Monday, February 23, 2009

There's What We Do And Then There's How We Do It

It's been a very, very full few days for us at Quail Springs. Full of work and play. And full of other things too. I've been thinking a lot about who we are, by which I mean how we are in the world, with each other, and in our approach to what we do. We track animals and each other and the cycles of the seasons. We make baskets. We learn about the plants around us - edible and medicinal. We watch the birds and the skies and the changing moon. We practice the art of mentoring, as opposed to teaching. Here at Quail Springs we have done quite a lot of tracking, exploring of the land and learning the birds, mammals, amphibians, and plants of this ecosystem. We've done some good hard work, and learned so much about the thoughtfulness that goes into the design of a beautiful, sustainable system. We've learned about the woody plants that are good for making fire in this region, and about the healing herbs that grow here. These are all fabulous things, I think, and also somewhat unique in the world... but they are only the surface level of this experience.
There is what we do, and then there's how we do it.












At Wilderness Awareness School we use a system of organization - for our days together and for the overall structure of holding a program - that we call an Acorn. An acorn, as a seed, contains all of the necessary components to make a full-grown oak tree. Well, almost all of the components. There is also sun and wind and rain and the minerals and nutrients from the soil. But so much of what is needed is right there in that acorn. Comprising our acorn are the eight directions - East, Southeast, South, Southwest, West, Northwest, North and Northeast. Each direction has multiple layers. One layer is the energy of the cycles of the seasons, a day, and a life. In the East, for instance, are the first green shoots of spring, sunrise, and birth. In the West is the harvest, sunset, and adulthood. At another layer are the logistics of running a program; in the South is focus and information, and in the West is the harvesting of what has been learned. Each person who is here with us is holding a direction both energetically and logistically. The students in the East wake us up each morning with song and the students in the South keep us on track with our time commitments. Interwoven with everything that we do is the natural world. The skies, the wind in the pines, the movement of animals across the landscape - these are our sun and rain, minerals and nutrients. The acorn becomes a mature oak, and drops more acorns... There is so much that goes into 40 people on the road for 12 days. It could be chaos. With the help of the acorn structure, it's not - most of the time.
There is what we do and then there is how we do it.












Last night we sat around a fire together, speaking difficult things. As happens with groups of humans, there are dynamics that happen that feel good and dynamics that don't. With such a large group in close quarters there are inevitable disagreements, frustrations, hurt feelings, and reactions. For most of my life I dealt with these things in myself not at all, or poorly. In this community I have found a place where these things are acknowledged as part of the process of internal and interpersonal growth. The process is beautiful. Beauty doesn't mean it's always nice, or pleasant, or perfect. But in striving to move through this process in a peaceful way that honors each other, we move closer together and closer to ourselves.
There is what we do and then there is how we do it.


















These last few days, tracking down on the Cuyama River, digging holes for trees in the food forest, climbing the ridges and watching the birds has been inspiring, connecting, healing, enlivening. As I type this on our last night at Quail Springs, I am sitting on the loft platform in the main room of the big, straw-bale building. Underneath me is the kitchen, open to the sitting area where my friends and fellow staff are gathered, listening to Warren Brush tell stories that have layers and layers. Stories like acorns. Stories of bears and squirrels and an old man in New Zealand. Stories of healing and of following ones path. I feel myself drifting into a dreamland, wrapped in story and song and the voices of friends.

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It is later now, and the people around me are asleep. We are fairly close to L.A., but we are in a wild place and the night sky is beautiful. These past few days we have followed the trails of bobcat and coyote, mountain lion and jackrabbit. There are smaller animals here too, and the sandy soil provides the perfect substrate for tracking them too. Twice we took groups of students tracking along the edge of the Cuyama river, where we ran them through tracking stations designed to offer them a chance to self-evaluate their tracking knowledge. We found the tracks of toads walking through silt, and the trails of harvest mice, deer mice, desert wood rat, ground squirrel, and more around the pillars of a bridge across the river. Bobcat trails wove through the willows, and the tracks of coyotes criss-crossed those of domestic dogs. We even tracked my coffee cup!

When not tracking or working in the garden or making bricks, we have explored this landscape with our feet and all our senses. Climbing the high ridges and the ones beyond those, we have felt the way the soil here changes after rain, and smelled the damp desert. On hands and feet up one hill and down the other side, stopping at the crest to feel the sun and harvest manzanita for making spoons, when we reach the the bottom we find the huge stick nest of a dusky-footed wood rat at the base of a scrub oak, well worn trails branching out in all directions.

Tonight the sky is clear and the stars are bright. Jupiter is in the west and the Milky Way straight overhead. In the morning we will rise before first light to leave this place. I am sad to leave and happy to go. Onward up the coast to Bolinas and our friends at the Regenerative Design and Nature Awareness program.

1 comment:

  1. Thank you Emily for writing this. I read it and am brought right back to the magical time I spent there a few years ago. Today I find that I am feeling frustrated, and not even sure where the frustration is coming from ... and then I read your accounting of the Whats and Whys and I am brought back out of myself and into the ever-bountiful community of friends and spirits ... good folk following their dreams at best, and following their needs otherwise. Reading your words and seeing Kristi's images allows me to take pause, to join in your story for a brief moment, then to reflect on my own story. I am ready again to go out and take on the experiences that make up a good story... a story of living, and learning ... a story of life and love and death ... and new beginnings. I find out today that one of my kids at Dancing Sol had their Dad's mom pass away last night. They had visited her recently, so memories of her are fresh in his mind and body. And today a friend of mine is visiting from up north ... here to meet a young woman who will be giving birth soon and is considering giving her child to my friend to love and raise as her own. Deaths, and births, and love. All the elements of great stories! I look forward to the next time we make a story together, Emily. (Maybe not with death or birth in it .. but love is always wonderful!) :D. Rees.

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