Fifth Grade Insight

What is a place of solace? The massive white oak in my field has always held that place in my heart. From a far it stands, the image of ancient wisdom. Yet as a child the grip of its craggy bark, held me like a soft blanket. It has, and always will be a place of solace, its roots connecting both itself and me to the earth. 

As a child, my little shoes often lead me in the direction of its mighty bows, through the prickly blades of dew covered grass. Not for any reason I guess, other than it was everything I was not, big and important. It had to be , how could anything that massive not be! Of course my parents always made it seem like I was the most important thing in the world, but I didn’t believe them. Not really anyway, when the world seemed so massive, and I was like an insignificant fly in comparison. However, the arching limbs of the  “Big Oak” held the energy of a friendly giant, unlike the frantic, overwhelming  energy of the rest of my young world. 

In fifth grade, I challenged myself to visit the Big Oak once every day for a month.  This may not have seemed like a difficult task, but in reality the routine proved to be a hard battle against the elements and my dreamy mind. Through warm breezy afternoons and sodden drizzly mornings, I made my daily pilgrimage. Often times, I berated myself, questioning why I was scraping my legs on saw grass and getting bitten by mosquito to be with a tree everyday. However, as the days accumulated, I realized the gift of solace the Big Oak offered was immeasurable. It was no longer just “a tree,” it was my tree.  It was a place for me to pause the chaos of modern society, and take time to reflect and organize my thoughts. Even in fifth grade, this daily meditation reversed my often disgruntled mind, making me feel refreshed and invigorated. The tree became vessel through which I could connect with the peace of nature and discover peace within myself. Often I felt that the tree and I were one.

Last summer the Big Oak was struck by lightening in a rain storm, and half of the mighty branches that had cradled me through my adolescence withered. Now, as I look upon this half dead giant,  I’m filled with creeping nostalgia. In many ways the deadened branches parallel my own lost  sense of open hearted wonder, that “maturity” has tried to erase. Even though the whirlwind of work, school and social pressure has deprived me of spending with my Big Oak, I will never forget its lesson of peaceful solace. Everyday,  when I see my tree through the window, I am comforted by my old friend.

A night, the woods, and a fire.

A group of boys stand in a circle around a campfire, awaiting the unknown. Older men stand around the boys, speaking of ancestors and future generations. The boys shift uncomfortably, thinking of all the other young men that have gone through the ritual they are about to embark on. They think of every piece of advice anyone has ever told them about this rite of passage, and how useless it all seems on the eve of the event itself. All the boys know they have  to rely on each other for support because they know they won’t  be able to get through this alone. Even though each boy’s experience, without a doubt, will be individual and unique, they are united together by following the footsteps of thousands of boys before them making the journey from childhood to adulthood.

 There were seven of us who were woken early that morning from our sleeping bags, the quiche that Daniel’s parents had cooked for dinner the night before hadn’t exactly settled that well in my stomach, so I was looking forward to a better breakfast. I knew the challenge we were about to undertake would require a twenty-four hour fast, so I was uncomfortable being hungry this early in the game. The boys and I circled around the fire with the adults, one final time, to go over for what seemed like the hundredth time what we were about to embark on. I was a little preoccupied while Charles was giving us this final talk, going over in my head all the possible ways I could fail; I could make a fool of or hurt myself preforming the ceremony we were about to start. After Charles had finished speaking we set an intention of safety for ourselves and each other by dropping a pinch of tobacco in the fire and then we parted, an adult each leading us individually into a different part of the forest to begin.  A sacred fire, I had heard of this rite of passage from a very young age. Being involved in wilderness camps from childhood, we had learned about many Native American cultures, including this ceremony.  Also all the teen counselors at the camp, were going through their rites of passage. I remember thinking, “ Wow, that sounds cool.” The basic principle of a sacred fire is  that it is a time to be introspective, to get a better sense of who you are. Physically it entails spending twenty four hours alone in the woods fasting and tending a fire, which you can not let die. From an outsider’s point of view this may seem like a simple task,  but  once you are physically there, doing it, it is much more complex, and difficult, than it originally seems.  For me this was the first time in my life I had been alone for twenty-four hours. The thought was a little scary. When I  arrived at my designated area I looked around briefly at what would be my home away from for the next day and I immediately started gathering firewood. We had been instructed that we would need at least enough firewood to make it through the night without having to get more. As I gathered sticks my stomach started to rumble uncomfortably, due to the absence of food, yet I kept working. As night approached Charles and several other men brought an ember to each of us with which we were able to light our fires. They also brought a tarp because it was supposed to rain that night. As the evening progressed a light drizzle began to fall. I made many tobacco offerings to the fire and also lit a bundle of sage to purify my site. Through the night I had many visitors. Many of the men who were sitting awake around the base camp fire came up periodically to check on how we were doing and see what we were feeling through the night. I can’t describe how grateful I felt at that time that someone was there looking out for me. The night seemed to last an eternity, but when the sun rose finally, and the first rays of light broke through the canopy; the image was  unforgettable. When we were finally brought back to main camp in the  afternoon we were greeted by our smiling parents and a much welcome meal. I remember that first bite of food being incredible. Later on I had time to reflect on my experience in the woods. Without a doubt the twenty-four hours I spent by my fire had taught me a great deal about myself . It gave me an enormous sense of self confidence and pride that I had survived a day and night alone in the woods without food. It also gave me the feeling that I had completed something meaningful, a milestone in my life.  My night in the woods left me a lasting gratitude for such basic things as food, water, shelter and warm clothing, (and many other) things that we often take for granted in today’s society. Overall my sacred fire shaped  the way I view the world in almost every way, most of all, not ever taking  even the smallest things for granted.      Tending Fires

How do we perceive ourselves? What scale can you use to compare yourself to another person? Its all a load of shit, not possible. Who thinks that the failures of one are comparable to the failures of others. Everyone is a unique and individual, therefore inherently their shortcomings are  uncomparable. However, society does not share this view. Despite what the individual story or situation may be, if your mistake falls within a given construct, you are generically branded... no good, a fuckup, etc...  
My "fuckups" are numerous, we all have failures, its part of maturing and discovering yourself self as a person. My greatest fear is not living up to my parent's perception of what I am capable of becoming. Its the pressure of this "perceived" expectation, that often times magnifies the scale of my mistakes in my own mind. Lying to them, or in some other way betraying their trust, are the failures I am most ashamed of, because usually they are short sighted and serve to fill some selfish personal ends. What good is sneaking out to a party if you loose your parents confidence and support. The lessons of my failures constantly urk me, but invariably valuable insight is to be gained from them, that serves me in the future.

Oak Trees

Seeking solace, self examination and peace. All of these things come to me when I am in nature. My house is located on 40 acres of farmland and woods. Between two of the fields, a line of mature oak trees mark the antiquated property divide, established by colonial famers. To me, trees have always seemed carriers of quiet wisdom. Their bows reaching skyward, placid and ancient, yet fluid and graceful. The forest is where I went as a child to play and seek entertainment among its leafy green foliage, and damp fallen leaves. As a young adult, life has removed me from the woods with its crawling insects and trickling streams, pulling me away from my point of solace into the transient world of school, work and the other temporal indulgences of a teenager. Removed though I may be, I retain a certain elemental sense of woodland serenity. No matter how strong the shackles of modern society try to erase from my life the quiet solace of the trees, I will not release their silent teachings. I crave to return to my former haunts and experience the woods as a child would, full of glee and youthful  innocence. However that is impossible. Nobody can recreate the past. If good fortune should have it that I do return to the woods, my favorite oak tree will still silently greet me as an old friend.

Froggy Memories

      What was summer? It was an unending haze of "play dates," chocolate milk and stuff like that. Looking back, the  memories all kinda muddle together, in a sticky sweet haze of fresh mown grass. At the age of two, my family and I made the great journey from our dilapidated Williamsburg loft, to our new! dilapidated purple farm house in the sleepy upstate town of Gardiner New York. The air, land and people seemed quiet, coming from the tumultuous display of humanity and noise Brooklyn offered. And aside from the alarmingly close cracks of our neighbor Bob Gold's 22, the world seemed at peace. Every evening the solace of my mother's voice lulled me to sleep. She read me everything from Little House On the Prairie to the mishaps of Curious George. However, the best summer evenings, were when she read the simple adventures of Frog and Toad, fresh mown grass on the air. The day was the mild mannered Toad and the night the audacious Frog, the countryside's conflicting personalities in a nutshell. The frogs owned the wave lengths of the night. They fed upon its cool serenity, making the placid water of the pond a frat party of ribbets, croaks and ceaseless activity. The bellows and chirps of these green spotted masters of the dark, ceaselessly filled the void of black with reverberating tones, making old Williamsburg seem a haven of tranquility.
      Every summer day, I'd contemplate my nocturnal companions, and without fail every night they'd treat me to the sounds of their joyous celebration. By day, wearing my favorite light and dark green stripped shirt, I'd pay my emerald aquatic friends a visit, trying to understand their small noisy lives. It was just fun. Often they'd splashily leap away at my arrival, but on those rare occasions that I manage to grasp these slippery partiers, I felt the bond of mutual curiosity and the vibrant spirit of the night. Frog and Toad and the summer were one, each balanced, inseparable in memory.