Blueberry Moon – Waning Crescent Update

It is the height of the Green Season and the Seekers are beginning to gather blueberries and raspberries, the first of our many native fruits to ripen. Along with gathering all of their greens and some fruit, several Seekers are getting good at fishing. One caught 40 fish before breakfast, which provided her clanmates with a tasty meal that day. Ant hunting is also going well, particularly with Rose, who has a trapline that includes a number of anthills. She comes back to camp with quite the quantity of sweet-tasting larvae. They’re high in fat and very nourishing. In our Insect Workshop, the Seekers learned that ants like to bring their larvae up near the surface to gather warmth. All that’s needed to gather them is to lay a thin piece of bark on top of an anthill, and the ants will bring their larvae up under it. Then come by every few suns, lift the bark, and scoop up the larvae.

Cedar and Wolfgang pose as trees in our Lostproofing workshop.

We hope all of you had a good time reading Alex’s story of getting back to Nishnajida from his Dead Moon Visit. He ended up walking an extra five miles that day, and made it back to camp just before dark. Several other people have gotten lost while out gathering and exploring, but none as long as Alex. Their stories kicked off the Lostproofing Workshop, giving us some real-life examples to work with. Everyone’s attention was riveted, as there is not a person who doesn’t have some fear of getting lost. We shared methods of direction finding without map and compass, and which did not rely on the sun—which is actually not very reliable if clouds move in.

Lost Proofing Workshop

Seekers pose as trees to aid in our Lostproofing Workshop.

They learn how trees, streams, hillsides, ground vegetation, wind direction, and several other natural features tell direction. Equally as important, they learned how to stay calm centered, and aware when you are lost, and to trust in with the Earth, rather than what your head, is telling you.

 

 

Meetings happen regularly at camp–it’s important to make sure communication skills are a focus.

We also had two workshop on Truthspeaking. Talking circles and meetings have been happening regularly at camp, focusing mainly on parenting styles and food/foraging topics. Many were concerned about these meetings often dragging out and being nonproductive. To improve communication and conflict resolution skills, we devoted the first Truthspeaking workshop to learning how to separate feelings from thoughts. An example we used was, “I’m angry because there weren’t any nuts left for me.” That is not a clear statement because it will not necessarily meet the needs of the speaker. She might receive empathy in response to her anger, yet the issue remains unresolved. Someone might rescue her by giving her nuts, and again the core issue remains unresolved. Neither of these approaches addresses the core issue, which could be fear, a sense of rejection, or even guilt for not letting her needs be known before she left. Nor do the approaches help the person to help herself. Instead, she could be learning to use anger to get her needs met. Additionally, her disempowerment sets the stage for the clan taking action without being informed of her needs.

Another approach would be for her to separate her feelings from the issue at hand, and to address both separately. She could say, “I’m angry. I don’t have any nuts to eat—it seems there were none left for me. Now I’m hungry; does anyone know where my nuts are?” She has expressed her feelings first, and then she addressed the issue by asking directly for help. This small but remarkable shift in expression helped her take responsibility for her feelings rather than blaming them on others and triggering reactiveness, which often gets in the way of getting needs met. Now, without emotions creating distance between her and the clan, they can together work on the issue.

 

Crafting, truthspeaking, truthlistening.

The second Truthspeaking workshop was dedicated to learning how to communicate in meetings. Listening, the first item on the agenda, is a key component to creating circle consciousness during meetings. When everyone is able to listen from the heart, one person can speak and each and every person hears it for what it is. The person’s spoken awareness is everyone’s awareness.  When we are not able to listen, we continually need to be told, and the speaker feels a continual need to repeat himself. This often leads to frustration, entrenchment, and the taking of sides.

The second agenda item was on how to speak so that I will be heard. When I am clear, succinct, and straightforward, I only need to speak once and my message is received.

The kids just want to play.

The Truthspeaking workshops were effective—meetings are gradually becoming shorter, less divisive, and more productive. Yet one issue persisted: the presence of toddlers, who were disruptive to the meeting because they were not getting their needs met by adults who could not be present for them. One child in particular was persistent in going around the circle trying to get attention. First you try to initiate play by teasing the adults with a stick; and when that didn’t work, he resorted to taking things from people and walking away with them.

Several adults grew frustrated and reacted in ways that frustrated the child as well. He resorted to whining and tantrums, and after several meetings of this, the issue became a meeting topic. We explored why children whine. “Take a look at him taking things from others,” said Tamarack, “why is he doing this?” Tamarack offered for the Seekers to think about games for a moment: what is the basis of most games (and ballgames are a good example) is to take something from one person and give it to someone else, or put it somewhere else. All this child wanted to do was play a typical game. So what’s left is to figure out how to create a win-win situation— the child playing a game and the adults having their meeting.

Hakar puts his nutshells away–children especially are connected to place.

At first the group decided to have someone take the child away from the hearth and play with him. It worked for a while, until he wanted to wander back and be closer to Mom. The circle then began to recognize that children, especially small children, are connected with place—their world is small. The group then decided to leave the hearth and have their meetings a little farther off. This left the little one and his playmates a place that is comfortable and familiar to them. It worked: we now have contented children and happy adults.

 

The Rainbow’s woodland home.

 

 

Many of you have asked about the Rainbows and their time away from the main camp. They left because they had a disagreement with a couple of people in the clan, and they wanted to take some time to reflect. They did this with the consent and support of their circle and the guides. They’re doing well in their temporary camp: the Guides spend time with them regularly and the children come back to the main camp at Wabanong every day to play. Additionally, the Rainbows’ camp is not terribly isolated—it’s close enough to share a canoe landing with the Guardian camp at Zhaawanong.

The Seekers are looking forward to next few suns, especially to the upcoming Weather Forecasting workshop and the beginning of hide tanning. With the next post you’ll hear more about their progress toward shared parenting and the evolution of the children’s culture. What a joy it is to watch them both blossom side-by-side!

A Rainbow in the Wilderness

Following is a post from the Rainbows.

One moon has gone by since we left to be on our own. Two moons since we have been part of nature.

We don’t have a clock–we have sun and the moon.

We don’t need shampoo–the lake makes our hair so soft.

We can drink wild water.

Our nails we cut with our knife.

Toilet paper has grown since our first moons. Leaves, sphagnum moss.

We realize how interesting every day tasks are here! Sometimes if I sit under a tree for a little bit out in the wilderness, a bird, who doesn’t see me, sits close to me and I can watch it while I sit there. Or a little spider comes to say hello.

We don’t miss salt–our meals taste so good without it.

In our heart we are so thankful to be here–to have the possibility to live one turn of the seasons in the wilderness.

We have time to look to the sky, the clouds.

I have time to climb trees, how long it has been since the last time I’ve done that. It felt so wonderful to sit at the top of a big tree!

We cook on open fire. The eggs, too. Or we cook with hot stones.

A few of us have made spoons and bowls that we use now.

We sharpen our knives with flat stones.

With roots, we make rope.

We dug deep holes for our food-pit, to store food in, and it stays really cold in there.

We enjoy this primitive life. We have all we really need. This is luxury for us. This is, for us, modern life. We are so happy to not have to sit in front of a computer or in a car or use a phone. Don’t have to go shopping, or hear the news.

Migwech

Hello From the Rainbows

We want to share a little about our time. For one and a half moons we have lived in the wilderness, and we are getting more and more wild. We enjoy being outside the whole sun in nature and living in the natural rhythm. Drinking wild water, cooking with fire, eating greens from the woods–all these are a part of each sun.

We have been lucky with the weather. Not a lot of rain–warm, sunny weather. The children and us parents love canoeing.

We are still vegetarian and don’t feel a need to eat meat, bearfat, or fish at all.

We are surrounded by many noises–birds are singing, frogs, sometimes we hear coyotes or wolves. Our neighbors are porcupine, squirrels, and some unknowns.

We love to be in the woods! Right now, for about more or less 14 suns, we have lived on the other side of the lake–without the clan. Something was happening that we could not support and we needed to take a stand–and that was that we leave the clan. We are not able anymore to stand with our heart, soul, and our Whole Person, in the Family Yearlong, but we want to have a yearlong in the wilderness. So we are looking forward–greetings from the other side of the lake, from the wilderness.

The Hike Back to Camp from a Nadmadewening Dead Moon Visit

By Alex S.

It was about mid-sun as I decided to walk back to the camp. I told that to the guides. They asked me to wait for a special meeting. I did, and became more and more frustrated because it became late and I knew I would need to rely on the sun for finding the direction.

After the meeting Tamarack told me that I have to walk first straight east, and he drew me a  small map of the area. I started immediately to run. I knew from Tamarack that I had about 3 mealtimes of light. I ran and met a creek. I was confused about that since we did not meet the creek on our way to Nadmad. I followed the creek north, but this direction was different than what Tamarack told me. I traveled through a deep bog, and once I decided to pass the creek to walk on east. As I arrived at the creek I sank into the ground to my chest and decided to return and to walk on farther north. I had also lost my small map.

While running and feeling panic, I poked myself in the eye with a stick. I was panicked because I knew I only had so much light. I ran about 1 mealtime through a bog with cranberries and a nearly impassable area. Suddenly a lake appeared that I knew from stories. I was so happy. At this time there was still light on the tips of the trees to orient myself. I ran close to shore because I knew I had to follow to the eastern shore. I crossed a creek without sinking in again and drank a little bit from the lake water. As I arrived on the eastern shore, it was nearly dark and I was lucky to see some clouds with the sun on them. I knew the camp was south from there.

I ran down some trails not knowing where I was, only following the four directions. At one place a big deer looked at me. I am sure she was wondering what I was doing. Later, the sun was way down. With my few skills I felt unable to orient myself and felt panic again. Finally I arrived at a street that I knew and followed it to the camp. An egg roast before dark I arrived.

Home!

The Gift of Mama Deer — Seeker’s Post

Originally posted on Rose’s website, http://metraylor.com/.

“Hello?”

Alex?

I stare up at the dim ceiling of my tent and blink. The name that belongs to the voice does not belong here. Maybe I imagined it.

“There’s a wawaskeshi!”

Oh no.

“Alex?” I fumble with the zipper of the tent.

“Hey!” I hear his long lope beating through the earth. “There’s a deer.” Palming my eyes, the full realization that I am going to have to deal with this and no one is going to want to get up settling over me.

“I do not want to deal with this,” I tell his kneeling silhouette, pulling on a shirt over my head.

“Yeah,” he says, “I feel a little responsible, even though I’m not.”

“I know how busy things are at the support center,” I tell him, remembering all the times when I was the one bringing the unexpected news. “Okay, who do we have here… Brum.” My brain stutters for names.

“Marcus,” Alex points out.

“Yeah.” The gears are working again. “Maybe we can wake all the men. We’ll have to carry the deer back, gut her…”

“Brum needs his sleep,” Kerstin calls from her tent. I know she’s been concerned that he has enough energy to help her with their daughter. I realize the same concerns strike two more men off my list. “Okay, all the men except the fathers.”

“I’m going to take her out of the van and leave her at the trailhead.”

“Gimme a hug. We’ll take care of her.” I finish struggling into my pants and cumbersome belt and crawl into the night into a comfortingly familiar embrace, being enveloped by someone as wide as a bear and skinny as a toothpick.

I start at the edges of camp.

“Fridolin?”

Fumbled words, all the edges blunted by a taste of the Old World.

“What is it?”

“There’s a deer. We need to go take care of her.”

Silence.

“Fridolin?”

Moans.

“Can I get an answer? Fridolin?”

Irritated, I tell him to meet us at the hearth if he’s coming. Marcus appears, visible as a cloud of hair stuck under a cap.

“I hear there’s a wawaskeshi.”

“Yeah, I’m thinking we get all the men who aren’t fathers. Maybe we could carry her on a pole.”

“We could probably just gut her and hang her in the sweet forest,” Marcus points out. “Then we’d need fewer people.”

Relief as the idea takes hold.

“Okay. Yeah. I tried to wake Fridolin. I don’t know if he’s coming. I’ll go get Alexandros.”

Alexandros’ tent is on the opposite end of camp, and I feel self-conscious crunching and crackling around the tents of a small family and our resident grandmother. I find an empty tent, and I know that if Alexandros isn’t there he’ll be in the other one not a canoe length away. But somehow in two circuits I can’t find it, so I loop back around to meet Marcus.

To my surprise and gratification, Fridolin is there, dressed and alert. We grab a sheet of birch bark for cargo and set out for the trailhead.

There is no moon to paint our path, just a glare reflected downward by an overcast sky. Marcus and I have walked this trail for Turns, a narrow, three-quarter mile winding channel of packed duff as easy to navigate as a straight, paved road. I can feel my resignation lightening.

I am reminded of every book I ever read about elves or other fantastic, wood-savvy folk. I’ve ready hundreds of pages, written thousands of words, played video games of what I’m living right now. I love my life. I love it more each time I leave behind a little more of my conditioning about what comfort and effort really mean.

Fridolin, it turns out, is almost completely night blind. He can’t even see the silhouettes revealed by the cloudlight. Gamely he plunges on as we periodically stop to wait, guiding him back to the trail with pseudo bird calls. As the wood opens up into the sweet forest, I lose the trail, the duff suddenly springy with last autumn’s maple leaves.

“Wait, I’ve lost it.” Fridolin bumps into me. “Back up. Back, back… Okay. I’m on it.” I feel around with my feet, toes pointed like a ballet dancer until I feel packed earth. “There you are.”

We wander along blind to the trailhead, and can’t find the deer. I pull out the beeswax candle and matches I stuffed into a breast pocket. We’ve walked right past Mama Deer, and Fridolin holds the candle as Marcus and I drag her off the road, one of her legs shattered through by the force of the car that ended her life.

I step aside as Marcus pulls out a slender cord we hope will be strong enough to hold her weight, and step out of my clothes. In a world with no soap and no washing machines, clean clothes are valuable. Naked, I buckle my belt around my hips, bonier from the transition of sitting at a computer typing most of the day to walking three to ten miles hauling loads of fir boughs and firewood. I hear the drone of a handful of mosquitoes zeroing in on our carbon dioxide trail.

Marcus loops his string around the deer’s neck and he and Fridolin hoist her up far enough that I can wrap my arms around her bloated belly.

“Okay, one, two, three–”

We heave, she rises, we heave, so close but not high enough–

Something snaps, and darkness rushes in.

We contemplate.

“Well, it was either the branch or the string.”

“Can you find the candle?”

“I haf de candle,” Fridolin says.

“I left the matches by a root over here…” I self-narrate, feeling around in the dark, naked but for a knife.

A rattling box, and the candle blooms to life, Mama Deer staring up at us.

“Looks like it was the string,” Marcus says.

“Ve can use de legs, no?” Fridolin asks.

“Oh yeah! I forgot all about that.” Squatting, I slip out my knife. I’m so used to hanging deer by the neck with the luxury of strong rope that I have blinders to other possibilities.

Taking her foreleg, I cut the tendon away from the bone and try to pull her other foot through. It takes some hauling, and finally I have to brace both feet on her leg to pull her hard, black-tipped toes through. We resume our positions.

“On three, one two three. Little more, little more– There! Okay. You can let go.”

There she hangs, neatly, no rope.

Stripping to the waist, Marcus takes the lead, always so surprisingly reedy under a bush of hair and beard and cheekbones that remind me of chipmunks. He delicately slits the thin skin over her sternum and I help peel the flaps back. A spurt of blood splatters my leg as he cuts open her belly, a bulge of stomachs and coiled mounds of intestines, blessedly intact.

Fisting his hands around the connective tissue holding the organs inside, Marcus tells me, “So if you can grab the liver so it lands on top…”

I take the sold, rubbery shape between my hands and the whole GI tract lands in a neat pile at our feet. We cut the liver off and place it on the birch bark.

“We’ve got one kidney… Where’s the other one?” I poke through the candlelit tangle, mystified. “… Maybe we can find it in the morning.”

Next come the heart and lungs, and nestled in the belly, a gift.

“Oh, baby.”

There’s a sadness there, and a reverence, as I see the tiny white hooves peeking out, for a life cut short as we gently pull the fawn out.

The night is cool enough to leave Mama Deer until the morning. We don our clothes and try to wrestle the organs onto our birch bark platter only to find they keep wriggling out. Finally I pull the fawn out of his placenta and tie his little legs together into a suitcase. He is such a perfect little deer, writ small and spotted, his hindquarters underdeveloped just like a newborn human baby’s. Abandoning the birch bark, Fridolin and Marcus take fistfuls of organs and I lift the candle.

“Are we ready?”

A puff of breath, and darkness swallows us again.

It’s darker now, an iron gray sky barely distinguishable from the tree tops. In consideration of our precious and ungainly cargo –and the fact that Fridolin is essentially blind– Marcus and I start narrating obstacles.

“Knee log… Ankle log… Eye pokers… ‘Nother knee log…” The fawn weighs surprisingly heavy against my arm.

As we circumvent the sweat lodge, a cry rises across the thick night from camp. I think I know who it is, a three year old who has woken the camp nightly for the past quarter of the moon.

The water at the swim area is a rippling sheet of black as we crouch to wash our bounty. The wandering bridge through the bog, two poles wide, feels too ambitious after our adventure. Ready for bed, we walk the last trail to camp, passing silent tents through a brushy corridor of young, anti-septic smelling balsam fir. In the bog near the canoe canal we pull back layers of sphagnum moss to bury our meat and keep it cool. A green glow reaches across the open hearth, a candle in a tent as two parents read from a journal to their wakeful toddler.

“I’m turning in. ‘Night guys.”

“‘Night, Marcus.”

I lead Fridolin as far as the trail to his tent and hopes that he makes it, and crash in my sleeping bag, content.

A Post from the Seekers – Rose’s Stories

This week we have a bunch of posts from the Seeker’s themselves, so stay tuned for more. The following is from Rose’s chronicle of the yearlong. They were originally posted on her website, metraylor.com.

From My Year in the Woods

So my year in the woods living with twenty-five adults and seventeen children commences tomorrow morning. 

So, for those of you who’d like to know a little more: I live here. I’ve been volunteering at this school and editing for the director for the past three years, and I was finally ready to do what I originally wanted to do, which was take the yearlong wilderness immersion program. This year’s going to be different, because the focus is going to be on families.

Twenty-five adults, seventeen children, eleven months, in the heat of summer, the dead of winter, living in the woods. We’ll start out in tents and with matches, and graduate to bark and thatch lodges and bow drill fires. Our food will be supplemented with mostly organic fruits of agriculture, and we will have no sugar, no coffee, no processed foods, no media. We’ll be learning how to forage, collect and prepare craft materials, tan hides, make fire, and most importantly how to work as a community. I’ll be living a lot of what I write into Alan’s culture of origin, and Efeddre and Toney’s people, the ldridrisy and limdri.

The most challenging thing we’re going to be doing is not pooping in the woods while covered in mosquitoes, or running around in -20 F temperatures. We’re going to be facing a lot of things in ourselves that are easy to cover up with TV, reading, comfort foods, movies, music, sugar, caffeine, and drugs. We are going to be forced to look at how we relate to other people, food, the natural world, non-humans, and ourselves. We’re going to be discovering our gifts and our challenges (and having witnessed this program for four generations of students, I know there’s a lot of challenges) and how they all fit together. We are going to learn how to operate not just as isolated individuals, couples, and nuclear families, but as a community. We’re going to be constantly reminded to take responsibility for our own feelings and our own actions that have put us exactly where we are in our lives. We’re going to be examining and coming face to face with the unpleasant reality of the unspoken contracts we have with the people in our lives that allow everything to seem to run smoothly when there’s so much more underneath.

“You don’t do that, so I don’t feel this.”

“I give you this, so you don’t feel that.”

“I didn’t tell you that, because I was afraid you’d do this.”

We’re going to be learning how to communicate consciously, how to listen to what’s really being said underneath, how to say what’s really going on for us. We’re going to learn how easy it is to say we’re saying what’s really going on for us, when really we’re not doing it at all.

Michel Scott, the director of The Horse Boy, is going to be doing a documentary on our experience. So. Movie. For real.

I am utterly terrified, and I know that I am doing exactly what I need to. This is the cliff, and all I have to is jump. I’ll learn how to fly on the way down.

From Arrival

The lake wears a new face each morning.

Neon pink and lavender kissing the mist rising from the water, or the bowl of the lake capped by a rippling, iron gray sky, ten thousand cloudscapes. I used to take hundreds of pictures of the sky, trying to preserve each stunning, sensual instant, and I was so busy taking pictures I had no time to see. The the lines of the overhanging branches of a cedar, a pine, and a wave-worn log frame the swim area, for all the world like a landscaped natural picture window.

I will never see this face of the lake again, and I treasure the gift as I treasure the loss.

“High definition reality,” Marcus calls it.

“I’m stealing that,” I tell him.

The camp is waking up.

We’re crazy.

Twenty-five adults, seventeen kids, three generations, four languages, and all our different beliefs, opinions, biases, experiences, triggers, wounds, living in the woods together for eleven moons. There is only one explanation: We’re all insane.

It’s amazing and fantastic and terrifying and uncomfortable.

We sit around the fire cracking nuts and roasting eggs. A mother translates her delicate toddler’s exuberant outbursts, like closed captioning for the Swedish impaired. Her little girl plays chase with one of the boys and she scrambles over mom, screaming in one part hysteria, one part triumph.

A few of the boys are playing something they call “Dungeons and Dragons,” and I have no idea if it means the same thing to them as it does to me. We have no dice, no books, and not much paper. I smile to myself as I overhear a five-year-old from my tent, “And I told him I was a god and he didn’t want to fight me anymore.”

In our ranks we boast three people who know Thai massage, three who know myofascial release, a smattering of energy workers, and a lot of people who just know how to give with their hands. Almost every sun there’s one or two people in the quiet, sunny spots by the wigwams giving and receiving some kind of massage.

Everyone is basking in novelty and gratitude as the whole camp comes together to help level ground and erect tents and tarps. This is the honeymoon phase, when everyone loves each other and I wonder what it will be like when all our idiosyncrasies and habits start to snag each other like thorns.

But this is the Now. I decide to enjoy it while I can.

 

Last of Turtle Egg Laying Moon

To all of you have written blog comments and well wishes to the Seekers, many have gotten a chance to read them finally—now is their Dead Moon Visit—and their next one is a moon from now. In this post, we’re going to explain a few of the traditions of the Wilderness Guide Program, including the Dead Moon Visit, to help everyone with family and friends out at camp to understand more about the Wilderness Guide Program’s unique aspects and how it works.

You may have already noticed that we use untypical words for the passage of time, like sun for day, quarter moon for a week, moon for the 29 day lunar cycle, along with quarter moon, meal time, and egg roast for shorter periods of time. From the moment the Seekers step foot in the forest, they begin the process of tuning into their environment. Discovering first-hand what it is to be a creature of the Earth, they look to her to keep track of time’s passing, rather than relying on the clock. They connect their inner concept of time directly to the environment they inhabit.  Even though there are no timepieces in the forest, not even man-made sundials, we still carry clocks in our heads.  To help support the transition to earth time, we use terms that reflect the new relationship. Tamarack’s recent blog post, Beyond Clock and Calendar, addresses the topic and discusses the benefits, along with offering examples.

The Dead Moon Visit is a Teaching Drum Wilderness Guide Program tradition that the Seekers are newly initiated into. Every new moon, which we call the dead moon because there is no moon to light the night sky, the Seekers will hike in to Nadmadewening , or Nad’mad, which is the main campus, to call family and friends, e-mail, and do research in the school library (there are no books at camp). They also stock up on supplies and necessary gear. Four groups will be coming in on successive suns, in order to give everyone adequate time on phone and computer. You can watch the moon, just as the Seekers do, to tell when they are coming in.

We’ve put up a new page on the blog called the Glossary of Terms, which includes many of the words used at camp that you may not be familiar with. You’ll find English terms used for communicating and time reckoning, as well as Ojibwe words the Seekers use as part of their immersion in the local ecosystem and culture. We’ll post some of their original terms as well. Language is fluid and ever evolving, so they are encouraged to come up with their own terms for units of time, the names of animals and plants, and even each other. In doing so, they develop a sense of ownership in their language and a relationship with what they name. Their communication takes on a new relevance, probably similar to the experience of those who first came to this land and constructed their language based on their growing connection with this special place on the Earth’s bosom.

Gigawaabamen! (Yep, you’ll  find it in the glossary.)

 

The Dead Moon (Beginning of Blueberry Moon)

Right now, amphibians of all kinds are out sunning themselves, singing, eating bugs, and generally having a grand time. They are an important part of the ecosystem here, helping to control insects and provide food for animals from snakes to bears, not to mention larger members of their own kind.  Although frogs may be small, the Seekers follow in the footsteps of the Natives by not snubbing their noses at them. Many Native peoples subsisted more on small animals such as frogs which were caught by women and children, than on large game. After a workshop on frog hunting—in fact, right after—the Seekers went out and put their new knowledge to practice. Taking their cues from Heron, a master frog stalker, they became proficient in no time. And they got a lesson in respectful hunting.

In the workshop, they were informed of poisonous species and given guidelines for determining when frogs can be gathered without interfering with their life cycles. The frog chorus at this time of year is unimaginably loud. Why? Because they are mating. The Seekers learned how to identify species who have already laid their eggs and can thus be collected, and how to identify those who have not yet reproduced. Frogs species breed in order through the season, from small to medium to large. If they’re calling, they’re mating—so leave them be. Additionally, the Seekers learned which species are rare and protected, and how to tell if a species has an adequate enough population to safely hunt them.

The Seekers came back with 25 frogs, and every single one of them was a female full of eggs, which they found out only after they had killed and cleaned them. It was a sad day, and a potent lesson, as frogs only live 1-2 turns of the seasons, and those 25 were given no chance to reproduce. The most potent lessons often come at a cost, and this one about disrupting a fragile ecosystem’s life cycle will not likely be forgotten anytime soon.

And then there are the lessons being learned from venturing outside of their social and emotional comfort zones. The Seekers are now moving from isolated nuclear-family units toward clan-based extended family. Even though this is what they have been looking for and desiring to create, it is a difficult transition to make. Different, often-conflicting parenting styles are tossed together, creating turmoil for parents and children alike. Right now we’re working with three fundamentally different parenting styles:

  1. The child acts out to manipulate the parents, and the parents placate the child so she’ll discontinue the behavior. This leaves the child in charge and the parents at her mercy. Parents end up feeling victimized, and children are left in control of situations they are not capable of managing.
  2. The parents give the child choices, all of which the parent has predetermined are acceptable. The child feels content and empowered by being part of the decision-making process. With the parents  guiding rather than imposing, the child is able to learn decision-making skills and the effects of choices.
  3. The parents control the child, often making decisions for the child without her input. The child usually grows passive and dependent upon the parent or develops a rebellious pattern.

All three of these styles can come into play in any parent-child relationship over the course of time. When one style dominates a parent-child relationship, it can be highly uncomfortable for both if another style is used with the child by other adults. Along with confusion, there can be defensiveness, anger, shame, and guilt.

However, the opportunity to live together sun after sun, coupled with a strong desire to work through parenting issues in order to create an open, clan-based relationship where parenting is shared, have moved some parents to make changes. They have gained tremendous insight , not to mention the relief and renewed energy they have for their relationships with their children. One couple with a 2½ year old were struggling with their child’s behavior during dinner. His bowl had broken and he had to use a smaller bowl. He rebelled every time, and the three of them struggled while the entire circle’s meal was disrupted.

With suggestions from a couple of the guides, they came to see that there were other options than what they had always done. They chose a number of things to do as a circle to help empower him. First, the most important thing was to switch the serving order so that the smaller children went directly after elders with their mothers. They also switched the mealtime to much earlier in the day, so that the small children are not so tired.  They gave him a bigger bowl, and it was decided that all children need to take a small amount of every dish served. Then, they could decide which pot they wanted more from. Empowering! He was given the option to walk from server to server and get his own portions, like everyone else does. He was given small servings, to encourage him to finish his bowl like everyone else before going for seconds.

There was an immediate change in his demeanor: he was happy to get his own food, and he sat and ate it with everyone else with none of the fuss. Mom felt instant relief and enjoyed watching her little one take care of himself.  When there are questions about what he chooses to feed himself, he is given acceptable options that encourage him to make his own decisions rather than having them made for him.

Now he even has his own little knife, and he delights in helping to scale fish with it. This family is an example of what’s possible—radical change can happen with just a few modifications that help our children thrive and at the same time lovingly embrace them. Empowering changes can be made anywhere at any time; children usually respond pretty quickly. In a clan situation such as ours, the parents can discuss and come to agreement on options, and then parent together. This is the clan way—working with one voice for the benefit of all involved.

Adults engage in the same patterns with each other as they do with their children, but they are often more subtle. We can look at our relationship with our children as a metaphor for how we treat ourselves and each other. How often do we not offer ourselves choices and back ourselves into corners without even realizing it? Even though we might see instant results with children, changes to treat ourselves with respect and follow through consistently with our children can take time and require continual effort. As they say, old habits die hard. Although the couple we just talked about has made a huge change around meals, the shift will have to sift through every area of their parenting. This takes the support of others, which is one of the beauties of clan living. And in return, the couple and their child are a shining example and inspiration for their entire circle.

Adding to the mix recently is Wilderness Guide Program graduate Annika, who is here to join the family yearlong for an entire moon. She is the first of a number of graduates who will be coming to help support the yearlong this turn of the seasons. We’re very much looking forward to other alumni coming to share their experience and passion with the Seekers who make up this very special clan at Nishnajida.