December

George Winston's "December" ... thanks to Michelle in NYC 

for reminding me of this old favorite album and suggesting I play the album as I read the post she wrote. I pass that suggestion along to you as you read this, too. 

I began this post on a Sunday morning which has this astrological flavor to it:

"Sunday the Moon moves through the rest of Virgo, opposing Chiron, squaring retro Mercury as Mercury trines Uranus. There is an aha moment (or more) that upgrades consciousness. When faced with an old trigger (Chiron), we finally see something new (Uranus): OH! Grow and change as old and new morph and burn off the pain. Uranus in Aries refers back to Mars in Scorpio, the phoenix. Learning is an emotional and intellectual challenge, but this time it’s also leveling up. You get to keep this one once it solidifies in time..." - Satori

Every Saturday throughout December Tilth Elves (volunteers from South Whidbey Tilth) set up a get your own Christmas tree (growing along the highway ... as part of a we-take-care-of-the-roadside-so-you-don't spray or otherwise get carried away agreement with Island County) gig. Here's Elf Pete on the first of those Saturday Trees for the Holidays.

Elf Art Work (thank you Jake and Pete) including evidence of the very wet, but not frosty/icy first Saturday in December

A Christmas Elf Jig done when you send people off in their trucks to hunt the perfect road-side holiday tree ... part of the protection dance to keep them safe from drivers who might be texting while driving.

A December redux ... an image of red apples and pearl-sized crab apples left on her fruit bearing  limbs. Out of reach from the humans harvest, these lingering bright lights of Nature are the gifts. The gifts we too often forget are part of the 'agreement' between us domesticated humans and the Wild; the agreement that was made to re-tool our ancient memory: ask permission to eat the seed fruit and if the answer is 'yes' leave gifts.

See the hallowed out apple? We watch over the days of December thus far and quietly give thanks that we notice the gifts being pecked at by the Resident Winged Ones(Towhee and Chickadees among others) who depend on the reciprocity.

Yesterday Pete and I took a short road trip north to visit our friends Teri and Martin. There was a pan once filled with pork and wild rice to retrieve and in exchange stories and a check for red boots were on our Saturday menu. Our visits are short, spent shooting the December breeze while standing on the deck looking out at the cargo barge, and the big sea with a hazy inversion in the sky. We talked of sweet and sad reality, laughed at the prospects of a tattoo or how about turning a remodel into making room for 'our ship's come in.' Silliness and woven histories do make for good company.

Between us, we two pairs concoct deliciously Neapolitan flavor in these brief visits. Complex flavors or simply old magic? Like listening to George Winston's 'December' on a December morning in 2017 while remembering that once upon a time in a valley on a Hawaiian island in the middle of the Pacific I listened to that music longing for the winters that I once knew or were coming ... later, again. A fortune teller is primed to hear in color; synesthesia translates futures through a deck of cards, a clutter of tea leaves. A teller who has never forgotten the 'agreement' with Nature knows which gig and what jig matter most. The teller initiated in the inseparable has the vision, auditory pathways, patterns for stitchery and feel for dancing wildly. She is a complex conduit.

What does this hallowed apple have to do with Elves doing holiday tree jigs and old friends concocting memories in December? Only this. A gift came through the mail, a belated birthday present came this book from The Dark Mountain Project Issue 12: SANCTUM (Sacred). "What, if anything, is sacred?" starts the Editorial first piece. The gift I received is filled with contributions from widely diverse writers. In our small space of the world, here on the Prairie Front, I stored the book on a shelf in the luxuriously heated bathroom we used for the obvious purposes plus it serves as our bathing and laundry drying place as well.

In its combined service, the heated bathroom provides a place to sit and read.

In truly oracular fashion I began reading my birthday gift by opening to the first page that 'wished' to be read. Here is what I, then, we, are reading: "The Marriage Contract with the Wild" by Martin Prechtel (extracted from The Unlikely Peace at Cuchumaquic: The Parallel Lives of People as Plants: Keeping the Seeds Alive by Martin Prechtel, published by North Atlantic books, copyright (c) 2012 by Martin Prechtel.

Prechtel describes "The Agreement' What is here called the 'marriage contract' between domesticating humans and the betrayed Wild is a worldwise presence and the root of all indigenous motives for how people maintain their cultures. Its principle is the same throughout but is known by as many distinct designations as there are tribes..." Over the week of reading Martin Prechtel's essay both Pete and I seem to be re-member-ing the parts of this agreement as domesticated humans living on land that was once place to the indigenous of this Salish Island. We have inklings of the agreement as we make our way here on the prairie. The resident bird people go about their ways working at remaining alive in this place they know.

I, living my hybridized journey as displaced Hawaiian woman, living on a frosty prairie my dreams are scrambled versions of culture. Maybe too much lived in my head the daily survival gig makes it harder to grow and change. The longing distracts me. But another version of ancient agreements feel like home to me, to us. The warm bathroom and gifts sent to keep the value of story intact turns chaos into connection. The red fruit on winter limbs count from a dozen to a handful. The gifts are being eaten. I count ours too and December is good. Complex.

Story grows. The astrologer says, "You get to keep this one once it solidifies over time." I have faith it will and keep writing.

What is your December like?