Bearly

I saw my very first bear on the trail after twenty-one years of walking. I have had many near misses, encountering folks only seconds after a sighting, but this was the real deal.

Just the other week, my dad sent a picture of a big, black bear sitting on his back deck, the bear’s behind facing his window, the bear’s face looking out over the yard, surveying the landscape.

Upon hearing the news, I announced with no fear to this “happening”: I want to see a bear on the trail! Not too close that I would be scared, and far enough to appreciate it.

That’s exactly what happened, almost.

I heard a loud crunch of the leaves one evening, louder than normal, and when I looked up ahead and over my right shoulder, I spotted a dark mass. Solid. Dense. Is what I told my friends.

Some primal instinct kicked in and I wanted to run. But then I remembered that a sprinting human can be mistaken for, well, with my long legs, a giraffe. And I did not want to resemble any animal that might be delectable. I hear bears don’t eat much meat, so if we were talking realistically, probably not happening. But, as they say, its the idea that counts! And I got ideas, man, let me tell ya…”lions and tigers and bears,” oh my!

Besides, I had on my brightly colored tropical shirt, and I also looked like a patch of berries. I hear bears love berries. So I had two things going for me to be considered a good meal, or so my fear said.

I saluted the bear at least in mind, to show respect, and slowly turned around, my wobbly legs leading the way. With my back to the bear, I wondered…was he slowly stealthily, gaining on me? (Why do I assume it’s a he?)

I reminded myself to hold steady, lest it sniff out my fear. And then I remembered, they too are afraid and not really seeking a human encounter. After all, they were here first. It’s their forest, not mine.

I looked around and there were no other people in my sight. Good time to be alone on a mountaintop! And really, it was. I had asked for bear to make an appearance and he, or she, did. Bear gave me enough warning too, so that I would not get close, scream and cause a ruckus.

Bear symbolizes strength and healing in the animal kingdom. I can always put those two things to good use. Thank you, kind bear, for gracing my path with your powerful presence.

How then shall I honor this fine meet-up going forward?!

~KB

Hope

A bolder crashed into the boardwalk up ahead. I want to see evidence of its power! I want to see what that impact looks like! I try to peek around the corner, but it is of no use. I will have to imagine it: The boardwalk is being repaired and is closed to the public today. (And that includes me!)

I pause to ask “where next?” then plunge into the woods. Uphill, and almost to the clearing at the Carter Overlook, I notice amidst the brown of woodchips, leaves, pine needles, and a lone green shoot, is a painted rock beaming out — blue, pink, white, yellow, and green — colors of the rainbow. Or spumoni ice cream! YUM!

“It’s a HOPE rock!” said a good friend, reminding me of our recent conversation about positive signs surrounding us.

I think about the juxtaposition of the bolder smashing into the boardwalk, maybe on the same day, or even the same moment, that someone placed this bright, mini boulder in the middle of the woods.

Even though there has been little snow, it has been a really long winter: illness and isolation, world issues, personal issues. I know I am not alone in this. But Spring is almost here, some days more than others, and we are in the see-saw now, the temperature swings, the ups and downs. Nicer weather is coming around, and this colorful stone at my feet is a good reminder that there are reasons to be hopeful.

In childhood, I recall leaping for joy in excitement when the weather warmed and I could play on a see-saw with my sister. What a thrill! Pushing off with our legs, soaring upwards, dropping to the ground again; then being propelled to reach for the sky once more.

Oh, how I remember.

The dance between rising and falling was joyful then! Well…mostly. Unless it hurt. But we would get over it quickly by playing again as soon as possible. No time for being sick. My mom said that when I had my wisdom teeth pulled, I did not want to lie in bed, I just wanted to get up, go out, and play.

Yes, there is hope that the d-words — doom, darkness, despair, depression, devastation, and destruction — can be transformed by play, as well as connection, beauty, nature, creativity. (And isn’t all creativity really just play anyway?)

Hope came blasting through in full color today. And after seeing this stone, I am lining my pockets with hope for brighter days. There is always room for hope in there along with the change.

Coins jingling…serenading…heaven calling…

Widen your gaze, trust the detour, painful though it is sometimes. Rising and falling —all part of the same dance.

And you never know what someone has left to light your way.

~ KB

For C. Thank you for naming the rock, Hope! 3/7/2023

Rooted

I passed this beautiful tree in light and shadow (photo above) on my walk today. I am comforted when I see its roots. If I am feeling groundless and unsure, this tree cantilevered into the side of the mountain holds me in its arms.

A friend once told me that she feels a strong vortex of energy whenever she stands in front of it. I understand why. I always feel a pull to pause as well.

Up ahead and around the bend is a huge tree that fell in a recent storm. I pass a friend who is grieving the loss of it. “Don’t you remember, it created such a portal?” he asks, a bit stunned.

When I first passed by the fallen tree, it was strange, but I could not remember it ever standing. Later, I was able to place it. “Yes,” I said. “I sure do remember. I remember now.”

I wonder how I could possibly have forgotten! I had even attached a person’s energy to each of the trees in that portal. So that my friends are never far from me, even though many are gone.

Interestingly, from the looks of it, the fallen tree was more firmly planted in the ground than the one pictured above that seems to be one step from a tumble.

“Wow! It has very shallow roots!” my friend remarked, surprised after witnessing the downed tree’s tethers dangling in the unearthed dirt.

We were both shocked.

One really never knows what is going on with someone from appearances, I remind myself. It is hard to lose a friend, or a beloved tree, they have somehow become family after years of trekking up the mountain.

Today, I have learned that I'm not the only one who has built a strong connection.

I hope the trees feel the same way — smile when they see us coming, and call us their friends.

You know, they have a system in place to talk to each other, their roots are like an underground internet. And I have been told recently, they gossip about us. In a good way. And look forward to our arrival.

Imagine that.

~ KB

Deer Run - The Chase

This happened all at once, or so it seemed. A convergence…

It was mid-summer and I was hurrying up the trail, late for my evening trek when I came upon a woman who was walking her dog. She stopped me and pointed out a deer at the edge of the forest. Suddenly, as if to underscore the deer’s presence, a big burst of thunder erupted overhead.

I am outta here! I announced to the woman! And just to be sure I was not interfering with her plans, I asked if I could walk back with her. Many people come to the trail to process their day, their emotions, their life, and I didn’t want to impose my presence, unless invited, especially when I did not know her.

We took a few steps and noticed a deer — that deer, the same deer — starting to walk alongside us, periodically darting over to the other side of the path. I had never seen this happen before, at least not in my 19 years of walking the trail!

We couldn’t really tell what the deer was after. Was she needing food? Hurt? Or lonely?

Do deer get lonely?

And then we realized the deer was fixated on the dog. The dog!

(I concluded the deer thought she was a dog out herding sheep!) The deer seemed so focused on the dog that we started to get a little scared. I had never been afraid of deer before, but that was when they kept their distance. They should be afraid of us, not the other way around, right? Well, that is human-centric and biased, I thought. But I was clearly in fear.

We started walking faster and faster hoping to throw the deer off our tracks, but instead she broke into a trot. She seemed to be getting more and more urgent, not letting us out of her sight. She raced back and forth across the path, almost frantic, changing sides, but never leaving our side and never taking her gaze off the dog.

I am not sure how, but after weaving and winding our way down the mountain, we eventually lost sight of the deer. I think it was by intention. We did not want to get in a standoff with her and the dog at the base of the mountain, or end up with her hovering by the car, asking for a ride. :)

The woman and I parted perplexed, determined to find out more.

Not long after our encounter, I heard reports from other friends with dogs that they too had been “tracked” by the deer. Later, I learned from an animal intuitive that the doe may have lost her fawn. She may have thought the dog was her baby. Or close enough to be her baby that she needed to find out for sure.

Interesting how this information changes everything.

They say you never know the whole story even when you think you do. I hope I remember this truth. The deer have grief too, we are all one.

In the coming days, I really started to miss the deer. Did she run off, head on to distant lands or get too close to the road? Weeks later, when I saw a dead deer on the highway, I worried it was her.

I was relieved when I finally saw the doe grazing on the trail again late one evening. She was solo, I was solo, and she did not chase me.

I like to think we recognized each other.

And then she was gone.

Perhaps she found her baby and moved on. The mother and baby are together. Existing in different realms perhaps, but together nonetheless.

At least this is how I will write the story. Yes, this is how I will write my stories, of love and connection.

~ KB

Deer Run - The Dance

Funny how deer remained the lesson of the season, all summer finding ways to speak.

It was mid-September, approaching summer’s end, and I was at the same intersection point where the deer and dog encounter had sparked.

Out of the blue, a trail guide yelled, The deer are following you!

Again?!

I thought he was just kidding or being friendly. But he was not kidding. I peered through the brush and spotted the deer. A family of three, a doe and two fawns were on the run down the mountain.

As I made my way around the curve, the deer bolted out of the woods and leapt across the path to the other side. So much was reminiscent of my previous encounter, but this time the deer seemed playful! Follow me, they seemed to say, I dare you to leap!

Suddenly they were on my left, then the right, sailing in front of me, zig-zagging the whole way down. A hush would fall and then after a loud crunch of branches, the deer would burst out of the woods once more.

We were dancing to, what seemed to be, amazing choreography.

When I finally got to the bottom of the trail, I fully expected the deer to be there. I stood there looking around and waiting. Until I realized that last “burst” was the final one.

Funny how we always think there will be a next. We seldom know the last moment is the last when it is happening, though Spirit sometimes leaves us clues.

Whether it was the last time or not, I do know I was in a happier place on that walk. I had enjoyed visits with friends in recent weeks and was feeling loved.

Maybe the deer felt that shift and were mirroring it.

Photo thanks to. E.D.

I have heard it said that one butterfly flapping its wings can change the weather pattern miles away. One little flutter can make a big difference. We have all heard this truth in some fashion. But sometimes it really is hard to believe. One small step, one small shift seems just that. Too small to make a difference. Insignificant.

Are you sure about that?! as Byron Katie would say.

Joy had taken over and a monumental result occurred from what seemed like such a small shift. Just moving my legs in a different way, creating new patterns on the path.

Leaving little ripples of joy in the stones.

~ KB

1, 2, 3, 4 Pairs and Counting...

I went out walking this evening after the rains had gone. It’s a time when the Trail doesn’t particularly call you out. But I had been sitting all day and I knew I had to move my body.

The Trail was misty and damp, and so quiet I felt like I was being held inside a cocoon. As I rounded the bend, I began to see the animals come out to play. Two cardinals, two deer, two snakes, and two rabbits! And those are just the animals I witnessed. Who knows how many more were in hiding?

The day before, I had been talking to a friend about manifesting a partner, and tonight everywhere I turned there were two of everything. A first — these pairs. Never before had I walked on the Trail and seen two of each animal, and no more.

I told my friend, and we both chuckled. But we agreed — this was a good sign.

……………………

Pair.

Pear.

Pair and pear. The words are homophones which means they sound alike, but have no shared meaning. (Can we find one?!)

“Yellow pear turning peach, teach me the art of being, yet becoming more of myself.”

I wrote these words long ago watching a pear in a basket change colors like Fall. I love how a pear ripens and turns a different hue over time, becomes the color of other fruit, but still remains a pear.

Can we model that?

I’ve been navigating this terrain for a very long time. Maybe what opens us to an authentic pairing with another is after we initially join and partner with ourselves. And when we allow our own ripening through all that we have encountered in life, yet remain true.

To what? That divine spark, that inner essence, that still place within that only we can find.

~ KB

Deer Crossing My Heart

This happened for the first time in eighteen years: A fawn stopped me in my tracks!

I started talking to it as I usually do with anyone new on the path. I don’t have to know them, I just pretend. And I guess because, as walkers, we are all family. Even the animals.

Especially the animals.

What is surprising to me is the deer stayed around to listen. And me too.

By now you know, I am always asking for a sign. I think this started when my mom passed over and I began talking to her in the heavens out of curiosity, necessity and desperation, really. Anything to reduce the sense of loss and separation.

And it’s not just signs from the other side I pay attention to. To the dismay and laughter of my friends, I have been known to get guidance from license plates. To my credit, they have been pretty synchronistic at times.

But to get me from here to there, I am looking to nature once again. I can’t argue with nature. Nature is talking truth. We only have to look at our planet and events of the past year to know this for sure.

Yes, I am looking to the animals. They can come to us as guides when our path becomes obstructed or unclear. They too can offer us a sign. According to Jamie Sams/David Carson’s animal totem book, Medicine Cards, deer symbolize gentleness and love.

I try to think back to my questions from earlier today and can’t remember them. I guess it doesn’t really matter what the question is, gentleness and love are a good answer. I know my deeper questions are always with me, even if I am not consciously positing them. That’s why the deer showed up.

Yes, out in the woods today, a deer crossed my heart. Cross my heart and…live.

Fully live!

So, tonight on the Solstice, I feel the fawn’s little feet leaving traces of gentleness in my heart. Rounding out and softening its hard edges. Pitter patter pitter patter in its chambers. Tap tap tap through my vessels. Creating more space. Strengthening my blood. My veins. My nerves. My tissues. My bones. Especially my bones. Working through and through the marrow and matrix of my being. Anchoring its light in my core. Reminding me to pause and hold myself and others dear.

Deer. Standing by, bearing witness, anchoring truth for us all.

~ KB

Spring Returns

Over a year ago, along with much of the entire world, the Monticello Trail closed its doors. It was quarantined like the rest of us.

As I watch the redbuds now flowering along its path, I realize it has been two years since I witnessed their unfolding. It feels like a warm embrace just to behold them.

I told a loving friend the other day I had not hugged anyone in over a year. I could hardly believe my words. “Oh, I would not have made it without any hugs!” she replied. At which point I got to thinking. How has anyone really made it to this point without them?

If you live with someone, hugs may have actually increased. But even then, their breadth and scope narrowed. Hugs have been okay within families, or “pods,” but random acts of hugging outside the “compound” were nixed.

What has taken their place? Nothing, really. Nothing, completely.

Sure, there have been (and still are!) the online groups, books, letters, emails, texts, walks, talks with friends on the phone, and Zoom. (Yes, us Boomers have become Zoomers!) And all those ways of connecting have filled a bit of the void. But it sure has taken some getting used to. At least for me.

I was Zoom-phobic for about nine months into quarantine until someone asked me what new routines I had developed. I answered, “None.” Hmm, I thought, that’s a problem. No routine except, maybe, pacing!? “I guess we’ve got to give ‘ole Zoom another try!” I said reluctantly.

Yes, it has been difficult to settle down the kid inside me that wanted to run to the playground and yell and scream with the other kids, rather than sit her butt on a cushion. She wanted to be unleashed, unmasked, and uninhibited, and she is ready to be free.

She has always wanted to live in a perpetual Spring.

Even in the midst of restriction-constriction, there were flickers of hope and peace blossoming within. It took me awhile to get to the place where an internal embrace softened this shell of a body that was hardening. I actually announced the other day I was grateful to have had this time, a time we might not ever have again, to go inward, and mine the goodness of solitude.

Who said this! Me? On a good day.

On bad days, my anxiety and demons felt abandoned and decided to make a scene just to be on the “safe” side. On one of those days, I happened to watch a video where the spokesperson was so cheery, I could barely handle it. “You’ve got to tone it down!” I wanted to holler at the computer screen.

Imagine that.

But in the end, (though I know we don’t quite know where the “end” is), I decided to follow her lead of positivity, and nurse my own little seedlings that sprouted in captivity. They were planted unbeknownst to me within the walls of my endurance. Though I am not sure yet what they will grow into.

So I am going to focus on the day (which is here!) when I can sink my toes down into the brown and green earth sprinkled with pink petals, and feel that outer embrace I have longed for. At least until I can hug you, I am sure hoping that is soon.

In the meantime, hugging you from afar and wishing you a happier Spring.

~ KB

P.S. I kept changing tenses from “past” to “present” and back again as if this is all over! Then I realized that some of this is over, and some of it is not. We are in the midst. Aren’t we always? I told a friend we won’t really know where the middle is till we reach the end. To the light at the end of the tunnel, as they say! Always to the light. xo

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Circles

“I walk for you. Every day. When you are lost in chaos or despair, I will be walking in peace and harmony, some place in the world. You can know that I am walking for you.”

~ Thich Nhat Hanh as told to Dawna Markova, I Will Not Die an Unlived Life

Yesterday, I told a good friend it’s getting kind of lonely. I rarely get to talk to folks on the Trail anymore. Words that are muffled discourage discussion, I suppose. “Well, put out there what you want to have happen, girlfriend!” she reminded me.

The Trail, for so long a sanctuary, is still deeply comforting, but like everything else in this world, it has changed. I try to make an effort to look into people’s eyes until I feel a connection take hold. For the most part, folks do respond, but these days our eyes have to do all the work. I now understand how much expression comes from the lips — words not included.

The good news is more people than ever are saying hello. Isolation is a desert and we have grown thirsty. But after the hello is had, many are on the move, distracted or anxious. Even my friends have different rhythms and patterns now.

I find myself longing for the “good” ‘ole days. Maybe we all do. Since it is not possible, I am trying to come to terms with the loss. And I am asking how I can create something new.

Mask or no mask, the Trail and I are like an old married couple — you’ve got to do the work to spark that magic. You’ve got to arrive with an open heart and pretend it’s your first date.

It’s late afternoon and I’m out for my usual walk, but this time I decide to don my red tutu because I am needing a big boost. And to get a boost, you’ve got to “bring it!” as they say.

I like the tutu because it reminds me of my skater skirt and skating ‘round in circles on my childhood pond. With all those tulle layers, the tutu’s sides stick out, and I feel like I am cocooned, but in a good way. It’s an upside-down “top,” and I can spin in perfect balance. No ice needed.

About a mile up the path, I spot two friends. Friends! We strike up a conversation (socially distanced) that lasts twenty minutes or so. A small circle has formed with just the three of us. This is a big deal, and just what I had asked for.

A handful of folks pass us on foot, and a few more are coming down the mountain road in cars. There is traffic. I never knew I would celebrate seeing traffic. With that, my friends and I sense it is time to say good-bye.

As I reach the end of the boardwalk, yet another friend comes waltzing around the bend. “I was just picturing you skating on a lake, you know, like in that Joni Mitchell song,” she calls out.

All of a sudden, I hear rustling in the fallen leaves and a noise louder than even squirrels can muster. Two deer, one male with antlers, and one female, are on the run. Circling up to the road, then back down into the woods — over and over again. The male in pursuit, but socially distant. “I can play this game!” he seems to say.

I watch for as long as I can before dusk sets in and the deer head for the hills. Later that evening, I learn the deer were doing a mating ritual. I have never seen this before in my sixty-one years. I take it as a good omen. Deer symbolize gentleness and love. (Ted Andrews, Animal Speak)

Circles formed ‘round and ‘round me today, and they were enough to hold me here. They were enough to remind me that intentions do work. And magic still happens.

So, as we turn towards a new holiday season, albeit a different kind of one, I call you into the circle to stand with me, and feel the love at the center — no matter how far away it may seem.

~ KB

The Good News

The Monticello Trail has been closed for the past several months — for the entire Spring!

I have had to scout out new terrain, meander through unknown woods, circle nearby ponds, and mosey up and down the street in my very own neighborhood. Of all things, right?

But I am lucky. We all are, if we can find a patch of green. Beauty is all around, and I am well. Besides, the luxury of exploring new vistas has given me a sense of expansion during a time of restriction.

I am grateful to have been able to leave my house and find solace even if sometimes it was just on a paved road. But in the last few days, I have lost the drive to walk down these alternate paths, and I am not sure what this means. I have been feeling far, far from home, depleted from both the duration and the length of quarantine.

Late last night in meditation, I asked for help and my plea was simple:

“I need something to give, Spirit, can you help?”

The next morning I heard the news: The Trail is re-opening!

Soon, I will end my longest hiatus in 17 years! Difficult to fathom even by me. When I tell folks that my longest Trail absence pre-quarantine was two weeks, they look at me with awe before bewilderment slowly sets in.

Wow, that is amazing, but…how can that be? What about the other parks in town? And what happens when you travel?!

The words I wrote long ago come back to me now:

“I walk to accomplish something, to say that I have traveled. You see…I travel regularly, almost daily for my work. I have seen the world! “ I tell my friends, who have in a different sort of way…”

“Well, you know, you may sleep at your house,” a friend once reminded me, “But the Trail is your home.”

We all have all had to forgo travel as we know it, and try to come home to ourselves in quarantine, but sometimes the land holds it in a way like no other. Sometimes the land is our home. And now more than ever, it feels good to be back home.

~ KB