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Making Room for New Things to Grow (+ new formula)

On Saturday I went on a long-anticipated hike. Most of the summer, one of my favorite hikes has been closed while the Greenbelt Land Trust worked on forest restoration. They promised, “An opened viewshed, outstanding legacy oak trees, and vibrant riparian areas.” The intent was to return the forest to its historic state, as an oak savannah. Over the years, the conifers had overrun the oaks.

I was a little worried. After a few months of hearing wood chippers in the distance, would my favorite place even exist? What was it going to look like? I headed out on the trail with some anxiety.

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What I discovered was a mix of completely unchanged trail, followed by surprising views to the south. It was a stark contrast entering the areas which had undergone forest restoration. The ground cover was gone and the forest dramatically thinned. There was light and openness where there hadn’t been in the past. You could see the shape of the old oaks; see how they had struggled higher and higher for light in the dense forest.

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My emotions on the hike alternated between sad and exhilerated. The forest I had known was becoming something different. I felt a loss of the old while being energized by the new.

Part way through the hike I realized this experience was analogous to any change in life. Sometimes old things, things we have loved and cherished, need to end to make space for new things to grow. This can happen at the pace of nature or can be sped up, nurtured in a new direction, as in the case with this forest or in the case of intentional personal work.

The feeling of loss with change is natural. With that loss, it’s also important to look at the possibility that comes with the new. For this forest, it’s enjoying the increased sunshine, the views, and the sight of those lovely oaks against the sky which makes the loss of the old bearable.

I look forward to seeing what this forest will become, now that space has been made for different things to grow.

And I think of my own personal landscape and wonder: Are there places I need to clear out some old stuff, allowing the space and sunshine for new things to take root?

You can download the Stackables Formula I created for these images, named “Mulkey Ridge” after the hike.

Follow these instructions:
1. Make sure the Stackables app is installed on your iOS device.
2. On your iOS device, download the formula file from this link. (This is a Dropbox link, and you may be prompted to save the file to your Dropbox account, if you have one. Go ahead and save it to your Dropbox and then download from there.)
3. When you go to download or open the file, use “Open in…” and choose the “Open in Stackables” option.
4. Stackables will open and ask if you want to import the formula, click “Import.”
5. To use the formula, load a photo and then go to Favorite Formulas (the ones with a heart!). You will see the imported formula there.

Have fun! I’d love to see what you do with it.

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Photo-Heart Connection: August 2014

Love Forest. Forest Love. Whichever way I write it, it’s true.

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I don’t know exactly where my love of the forest comes from. I don’t know when it formed. Maybe it was as a child, camping in the Colorado woods and going off with my Dad in the wee hours of the morning to find a good spot to fish for trout. Maybe it was in my mid-twenties, when the first home we owned was right up next to an 85-acre wooded park in Colorado Springs, a respite from all things suburban around me. Maybe it was moving to Oregon in my thirties, and discovering primeval-seeming forests with towering trees, that made me feel like I was a tiny blip on the historic radar.

It’s hard to think of a time when the forest didn’t play some role as backdrop to events in my life. But it’s recent, the last two years or so, that the forest moved from backdrop in key memories to a primary character of its own. The forest has become a staunch friend, a confidante. It is always there for me, ready to receive me, however I come to it. It teaches me, in its quiet way.

The tall trees remind me that there is more to life than my little worries. They remind me to stand straight, grow roots, take nourishment. When I do, it takes more than a single storm to knock me down.

The forest reminds me that it is an ecosystem. No one part can exist without the whole. I too, am part of the system. One small part of a whole. I need to rely on those around me, help those around me, as part of the system of human connection.

There is so much more I can say about my complex relationship with the forest, but I won’t. I will cut it short. Because this image reminds me it’s been five days since I’ve been in the forest. Five days since I’ve enjoyed the scent and the quiet and the feel of being part of something greater, bigger, older than me. Five days is too long, anymore. So I’m going to go now, and visit my forest.

Love Forest. Forest Love.

I’ve photographed this heart carved into the tree along the Mulkey Creek Trail so many times, it’s not surprising it would eventually become my Photo-Heart Connection. I know it’s awful, someone defacing a tree like this. But I can’t help but love it anyway, because it seems to encapsulate my feelings about the forest so well. It’s a simple symbol in a simple place, but it brings such deep feelings of connection to me. I’m not kidding about getting out and hiking now. I’m going to wrap up this post and enjoy Labor Day morning on the trail. 🙂

What have you found as your Photo-Heart Connection this month? What image or art did you create this month that calls to your soul? What does it have to tell you? Go through your images from August and find the one that calls to your heart. Write about it and learn from it. Share the results with us here.


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Beneath Perception

Yesterday, as I pulled my creaky body out of bed, I was filled with internal debate: Should I go out for my daily hike, or should I give myself a day of rest? I didn’t have to decide right away. I settled in with a cup of tea and journaled, all the while my subconscious worked the problem.

Eventually, I came to the conclusion: Yes, I needed to go for a hike. I didn’t have time for a long one, but I knew once I got out there, my body would work out the aches and pains and I would be happy I did. Even though I would have a long list of valid reasons if I didn’t go, in my heart I would know them as excuses and feel guilty. There was really no question at all, in the end.

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I walked the forest path, listening to the bird song, and soaking in the steadiness of the forest. I shared the joy of being in the open, free to roam, with my enthusiastic canine companion. I was filled with a buoyancy and lightness, a happiness that only comes in these moments on the trail.

There is something for me in the forest I can’t explain. There is a communication that lies beneath perception. It is an acceptance of all that I am, almost an absolving of all that I am not. There is no judgement in the forest. It is there whether I am or not, but it welcomes me as part of it, part of a greater system, for a brief time every morning.

I leave the forest with my soul scrubbed clean, refreshed, renewed, and ready for whatever the day brings.

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Possibility in my Pocket

Three days a week I get up in the half-bright morning, slip my iPhone in my pocket, tie my hiking boots on my feet, clip the leash on the dog and head out.

Every time I get out onto the trail, as my body and brain begin to wake up, I think, I’m not going to photograph anything today. I’m just going to walk. And every time, at some point, I reach into my pocket for my iPhone to take a photograph.

You see, like a child collects stones or leaves or twigs along the path, I collect photographs. Even with no intention to do so, inevitably something comes into my awareness that needs to be collected. I need to pause and revere the scene, the moment, as I frame an image.

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Why does a child collect the stones or leaves or twigs? I’m not sure I know. Maybe because they are pretty or interesting. Or maybe because each one is different. “Look at this one, Mommy,” he says, holding out his hand. Look at this one, I say, taking a photograph.

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Each one is a marker, a reminder, a special moment to later be pulled out and cherished. Each one has the possibility to be compared, contrasted, transformed into something new. Or, as is the case most times, to be filed away, like so many child’s rocks pushed into the corner of a drawer. Coming across them later I might think, Huh, why did I collect that?

Even so, I capture them and I keep them. I can’t seem to stop. I don’t want to stop. They are my collection, the possibility that I keep in my pocket, just in case.

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A Faithful Companion

It’s been several weeks since I started on my hiking regime, and I’m very happy to report I’ve been able to get out about three times a week on most weeks. Even last week, as crazy as everything was at work, I still made time to hike. I think it reduced my stress and kept me level-headed.

And I have discovered a faithful hiking companion as well, in our dog Zoey.

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I haven’t written that much about her since we adopted her in February, but she has slid right into our family and taken her place in our lives and our hearts as if she has always been here. She is the most happily enthusiastic dog I have ever met. She does everything with all of her self — body and heart. It’s kind of hard to describe, but everyone who meets her can sense it, and they fall in love with her too. She holds nothing back.

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I came up with the nickname “Gung Ho Zoe” for her. It just fits.

I was telling my husband this weekend that I can’t imagine not having her in our family. I remember how against getting a dog I had been. Too expensive, all the food and vet stuff. Too much trouble when we travel. Too much fur, making our house dirty.

But the real reason? Too much hurt in my heart. Our faithful companions have shorter lives than ours, and love also means loss and hurt. I hadn’t wanted to replace my dear dog Tasha.

Getting Zoey has reminded me what it’s like to be on the love side again. To realize I didn’t replace Tasha, I added Zoey. It reminded me that it’s all worthwhile…. The fur and the vet bills and the kennel. It’s all worth it, to have this fun and faithful dog in our home.

The next time I am at the point of deciding whether to open my heart to something, I’m going to remember the philosophy of Zoey. I’m going to ask myself, “What would Zoey do?”

Without hesitation, she would be all in.

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