behaving), and it was ruining my mood.
I recently held a small, magical "Covid Correct" retreat at our house for some women I'd met at the Women's Wellness Weekends that I've presented at for the last five years. Hiking, writing, a campfire dinner and conversation, all in 3-D, was restorative for everyone, myself included. I am so glad we paused, reflected and marked the beauty of the season.
We say hello and share what we’re drinking tonight. You meet a bunch of cool people from all over who have either been in my circle for a while or are joining for the first time. There might be park rangers, naturalists and historians I have worked with, people who heard me sing at a concert, or recently attended a class or retreat. I offer a poem or reading about the time of year, the season. I give a story prompt which helps you imagine a place…
In New England we've just turned the corner into Fall. The pinks of Spring blossoms have become apples so heavy on the branches they seem drunk with Summer rain. Rain which I am grateful for, and would gladly send more of to the West, and less of to the Gulf if I could.
Over the past several months what I’ve seen unfold is how people found their writing path. The class provides an in-depth, comprehensive learning experience, with live classes, workbooks, video lessons, a feast of resources and an in-class generative writing process.
Walking the same road loop for the last several months, I feel like I'm getting to know everything so intimately, from the gang of goldfinches that always takes off at the same spot, to the purple flower that comes up and always reminds me of my friend Marshall Noice's paintings. His colors are always so vibrant, they almost look unreal, but then sometimes you see those colors in nature and his eye is verified.
When people gather at our Soulful Campfire, they're inspired to share stories about places-- places they have been in the past, places they are right now, places they want to be. And most of all, places that taught them something. At last month's campfire someone offered a story that I really wanted to share. With her permission, here it is. So sit back and listen as she tells her short story of a kayak, the wind and hope.
One of the benefits of being home more is doing more retro-cool, down to earth activities as another way to spend quality time together. Sometimes we read a book out loud to each other, and lately, we've been reading "Braiding Sweetgrass" by Robin Wall Kimmerer, which has often made me cry as I read it aloud and also leads to long, soulful conversations. I believe it is the speaking of the words that adds a whole other depth and dimension.
"There are simply no answers to some of the great pressing questions. You continue to live them out, making your life a worthy expression of leaning into the light.”― Barry Lopez from Arctic Dreams So that is what we did. For Summer Solstice this year we celebrated the longest night with light.
Right now, we're in week three of the Creative Discovery Class. Insights and surprises have been pouring in. One participant shared the photo above and wrote:
"One symbol that I keep coming back to is a fiddlehead -- seeing them now fills me with wanting to share in a bounty, and reminds me of life’s potential." She’s seeing these symbols everywhere now!
Once, on May 1st, right after moving into the little town of Shelburne Falls, MA, I heard a knock at the door. I opened it but saw no one there. Then I noticed on the door nob was a little basket full of flowers. So sweet! It was a traditional May Day basket that someone left for us. It delivered a sense of community and inclusiveness that I've always treasured. So in the spirit of spring, creativity, and play, I'm rolling out a basket of classes online.
Forts are always placed in power spots. They're not just points of military strategy, but places on a landscape that have been used throughout time by people as pivotal junctures for trails, trade and travel.
Trees, flowers and shrubs planted in graveyards, back yards and the woods are perennial reminders the layers of time and tangible links to the past. Each year when they burst into life they bring whispers, hums and memories of people who were here before us.
“I love songs about horses, railroads, land, Judgment Day, family, hard times, whiskey, courtship, marriage, adultery, separation, murder, war, prison, rambling, damnation, home, salvation, death, pride, humor, piety, rebellion, patriotism, larceny, determination, tragedy, rowdiness, heartbreak and love. And Mother. And God.” - Johnny Cash
I've been house-sitting at a friend's farm for the past week, hunkering down and attending to my own writing and creative process. I'm so grateful to finally have this kind of time.