Elizabeth St. John's Creation Stewardship Journal
Posted April 20, 2007
Creation Journal – How a frog changed my life
I can hear the ice pellets hitting the living room window – perhaps God is tapping, tapping, tapping gently on my shoulder to take notice of the world around me.
Just as 2007 was beginning to unfold, Dick Tustian, Tom Whitley, Scott Winnette, Bonnie Holcomb, Mary Hickey, Judy Rankin, Corky Hickey, Marilyn Jacox and I came together in the church library to begin a conversation about planning an educational opportunity concerning Global Warming. Did God bring us together in this time and place to delve into one of the key topics of our time? Some in the room would have agreed, some perhaps not.
Just as each gentle soul is a unique creation, each of us brought to the table a different perspective, a different set of circumstances, a different degree of passion, a different set of gifts. The blessing was that we were able to continue each of our creation stories while beginning to work together toward a somewhat common, slightly murky goal.
I share this background with you because this is the beginning of my own journaling process. I’ve agreed to share my thoughts in a very public way, through the church web site. You are invited to read over my shoulder, I hope something within my words and thoughts will be a source of inspiration and will give you the space you need to do your own journaling.
Because this is written within the context of the church web site, let me share with you how the story of Bradley Hills became interwoven in my own journey. I wasn’t born into the church, but my family brought me to church the week that we moved to Bethesda, in February of 1964. Our sanctuary was not yet completed, so we were still coming together for worship in Memorial Hall. As a teenager, I was confirmed at BHPC. In 1982, Ross Sutton and I were married in the Bradley Hills sanctuary. Through my mother’s BHPC peacemaking efforts, Ross and I were introduced to a new way of thinking about life and about the world through a group known as Beyond War. To this day, I still maintain a very strong set of relationships with many of my Beyond War friends. At a Beyond War event in November of 1989, my life changed quite dramatically. Since that time, I have felt called to address the issue of global warming and to change the way I live and the way in which I interact with this amazing world that continues to evolve all around us.
If you have seen “An Inconvenient Truth,” you may remember the scene with the frog growing accustomed to the increasingly hotter water. I first encountered this concept that November and the frog story was not told in such a light-hearted way.
Enough for now. I’ll touch base with you again soon.
--Elizabeth St. John
Creation Journal – April 22, 2007 – Happy Earth Day!
Today has been one of those flawlessly beautiful spring days in the DC suburbs. I know that rainy days are flawlessly beautiful too, but I don’t tend to appreciate them quite as much.
At Bradley Hills, we started the day with our annual Blessing of the Animals. The last six days have been difficult and emotional for many – our hearts and prayers go to all involved in the Virginia Tech tragedy. So, while we did acknowledge the losses in Virginia and the loss of soldiers in Iraq, we also appreciated the beauty surrounding us and were able to enjoy worship with our pets at our feet.
We followed the early service with Creation Stewardship adult ed focusing on Global Warming and our “carbon footprints.” Our give and take seemed to lead us into the surprising words that should not have surprised me at all – EVERYTHING MATTERS.
Besides the idea that EVERYTHING MATTERS, the reusable water bottle became a symbol of the day for me and a way to view many aspects of our relationship with all aspects of creation.
While talking about the decision made by Session to use the church china for coffee during meetings, I think it dawned on us that we mostly need to be intentional and caring in our choices. China or disposable cups? Use of the dishwasher or creation of trash? Plastic cups or paper cups? At the grocery store, plastic or paper bags?
Presenting our pastors with reusable water bottles and shopping bags was kind of fun and kind of funny – but actually perhaps also an answer to some of these questions that seem so complex.
I’ve never been a coffee drinker, so it is only natural for me to carry my own water. A year ago, it would have been a commercial bottle of water. How I ever allowed myself to fall prey to that marketing scam – I will never fully understand. But I bought 4 reusable bottles last April and have been using them ever since. I keep two in active mode and two in back up mode all the time. That way, I don’t have the excuse that the bottles were in the dishwasher so I could not use them. Four bucks per bottle seemed a little steep to me when I bought them, but $16 for a year’s worth of water and no more excuses seems to have worked out to be a pretty good deal. And the bottles are in great shape, so I suspect they will be the same four that I will be using a year from now. ($16 for 2 years – what a great deal - if you start to calculate how much money you will save by carrying your own water, imagine how much more money you can give to the church to help support funding for alternative energy sources!) I feel a little sorry for my husband…when he wants to borrow one of “my” bottles to take on the road, he gets quite an earful from me about being sure to not lose that precious bottle.
Back to the issue of coffee and meetings – if you get into the habit and always carry a coffee mug or two in your car, you will always have one you can carry into a meeting and back out with you, along with your stack of papers (a whole other subject!) at the end of the night. Why rely on anyone else to supply disposable cups? Why rely on anyone else to supply and then wash china cups? And, for those of you who believe that direct comparisons are easy to make, consider the environmental costs of fossil fuels to produce, package and deliver those paper cups. And, the fossil fuels used to haul the inevitable trash away so that it can be conveniently out of sight and out of mind. Fossil fuels are used to heat the water for the dishwasher The dishwashing soap probably has phosphates in it which are then harmful to our lovely Chesapeake Bay and all of the various cycles of life tied to its existence (including our own.) Suddenly, the simplicity of carrying your own reusable container becomes abundantly clear.
Those of you who chose not to come to Adult Ed because you thought that talking about your carbon footprint was going to be boring do not know what you missed!
As our conversation continued, we talked a bit about the concept of journaling. For many, keeping a journal is the beginning of living with greater awareness and acting more intentionally. Gail phrased it beautifully. I don’t remember her exact words, but mostly it came down to the joy of allowing yourself to live life as a prayer.
Please note: Until we iron out a few more technicalities, feel free to respond directly to Elizabeth by email
est.john@verizon.net As thoughts flow back and forth, they will be shared unless you request that they not be shared.
Creation Journal – April 23, 2007
This time of year is great. Leaving our windows open lets us wake up to the sound of the birds. When Rev. Smoot was leading Creation Stewardship Bible Study just before Easter, he was expressing that all of creation participates in worshiping God. When you listen to a bird at dawn, the idea that that lovely, perfect little feathered miracle is engaging in its own form of worship is a delight. I suppose that when my cat is sitting in the window twitching at the sight of these delightful birds, she too is worshiping God, but somehow that cycle of life piece of the story puts things in a different light.
Today, my thoughts again turn to yesterday’s Blessing of the Animals and I have to laugh. When I again allow the idea to cross my mind that creation worships God, I think back to a Dave Barry column about dogs. I still miss his column. He often wove dogs into his stories. Since I live with dogs and work with dogs professionally, I observe their behavior almost constantly. That does not mean I always understand it, but I completely understood Dave Barry’s perspective. He wrote of the way in which a dog anticipates her first outing of the day. Actually, he wrote about the way in which a dog anticipates almost every outing of the day. Every morning is a new opportunity. Hurry up. Look, there is grass! Hey, there is a sky. Here, there is a tree – wow – there goes a squirrel. Oh, a butterfly. Hey, don’t miss the bug. And – look – look –look – look – there is a stick. And, an obvious miracle, it is the very same stick that was there yesterday. YES! Wow.
I think I am a fairly appreciative person – but there is simply no comparison. I try to start each day with a thought of thankfulness – but I manage to miss an awful lot of the little details.
So, today, I tried to be aware of my surroundings and be grateful. I spent way too much time handling email this morning. I was grateful for some of the connections that I was making, but I was not tuned in to too much else in the world until I left my computer. However, I did take a visual tour of earth photos shot from space and displayed on the web to celebrate Earth Day – and that really made me smile and appreciate. I went out to some work appointments. That meant having to get behind the wheel of my car. I’ve become awfully conscious of how much I do or do not drive. Driving is a mixed blessing. For my work, public transportation is not an option. A lot of my work with dogs is done on foot, but getting to my clients’ homes almost always requires that I drive there alone. I do work to string all of my driving trips together so that they are far more efficient, but I drive more than I want to drive. Rethinking my driving patterns has allowed me to shave at least 2-3,000 miles a year off of my driving – but I still need to do better.
I did need to communicate with County Council and Ike Leggett today over some local issues in my Silver Spring neighborhood. Technology helped me very thoughtful in that regard in that I was able to do everything by email and I did not have to print anything out.
I was able to spend some time in the yard appreciating our Virginia bluebells, our May apples, our redbuds and our wood poppies. We intentionally began adding native plants to our yard about ten years ago, and they are well established now. All of these additions were intentional responses to local environmental health issues – I’ll make sure to share more about the reasoning behind these decisions in the coming weeks. And I worked on one our mulched paths while waiting for a client today. Believe it or not, that is a pleasure. We have worked to minimize grass but need areas for dogs to run without causing erosion and run-off problems. So, now our local tree companies know that we use a lot of mulch. Rather than paying dumping fees and burning fossil fuels to drive their loads to the dump, these fellows stop by and ask us if we want some free wood chips. We almost always accept what they offer. This stuff would not be ideal for some types of mulching, but it works beautifully for creating paths and minimizing erosion. I’ve learned how much this helps the health of local streams – so I actually find some pleasure in working on our mulched pathways. And they look pretty too. A win –win.
We did drive to get dinner tonight. There is a lovely outdoor plaza in downtown Silver Spring that draws a myriad of people from all sorts of cultural backgrounds into one place. A beautiful mosaic fountain draws children into it (intentionally) for innocent play and the scene is always a visual delight. Every color of the rainbow, many languages, many smiles, much laughter – the adults all watch with delight. And our favorite Middle Eastern restaurant allows you to carry your meals outside on real plates using real tableware – trusting that it will all be returned – so the waste stream is fairly minimal. I forgot to bring my reusable water bottle – so I did use a disposable cup from the restaurant. We are works in progress and we do the best we can as we learn to live intentionally.
Sitting there, watching the day winding down and taking in the joy of so many lovely people –perhaps this was an act of worship and I just didn’t look at it that way.
Please note: Until we iron out a few more technicalities, feel free to respond directly to Elizabeth by email
est.john@verizon.net As thoughts flow back and forth, they will be shared unless you request that they not be shared.
Creation Journal – April 24, 2007
My mindset is jumping all over the map today. As it turns out, I heard news of one of my first cousins – Ann. I have only met her once, when she and her family visited us in Bethesda in the late sixties or early seventies. I liked her, but we lived in very different worlds. She and her husband live on a small island off the coast of Washington State. The only way to get there is to take a ferry to one of the San Juan Islands and then hitch a ride on a local boat or on the mail boat. There are a few old vehicles on the island – mostly people just walk. There is a post office. There is some sort of store – food is brought in once a week and off loaded at the local pier. Around 100 people live on the island. All of the homes are hand-built – many are what we would view as shacks. The only power on the island is solar. Water comes from wells.
I remember meeting her and her husband and kids. Their clothes were clean, but dirty. They would not use detergents or bleaches and everything was simply washed by hand. I remember photos of the outhouse and I remember laughing.
And, I distinctly remember my mother cooking dinner for our down –to-earth relatives. She happily took out her pans and sprayed them thoroughly with Pam – that non-stick stuff that was widely used at the time. No one had started complaining about CFCs yet. (Ozone layer, what ozone layer?) And, my poor cousin just about had a heart attack on the spot. Talk about culture clash. Everyone was polite (except that I was smirking) and my super nice mother never knew how badly she had horrified my cousin.
Even then, in the hippie era, these folks were hippies to the max and I had never met anyone like them. I was intrigued, but I was glad I was not expected to go visit them. I liked our modern air-conditioned house. I was oblivious to phosphates in my detergent and had not taken notice of the concept of recycled paper. However, my Dad and I faithfully did tie up all of the family’s newspapers so he could sell them to the junk man up in Rockville. And, we did collect bottles wherever we could find them so we could get our 2 cent refund for each that we took back to the store. There were not a lot of cans and bottles along our road sides because they were worth something and people were still pretty considerate about not littering. And, the concept of plastic bottles was not on the horizon. When we spotted anything with copper wiring lying around, my father was happy whenever we gave it to him. He would strip it down, save it up and sell it to the junkman too.
As I write this, it just crossed my mind that Bradley Hills was jumping on the environmental bandwagon around this same time. So, I just pulled a few paragraphs from the church history (yes, I still have a few drafts of it on my computer!) that I think will remind us all that environmental awareness was really surfacing at our very own church.
Protecting the environment began to emerge as a new concern in the 1960s and Bradley Hills was involved in a very special way. When Rachel Carson wrote Silent Spring , the nation was galvanized by the realization of what society was doing to damage the
environment and by fears of a contaminated world.
In the late 1960s, the Presbyterian Board of Christian Education began to study this issue. After a conference sponsored by the board at Ghost Ranch, NM, in 1969, a small group began to give shape to data from the conference in preparation for a Pronouncement on the Environment to be presented to the next General Assembly. That group met at Bradley Hills and included Dr. Jack Stotts (then at Yale and later President of Austin Seminary), Donald Williams (an architect from Louisville, KY) and Dr. Thomas Ward, Shirley Briggs (Director of the Rachel Carson Council) and Dr. Arthur Hall from Bradley Hills Church. At that time, Dr. Hall was president of the National Board of Christian Education.
The final draft of this work done at Bradley Hills was presented in Chicago at the General Assembly of 1970. It was adopted and became the first statement on the environment pronounced by any religious denomination in the United States.
Pretty cool, huh? Let’s carry on this legacy as a church – and not just as a few of us sharing ideas in adult education and working on worthwhile projects here and there. Everything matters. Every little bit helps, but more needs to change. Our church family is full of change agents. I truly believe God calls each and every one of us to live intentionally and to tend to all of creation as we live – including ourselves.
So, back to the 1970 or so era - while I was being a bit of a dimwit in the presence of my “live lightly on the earth” cousins, really valuable work was under way nearby. The sad thing is - I am not aware of a whole lot being said or done by the church between then and 1990. I had my head in the sand part of that time, but certainly not for all of it.
And, now I find myself thinking that my cousin’s lifestyle is quite commendable. If I compare my carbon footprint to hers – oh, I don’t even want to think about it. And she has lived quite gently for close to 40 years.
One last thing – her island home is a nuclear free zone.
Please note: Until we iron out a few more technicalities, feel free to respond directly to Elizabeth by email
est.john@verizon.net As thoughts flow back and forth, they will be shared unless you request that they not be shared.
Creation Journal - April 29, 2007
I’m writing today while vacationing on Hatteras Island. Sigh. There is a satellite image of the Outer Banks on the wall of this house – it is really striking to see what a fragile little piece of land we’ve fallen in love with. We seem to be literally dangling out in the ocean. That is not entirely true. We are actually dangling between the Pamlico Sound and the Atlantic Ocean and can see both from this vantage point.
While here, I’ve been reading a book about Captain Cook’s extraordinary travels. In the book, there are several references to native peoples and the way in which they have a “sense of place.” When I have the book at hand, I’ll dig out the references and make a note of them. Anyway, in multiple instances, different island cultures have a word that essentially means “a sense of place.”
In my own life, I have a sense of place, but it is something I have become much more keenly aware of in recent years. For me, this brings to mind my relationship with a specific portion of the natural world that I have come to know well. I think I am an extraordinarily fortunate person in that I have two places where I really feel at home. One of these is our yard in Hillandale in Silver Spring. It too can be seen from a satellite image. Sure, I like my house, but that is not my place. My place is a piece of land with incredible oaks, redbuds, holly trees, Virginia bluebells, May apples, trilliums, native and non native azaleas, goldfinches, squirrels to the max, cardinals, blue jays, the now rare crow, slugs, non native earthworms, red fox, deer, ground hogs, raccoons, native and non native mosquitoes, mountain laurel, remnants of dogwood trees. When I am in my place, I know north, south, east and west. I know that my place sits at the crest of two stream valleys – one is the Northwest Branch, the other is the Paint Branch. The rain that hits my place flows to the Northwest Branch, then to the Anacostia, then to the Potomac and then to the Chesapeake Bay.
Before we left Silver Spring a few days ago to make our springtime visit to this lovely place, Ross and I walked through our yard together – appreciating all of the beauty that was emerging: each little gem like a piece of an intricate puzzle; each little gem having a role to play within its own mini eco system; each interacting with a larger system; each having an impact on me. Knowing that the way in which I live has an impact on every little gem is really rather overwhelming.
I’ve learned a lot from my place. I’ve got to get back to my vacation – but then I will get back to my thoughts about my sense of place.
CREATION JOURNAL – April 30, 2007
I’m still writing from Hatteras Island and still have a “sense of place” on my mind. My first visit to Hatteras was in 1982 when we came here for our honeymoon. I’ve always been a beach person, but this beach is unlike any other in my life. For one thing, other than the few towns on the island, everything here is protected national seashore. Here, there aren’t any high rises and, even in the peak of summer, there aren’t any crowds. I started really tuning into the island and its rhythms when we began staying for two weeks instead of just one. We learned the magic of late summer and off season rates and sharing a rented oceanfront house with friends. (We also learned about hurricane season and we became evacuation experts, but that is a whole other topic.)
I would always get up at dawn and be one of the very first on the beach. I would walk for two hours and see almost no one. I got into the routine of carrying a trash bag and picking up trash as I walked. My beach gave me so much – cleaning it up a bit was the only thing I could really give back. The other early walkers would see me and start bringing trash to add to my bag. Even walking every day and cleaning up everything I could find, the next day there would be all this new trash. For the most part, it did not come from other vacationers. It mostly came in with the tides. Unbelievable. Very sad. Very disconcerting. Very real evidence of our habits of consumption and our habit of littering without even noticing it. Deflated balloons clustered together with long stringy ribbons became one of my pet peeves. And plastic bags started making me crazy. I started thinking about all the people in all the houses near all the streams and storm sewers, the trash on roadsides, the celebrations that including letting balloons fly off into the atmosphere, and the endless stream of plastic bags. All of these things flowed downstream from someone’s thoughtless hands. Sure, some of this trash came from fishermen and some from passing boats, but mostly this was just garbage.
Back home, with some of my church friends and others, I started getting involved in stream clean-ups. Guess what? Much of the trash was virtually the exact same stuff I was finding on the beach. When a balloon deflates and lands by the side of the road, it will get washed into a storm sewer. Eventually, it will follow the Northwest Branch and find its way to the Chesapeake Bay and to the Atlantic. Or, a plastic bag is dropped at Cabin John Park during a baseball game and no one bothers to grab it. It finds its way into the Cabin John Creek and works its way to the Potomac. You get the picture. The Bay has plenty of trash in it, but it also spews out tons into the Atlantic. And all that stuff ends up on our shores or on the shores of other continents. The thoughtlessness overwhelms me and even makes me grieve.
See what happens when you start to pay attention?
I suppose that is what leads me to feel a sense of place. Paying attention to the details – caring for it – tending to it – beginning to see the rhythms and the connections – all of these things matter.
CREATION JOURNAL – May 1, 2007
Hatteras on my mind. There is actually a web site that carries that name. Apparently I am not the only one having this love affair.
After vacationing here for several years, we started paying attention to more than just the beach and the ocean. We started exploring the back roads and began to learn about the Pamlico Sound. A whole new world began to unfold before my very eyes. I couldn’t believe I had missed all of “the other side” of the island for so long. For one thing, I started to tune in to the way of life of the islanders. Many of the locals have ancestry that goes back to the beginning of recorded history on this island. Many piece together multiple jobs to make ends meet. It seems they have a whole other understanding of life and its seasons and adapt their work lives to fit the realities if this environment. I’ve still only begun to understand how these folks live.
We also began exploring the Pamlico Sound via kayak. That led to many other adventures that perhaps I’ll share when I have time.
I think about the way my friends, family and acquaintances live in Montgomery County and other parts of the DC area. There are certainly daily rhythms to life in urban and suburban America, but those rhythms seem to have little to do with nature and tides. I used to be a daily commuter. I used to go to an office building and work inside all day at least five days a week. I realize that that is the way many of my cohorts make their way through life. I used to do it, but now I think I would end up in an asylum if I had to be inside so much of the time. When I stay inside, I don’t feel connected. I know I need to feel connected to the world around me. I know I need to care about it. I know I am meant to care about it.
Yesterday, I was writing about walking on the beach early every morning. My patterns have changed over time, but my thoughts take me to late August of 1995. I was plodding down the beach and had walked about a mile south of town through an area that is only accessible by foot or by four-wheel drive. All of a sudden, I came upon what may well be a once in my lifetime event. A sea turtle had just been up on the beach. She had laid her eggs, closed up the nest and had made her way back into the ocean. I never saw her, but I knew that I was the first person to lay eyes on her freshly laid nest. I was thrilled beyond belief, but I also knew I had to take action. The fishermen had not yet started driving down the beach, but they would be soon and the nest was very vulnerable. I ran all the way back to the beach house and grabbed the phone. I tracked down the National Park Service office that tends to the famous Hatteras lighthouse area and they then tracked down the local official sea turtle volunteer. I asked that he meet me at the nest and grabbed some of our friend and we raced back down the beach together. The sea turtle volunteer was tending to turtles as his summer internship. He appeared in his truck very quickly. One of the first things he said to me was “This is exactly one mile south of town. How did you know to tell me to come one mile?” I still don’t know the answer to that question, but I loved the fact that I knew “my” beach well enough to just know where I was.
If this nest were laid this year or in recent years, the park service would fence off the area and carefully post it to ward off intruders and 4-wheel drive vehicles. Back then, the standard response was to move the nest to a safe area beyond the reach of vehicles. Well, as luck would have it, this young man allowed us to help. He carefully guided us and gave us exact instructions. He had us carefully uncover the nest. He had a cylindrical cooler in his truck that he brought over next to the nest. He showed us how she had so flawlessly dug her nest so it was a perfectly cylindrical shape. He had us carefully place sand that had been adjacent to the nest into the cooler and then tenderly move each egg and place it in the cooler at the same inclination that it was originally laid. We even tried to be sure that every egg was placed touching the same eggs that it had originally touched. He had us measure the nest and count the eggs. If I remember correctly, there were 138 eggs. We also measured the tracks that the turtle had left in the sand. Based on all this information, we learned that she was a loggerhead. She had most likely been born on the same beach and instinctively knew to come back. We also learned that out of those 138 eggs, only one would be likely to survive to adulthood and perhaps return to lay its own eggs. I became a big fan of sea turtles and read a lot about them. Sadly, I learned that many die from ingesting plastic bags or balloons. Think about how those deflated balloons with stringy ribbon look to a turtle when they are floating by.
We drove nearby the nesting spot earlier today and I thought about that turtle and her eggs. I wonder if any of them survived. I have never come across another freshly laid nest. I have since found several dead turtles that have washed up onto my beach.
CREATION JOURNAL – May 2, 2007
Today was one of those perfect days at the beach. We took the ferry from the tip of Hatteras Island down to Ocracoke Island. We ended up on my favorite Ocracoke beach. (That is a safe bet – every one of Ocracoke’s beaches is “my favorite.”) It was warm enough to wade in the water and it was clear, clear, clear. Not too many people out today – and I am just greedy enough to not want to share my beaches with all of humanity. We timed it so we arrived just before low tide.
I used to sit on the beach – not any more. Now, I spend virtually all of my time walking and exploring and admiring. Parts of the beach (up around the dunes) were fenced off to protect nesting birds, so I stayed down along the water and walked for two or three hours – my idea of bliss. I was able to wade out to sandbars several times. Water was calm and not too cold – and did I mention that it was clear!?
Every part of this day was like a gift. Waking up on beautiful Hatteras. Walking the dogs along the canal over toward the Pamlico Sound was a delight. They seemed to think so too. We even managed to get to the ferry without a glitch and were whisked right on. Sometimes the wait is well over an hour, so this too was a gift. The ferry ride was smooth and lots of folks came by to admire the golden retrievers who were along for the ride. They are like our ambassadors to the world. People are quite friendly on the Outer Banks, but when you have a dog with you, they are even friendlier. We always make sure the dogs aren’t obnoxious, so that helps.
So, even if the beach conditions had not been ideal, we would have had a great day. As things unfolded on Ocracoke’s lovely beach, the gifts just kept on coming. Among other things, during my walking and wading and enjoying, I found 9 sand dollars! I can visit these beaches once or twice a year for several years running and never find a sand dollar, so I was just delighted. I suppose that what was even better was that there were lots of fishermen on the beach and not a one was catching anything!! I have to admit that fishing just doesn’t seem all that sporting to me. I understand that there is skill involved. I understand that there is patience involved. But I have never understood how anyone can say that the fish does not feel pain when a hook is jammed through its jaw. So, I was truly delighted that these fishermen (and women) were really just forced to enjoy the beauty of the day without harming a single fish. More and more fishermen are practicing the “catch and release” concept – but I cannot grasp why it is okay to so totally stress out a fish just for the personal thrill. This is one of the realities of life that makes me grieve. (Mind you, I still eat chicken and a tad of red meat every few months – so I know I am being unfair.)
As I write this, I am feeling a little guilty and hoping that the sand dollars that I keep are truly no longer living creatures. I was with someone once who found a living sand dollar and who was kind enough to put it back into the ocean. The ones that I keep are white and dried out – so I trust that my admiration and greed have caused no harm.
On other occasions, I have found conch shells and been thrilled. And then I have discovered that they sometimes contain still living ocean snails – so I definitely know that I am only meant to admire them and then let them be. I have to admit that one year, I found the sweetest tiny little shells along the path in the dunes. It never crossed my mind that they were alive because they were in the dunes and nowhere near the ocean tides. Plus, they were smaller that my smallest fingernail. I put a few in the little storage spot in my car door so I could remember the beach as I went about my business back in Maryland. Well, literally several weeks later, much to my chagrin, I realized that these precious little things were still alive. The atmospheric conditions in my car must have been just right --- I saw that they had slowly made their way out of the little cubby hole and were climbing up to the air vents! Now, I try to be extra careful because I really do not want to do any harm.
So, as I head to bed tonight, I have so much for which to be thankful.
CREATION JOURNAL – May 4, 2007
There is something special about kayaking. I don’t mean wild, run-the-rapids type of kayaking. I mean the gentle sort of kayaking that allows me to quietly explore, in almost a meditative state. My first time kayaking was far from meditative. It was kind of fun, but our “eco-tour guide” was very young and inexperienced and he had matched me with a kayak that forced me to work much harder than necessary. We took a great tour of the edges of the Pamlico Sound along the western side of Hatteras Island and got to see all sort of lovely birds. That part, I loved. What I could not figure out was why everyone else was gliding along seamlessly while I was working like a dog to even stay within sight of the group. Now, I know that how your feet are placed makes a real difference and that I can’t begin to approach a meditative state unless I am somewhat physically comfortable.
There are many great things about kayaking. Perhaps what I appreciate the most is that it one of the least obtrusive ways to observe aspects on nature that we don’t usually get to observe. The only energy expended is healthful, human energy. No fossil fuels. No roaring engines. No fouling of the waters. No fumes.
I also appreciate it that I can’t just kayak whenever I feel like it. The weather has to be right. Seems as though this is another one of those things in life that requires that we humans actually pay attention to other aspects of God’s creation. I can just hop into my car and turn the key and drive away at a whim – yet this is innately harmful. Yet, when I want to climb into a kayak and paddle away, I can only do it at nature’s whim.
These thoughts have crossed my mind today because I wanted to kayak today. Alas, it was too windy.
CREATION JOURNAL – May 5, 2007
I am back in my mindset about “a sense of place.” A few days ago, I shared some of my thoughts about the physical details of our place in Silver Spring. Since then, I have been thinking about how much that place has changed in the almost 19 years that we have interacted with it and developed a relationship with it. The changes have really been rather stunning.
I’ll let the thoughts just tumble out of my mind and we’ll see where this goes.
We lost an 80 year-old oak tree to a lightning strike. We witnessed the strike. The hairs on my arms stood on end. Things will never be the same.
The Asian Tiger mosquitoes made it as far as our yard – things will never be the same.
We’ve had several times of drought. One was particularly severe. Things will never be the same.
My beloved mountain laurels are dying out. Things will never be the same.
When West Nile virus paid us a visit, a crow died in our woods. I called in to report the crow’s death. It was the first reported case of West Nile in our zip code. Things will never be the same.
A large tree in our woods came down this past summer in broad daylight on a beautiful sunny day. Watching it suddenly fall was stunning. Things will never be the same.
Our newest neighbors have been doing way too much paving. Forgive them, for they know not what they do. Things will never be the same.
Our yard used to have an abundance of toads. They are not so abundant anymore. Will things ever be the same?
I’ve learned to accept snakes and almost appreciate them. Things will never be the same.
Lots of new things are growing as a result of other losses or because of our efforts. Things will never be the same.
I have learned to appreciate slugs. They are extraordinary. Things will never be the same.
The deer have become fixtures in our yard. We don’t see them daily, but we see evidence of them almost daily. Things will never be the same.
During Hurricane Isabel, our neighbor’s tree fell on my husband’s car. Bye-bye car. My husband will never be the same.
The invasives that I did not much care about when we moved to our place have since gone crazy, despite our efforts to minimize their negative impact. These include English Icy, wisteria and periwinkle. Things will never be the same.
Our plantings have attracted gorgeous birds and butterflies. It is great to see a hummingbird on a flower instead of on a feeder with red coloring in it. Things will never be the same.
We see bats regularly. I used to hate them. Now, I appreciate them. I will never be the same.
The dogwoods are gone. Several once lived in our place. Only one shows tiny signs of life. Things will never be the same.
We had a piece of our driveway removed. The contractor thought I was nuts. I was pleased. I wonder if he was right.
This most recent January, earthworms were out in abundance for a couple of weeks in a row. Very odd. In the past 19 years, I’ve never seen this happen before. I’m disturbed.
Last summer, late at night on more than one occasion, I heard coyotes yipping in the distance. This was a first. Things will never be the same.
Everything matters. Everything makes a difference.
CREATION JOURNAL – May 6, 2007
I think this is worth writing down. It was sent to me by a friend, labeled as a Gaelic Blessing.
Deep peace of the running wave to you.
Deep peace of the flowing air to you.
Deep peace of the quiet earth to you.
Deep peace of the shining stars to you.
Deep peace of the gentle night to you.
Moon and stars pour their healing light on you.
Deep peace of Christ, of Christ the Light of the world to you.
Deep peace of Christ to you.
Feels right after a day on a barrier island.
