I arrived at Teaching Drum Sunday May 8th in the early evening. I parked my car where it would sit for the time I would be here. I felt excited to have arrived. My trip to the school had been filled with mixed emotions throughout the days’ drive. I got out of my car and called out “Hello?” There was no voice returned so I called out once again, “Hello, anyone here?” There was no reply. I turned and went up to the Family House door. Through the window of the door I saw shoes parked near the inner door. “Oh good, someone might be here,” I thought, so I knocked. There was no answer. I knocked harder and peeked in the window; no one was home.
I left the steps of the house to check the rest of the grounds, calling out melodically, “Hello, hello, anyone here?” I knew Tamarack and Lety weren’t going to be around upon my arrival, but where was everyone else? I went into the store and office, no one there. To the Quiet House, still no one. Finally the Staff Cabin – not a soul. No one anywhere. I felt sad; I was really looking forward to a Teaching Drum welcome.
My thoughts began to build and I started feeling anxious. “Alone again, why do I have to be doing it alone again? I’m always alone!” I was victimizing myself. I went back into the moment. I began by noticing my surroundings. I saw things had changed and other things had stayed the same. I started hearing the sounds around me. Smelled the smells and felt the breezes around me. I was back where I needed and wanted to be. Feeling ready to head up the path.
At the car I readied my gear. The pack felt a bit heavy, but not too bad. I’m learning to scale down and not worry about things I don’t need, and focus on only what I do need. I’m a work in progress.
As I turned, nearly ready to load my pack onto my back and head out, a truck pulled into the drive. A gentleman hopped out. He looked at me and said, “Denise, wow.” When I heard the “wow,” it didn’t matter to me what it meant. I was feeling strong and beautiful so no question was asked as to what it meant. It was Luke. He came to me so I could now receive the warm Teaching Drum welcome I had been longing for. “Luke, hello,” I said. “Could I have my first Teaching Drum dance with you?” We came together, shuffled our feet a bit, and twirled. We chatted a short while and reconnected. Luke assisted me with my pack and I departed to find the path out to camp.
The path was a somewhat unfamiliar trail to me. I hadn’t been to Teaching Drum for quite some time and this trail I had only been on a couple of times. It felt great to be weaving through the woods, and shortly I came to some log bridges over the boggy area. I should have kept up on my balancing. A bit of fear crept in. “Oh no, wet shoes. I can’t show up at camp with wet shoes. What will they think? They’ll think I’m not strong enough – good enough – blah blah blah.” I saw my pattern of thinking and changed it or as I like to say “flop the negative to a positive.” That’s what I did – I said, “oh, great time to practice balancing. Who cares about wet shoes; I’m here and I love the bog. It’s a beautiful place.” And what better time to share what I learned than to be with the camp members in a circle around the hearth, with drying shoes.
I finished the trail to camp with somewhat dry shoes, arriving at dinner time. Chris, Thomas, Alex and Coyote were around the hearth in the lean-to. I dropped my pack and called out, “Honey, I’m home.” I didn’t hear a word. I rounded the lean-to and saw puzzled eyes, maybe from what I had said. I’d like to tell you that I use this phrase as a check-in when I’m by myself. I adopted it when I was living in a wall tent in Oregon when I wasn’t finding the support I needed. So I’d ask the question to myself, and then answer it. It is a self-care comforting phrase that I have a longing to hear some day from a partner.
There were hugs of welcome given by my camp-mates and as it turned out, they knew I was coming – they just didn’t know when. So we dined together on fatty stew and they helped me settle into my new accommodations. I went to sleep feeling content.