My Childhood Visitors

I was a quiet child growing up. Without going into great details I would have to say I was one of those “forgotten children”. It seemed that everyone else was busy with something or someone else. I was the youngest of four children, and the sister who was born a mere 14 months before me was diagnosed with major health issues from day one. Not only did she have heart issues which eventually caused open heart surgery she was also predicted to not live past her 3rd year of life. I am happy to report that she is alive and kicking still on the verge of celebrating her 50th birthday this month.(Fall Equinox to be exact)  She will more than likely live way  past the rest of us. Ah, the marvels of modern medicine.

Yet that is not the pathway that I wish to take with this posting. Since I was born quite soon after her birth and she still required frequent trips to the doctor and hospital for multiple surgeries that she would have during the first few years of her life, I did not partake in the usual baby mother time. As I grew older this continued as I was quite healthy and a quiet timid child. I was perfectly happy with my multitude of cats that occupied my time on the farm. I did not need the companionship of my much older brother or sister, nor did they wish to give it to me.

In retrospect although this time of my life (through my 4th year) had moments that would terrify me and the lack of what some would consider the basic nurturing that most children received; it was also a time of some of the most memorable moments of my childhood. I slept in a baby bed in the old farm house in a room just off from the kitchen. A window was near my bed and I remember being able to see the moon from it. A dresser was positioned next to my bed and each evening a baby bottle would be sat atop it for me to have access to through the night.

Although I know I was only four years old the memories of this time are quite vivid in my mind. In fact some of them are more vivid then memories from later on in my childhood, yet that is what repression does to you. One evening that I remember with clarity was an occasion after I went to bed and awoke later in the night. As I went to the dresser to retrieve my bottle I could not reach it. I remember trying yet to no avail.

Suddenly a woman came through the door of my bedroom and was walking towards me. She wore all white and her hair hung around her shoulders. She came towards me as if floating and a glow like shimmer surrounded her. She never spoke a work yet it was as if I could understand what she spoke to me. As she came closer she handed the out of reach bottle to me. She stood by my bed until I must have fallen asleep as the next thing I recall was morning.

Another instance was not realized until much later in my life. I had lived with the memories of late night talks around the kitchen sink while sitting on the kitchen cabinet, my feet sitting in the sink. As I sat and gazed out the window at the night sky and all its wonder I remember being told stories of the moon and all her glory. In retrospect it seemed that at most times this occurred when the moon was full. A woman stood at the sink, She would share her stories and knowledge with me as well as another girl who stood beside her.

For years I assumed that this woman and other girl were my mother and older sister. I did not think much about it until once when I asked my sister about it. She had no idea what I was talking about so I dismissed her recollection as the fact that it was probably not her who shared in the late night stories. Later I brought the subject up with my mother who responded in a similar manner as my sister. She did not know anything of what I was speaking of.

She continued to tell me that although she did not ever remember sitting with me in the kitchen conveying stories she did remember finding me on several occasions asleep on the kitchen cabinet in the mornings. She also added that I should know better than to think I would be allowed to sit on the cabinet with my feet in the kitchen sink.

After this revelation I wondered for sometime who the woman was. Who told me the many stories of the moon and warned me of specific places on the farm not to go? Was it the woman who also assisted me that evening with my bottle on the dresser? I am not sure if I will ever know yet I do feel that I was being watched over.

One occasion when I relayed this story to my granddaughter then at a tender age of 6 she looked square at me and said in a child’s matter of fact manner, it was your angel GG. I think she was right.

Ain't no Cure for the Summertime Blues

The beauty of the world has two edges, one of laughter, one of anguish, cutting the heart asunder. ~Virginia Woolf~

I used to love Summertime when I was little. The feeling of the hot pavement smarting my feet, walking by houses in the early morning smelling the sweet and fresh perfume of new cut grass, and the freedom of not having to do any homework and playing outside until the sun stayed awake later than usual. That all changed for me when I was eleven years old.

My older brothers, every Summer went to a sleep away camp,
 in this gorgeous area of the local mountains, where they rode horses, had a dance every Saturday night with a vintage jukebox where songs like "Brandy (You're A Fine Girl)" were played over and over. They formed crushes on girls, that were bittersweet when their time at camp came to an end. I envied them for all the fun they had, but I always went to a day time summer camp that went to the beach every day and I would swim in the ocean pretending I was a mermaid.

On the summer when I turned eleven, it was my turn to go to Calamigos. My brothers were six and eight years older than me, so their time at camp was over, they had moved on. I was terrified at first at the thought of sleeping away from home and being away from my pets, (notice I didn't say my parents), but I had no choice. I ended up having the best time and not wanting to come home. I too, formed my own crushes and loved having the reputation of being Eric and Tony's little sister to the counselors who knew them. I rode horses until I was so sore, but I wouldn't have traded it for the world. Camp became my new paradise. There was a parent's visiting day for the campers each summer session and my parents would always show up first for my brother's than it was my turn to see them. The visit was fun as I showed them around the camp even though they had seen it so many times between my brother's parents day and now me.

On the day that I came home, I was overwhelmed with this sadness that I had to say goodbye to my new family, I had made at camp. In the car going home, the first thing my mother said to me, after she briefly asked me how I enjoyed camp, was "You know how sometimes parents don't get along, like Gina's parents?" Gina was a a girl I went to school with who's parents were going through a "separation" which eventually lead to divorce. Back then, divorce wasn't as common as it is now and we were all shocked at the thought of a marriage breaking up. "The Brady Bunch" or the "The Partridge Family" may have been the ideal model of a blended family, but I knew those were just television shows and no way would that ever happen to my family.

My heart started hurting, my heart started racing so hard and I became immediately nauseous because I just knew what my mom was going to say next. "Well, your father and I haven't gotten along for a long time and he's moved out of the house." Just like that! Like many families, we were a family of secrets and never spoke about things that were unpleasant or disturbing. We looked like the ideal happy family from the outside with the desired two boys and a girl, dogs and cats and a literal white picket fence surrounding our front yard.

I came home and everything that was familiar and comforting was gone. I had stepped into a new book, where I didn't know any of the characters and I was lost like Alice. My family would never be all together in the same room or event. What a nightmare. It was after that, I never trusted Summertime again as being idyllic. It's interesting how trauma lays deep within our psyche and body, just waiting for the right trigger and jump out at us like a Jack in the Box even though intellectually we think we may be prepared.

Why I'm talking about this, is because Litha/Summer Solstice just happened and every year it fills me with the same dread of remembering that Summer. I've worked through a lot of the emotional issues through therapy, journaling, group counseling etc...but I never can quite end the pain. Summer is pushed by the popular media as being the time to go out there, have some fun, go on vacation and act like there's no tomorrow. And I have had many fun Summers since I was eleven. I wonder though if people really knew the lore and mythology of the Oak King and the Holly King fighting over the love of the Goddess, would they be all smiling shiny-happy people? Our ancestors knew that soon it would be time, to gather the harvest and prepare for the Fall and Winter when food would be more scarce and the light of day would be filled with a darkness. Imagine the energy of the Oak King, being like Robin Hood, the Green Man. Full of youthful energy, virile, strong and gleaming.

Then there's the Holly King, Saturn-like, older, wise, more stern and melancholy. We have this picture of the Holly King today as being more like Santa Claus than when he first arrived on the scene. But, it defeats the purpose of denying what he really stands for symbolically and externally. Mary on her blog "Avalon Revisited" wrote a wonderful post about the Holly and the Oak king that I urge you to check out so you can learn more about who they are and their story.

I've learned to accept the duality of myself with the youthful Oak King and how he serves to teach me of how joyful Summer can be despite the past. If I don't honor him, I stay stuck in sorrow and pain. And then the Oak King reminds me, that we must all descend into our own darkness for insight and wisdom. The trick is to live in the present, knowing that the cycle of life has to include a death for rebirth. The Holly King in the image above tenderly holds the new baby, the Oak King when he hasn't grown old enough to engage in battle for the Goddess. Our feminine energy that loves both and is receptive to the offerings they bring her.

I need to find some type of ritual to "hold the tensions of the opposites" as the great Dr. Carl Jung said. Do any of you have ideas about how I can do this? A ritual for letting go and still remaining open to the joy that can happen? I don't want to stay stuck in the past unable to move forward because of sorrow. I would really appreciate hearing your experiences and possible ideas for me. Thank you.

When the heart grieves for what is lost, the spirit rejoices over what is left" ~~ Sufi Epigram

The Gift Of Gardening

In some ways this is my favorite time of the year. I love the way that life seems to spring forth all over. And best of all it is the time to start planting. Whether it is flowers, vegetables, trees, or any other I love the process of gardening. I have always loved to have my hands in the dirt. I do not know how to explain it yet it gives me such a sense of energy. Vincent is constantly telling me to wear gloves while I work outdoors, yet for some reason I do not enjoy it as much. I want the feel of the earth right next to me. To cover my hands seem to somehow diminish the full effect it has. It was my grandfather and grandmother who gave me my love for gardening. I remember there garden with such fond memories. I remember my grandfather in his overalls, pulling an onion from the ground and taking the first layer off then giving it to me to eat; its sweet taste feeling me with joy. My favorite gifts from them: a pint jar filled with small sweet red onions. I can not to this day eat, cook, or plant an onion without thinking of them.

My grandmother gave me the gift of preparation of the harvest. By watching her I learned tricks on cooking, storing, and also drying. Unfortunately these days a root cellar is not an easy thing to find so I have to at times improvise. Still I hold some of her ways and recipes close to heart. She did things the old way, from start to finish. She showed me how to utilize all parts and have less waste. She taught me simplicity. She taught me her secrets and told me stories of how many of the items she used to cook with could be used for other things as well.

Their driveway into their small stone house by the railroad tracks was of crescent shape. In front of her home was a stone flower bed with a stone archway. In the summer it was lined with a multitude of color. Such flowers as pansies, asters, and violets lined the borders. Mint, Sage, Lavender, and Rosemary could also be found. I remember other small flowers that grew off to the side of her home near an old cellar that housed the water pump. This area always had the appearance of being neglected yet she would wander through it on occasions bringing back a handful of treasures. She called it her wild garden. I later learned that this was where her wild herbs grew. In it grew Mustard, Poke, Garlic,Marjoram, Lemon Balm, Thistle and so many others.

Also in their yard stood a stone wash house and a small stone storage shed. Further back a chicken yard and a large Mulberry Tree. I remember gathering Mulberries each summer; the bottom of our feet stained with the color red and purple. Grandma would tell us the tree was a watcher and guarded the home from lightning. As she would spread the jam made of its fruit on our toast she would tell us it would likewise guard us and make us strong.

In my yard today many of the same things grow as did in theirs. My Rosemary sits at the southeast corner on my house. I have planted more this year as I simply love its aroma. I credit my grandma with giving this love to me. She would slip a sprig of it under my pillow as I slept on the sofa outside her bedroom, telling me that it would keep me safe and make the bad dreams stay away. I would go to sleep with its fragrance surrounding me. Sweet Basil and Mint are also a part of my garden although I have them planted in large pots that I bring into the house as the year begins to get colder. I love having them fresh all year round. My Apple Mint makes a lovely cup of tea and is quite useful when I have a bit of an upset stomach. Simply chewing on a leaf lends the same effect. As for the Basil, it lends a wonderful taste to many of my dishes. And as my grandma would say, if there is a basil plant in the home, there will always be peace in the home. Sage and Lavender can also be found growing. I have an array of Sages, from blue to white and more.

Also in my yard are the multitude of wild herbs which seems to multiply as the years pass. At the moment the bottom of my yard towards the woods is covered with a multitude of wild flowers. Lambs ear, prairie clover, asters, dandelions, and more. Although I know that soon I will need to trim it, I leave it for a while as I love to see its color each morning.

At the time I did not realize the wisdom in so many of the words she spoke to me. I took for granted at times the gift that their environment gave to me. As time has passed, I find myself thinking back to my times with my grandparents, especially my grandmother. She is with me always. I feel her presence with me often, especially while I tend my own garden or am busy in my kitchen. She offers me remembrance of her wisdom to aid in my talents. The place they once lived has long been gone. There is no trace of their small stone home or other buildings. The garden area and Mulberry and Cherry trees have since been cut down. Yet still I can visit them anytime I please. I need only close my eyes and remember. I need only sit on the ground and feel the dirt fall through my fingers. I need only stand in my kitchen and cut my own herbs taken from my garden. They are both with me still.

My Life as a Changeling

I'm sure you knew those children, the one's that seemed somehow "different" and lost. They would often have a wild look in their eyes, appearing unkempt and uncomfortable in their own skin. When other children would be playing typical childrens games in the schoolyard, these other children would be alone having conversations with invisible friends. I was one of those children. Have you ever heard of Faery "Changeling"? The story is that the Fae don't have many babies who grow and thrive and so they steal a human baby raising it as a faery, so their race can survive. The faery baby would then replace the stolen child to live among the humans, while often times the mother would never suspect the difference.

My mother knew though. She would always call me her "changeling child". She never would refer to me as her little girl, and so I never considered myself other than a "changeling," whatever that meant. I just  thought it was a term of endearment. As I grew older I learned about these changelings. A changeling baby would cry more than other babies and squirm in their mother's arms rejecting her love. Instead of laughing and cooing as "normal" babies do, they would fret and never seem satisfied no matter how much they were loved. As they grew to be children their fae qualities became more apparent. I never liked playing with Barbie dolls or any other types of games "normal" little girls would. Instead I wanted to make faery houses out of flowers and then invite the faeries in for tea parties. Once in a while I would meet another little girl who would play "faeries" with me, only to tell their friends later how strange I was and to stay away from me. I was saved from complete misery and loneliness by my pets, especially my cats, who loved me unconditionally and never questioned who I was.

The fairies break their dances
And leave the printed lawn.
~A.E. Housman~

One day I noticed that some mushrooms were growing in a circle on our lawn. My mother told me that they were called "faery circles" and that late at night under the moonlight, the faeries would come out to play and dance. I asked her if humans were ever allowed to join them but she warned me, telling me it was dangerous for a human to even see the fae, as they would often be stolen away to live in "Tir Na Nog" the land of eternal youth. I knew this was my chance then, to reunite with the family I really belonged to and go home to Tir Na Nog. I did my best to stay awake every night when my family was asleep so I could slip out and meet the fae. I was convinced they were waiting for me. Somehow, I was never able to stay awake late enough to meet the fae. Eventually the faery circle disappeared and I sadly grew to accept that I wasn't meant to live among the fae again. 

I don't feel so alone and alienated anymore now, because I have met other changelings. They too have experienced a sad and beautiful life similar to mine. And we know one day, we will return to Tir Na Nog. Are you one of us, a changeling too?

"This is a work of fiction.  All the characters in it, human and otherwise, are imaginary, excepting only certain of the fairy folk, whom it might be unwise to offend by casting doubts on their existence.  Or lack thereof." 
~Neil Gaiman~

Ostara's Little Country Bunny

Every Ostara/Easter I take down my beloved book; "The Country Bunny and The Little Gold Shoes" that I received as a special Easter gift when I was six years old. If you look inside of the book cover, you would see this inscription, "For Wendy, Easter 1969. With Love, from Mommy and Daddy." After reading this book, my ideas about rabbits and Easter completely changed. So, what does this book have to do with Ostara, you may wonder. I think you'll understand the connection as you keep on reading. A few of my eWitch sisters have posted about the rabbit being the totem of the Goddess which represents fertility, swiftness and the herald of spring. I never understood the whole spiel of rabbits handing out eggs. I mean everyone knew that rabbit's are mammals and therefore gave live birth, they don't lay eggs! Being a feminist witch, my mother would talk about the Goddess and her different faces. So Jesus' resurrection on Easter didn't connect for me at all. I was taught that the Goddess was in charge of birthing the new seasons. It made sense to me then that, "The Little Country Bunny..." was a pet of the Goddess. Country bunny is a single mother who becomes chosen to become one of the new Easter bunnies, because of her kindness, intelligence and speed which she gained from chasing all her babies around. One of the things that makes this book so special, is that it was written in 1939. Single mother's back then were either to be pitied or more likely shunned. The family unit stood strong, at least on the outside and the Goddess was hushed.. And on top of country bunny being single, she was more "shocking" because she went after a dream job she wished for. She was a true Scarlet bunny!

School was often a place full of pain and confusion for me having numerous learning difficulties. Socially, I was so shy that I would often get teased and looked down upon for being so "strange". My home life was just as full of pain and unhappiness and so the books I read and the pets I loved became my refuge. So here was a book about a young mother who is laughed at and patronized just because she was a female and a mother on top of that.

I had two older brothers, who would ignore me or tease me unkindly as older brothers can often do. I wanted to play basketball, ride bikes and arm wrestle with them. I told myself one day I would become just as strong and fast as they were and that they would eventually beg me to play with them! The Goddess spoke strong to me, even as a little girl. And every time, that I read my little country bunny book, I somehow wouldn't feel so alone and odd. How the little country bunny obtains the gold shoes is just one more part of this story that speaks of never giving up on your dreams, cherishing the gifts you have to offer others and being different isn't such a bad thing after all.


As it would turn out, I became a single mother myself, raising my son solely since he was a year old. And you can bet, I read "The Country Bunny and the Little Gold Shoes", every Ostara to Alex. He's twenty-two now and likes to tease me about how much I loved that book and how funny that I still read it. Of course I still read it, I'm waiting for my chance to get my own pair of little gold shoes. Hmmmm, maybe this Ostara...Did you have any special books that you loved when you were young which lead to a different way of knowing yourself? Please tell me as I always love reading new books and being inspired by people's stories.

The Country Bunny and the Little Gold Shoes