Wild in the East Bay: Summer Comes to Multiply

Artemis was imagined to dwell in the mountains, but her sanctuaries were not peak sanctuaries. It is not the mountains themselves that were sacred to her but the narrow passes in between. S. Cole

As we wound down the steep grade in the Livermore hills, Fern piped up from the backseat, Mama? This is a stupid day. We’ve been trying to discourage the use of the S word, but I really couldn’t argue…it truly had been.

What was supposed to be an hour’s drive from San Francisco was going on three. First I had missed the exit off 580. Then there was construction on the tiniest of roads where we sat breathing tar fumes for an eternity. Then there was twisting descent into San Joaquin county, the definite dawning that we were not in Kansas anymore, and the directions from the WTF national park. Turning around we had to sit in the same construction AGAIN, and even though we had finally found the damn turn-off, spirits were flagging. I had spent the entire drive spiraling into what has been my baseline lately…this sense that all forward momentum in our life has screeched to a grinding halt, and we are broke down somewhere in the Nevada desert…so close to the California border and SO out of gas.

I answered Fern with, You’re right. It HAS been a stupid day. But we’re almost to the lake now and hopefully our day will start to be AWESOME.

This is how we get our awesome on.

Del Valle Regional Park lies nestled in the high rolling hills south-east of Livermore. As part of the South Bay Aqueduct Project in 1968, Lake Del Valle was born. It has the slightly unsettled feeling that most man-made lakes do, and it attracts an odd mix of users. I say users, and not visitors, because the area definitely feels used…it is set up for recreation and every corner bears the stamp of human presence, mostly in the form of ludicrous littering (we packed out yards of used fishing line, plastic bags, bottles and cups…just from our one little spot).

We spent a good hour or so washing the highways off our minds and while Fern collected “barkwood” for a “fire”, I kept up with my studying.

A must-have and I also am enjoying this recent find.

Spirits wheeled overhead and families sought refuge in golden shade.

It could be said that when Artemis came to town, “she brought the wilderness with her” S. Cole.

When Fern reached maximum teeth chattering, we dried off and decided to go on explores. An isthmus across the way from us had been beckoning with bird song, hawk shenanigans and vulture swoopings.

A little sandy trailhead was partly hidden, quickly dipping over a hill into the unknown. At its gates stood the guardians, which, in my own personal iconic language, is a Las Vegas neon sign…an arrow pointing the way to good fortune.

Roxanna Elfea takes in the scent of Artemisia douglasiana…California Mugwort.

Milla wrote a few months back how the Nettle People are her plant familiars. In my own veins, I feel the running kinship with the Artemisias, especially Mugwort and the sagebrushes.

Thus Artemis was associated with turning back the enemy and was named Astrateia or “she who disperses invasion”. As such, “Artemis was a god of turning points” S. Cole

Mugwort is anti-fungal and anti-microbial, which means that if you make a tea out of it, it makes a good wash for wounds. You can also drink the tea to help with fat cravings and a sluggish liver, or to help with gastric complaints. It also stimulates the lining of the uterus, so should be avoided in pregnancy. However, if your period is slow and crampy, stop and start, a cuppa might move things along.

The animal most associated with Artemis is the Stag, and I always appreciate how the leaves of Artemisia douglasiana remind me of antlers. Vivid, dark green on top and silvery underneath, they contain the most heavenly scent. This variation of Artemisia is heavy in thujone, the active ingredient in absinthe. Thujone oil is also excellent for getting rid of warts, but use with caution as the oil can be an irritant.

Burning the stems is used in Chinese medicine, known as moxibustion. It is amazing for moving stagnant blood and energy, especially when blown over muscular-skeletal ouchiness. I healed severe sciatica by using moxibustion, among other things.

To be honest, it is the magical properties of Mugwort that endear it to me the most. The aromatics in this Artemisia bring on vivid and prophetic dreams. Sleep with some under your pillow, or drink the tea before bed. Artemis was a goddess of the moon, after all, that lamp that lights the way for all dreamers. Call on Artemis to accompany you through the frightening passages of transition, from wake to sleep, from womb to air, from life to death…she is guardian and guide.

As Fern and I followed the path, we entered a veritable forest of mugwort, sagebrush and poison hemlock. The air was heavy with scent and time stopped, then shifted.

Sagebrush, but I’m not sure what kind. I don’t think it’s Coastal Sage. I picked a little bundle.

Alice disappears down the rabbit hole. You can see the tall stands of hemlock…be careful with your kids around this plant. It is not poisonous to touch, but if your kid likes to put flowers in her mouth like mine does, just make sure neither the flower nor stem touches their lips.

I picked leaves of mugwort as we walked along and then, seeing some that had been trampled, whole stalks. Currently they are drying in the dehydrator and the whole house smells like a dream.

We settled down for another hour or so in a sheltered spot overlooking a secluded section of lake. This mother Merganser came floating by, weighed down with love. Can any of you mamas relate?

The whole day had a funny rhythm to it. Intention set in the morning, followed by multiple travelling cock blocks. Just when we were going to give it up for lost, we found that road leading to Del Valle. Our arrival was not ideal, nor was the location. But somehow we found serendipity in increasing amounts, and the afternoon felt blessed. As of late, having hope has felt like a dangerous idea. Yet, being a basically optimistic person, I cannot help but hope…perhaps this is foreshadowing? Perhaps a tow truck will come down that lost desert road. Perhaps it will be Artemis on a chariot, pulled by a team of stags.

Now fade away…after 18 years she’s not as sharp as she used to be. This is for Rachel, who wanted to know about my tattoos. The story of this one is one I won’t tell. But I can say these words…Artemis, goddess of the wilderness, huntress under the moon, protectress of pregnant women and babies…

Righteous babe.

The Disclaimer

Think with your stomach! Do not ingest wild plants unless you are sure you have identified them correctly and are willing to take responsibility for using yourself as a guinea pig. It is SO not my responsibility if you eat the wrong thing and get poopy pants, or die. You’re an adult. you can make your own choices.

She

Lately Fern has been repetitively practicing this little sideways crab type of galloping. Her concentration zones into herself, as she leaps around in a circle, or down the hall. I haven’t paid much attention to it, since so much of her movement is atypical for adults but typical for kids. She uses her body as an instrument of expression, with walking used only to get through the long, tired stretch from the beach (or creek or mountain or meadow) to the car.

Picking plantain for her Herb Fairies course. Once home, she washed it and after it was dry, helped me to chop it up. We have been slowly teaching her how to handle a kitchen knife safely. This week she also figured out how to use big scissors. By cutting twine. There are now approximately 8,000 pieces of twine all over our house. “It’s to make a nest for Ducky” she says.

Yesterday we were out front on the sidewalk drawing monsters (from this out-of-print find), when she started doing her crab gallop up and down the sidewalk. I put down my chalk and let her movement become the sole focus of my attention. This has become an absolute necessity for me as her mother, to place my awareness on her like this. Otherwise I am tricked into feeling that my own thought train is more tantalizing than the miraculous being before me, and I become increasingly irritable at being interrupted. Surrendering to interruption and letting it be a reminder that I have strayed from the present moment is becoming easier and more rewarding…certainly more rewarding than my own internal frustration that was creating a chasm between us.

This was a moment I almost missed while I was absorbed in capturing photos of bumble bees (on the pro blog this Friday). The shade under the willow tree made it difficult to see what she was doing. I walked under the branches to discover that, for the first time and much to my surprise, she was creating a fairy house by herself.

Suddenly her sideways gallop changed slightly as she was able to keep her back foot off the ground, and The Moment happened. It dawned on me…she wasn’t galloping…for weeks now, Fern has been trying to learn how to hop.

I cheered and clapped and joy exploded out of her face as she exclaimed “I did it!”.

This spot in Tennessee Hollow makes for a childhood dreamscape.

I’ve had a hard time inhabiting my life these last few months. Stress has been high and day to day events challenging and unsatisfying. I have been tense, Jeff has been tense and consequently, Fern has been tense. There has been more tantruming and defiance and my own shadow has been enacted out before me in the technicolor 3-D shape of a 3.5 year old girl. Add shame and, that heel-nipper of all parents, perceived failure and the whole things collapses into an ugly feedback loop.

The satisfaction of being just the right size.

Our lives are far from the desired ideal. When The Squeeze really happens, trying to outsmart my deeply conditioned Run Away! response is torturous. Especially when I get stuck thinking that what I’m supposed to do here is accept things as they are. Not that this isn’t good work, but when too much Sucks and internal feelings run too high around the cliffs of desperation, the disappointment in accepting is a path that also leads to these caverns of old Rage…and folks, there just aren’t enough hours in the day.

There’s one other option, and I think it’s actually the appropriate one. It’s the greatest gift of having a child. (And I don’t mean this in a bypassing sacharine way). The gift is that I have an unconditional reminder of my own heart, in the form of pure love for my daughter. When I hate my life and myself and I can’t stand it one more minute, it’s the reality of this love that loosens my grip. Loosens my grip on the thoughts and the story and helps me to drop down. In this way, the circumstances are given allowance. I don’t have to accept them, like I’m the unfortunate recipient of an unwanted gift. (Here, says Life, a pile of cat turds Just For You.). Rather, the circumstances are of no consequence, and ebb away into some far corner of my psyche. The world comes back into focus, the wonder of being alive sparks exuberance and my heart opens.

That’s how I come back to the present moment.

Mother Load

Acquired.

Watched.

Observed.

Related to.

Blooming Agave.

Wind Poppy

Western Starflower

Onion.

Identified.

We’re both so far from home.

I hate coffee, says Leo. Schlurrrp says Fern…I loooove coffee. And she’s native here.

Coffee Fern.

Loved.

Playing Pooh Sticks.

Finished.

Have any of you read it? Currently seeking guidance from Sagebrush and Ladyslipper.

Started.

Picked up this book at a library sale, and it had this little card in it. Friends of Dorothy Wagner a.k.a. Sally Carrigher

Illuminated.

That light, by the way. One of two picked up at the Sally a month ago.

Made.

Nurtured.

How was your Mother’s Day?

(Thank you for your thoughts on my last post. And the questions are still up for me, so I would love to hear from others. Personal experience on the shift from personal to pro? On the shelf life of blogging? Ideas of what you would enjoy seeing in this space?)

(Also, Blogger folks…do you have to buy space upgrades for your blogspot? I feel like I’m getting ripped off by wordpress).

Let Them Eat Pie

When I was 10, my family went on an epic road trip.

Heading out on the trail.

We took our time driving across the U.S., picking up my cousin in the Southwest, and continuing eastward. We did a little bit of sightseeing, but mostly it was a series of highways, roadside diners (we were on a quest for the best cheeseburger), motel pools and reading in the backseat.

Mule Ears and Rattlesnake Grass.

Maybe you can relate to this…there was often a point during the day, when I would wake up from a nap or dog-ear my page and look up to find a changed landscape. It was always a little big startling to realize that while I had spent all this time inside my own skull, outside the world had been going on…a present moment happening all around me while I was buried in oblivion.

When I think back on that trip, I still remember parts of it vividly, especially the freedom to relax and just float down river, or the highway as it were. It was like a period of dreaming, or incubation, and then we drove into camp and the best summer of my childhood began.

Petaluma farmlands.

I am right in that moment, the moment of putting down the book (that summer it was Watership Down) and looking out the window to discover that cornfields have turned to rolling green hills. I’m feeling a little shook up and disoriented and absolutely unsure of what may lie ahead. Unclear even of what my part in the game needs to be, or where I should be placing my focus.

Beyond the present moment, I mean.

Or on these two cuties. We gazed at each other for 10 minutes. I was very still so as not to scare them away. They were very still so as not to scare us away.

We have been househunting again, but I hardly even want to talk about it on here. Last year’s lost house fiasco taught me to keep my mouth shut. We’ve been looking, thinking we’ve found, realizing we have not. We are wondering about dates, about how to transition out of master tenancy, about the lines between sacrifice that is worth it and sacrifice that is just too much. If I write anymore about it, I just want to devolve into ranting about the unaffordable clusterfuckiness of it all. Meanwhile, we are living in limbo and it is unsettling.

As well, I am wondering about this blog. About just what it wants to be. I’ve been a little uninspired for it lately. I have the urge to write, but feel a little disheartened about this space. Not for all the loveliness that it has become, or the amazing friends I have made, but for a certain sense of arbitrariness that I get. Like, if I’m going to be spending so much time on something, couldn’t that time be better spent on writing for my professional blog and furthering my work? Or turning this space into a more appealing one by getting sharp on just what it is I offer here? There’s also this piece about all my various labors of love just turning into labor, and something is whispering in my ear that I really should be getting paid for more of what I do. I am also considering taking my botanical musings and ecospychology gleanings and saving that muse for my pro blog. But then, what does this space become? About family life? My inner world? Craft projects?

What I am realizing, is that my work IS terrallectualism. I do ecopsychology because of this. The two are inseparable. However, they MUST be kept separate, because of the ethical and legal considerations of the BBS. My clients cannot become privy to my private life. So I feel like my choice is to squirrel away in this little corner with you all, or go big and bring more of my heart to my professional persona and writing. I don’t have enough energy to do both. My muse is a sprinter, not a long distance runner.

At any rate, nothing is status quo around here right now. I have no answers. Let’s all eat pie.

Fresh Strawberry Pie with Gluten Free Pecan Crust

For the crust, I made a variation of this crust from Oh She Glows. The only change I made was I subbed 1 cup walnuts for pecans.

For the filling:

3 cups sliced, fresh strawberries
3 Tb arrowroot or cornstarch
1/4 cup brown sugar + 2 Tb maple syrup
juice of 1/2 lemon
pinch of cardamom

After the crust has prebaked and cooled, spoon in the filling. Back at 350 for 50 minutes. Let cool so it sets…or don’t. We stuck it in the freezer for 15 minutes.

First we had little artichokes, and then we had strawberry pie. We called it dinner, and it was good.

(Thoughts on times of transition with blogs, professional life or anything else?)

Seeds of Promise

May has arrived and we are calling it Summer. These last few days have found us more out than in, and there never seems to be a good enough reason to go home.

On Saturday Fern and I spent the day in Golden Gate Park. We rode the carousel (twice), fell over on the bike (twice), and wandered into the Botanical Garden. Did you know that it’s free for SF residents? Neither did I. All these years living here, I could have gone every day. Lucky for us, we went at just the perfect time…the time of blooming.

We ended our afternoon at the drum circle by hippy hill. The day had been a little difficult, and I called Jeff at one point and jokingly asked if he could Google something for me, “Find out if it’s officially Asshole Day in San Francisco.”. We’d had several bizarre encounters, enough to make me wonder if there had been an official decree. At any rate, Fern and I got our dance on and the drum circle seemed to be particularly inspired. It was the perfect medicine.

The next morning, we hustled early and headed up to Bloomfield Farms for another U-Pick Sunday and brunch.

From their FB page. Why yes, yes that IS an apple fritter I’m smiling about.

She’s such a boss.

Why all the seeds? Check it:

Bloomfield Farms is honored to help grow the heirloom “Pumpkin & Squash Pile” for the 2013 National Heirloom Exposition. With seeds contributed by our friends at the Baker Seed Company & Petaluma Seed Bank our family figured… “What better way to do this then to get families and kids involved, from planting to harvest out on a working organic and GMO-free farm!!!”

Fern has gotten wise to what this whole photography thing is about, and scampered to me with every pick.

Along with two types of kale, collard greens, artichokes, gem lettuces, chinese cabbage and arugula, we also picked 5 baskets of strawberries. We just couldn’t help ourselves. I’ve had big dreams of a gluten-free pie, but so far they’re disappearing fast, dipped into cashew cream.

Ever wonder what ladybug larvae looks like? Now you know.

The day was gusty and the dusty earth was sprinkled with rain a few times. But it wasn’t too cold and we were having too much fun to care.

Nick and the folks at Bloomfield have started something incredible…Cropmobster.com may just revolutionize and decentralize food distribution. He talked about it extensively and his enthusiasm is beyond contagious. Spread the word and become a mobster yourself.

Loaded up with two full bags of veggies, we swung by Mill Valley to scoop up Leo, and headed to Tennessee Valley.

Parts of this trail have been rehabilitated…this section boasts a thriving native bunchgrass population. You know those brown dry hills, covered with wild oats that feels like quintessential California? Yeah, didn’t used to be like that. 1% of our native grasslands remain. As Fern gets older and I get more time, I may become a crazy lady of the prairies, ripping out Scotch Broom and carrying around plugs and seeds of grasses to transform the wildscape wherever I go.

Although I may go crazy long, long before the kids are grown. At the sight of a slight incline, Leo became a whining zombie. Fern, who’d had a 10 minute nap, was his banshee cheerleader. Bless their hearts, I remember how hard or frustrating hiking could be as a kid.

Lots of thimbleberry teasing.

We enrolled Fern in the online Herb Fairies course last month, and both kids are loving it. I showed Fern the plantain flowers with their tutus, and she held out her hands and said, “Oh, oh, I’m hurt. I need a nature bandaid. I need a poultice”. She pointed out a microscopic scratch and we wrapped a bruised leaf around it. The stories talk about fairies, trolls and plant magic, and the kids re-enacted the whole way. There were small grumblings about How come we haven’t seen any fairies, but then I found some proof of their presence, and everything was better.

No, this isn’t Fairy scat. Fairy DUST, people.

The children in the stories get to go to the Fairy Herb Garden when they are sprinkled with fairy dust. Leo sprinkled himself and made wishes and Fern began to sing, Oh I’m shrinking and it tingles.

Sometimes I do wish they could stay this age forever.

A friend found on the trail.

How was your weekend?

My Religion is California

Essential soundtrack for this post. Do you know Kate Wolf? The darling of Sonoma, who left all too soon? No? Well here you go…

My foraging this year has been sporadic and I zombied my way through April, immune to the lure of another miner’s lettuce salad, or dandelion wine making.

I think this is due in part to the destruction of my garden on our back porch by my landlord and her neanderthal construction workers this last month. It’s a long story and I wil spare you the details, but I do ask you…who throws away a worm bin with worms inside? Who? Stupid people, that’s who. And now my daughter stomps around the house calling things stupid in a gruff voice. (Why is it kids forget the modeling you do 99% of the time and then your one bad day is tattooed onto their personality?} Anyway, the garden disruption left me feeling like my roots were dangling in the air, and I have been waiting to be transplanted. Yesterday, Fern and I touched earth again.

We heard The Mountain, and heeded her call. We set foot in the meadow at Pantoll, and Fern exclaimed “Look Mommy! Blue bonnets!”. Wildflowers are still rolling along in succession on Mt. Tam, and we gratefully accepted their blessings. I felt my own love and wonder cracking the hard shell of stupefication around my soul, and I began to glow with an inner enthusiasm for Life! Much like what we were seeking in our forage…

Fir tip still life with young green cones. Fir tips are wonderful to nibble, perfect in salads with their astringent tang, but currently I just have them outside in a jar of water. They will make a sun tea high in vitamin C, vitamin M and vitamin L.

Magic and Love, of course!

A friend recently posted on FB an article with the recent count of greenhouse gases (past 400 parts per billion for the first time in 3 million years). She mentioned how it explains our freakishly warm Spring. I replied: At least you realize the warm weather is freakish. I’m going to smack the next person who waxes poetic about the beautiful weather we’re having. I mean, not to be such a curmudgeon, but it’s like getting excited about the ambiance from the firelight in hell.

The warm days have been part of my disorientation too. I step out the door each morning without a jacket and it’s like I’ve been transported to the city of my dreams. I’ve always said I could stay in San Francisco if it wasn’t so miserably cold in the summer. Looks like I might get that wish. Every day this month has been thick with a blinding paradox…my body is so happy when it’s warm, but it really shouldn’t be warm. Where my marine layer at?

We may not be waxing poetic, but we really, REALLY aren’t complaining.

And I was just kidding about ignoring the Miner’s Lettuce. I truly never could.

The Twilight Lilac variation of the Douglas Iris is currently peaking.

Fern and I spent a sweet few minutes crouched down, cooing and aaahing at these itty bitties. They’re like little stars we said. Guess what they’re called?

True Baby Stars.

My other Baby Star.

Red Larkspur and Fern.

Checker Mallow.

Luminous Nettle.

Blue Dick.

Chocolate Lily. Unfortunately not quite focused, but still so lovely, I wanted to share.

I chose this trail because I knew it had a little stream beside it, one that Fern enjoyed last year around this time. She lost her clothes with abandon, much to the amusement of several hiking clubs of senior citizens. A woman strolled by with her dog, saying, “My kids used to swim naked here in 1972.”.

Children can hear the invitation sung by the voice of the water. Thank goodness.

Currently I am reading Gardening with a Wild Heart by J. L. Lowry (A trillion thanks to Rachel for recommending it). I get lost in the pages, enchanted to be reading a voice that so closely echoes my own passion for native flora. She is a kindred spirit that I hope to meet soon. Every chapter contains so many quotable passages, but her reference to an italian artist stopped my heart for just a second,

“The artist Gottardo Piazzoni, when asked if he had a religion, replied…

…I think it is California.”

Monkey See, Monkey Do

Saturday:

Micro-kite flying and abandoned Dandelion picking at Alamo Square with Uncle Shane.

Sunday:

The Finch babies outside our front door are turning into fledglings. Their once barely audible peep peeps for food now go off like adolescent alarms every 15 minutes. Both parents are engaged in finding food…and obviously exhausted. I also suspect that they spend 5 minutes hunting for food and 10 minutes at the Bird Bar, just trying to catch a break from their little darlings.

(Update! We have lift-off! After writing this post, I heard lively commotion out front…just in time to see the first baby fledge! Now its sibling is still in the nest, sadly peeping at being left behind. What a big moment!)

Mommmmmmmmm! Can I borrow the car?

Mom, waiting for me to leave. Or thanking me for babysitting.

We went to Huckleberry Preserve in the East Bay Hills. From their page:

Huckleberry Botanic Regional Preserve is an ecological jewel. The native plant community here is found nowhere else in the East Bay. It represents a relic plant association found only in certain areas along California’s coast where ideal soil and climatic conditions exist. The vegetation association of Huckleberry Preserve finds its roots in past climates and geologic history. The plants originated in the distant past along the southern coast of California when the climate was moister and tempered by the cool coastal fog.

While I saw a few rarities, the most abundant and thriving species seemed to be Poison Oak. Fern took to walking stiffly between plants with her arms raised. Poison Oak, the bandit of the woodlands…stick ‘em up.

Western, or Crimson, Columbine. Indigenous uses included as perfume. Awww.


Western Starflower.


Western Elfea.


Hedgenettle. A medicinal catch-all.


Pacific Coast Iris.


The kids began with great enthusiasm, and then spent the next hour and a 1/2 in the moody equivalent of this.

Fern’s first ever photo.

From right to left…Hear No Evil, See No Evil…and Just Kinda Evil.

How was your weekend?

P.S. Every day is Earth Day. But you knew that.