There's a Kind of Hush

In the depths of January here on Cape Cod, gardens take on a different guise. Gone are the vibrant hues of blooming hydrangeas and the verdant greenery of our pine-oak forests. What remains when the earth lies still beneath a blanket of frost is a landscape stripped bare, seemingly devoid of life. Yet, if we look closer, we can uncover a profound metaphor hidden within the hush of the winter garden—one that speaks to the rest and rejuvenation we all crave.

The notion of rest can feel foreign, even counterintuitive, in a world that often glorifies constant productivity and perpetual motion. As the garden surrenders to the rhythm of the seasons, let’s learn to honor the natural rhythm of our life, allowing ourselves to pause and recharge amidst the hustle and bustle of daily living. Winter teaches us that periods of dormancy are not only necessary but essential for growth.

Think about it: beneath the frozen earth, roots lie dormant, conserving energy and preparing for the eventual resurgence of spring. Similarly, in our own lives, moments of stillness allow us the chance to replenish our energy and ponder our journey. It is during these times of repose that we have the opportunity to reflect, recalibrate, and reconnect with ourselves on a deeper level.

A winter garden invites us to cultivate this sense of mindfulness and presence. When we feel pulled in so many different directions, the stillness of winter offers a rare opportunity to simply be—to savor the beauty of the moment without the distraction of constant busyness. By immersing ourselves in the sights, sounds, and sensations of the winter garden, we can awaken to the inherent richness of the present moment, finding solace and serenity amidst the routines of hectic schedules.

So as you embrace the peacefulness of winter, remember the wisdom of the garden. Nurture your inner landscape, allowing space for renewal, reflection, and ultimately, the blossoming of your whole, true self. For in the stillness of winter, we find the seeds of our greatest potential, waiting patiently to be awakened.

Winter Solstice is December 21, 2023

As the winter solstice approaches here in the northern hemisphere, the sun hangs low on the horizon casting long shadows across the frost-kissed earth as the air becomes crisper, and a sense of quiet descends. This is a time of transition—a turning point where the long, dark nights of fall will give way to extended days, and the promise of renewal beckons as we tilt back towards the sun.

Why does this celestial moment hold such importance beyond its astronomical implications? It's an ancient practice to pause and reflect on the cyclical nature of existence. The winter solstice marks the longest night of the year, a time when darkness reigns supreme. Within this darkness we are invited to explore the depths of our own psyche, to confront our fears and insecurities, and to emerge renewed and transformed on the other side. It's a journey of self-discovery and healing, as we learn to embrace the full spectrum of our human experience, both light and shadow alike.

But the winter solstice is not just a time for inner reflection—it's also an opportunity to reconnect with the natural world. Nature therapy, also known as ecotherapy or green therapy, recognizes the inherent healing potential of spending time in nature. Research has shown that spending time outdoors can reduce stress, anxiety, and depression, while improving mood, cognitive function, and overall psychological resilience.

Outdoor mindfulness practices, such as meditation, yoga, or tai chi, combine the benefits of mindfulness with the restorative effects of nature. Practicing mindfulness in natural settings encourages present-moment awareness, relaxation, and a deeper connection with the environment. Simply spending time outdoors in natural environments, such as forests, parks, or mountains, can have therapeutic benefits. Walking or hiking amidst nature allows us to connect with our surroundings, engage our senses, and experience the restorative effects of being outside. It is key to prioritize regular contact with nature and incorporate outdoor activities into our daily routine.

As we stand on the threshold of the winter solstice, let us embrace the wisdom of Mother Nature and heed her call to reconnect with the earth and ourselves. Let us honor the cycles of nature and the rhythms of our own hearts, knowing that in darkness, there is also the promise of light.

Birthday Reflections

Turning forty-fifteen seems important, not least because I am now eligible for the seniors’ menu at IHOP. I am so very, very grateful for another trip around the sun and the generosity of friends reaching out to wish me a happy birthday. Thank you.

When I was in third grade, Mrs. Dickau was teaching us how to write letters and fill out cheques (?) and she mentioned that all of the pre-printed cheques would have to change from ____ , 19__ because of the 21st century approaching. This big idea stuck in my brain and I became fearful that I would not live past the changing of the century. Well, these past 23 years have been filled with lots of living and loving and this childhood memory makes me even more grateful for this birthday.

 My wonderful husband woke up early yesterday and took the dog out first so I could stay in bed longer. When I came into the kitchen, I discovered a beautiful love letter from him. After cooking my favorite breakfast, he returned to the garden to finish building a rabbit-proof fence to protect the flowerbeds and I headed out to the first of two doctor appointments. What better gift to myself on my birthday than the gift of healthcare?

 A former colleague, same age as me, passed away earlier this week after a complicated struggle. Each year on his birthday, he would ask all of us to consider buying a cup of coffee for a stranger and then write to him with the story of what happened next. How did the stranger respond? Did a new friendship emerge? How did this act of kindness make the world a better place?

 While Joe and I are not perfect (we still get grumpy about imperfect situations), we consciously strive to be kind in our relationships. Driving across the U.S. this spring we continue to be amazed witnessing the helpfulness of strangers, from the mechanic who assisted us in El Paso to the night clerk at the small budget motel in West Virginia. One server offered to pack up a whole new meal when I asked for a to-go box for my leftovers. It all adds up!

 However you choose to celebrate getting older, my hope is that practicing kindness gets reflected back to you. I am privileged to have so much love in my life and I appreciate all of the birthday messages sent my way.

My First "F"

I think I was in 4th grade when I received my first “F” on a school assignment. I am a curious person by nature and have always loved to learn, so school was mostly a pleasure for me and the assignments of my elementary school classes were typically interesting and usually completed on time.

Except for the spring I turned 10 years old. Near to our rural K-5 school were fields tall with spring wildflowers and fuzzy grasses. We were each asked to bring a glass jar from home and into the bottom of the jars, our teacher carefully placed cotton balls soaked in some mysterious smelling chemical. With the lids screwed back on, we set out on our nature hike from the school parking lot.

Our assignment was to collect as many butterfly samples as we could that afternoon. After they stopped moving in our jars, we were to take them out and with tiny pins mount them on a piece of styrofoam. Identifying and labeling them was the final part of our mission.

But let’s be clear – our teacher was tasking us to kidnap and kill butterflies with our home-made death traps by invading their habitat.

How could I do it? I talked to the butterflies in our family’s garden all the time. I was convinced they were special messengers from God. Butterflies have incredible superpowers; they start out as masters-of-camouflage caterpillars and metamorphose into ephemeral flashy works of art.

My jar remained empty. I distanced myself from my friends. I wouldn’t show anyone my jar on the way back to school. We were supposed to complete the pinning and labeling as homework. I never turned in a project.

When my report card came out at the end of the school year a few weeks later, I was petrified to show my parents. After dinner, I sheepishly handed over the small brown envelope and waited. Mom and Dad read it, and Dad turned to ask me what happened? Why was there an “F” in science?

Mustering my bravery, I inhaled deeply and in a big rush with heavy, hot tears streaming down my face I blurted out the details of the murderous mission with which I had been charged by my teacher. Sniffling loudly, I waited for the wrath of my parents to descend upon me.

My father simply nodded his head in agreement with me and said something about why would anyone want to hurt any of God’s creatures? Especially the pretty ones. My mother smiled and simply walked into the kitchen to get more tea.

Eventually, I would learn to draw butterflies, label their parts, distinguish different species, and come to identify with the mythology of their archetype. Most importantly, I learned that my virtues, instilled and encouraged by my parents, are a central part of my identity. In those few minutes that warm June evening, my parents recognized and honored my aptitude for appreciating beauty in the world and affirmed my strengths of bravery, honesty, love, kindness, and spirituality.

The “F” on my report card is now fondly remembered as a story about how to re-frame failure. Sure, I failed to complete a fourth-grade science project. But I also learned that my values which lead me to honor and respect the rights of all creatures do not define me as a failure. On the contrary, my very humanity is built on both loving and being loved, being aware of the feelings of other souls, and being true to myself.

#iambutterflysarah