Orange Tree has lived in my backyard for many years, long before I bought my house. My new neighbor was excited to inform me of the delicious gifts. Was he ever right! Orange Tree delivers fruit so juicy that the orange pulp bursts with a runny nectar when it is being peeled. If you aren't careful (and even if you are) juice will slide down your wrists and elbows. leaving tracks of sticky goodness behind. I peel my fruit over a bowl so I catch all the drips. Fruit from Orange Tree is precious and sacred and meant to be shared. I recently discovered a hummingbird nest in the branches, complete with a small, rounded egg. The bird sat at the nest diligently for a few days, then left the nest and unborn baby behind.
For years I didn't care about Orange Tree. I worked right across the way, in that little office, with a perfect view. I probably gazed at Orange Tree while having panic attacks, suggesting to clients ways to make medications more difficult to obtain. I couldn't see Orange Tree. I couldn't see life beyond its overwhelming obligations. I had no idea the land I was living on.
My backyard has long been my favorite space and the main reason I bought my home. In the last 6 months, however, it has catapulted to downright magical. When my lover ended things with me I sat back there, smoked weed, and contemplated life. I cried, spoke out loud, shared wisdoms and truths with the land. I learned things about my ancestors, my broken heart, my path, and the magic of it all. I came to know myself more in my backyard than anywhere else.
Grass holds a cool, damp blanket on which I wander barefoot, thinking and muttering to myself. Sometimes I lie in the nude, letting the energy from the earth and the energy from my body speak. Other times I gaze at plants and imagine what they need or how they feel. Dozens of nights I have spent hours in the dark space questioning things that don't make sense or cried tears of pain, discovery, and beauty. How many cold evenings have I sat in a chair, wrapped in a blanket, and stared at the dark sky?
My animals join me. They sit on the grass and witness me wander. A wash runs behind the land giving the yard an expansive, open feel. Birds, skunks, coyotes, lost and stray animals, and more frequent the wash. My cats perch on the top of their fence, protected in their secret places, and watch the magical world with delight. They speak a language that so many of us have forgotten. The language of mother earth. The language of every single living thing working together in harmony. The smallest moss cell emits energy invisible to our ears but felt in our hearts. Insects murmur a soft buzz as they follow their instinctual pull to a food source. Birds speak among the trees, oblivious to tax assessor property lines. The ocean is 5 miles away and sends waves of moist, cool air on a steady breeze.
One night, a few weeks ago, I surrendered and relaxed enough at Orange Tree's base to allow it reveal it's wisdom to me. I was transported into the magical world of Orange Tree. From the spot where he lives he overlooks animals, plants, and birds; the world happening all around us. He sees the world working in harmony with only humans, the virus of destruction, oblivious to the language of all living things. Trees emit energy and provide fruit. Birds' call and response. The magic of millions of years of evolution working in symbiosis.
That glimpse into Mother Earth's larger plan woke up my senses to a shocking and even overwhelming awareness of calm and beauty. I decided to attend Aniwa, a gathering of 40 elders from indigenous cultures around the world, a few weeks later. I wanted to see if this communication with Orange Tree was a fluke or if it was something I could enhance.
Aniwa was a beautiful experience. The elders taught of ancestral healings, honoring crops, healing the womb, giving thanks to what Mother Earth has provided for us and much more. Other attendees had an open, respectful relationship with the world and with each other. I slept under the dark black sky with millions of stars. The gathering was sacred and I came home refreshed and a bit dazed.
My desire to be in nature and contemplate my awakening to the language of the living became an itch I couldn't seem to scratch. Being indoors felt stale. Humans aren't meant to live in a world disconnected to the world. Thankfully, I had a trip planned to take my daughter to Montana.
Oh, Montana! Excuse me as I gush about the precious oasis of nature, so wild, so big, that it scared me and delighted me. Every lookout or dirt road explored revealed a scene so beautiful I could weep. Words simply can't describe the perfected mixture of aging trees, new seedlings, rivers, creeks, wildflowers, and animals.
Living on the farm has long been considered a slip in mom's parenting among my sisters and me. Her boyfriend was an asshole, no one wore clothes (adults included), we used outhouses, and we were sent to walk to our friends' houses via the path without a rattlesnake den. In Montana, however, I found a log across a small stream and was instantly transported to the night on the farm where we walked to find the beaver dam. I was excited to cross the cute little bridge, just my size. The smell of dill and mint were in the air. We swam in pools with algae and natural flowing water instead of chlorine. I learned how to suck flowers for their nectar and I discovered ripe strawberries. Mother Earth loved me, held me in her arms, and delighted me, over and over.
Did my babies receive the love due to them from Mother Earth? Do they know she loves them so? Was raising them in the largest city on the west coast a disservice to their mental health? How can I teach them now that they are teenagers, smarter than me about everything? I wept over that stream as I felt the loss of beautiful discovery for my daughter.
The next day, as she refused to get out of the car for a small walk, I lost it. I yelled at her:
I brought you to the prettiest place and YOU ARE MISSING IT! Do you know why I brought you here? Because when you don't get along with your mom, when you don't get along with your dad, when nothing seems to be going your way, you always have nature. Mother Earth is how you connect to the beauty of the world.
It was harsh and I don't like to be harsh with her. Yet the message penetrated those noise cancelling earphones enough for her to participate. A bit. We built a fire (I built a fire!!!) and I gave her the stick, I said, "It's yours. You're in charge of the fire." She came alive! We sat, stared at the fire, talked, and watched the stars until 2:00 AM.
(2:00 am, you say?!? No one complained. This was Montana where you can have a campfire as late as you damn well please.)
We built a fire every night after that. The last night we started it early, 5:30 PM, and made hot dogs, s'mores, and played cards. I explored the stream and flowers. I heard the plants murmur to me. I discovered a wild rose; pretty and smelling of childhood. I felt the creek renew my energy.
