Into the Woods

Seems like after a late start, the Green Season has officially arrived. One of the telling factors is the new weather. No longer does frost cover the ground in the morning, no longer do we huddle close to the fire at night. Now it’s often hot and sunny. Usually this lasts for a few days, gradually becoming more and more humid. Slowly, from out of the southwest, the clouds build. Then the distant rumbles come, threatening a fury. Sometimes they pass with just a sprinkle; sometimes it’s a raging downpour, followed by a relief of coolness. We sit in the summer arbor, and watch the skies explode. And then, there are the odd spells. One night a frost came, and the little oaks on our prairie took a deep blow. Now many of their leaves are red or brown and shriveled. For a couple of days, a might windstorm had his way. A small balsam fir fell on the earth lodge, and half the roof of my and Chris’ wig-wam blew right off! Wowsers.

One weather event that’s more or less predictable these days are the clouds of mosquitoes. They can be enjoyed any place not in hot, direct sunlight or at least moderate wind. SO that includes the creek where we drink, the forest where the canopy of trees forms a shade – especially near bogs and ephemeral pools. And inside our lodges. We’ve begun experimenting with smudging them before bedtime, with some success. I just came back from harvesting spruce-root in a spruce bog, for the roof repair project – and I tell ya – that’s definitely another place to encounter them! I don’t mind them all that much, to tell the truth. Their song can be comforting, with the right mindset. They motivate me to run from place to place. And when I’m doing something, and really get into it, then their prickles are barely noticeable. Choosing times and places to be active, as well as lathering up with fat and wearing protective clothing help as well.

We’re taking advantage of the long warm days – everyone has projects going on. Pretty much everyone is tanning hides – scraping, stretching, smoking. Denise, Coyote and I made baskets. Now I have a nice place to keep my clothes. I’m getting into making moccasins, and plan to figure out how to become an efficient ant-hill raider (for eggs and larvae). Tomas is working on his skin boat and going on exploratory trips. We’re all taking dips in the ponds to wash off and cool down.

We share our dream guidance over the morning breakfast fire, and our day-journey over the evening dinner fire. The last couple of days, my dreams have been showing me that I need to take responsibility over the challenges that come up daily – not escape. As I listen and do so, I can feel myself moving forward.

From an extremely well-lit wigwam,

Alex

Tomas has been talking about his desire to make a portage trail from one creek to another for some time now. In essence, this would connect two separate river systems, one of which ends in Lake Michigan. The other, on the Gulf of Mexico. So one day, he went – and I came with him. I was hesitant because of my concern about being eaten alive by mosquitoes, and because I was reluctant to put all my ongoing projects on hold – the basket, the hide, the moccasins and the trap line.

As the morning chill gave way to bright sunshine, I decided to go for it. I know that doing things I am uncomfortable with often results in good stuff. I packed for an overnight journey and off we went in our little canoes. A couple of familiar creeks and a lake crossing brought us to the site of our former fish camp, where we netted many suckerfish. We portaged for a while into a little lake and continued. That’s when I got acquainted with the experience of a ferocious assault of deer flies and other biting and stinging flies, mosquitoes and ticks. We bravely put on a battle. There were many casualties (some of whom were eaten). Our hands and faces began to swell a little from the damage.

On the way up, we cut back some alder that was choking the creek in a few places. We chose to not portage over a certain stretch which gave us access to a few well-established nettle patches, yet required lots of wading, as the creek was too shallow for the canoes. Up and up we went. The creek began to meander through an open bog. With the sun beating down, the biting flies, and constant surprises that the creek presented us with on many a turn, I felt stressed, and was glad to have come to the end at last – a pond, where a white swan sat and looked warily at us. It was now mid-afternoon.

We walked through the bog and quickly found a campsite in a forest of young maples. The untiring Tomas, a veteran of many a river trip and scouting expedition, went off to explore the area and began to scout for the route. I got busy with setting up camp – tarp lean-to, mosquito netting, boughs, firewood. At dusk, Tomas came back and we ate – roasted nettles and cattails dipped in a jar of bear fat and cracklings. We ate inside the mosquito netting, as we were surrounded by a thick cloud of mosquitoes. What did people do on expeditions before such equipment?!

We slept well. At one point an upset deer snorted indignantly into the night – who are these intruders! We got up in the early morning and headed to a large abandoned beaver pond, about a third of the way there, cutting the trail in the process. Then Tomas went off to continue the scouting, calling back to me once in a while to verify the location of the pond. I waited, playing with trap designs and watching the pond-life. He came back, and we went together, opening the trail with our tomahawks. At one point we needed to do more scouting for the trail. That took a while, as the terrain was confusing – many small meadows intermingled with stands of balsam fir. We washed off in the creek that was our destination, wide due to a beaver pond (Tomas wisely picked that spot for that reason), yet soon our clothes were soaked again with sweat. Finally, the route was marked and cut. It weaved through a young maple forest, an older open maple forest, a bog, meadows, and at the end joined up with an old hunting trail. It often followed old logging roads and deer trails. We agreed that it’s not a perfect trail (could probably be more direct), but it definitely can be of service.

The sun was on his way down, and we were pretty tired, so we decided to skip the alder-clearing on the now-connected creek, and head back. It was a real pleasure, that trip back! There was a sense of accomplishment, and as for me – an opening of a new horizon – river trips! The challenge and hardship drew me to focus and draw on reserves I forgot I have. Cushy camp-life is nice, yet I can see how once in a while something like this can help me to liven up, to grow. As we followed the creek, I reflected on the beauty of the grasses, trees and big sky that were all around us. I am becoming more and more aware of the connectedness of all things, and of the longing that I have in me to recognize and honor their Spirits.

Before putting in to the creek en route to the big lake, we gathered tender Basswood leaves to share with our camp-mates. We paddled against strong head-on wind, whitecapped waves occasionally spraying us with water. It was a lot of fun! We got back in time to wash off before dinner, and then joined the others for a pleasant evening meal. I slept well that night.

Alex

P.S. Here is a tip: trying to backwards-limbo under a bridge in a canoe can result in much wetness… : )

I pick up a pile of broken-up firewood to put into our wood arbor and see that each stick is unique in its shape, color. Branches from different trees that grew and fell, or died with the tree from which we harvested. Now they will serve as fuel for our warmth, cooking, light, comfort. My heart fills with gratitude. As I go through the day, I reflect on how so many of the tools that we use are gifted to us by trees, by animals, and by rocks. Denise is working on crafting a basket for a few days now. She sits in the summer arbor, which is roofed with Birchbark and peat. The floor is Balsam Fir boughs with an additional layer of hair-covered Deerskins which we periodically shake out and keep out of water’s way. The basket she makes is for storing dried Suckerfish which we caught and preserved a little while ago by drying and smoking – now they need to be kept in a dry container. It is made of Birchbark – the skin of Birch trees, and rawhide – the skin of Deer. Our wigwams are roofed with Birchbark, lashed with Spruceroot and rawhide. Some of us wear the laboriously processed skins of Deer as a second skin on our bodies – buckskin clothing. Tomas is building a canoe made of Wood and Rawhide. I have a trap-line which helps to supplement our diet, the traps made of Wood, occasionally weighed down with Stones. Stones help to form the circle of our hearth where the fire, kindled by one of our the wooden Cedar firekits, dances. Sometimes we put little Stones directly into the fire to receive his heat, and then transfer them into our Wooden bowls to render the fat and cook the greens. And the list goes on! Pack-frames, scraping beams, paddles, rope, bows, etc etc etc. To be fair – we use Metal too. Knives, tomahawks, needles, awls, scraper-blades, files. I am grateful for metal, yet hope to one day replace his friendship with the greater intimacy of Stone and Bone. And that is how we survive, live thrive. We have big brains, agile hands, language to share information. We are crafty tool users, and we are given much by our cousins. As one comes to understand this, he can only be grateful.

Alex

In the northern forests of the American Midwest grows a plant unlike any other plant native to this continent. Its bulbs used to be harvested for winter food stores by the Indians, and its leaves were added to food for superior nutrition and taste. It’s in the onion family. In Europe, it’s called the wild Leek. Here it’s name, in the Algonquin language, is Zhigagowan. A certain city takes its name from this, for it stands on one of the former Indian gathering grounds – Chicago.

We came back from suckerfish camp, had a day of rest and organizing in our wigwams, and then once again packed up our sleeping bags, tarps, tools, and food, and hit the trail. Our destination lay ten miles away, down trails and forest roads – our Leek-gathering grounds. The goal is to camp there (here, actually, as I am writing from our new forest camp), and do a few days of intensive gathering.

The walk was pretty nice (we sent our gear by car!). A passing thunderstorm found us resting at the edge of a lake, and so we threw up a tarp lean-to and contently waited it out. We saw the forest change from one kind to another, and another…Spring! Spring everywhere! Unfolding leaves, singing birds, gushing creeks. We arrived sometime in the afternoon, and spent a few mealtimes scouting the area, to understand the extent and maturation of the Leek patch, and to find a flat spot for a campsite.

Turns out there are lots and lots of Leeks ready to gift themselves to us. As the evening dark descended, we finished putting up our lean-to, gathered boughs to sleep on, and kindled a fire. All hands were busy with camp prep work. We cooked and ate, while talking about plans for the harvest and working out interpersonal issues in a circle format. The next day we got to it. By early afternoon we had gathered so much that the person who came for the pick-up told us to stop! Our support circle can only process so much at once! As far as the processing goes, Leeks can be blanched and frozen, or ripped up and dried. I don’t think we’ll be doing much processing ourselves. So that’s it for Leek Camp so far!

As for myself, I’ve been immersed in this experience for over a Moon now. More and more I realize how fulfilling this lifeway is for me. Not all my needs are met here, but that’s OK. The relationships, the crafts, the inner healing work, all bring many gifts. More and more, as I sit and talk with him, my inner child is finding a home.

Alex