Date: 2014-02-13
To: Roots and Leaves
Miles today: 0.0

The recent weather has left me stranded inside, huddled in layers of warm clothes, staring hungrily out the window. I watch the birds on the ground around the feeder the girls and I hung a few months ago. We identify boy and girl cardinals, dark-eyed juncos, goldfinches, downy woodpeckers, carolina chickadees, American robins, white-breasted nuthatches, devious squirrels. I smile inwardly at the blessing of being home with my girls, teaching them things I didn't know toddlers were capable of learning. My heart warms at the thought of Scarlett on a field trip in a few years, how she might shock her tour guide with her matter of fact acknowledgement of a variety of bird species. I don't teach my girls these things to impress anyone or so that they'll get into an ivy league school. I want to invoke their natural curiosity about the world around them. I want them to look back on their childhood as one of wonder and experience and muddy clothes. Of course I'd be thrilled if they want to follow in my literal footsteps, become thru hikers themselves. But I'd be more thrilled if they follow their own path to happiness, and not strive to become who they think I want them to be.I spend a lot of time staring at the sweet gum tree the feeder is hanging from. Last years' gumballs encircle it on the ground, and I think back to a few months ago when its leaves were freshly fallen and the girls and I spent afternoons running through the crunchy leaves, laughing at the crinkly noises our feet made, throwing the dead leaves on each other. Those kinds of magical moments happen daily, and when they do I cling to them, try to burn them into my memory; I pray that when it's my time to leave this earth that those are the moments that will flash before my eyes. I feel like they're small glimpses of heaven - the simplicity and grandiose love of those moments fill my soul in a new way, in a divine way. Of course, there's always a flip side to staying at home with the girls. It's not all joy and laughter and small hugs and big, wet, snotty kisses. There are epic meltdowns at the mention of getting a sucker if a chicken nugget is first consumed. There are markers to draw all over the walls with. There are stomach bugs and late night sob fests. There is always bad with good. Always. But finding the beauty and the gratitude in any situation, every stage of life is crucial for happiness to ensue. "Gratitude turns what we have into enough."During the winter months the sweet gum tree stores its energy and nutrients in its roots, and as the earth begins to tilt in early spring the tree slowly sends that energy upward, towards its leaves who will use the energy to turn sunlight into more energy, a different kind of energy. I feel a kinship with the tree, the duality of its energy sources - from both its roots and its leaves; internal and external energy. I derive so much of my energy from my sweet family, the love we have, the joy they bring me. I feel grounded and fulfilled in some basic and essential ways through my roles as mother, wife, daughter, sister, friend. Without these roles I'd be lost. I wouldn't be fulfilled. I'd be lacking. My core being requires these domestic functions. I crave them. They are essential to my being and my happiness. They are my roots, my initial source of energy and strength.But as the spring comes on, my leaves stretch out and unfold in the warm sunlight. Energy shoots up from my roots and, with the help of my natural surroundings, I am driven to convert it into something else, another source of sweetness, lifeblood in another form. A lot of the time, in both internal and external conversations, I downplay this source of strength. It feels silly to acknowledge how much I need the mountains, fresh air, endless miles of trails. How essential these things are to my soul. Which is silly in of itself - I spent 5.5 months in the woods, hiking day in and day out. If that's not a testament to my love and desire and need I don't know what is. I have to remind myself of the great nature lovers who came before me. John Muir's quote brings me endless comfort: "The mountains are calling, and I must go." He wasn't a nut case, as far as I know. He's heralded all over the world as one of the greats. I share his same call and his same drive. It's been almost 5 years since I left for an epic trip of a lifetime. I will never forget how, on the drive to Springer, I ricocheted between unquellable excitement and wondering if I was insane. I thank God that I followed my calling, that I had the courage to stick it out those first few, rainy, rough weeks, that I decided if I was insane, that I was also happy, and that was what mattered the most. Today marks 4 years since we moved to Mississippi. There's also been a duality in this stage of my life - we've had so many blessings here. We've met some great friends, experienced successes we couldn't have imagined, created a sweet life for ourselves and been given two precious little girls. In some ways I've felt more grounded here than I ever have before. I've grown from a girl in her mid-twenties into a woman. In a lot of ways I've finally come into my own. I feel a direction and purpose I've never felt before. In the typical duality and irony of life, I feel like my root system has expanded exponentially, but that my leaf growth is stunted, they're not producing enough energy to feed my roots. I can't deny that my branches are shooting up and out, that my leaves are aching for some mountain sunshine; I can't deny that sometimes my roots feel like they're drowning and depleted in this low country. For now, though, I supplement with fertilizer in the forms of weekend mountain trips, practicing gratitude, and nourishing my roots with the knowledge that one day they'll grow into coppices, trees of their own who share roots with me. I'm also embracing and celebrating my source of sunshine, feeding it as I can, and I'm feeling more confident in the knowledge that it exists for a purpose. Afterall, "Let yourself be silently drawn by the strange pull of what you really love. It will not lead you astray." - Rumi