Filed under: Musings | Tags: California, folk, hippie, Log cabin, memories, Mountain living, musings, of the earth, Pioneer living, Sierra Nevadas, sustainable, West Coast, woodland
It’s a peculiar morning, awake before the sunrise- something that, these days,only happens when I travel. The air is crisp, the wood floor- cold on my bare feet. With my heavy velveteen patchwork quilt wrapped around me to keep away the chill, it is a familiar morning, comforting.
Back to my childhood again, back to the little log cabin in the Sierra Nevadas; my dad stoking the wood stove, warming my clothes on its iron top in an attempt to coax me from bed to dress for school.
It was a beautiful life, a simple life; one of cycles and of balance. A life of planting, of harvest, of gathering, of creating and sharing, of respect and beauty an of connection. I was alive, truly alive, aware and a part of everything.
These days I feel lost, in a city, cut adrift from what I know, what I understand and what speaks to my soul. I hear the whispering of the earth, in an ancient and almost forgotten tongue, of natural cycles and my place within them. My hands are restless, they long to plant, to grow, to nurture, to feel the soil.
I am a child of the mountains and a child of the ocean, of wide, star-lit skies and the rich forest floor. I am haunted by crashing waves and soothing surf, bonfires and blackberries and hot-springs under moonlit skies.
I am a child of the West and I have been away from home for far too long…