The Sacred Woodland Veil

Marya of the Wood

The Magical Bog

Yes, I am here.

Each day I spend cradled within the sacred woodland veil is another day of thriving. If I missed this part of my existence, I would not rise to meet the challenges of wellness and mental clarity.

With so much swirling energy in daily events, focusing on what is truly wild by nature rather than what is set before us in our present state is wise. Immersion in this seemingly unending darkness may summon fear and despair, so I choose something else.

I have always maintained a close and direct connection to our wild brothers and sisters. I comprehend the ways of my Native ancestors: to walk quietly amongst them in the woods while deeply honoring and acknowledging that we share the earth. It is not mine to hoard and mistreat as fellow humans have illustrated with their thoughtless and destructive industrial ways.

My wild bond with nature has dramatically strengthened since 2020, when the world as we knew it shifted significantly. Braving a storm that has yet to bring a rainbow, it is up to us to see that it resides within.

Then and now, I find comfort and solace in the woods, joy where the river sings. This has always been my way of life, but the depth of connection was amplified. I rely on this natural bond with furred, four-legged, winged, leafed, and scaled beings. 

Often unseen by many who carry on with their busy lives, my awareness of all that surrounds me is heightened. I experience great joy when the grey fox, Elske, her kits, and mate arrive after hearing my forest song—a melody much like kulning, borrowed from my maternal Nordic ancestors.

The pair of Phoebes that nested above my back kitchen door greatly satisfied me. They raised two clutches. Remnants of their nest remain as a souvenir, reminding me of their presence. The pair spent much time perched on the clothesline outside my bedroom window. I often stopped and watched them, and they returned my gaze. We were curious and trusting. 

I enjoyed the hungry, innocent chicks peeping while throwing their heads back, beaks opened for food. It brought me back to days on our farm and homeschool when my children and I hand-fed abandoned baby Starlings. These experiences matter most to me.

For most of the summer, the Phoebes were present, wobbling on the clothesline, checking me out as I did the same to them. When they departed, I was sad. It has been months since they left, but I continue to glance at the clothesline each time I pass by the window or go out in the yard. For obvious reasons, I gave up hanging my clothes out to dry, but it was worth it. Yes, I missed that because I have always used a clothesline, but the Phoebes came first—a shared experience of mutual awareness.

Last night, we had a hard frost. It might have been the last night to gather a freshly harvested tea blend. Just before sunset, I walk about in the Fields of Marigold Moon, picking fresh wild plants and herbs for my blend. The red clover, evening primrose, ground ivy, lavender, mints, goldenrod, and mullein maintained a presence. The white pine and hemlock needles are always at hand and remain, as we know. As always, I will miss that practice, but as a wildcraft herbalist, I have a good supply in my apothecary. It is time to harvest roots as the plants’ energy has returned to them.

I often leave home and walk along the many trails in the woods and mountains surrounding me. It is a blessing to live in such an area. I also practice what is known as cold plunging, which is an activity aligned with living amongst many rivers and lakes. During the past summer, hiking up to higher elevations and swimming in the river was necessary to maintain this practice. We are back into cold plunge temperatures. The river nearby has dropped into the forties, and Squam Lake was 55℉ yesterday, which felt balmy compared to the river.

One of my favorite places to walk and ponder is a trail with a bog on one side and a river on the other. I refer to this place as The Magical Bog. It has become a favorite spot for me. I have engaged in Hawk Talk—a reciprocal calling between one or two Broad-winged Hawks that fly overhead, following and watching. I have recorded our conversations, which bring me great joy. I am aware that a Blue Jay that visits my feeding station is very good at imitating the call of the Broad-winged Hawk, but the call is a little off and somewhat shaky. However, I am impressed.

This year, I was not emotionally ready to release summer. As the cold winds of autumn continue to blow, I find myself grieving the previous season. I usually seamlessly inhabit each season as it transitions. This year, it is different. I want to stay in summer. Even willing to embrace the bugs, I long for greenness and warmth. Of course, we will have a warm spell or two before winter sets in, even as soon as a week after penning this. 

Although my wild summer friends retreat, I am pleased to hear the twinkling and merriment of the Dark-eyed Juncos upon their return. It lifts my spirits and reminds me of how the flurry of activity will increase at my feeding stations.

Unlike many, I enjoy squirrels, chipmunks, and others (even skunks and opossums). I sprinkle nuts, seeds, and fruit on the ground and stumps for all. I do not comprehend the process of putting out food and deciding that others cannot partake, choosing one over the other. They inhabit this space, too. I would rather invest in nuts and seeds than intricate feeders and contraptions that exclude others from following their instincts, often destroyed by bears who come out in the daylight hours. I do not judge those who approach feeding birds in this manner, it is just not aligned with my ways.

I shall return to the Magical Bog throughout the winter months, walking along the trail and marveling at the sights and sounds offered by Our Mother. I will continue to pray for all, regardless of social and political beliefs. I love this about my woodland friends; none of that matters. I get why they fear humans. I am not that kind of being. I wish you well.