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It’s quiet in the cabin this morning. Out the window the sky is gray. Mother Nature can’t seem to decide if it should rain or snow.
As the morning passes on, the weather shifts with occasional sun rays peeking through the pines. The frozen soil in the driveway softens as the outdoor thermometer needle climbs in a clockwise direction. Surrounding the endless yellow tall grass waving about in the valley stands majestic peaks soaring upwards to more than eleven thousand feet. The collected snow from the previous night that blankets the land is melting off as daylight blooms. We are on the cusp of spring here in the valley.
Perched in the trees surrounding us, a variety of birds dart around the branches chirping back and forth. They await fresh seed to be spread around the metal table in the yard. A squirrel swings about on the suet cage hung from a low branch of a pine.
As I gaze out the window, the tell-tale sounds of dropping pellets into the stove signal a new cycle of warm air blowing from the fan on the front of the stove. The kettle in the kitchen perks and the aroma of fresh coffee fills the air.
There is nothing quite like a morning in a forest cabin.
As I walk across the room, the wood planks under my feet squawk as if to moan an age-old story begging to be told.
I wake up my computer and sit down to write. I desire to tell a story about the passing of the seasons. Yet, much of my experience on the subject is blurred by more than 30 years living in the desert southwest. There, the seasons only offer nuances of change. After a few years, a desert dweller can come to notice such things. I must reflect on my childhood where nature’s four distinct seasons commanded the flow of daily life for all who endured her.
I recall moments of those days like flipping pages of an old book. I recall a summer moment listening to the sound of crickets out the screen window from my bed as I fell asleep and waking again at dawn to the sound of Morning Doves calling their song. Another memory surfaces. I am riding my bike down a country road along the edge of a corn field listening to the sound of Red Winged Black Birds calling from their perch on a barbed fence. Then fall arrives. I recall helping my dad rake the leaves of the oaks and hickory trees. The cool, crisp air meant shorter days were upon us. I recall helping my dad stake up directional signs for the oncoming winter snowmobile season along his assigned route. The thought of winter brings me to sledding, skiing, ice skating, and building snowmen in the fresh snow. My memory of youth is so intertwined with seasonal change. It’s a significant part of my story of this life.
In my late teens, I was employed by the owner of a small ski area called Mount LaCrosse. I would spend my working hours replacing the signage on the ski runs. I’d walk down to the workshop along a snow-covered dirt road lined with big trees. Here I would cut wood and plexiglass on a table saw and assemble the materials into signs. I would ride the lift to the top and ski down to my destination and replace the weathered signs with a cordless drill. On ski race day, I was assigned the duty of filming ski races. Back then, my video camera was the size of a brief case sitting on my shoulder. Occasionally, the owner would come find me and invite me to ski with him. Ted Motchman was an elegant skier. He taught me how to ski with grace like it was an artform rather than a sport. To this day, I glide down the slopes with precision and style as if to paint on canvas.
When I was just 19-years-old, I decided to move to Arizona from the Midwest. I recall telling Ted’s wife Susan I was moving to the Southwest. She replied with just a few words: “You will miss the changing of the seasons.”, she muttered. It took me almost 32 years of living in such a dry climate to believe her words.
The seasons are an integral part of Earthly living. It is an obvious and necessary turn of events when one takes the time to understand the Earth’s cycle. And, it is quite astonishing that the northern and southern hemispheres experiences exactly the opposite of one another. Most of us on the planet probably take such details for granted.
Generally, we check the weather forecast and dress accordingly. We look forward to the next holiday the moment the current one passes. Often, we mark the passing of the seasons with Hallmark holidays.
For me, I spent so many years gleaning the smallest detail out of seasonal change. I recall walking my dog one early fall day in the desert. I became elated when I spotted a single yellow leaf on the sidewalk. One leaf signified the arrival of fall.
The Sonoran Desert is an incredible and exotic landscape. It is a place of astonishing beauty and diversity. It is a place that often challenges the survival of even the fittest. I don’t regret a single moment living in such a remarkable environment. But, I longed for the true nature of seasonal change.
Here and now I experience a significant range of seasonal weather. The ebb and flow of the seasons commands me once again to step in sync. I must, for her power is greater than my own. I must surrender to her and willfully engage with her and in so doing, realize a sense of harmony with all that surrounds me. If I close my eyes and open my ears, the divine music of the landscape surrounding me clearly resonates through me. I cannot have expectations for what the day may bring. I must resign to how it shall be served. This resignation provides me the opportunity to live in unison with the birds singing in the trees and the music of the wind blowing through the pine needles.
Seasons are not just a way of life, they are the waves on which all life floats. We rise and fall with the crests and troughs as each wave arrives and departs. Any attempt to remain level is wasted energy. Rather, we must harmonize with the natural world and ride each wave.
I have found that life in this reality is more simple than I once assumed. We often try with all of our might to force life to submit to our needs. In so doing, we flap our arms and kick our feet just to stay afloat. As the waves approach, they often overtake us. We gasp for air with fear in our eyes as we brush with demise. Reality can easily drown us if we aren’t careful.
Here I sit in this tiny cabin. No more than 640 square feet of logs and planks nailed together with the force of my own hand. I’ve built a structure that protects me from the raw, turbulent weather outside my window. The day brings forth new opportunities to connect and unify. I am far from the reaches of modern societies and the buzz of a life with more to do than a single day can manage. I am floating on the fringe of time having let go of the pursuits of a daily schedule of hurry up and wait. I no longer find myself sitting behind a wheel in a sea of traffic heading toward a horizon to nowhere. I now, every day, significantly exist. I experience each day with meaningful purpose and do so in the context of sunrise to sunset and the cycles of the stars and moon. The days blend together into a sonnet played by our divine mother.
This is what falling in sync with the flow of the planet can do. It can make every moment of life real. It can bring each moment a measure of significance compared to the precious moments of childhood. It blurs the days into a unified timeline of profound harmony. This is how we all once lived and it is, deep down, how we all long to exist.
I think we all desire to truly feel the renewal of life that the spring season brings. We all long to experience the flutter of a young Monarch butterfly as it instinctually makes its way along a migration path inherited from countless generations past. Our soul seeks to understand the astounding three-generational lifecycle the Monarch species requires to survive in a year of seasons over thousands of miles of travel. The Monarch is just one example in nature that has learned to flow with the seasons rather than retaliating against them.
If we could all experience the formation of a single, unique snow flake as it descends down to the surface of the earth only to melt away in its magnificence as it touches the ground––submitting to the forces of nature––I think we would all realize our individuality pales in comparison to our interconnectedness. Our uniqueness is short lived. It is with unity that we may conquer the egotistical individuality that is destroying the environment of our home.
There is resonant vibration flowing around and through me. I am learning to exist in relation to the flow of nature in my daily life. I celebrate the arrival of spring and step in sync with the birth of new life. I watch it unfold now with satisfaction rather than anticipation. Each season brings new experiences and with them, an elevated wisdom that we are a part of a greater system.
Humanity can find a harmonious existence with the flow and vibration of the planet. We can learn that we are not an entity upon the surface but rather an integral part of her whole being. It is here we can learn to exist if we so choose.
What life do you want to live? Submerse yourself in the ebb and flow of Nature’s seasons and you will rediscover the existence of your youth. The human you (and I) were born to be will rise again with new wisdom and a consciousness to realize our place within it all.
I return now to the tapping of the keys on my keyboard. I can hear the faint sounds of songbirds outside my door. They are frolicking in a light rainfall. There is a mist in the forest beyond the meadow surrounding the cabin. Occasionally the sun pokes through casting a surreal rainbow glow across the raindrops.
The pellet stove has gone silent. Eve is approaching and dusk is descending upon the cabin. It is time to rest and witness the Sun’s retreat beyond the peaks. A day’s end for me here at the cabin signifies the welcome of new day to experience just over the horizon. Together, we embrace the very process that gives us life to witness at all. We are one and the same in the ebb and flow of the seasons.
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