In Praise of the Wild Things

"In Wildness
is the
preservation
of the
World."

~H.D. Thoreau

More Earth Medicine

I don't remember my last bee sting; that's how long ago it was. Childhood, I imagine. Be (haha) that as it may, I had my memory refreshed yesterday. When reaching quickly behind the beach (aka "outdoor office") chair where I was sitting, I felt a sharp prick on the back of my arm. I pulled away quickly and checked the chair to see what had stuck me. Nothing. There was nothing there but smooth canvas. That's when I realized it must've been a bee. I must have pinched it somehow between my arm and the chair--in which case, I certainly deserved to be stung!

On my arm, I found a tiny red dot: no biggie. I thought "stinger," and half remembered something I'd heard about them. I started squeezing on either side of the red dot: if there was a stinger, I should remove it, I was thinking. But that maneuver only served to bring on the heat! Burn, burn: did it ever burn! I ransacked my brain for some folk wisdom that might help. And by grace or luck, I found it: "clay draws," I heard. And lickety-split, off I went to make a little paste of it to smear onto my red-hot skin.

Wow: I'd forgotten how a bee sting...well, stings! But wonder of wonders, the clay relieved that--eliminated it, in fact, instantly and completely. It worked like magic.

I'm quite sure I didn't know clay existed when I was last stung (whenever that was). I think we used ice on them in those days--which isn't a bad anesthetic, but it doesn't take the pain away; it just masks it. I don't believe I've heard anything since about using clay for stings. I think the nugget of wisdom I unearthed was snakebite related. But my brain made the leap--et voila!

Yet again, I see how well the Earth knows her way with herself. Of course she does. And I am grateful to be privy to that wisdom.

Try This

At the top or the bottom of a staircase, put on (or take off, as the case may be) one, thin flip flop. Then descend (if at top) or climb (if at bottom) the stairs. Continue to walk a few steps beyond them.

What do you notice? It should happen rather quickly, the off kilter feeling--it did for me, anyway. And that's no big surprise, right? But notice the extent of the "tilt" feeling for a clear and immediate window into the countless anatomical and physiological elements that so flawlessly, expertly, seamlessly, come together to accomplish our uprightness and mobility at any given standing or ambling moment. After the initial sense of tilt, you might notice something happening: it will be those hidden elements made visible by way of a sort of scrambling to put you in balance, to adjust. How marvelous is this Intelligent Design!?

I find it downright awe inspiring to think of all the unsung heroes of the human body, doing their jobs so perfectly day in and day out without so much as a speck of notice, thanks, or praise. Today I give notice. Today I thank. Today I wholeheartedly praise the unnamed marvels of the everyday.

Look Up, Look Down, Look All Around

"As to me
I know of
nothing else
but miracles."

~Walt Whitman

Tanglewood 'Gets 'er oIrish Oon'

Well fancy that! It's been at least four years since I've partaken in the annual musical feast that is Tanglewood on Parade out Berkshire way. And it seems that somewhere over that stretch of time the Alpine horn demonstration on the Main House Lawn has given way to a Classical Tangent Celtic style! How grand is that for a lass who left a good healthy piece of 'er heart on the Emerald Isle.

I'm no videographer (and forgive the wind), but perhaps you'll enjoy to have a look at what I filmed of it just the same. Don't miss the Irish step dance about two minutes in--and a hearty "T'anks!" to the fiddler's daughter for steppin' up f'r it.

Cheers from the Porch at Tanglewood!