Exploring Cades Cove in Great Smoky Mountain National Park

The sun was shining; the trees were glowing.

On our way to Asheville, North Carolina, we took a side trip in the Smokies and drove the Cades Cove Auto Loop. It was a lot of extra driving, but well worth the time. The trees were like a towering cathedral, the interior a sacred space.

Open spaces gave a view of the countryside. These clearings were first settled by Europeans in the 1830s. Deer and turkey were plentiful along the route, but none conveniently posed for a photograph.

 

Cades Cove Methodist Church, built by John D. McCampbell. The white frame structure has two front doors, a design that was common in the 1800’s in the Smokies.

Spots of color brightened the way along the 11 mile loop road. Though the traffic was not bumper to bumper, it still took several hours to follow the loop.

Autumn Road Trip – Great Smoky Mountain National Park

On my way to Patti Digh’s Life is a Verb Camp, I took a long cut–as opposed to a short cut–and spent a day in the glory of autumn’s yellow deep within the Great Smoky Mountain National Park.

My traveling friend and I first stopped at Sugarland Visitor Center just inside the park entrance near Gatlinburg. I spoke to a park ranger who said the autumn color was two weeks behind schedule. Lucky for me, because the lower elevations were at peak color. If the colors had been right on time, we would’ve missed them all, but we were smack dab in the glory of a hardwood forest autumn.

Elkmont River flowing with ferocity through the Elkmont Campground in the southern Smokies. The golden reflection of the trees in the swirling water was quite mesmerizing.

As we stood here, on the river shore, my friend recieved a much hoped for message that a relative was cancer free. Here, in this space and time, we felt an abundance of blessings.

And then a heron appeared at the river’s edge.

According to Ted Andrews:

“The Heron is a symbol of balance, able to be sure-footed upon the ground and fly gracefully through the sky. They explore quietly and slowly along shorelines, waiting for opportunities. But once they have spotted what they want their swiftness in attack shows no hesitation…

There is a sense of security in the Heron energy. They have the ability to evolve and become more adept at their talents so they may always be taken care of…

Self determination, self-reliance and guidance are the trademarks of the ever popular “lady” of the lake and spiritual guardian of the nature lover’s soul, the Great Blue Heron.”

Contemplative Creatives Journey – Winter 2018-19

JOIN ME FOR THE WINTER SEASON OF THE WORKSHOP THAT EXPLORES – AND CELEBRATES – THE EXTRAORDINARY IN THE ORDINARY

This gently guided journey with Bo has infused my existing practices with renewed energy. Her exquisite leadership is informed by experience, training and soulful instinct. I consider her a modem mystic. ~ Mary Anne Radmacher

If the words contemplative and creative have a sweet juiciness for you and you’re interested in a different sort of online workshop, read on:

  • no schedule, but lots of serendipity.
  • no planned curriculum, but lots of surprises.
  • no expectations, but infinite possibilities.
  • no formal objectives, but an always-available way to engage and interact with your world through art, nature and the written word.

I combine my roles as curator of life experience, writer, artist, Certified Kaizen-Muse Creativity Coach, and Certified Miksang Contemplative Photography instructor to offer you a meaningful and fulfilling online workshop with a well-established active community component.

Nine Square Mandalas © 2018 Bo Mackison

In community and individually, we explore these themes:

word * vision * place

WORD

This practice focuses on how to connect — to the world, community, and self — using words. We’ll play with words, explore words, and connect nature and place using words. We’ll write poetry – tile poetry, collaborative poetry, and poetry art using found words and pictures. You don’t need to consider yourself a writer to enjoy these practices, but anyone with an established writing practice will surely delight in them.

VISION

We’ll create mandalas, individually and collectively. I find this to be an especially beneficial winter practice since the early morning darkness offers me a quiet time to create, but this is a practice that can be done at anytime and anywhere. It’s a pocket-practice — the practice requires only a small container of basic supplies that can travel almost anywhere.

We’ll explore the practice of Miksang Contemplative Photography, focusing on the practices of 1) light and shadow and 2) interacting with your ordinary and personal world. (All types of cameras and skill levels are fine.)

PLACE:

Throughout the short winter days of winter, we’ll continue the weekly observational practice of backyard phenology – the study of nature’s calendar, an ever-present, in-the-present survey of the cycles of plants and animals in your natural world.

We’ll incorporate ideas from “The Book of Hours,” a contemplative practice derived from ancient practices that focus on mindfulness practices, throughout our days.

Bo Mackison is an insightful, talented and inspirational art, photography and writing creativity coach and teacher. Bo’s wide range of artistic knowledge along with her life experiences makes her the artist and writer’s trusted advisor. I highly recommend Bo as a mentor, teacher, trainer and speaker. ~Jeanette Richardson Herring, Author and Artist

MY WINTER OFFER:

YOU WILL RECEIVE REGULAR — AND RANDOM — PROMPTS AND EXPLORATIONS.

Together we’ll explore themes and creative practices that inspire and encourage, elicit wonder and awe, uplift your spirit and feed your soul.

This is a practice that:

  • gently weaves itself throughout your day
  • illuminates the extraordinary in the ordinary, celebrates the uncommon in the common
  • offers ways of interacting with place that highlight the wonder of and connection with nature, no matter where you live, work and play.

We begin December 1st, 2018 as winter approaches and we’ll journey together until March 14th, 2019.

New participants are welcome to join CCJ in the Winter Season. The first weeks of our practice will include introductions to the practices of collaborative poetry writing, creating a mandala practice, Miksang contemplative photography and the study of phenology.

If you searching for a place of sanctuary, a place to recharge so you can show up bright and energized for the demands of living in today’s world, this might be the workshop community you seek.

Whether you have a fully equipped art room or a box of simple supplies you store in a closet, you’ll find new ways to create. Hints on how to see or create in new ways will offer you unlimited possibilities for exploration and are easily incorporated into your everyday routine.

Come along and explore the creative and contemplative life with spaciousness and spontaneity.

WINTER SOLSTICE © 2018 Bo Mackison

WHEN:

The WINTER journey is 14 weeks long.  December 1, 2018 through March 14, 2019.

HOW:

Private community on Facebook. All content is shared on a private Facebook group page and can show up anytime. Surprise and serendipity! You are encouraged to share your discoveries and experiences in the private group however and whenever you choose.

This guided and easily accessible process allows you to engage in the practice in whatever way is best for you.

A handsome PDF booklet featuring content from the 14 week session is provided at the end of the season as a helpful ongoing resource.

THE COST:

I offer you my knowledge, my skills, my presence and my enthusiasm. The cost for this winter journey and an active sharing community remains at the all-inclusive price of $99.00.

TO RESERVE YOUR SPACE:

Registration is now open.

Register here through PayPal.

~~~~~

BO MACKISON is an artist, poet, photographer, certified Kaisen-Muse creativity coach, Nalanda Miksang Photography Instructor, hands-on workshop presenter, and a woman who has spent her entire adult life surviving and thriving with the help of the creative practices she now shares with others. She is the founder of Contemplative Creatives Journey, an Online Seasonal Workshop. Bo has been offering creative and contemplative programs for women since 2014. She’s been told her workshops have changed people’s lives for the better. She believes this to be true.

LOST AND FOUND – A Transformational Travel Experience

“Travel isn’t always pretty. It isn’t always comfortable. Sometimes it hurts, it even breaks your heart. But that’s okay. The journey changes you; it should change you. It leaves marks on your memory, on your consciousness, on your heart, and on your body. You take something with you. Hopefully, you leave something good behind.” – Anthony Bourdain

For nearly a decade, I spent the winter months in Arizona. I drove from Wisconsin to Arizona after the Christmas holidays and returned to Madison in early May. The time in solitude, challenging in many ways, was also life-affirming and regenerative. I cherished those sunny days in the desert and yet I missed Wisconsin. When May arrived I was always ready to return to family and friends and to the Midwest’s more moderate clime.

On May 1st, 2014 I began the 2,000-mile solo drive from southern Arizona to Madison.

On the second day out, I left a motel in Sedona at sunrise, eager to be in Santa Fe by early evening. But when I turned the key in the ignition all the warning bells and whistles on the dashboard started flashing and beeping. Sedona would have been a great place to be stranded, but there was no available Subaru mechanic and so my car was towed to Flagstaff. After two days of delay, I was told there was a head gasket issue which would require a lengthy stay in the repair shop. The shop assistant set me up with a loaner car with unlimited miles and said, “Come back in a week.”

I had an unexpected week to explore northern Arizona, a region I had never really explored. Yay!

I headed north from Flagstaff, Arizona and took the scenic route. I was on my way to the North Rim of Grand Canyon National Park. I planned to meet a photographer I knew only from her online photo blog who worked as a Park Ranger during the North Rim’s short summer season.

On the second day of my unexpected adventure, I stopped at Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument and asked the Park Rangers to recommend a hike. They suggested the Toadstool Trail, a mile and a half long trek through balanced rocks and hoodoos in Utah’s Escalante Wilderness.

“Be sure to hike past the first toadstool,” one ranger said. “The toadstool garden is quite the thing to see.”

While browsing the park literature, a line from a National Park Service brochure caught my eye:

“offers…extraordinary insight into what sustains, maintains, and explains our world.”

Sustains. Maintains. Explains. Yes, that was exactly why I explored the wilderness of the Southwest.

At the trailhead, I checked my hiking pack. My Sonoran Desert gear was appropriate for high desert country.  I was on a marked trail so I didn’t need much. It was mid-afternoon and I knew I’d have good hiking light for several hours. The temperatures, hovering in the low 90s, would soon cool and make for a more comfortable experience.

I was twenty yards down the level trail when I reconsidered my choices and went back to my car for my hiking stick and extra water. I tried to relay my hiking plans to my friend, something I always do when I’m solo hiking, but I was in a “no service” area. Still, I was on a popular trail, so I didn’t consider this a problem. Off I went.

The trail followed a sandy wash for the first half mile, then wove around sculptured slick rock. Small daisy-like wildflowers bloomed in abundance. I took lots of photographs, lingering at scenic spots, but then, every place I looked was a scenic spot. Formations of striped red and white made for a stunning backdrop. The sky was azure blue and cloudless.

Two twenty-something hikers passed me on their return and I heard them marveling at the hoodoos and balanced rocks.

“The toadstools,” they thrilled to each other. “They really look like toadstools. It’s amazing.”

I reached the first toadstool, a thirty-foot beauty standing in solitude. A group of tourists from California was gathered at its base, taking photographs. They assured me that the toadstool garden was just beyond the white escarpment, exactly how the ranger had described it.

“How’s the trail?” I asked.

“There’s some scrambling through the rocks. But the garden’s so worth the climb.”

I was good to go, grateful I’d brought my hiking stick. The backcountry was rocky and uneven, and there was a modest climb in elevation.

Cairns marked the dusty trail. I wound through narrow channels and crossed long benches of red rock. When I finally reached the garden, it was, indeed, well worth the effort. It was difficult to photograph because of the  shadows, but the scenery to the west was strikingly wild, eery, otherworldly.

I’d been out on the trail a couple of hours, appreciating the solitude and sights, but I needed to get back on the road so I retraced my steps along the trail. But as I was scrambling through a narrow pock-marked passage in the chalky rock, I realized I’d crawled over these rock formations before. I was walking in a circle.

I retraced my steps to the last cairn, but no matter which trail I followed, I kept coming back to the same formations. I was walking in a wide circle, following a path half hidden in rocky crevices. The trail disappeared as I searched for a new route and I realized that I was alone and lost in a tangle of rock hoodoos.

I didn’t panic but instead tried to sort out the facts. I had plenty of time. It was evening, but the days were lengthening. It would be light for another hour. Again I carefully retraced my steps, but I the turn or switchback that would lead me to the main trail eluded me. I began feeling frightened and I remained calm.

Deep breaths. I checked my pack. I had enough water, a few trail bars and some dried fruit. I didn’t have a  flashlight or any type of protective cover. I had a whistle and an extra bandana. I could make do.

I considered my options. Sleep under a ledge for some protection and warmth? Lean against the rocks and stay awake? It was only for one night. There would be hikers on the trail in the morning. I’d never spent the night unprepared and alone in the wilderness. Was this going to be the night?

I considered the merits of spending the night in high country, alone except for the vast desert rock and the night sky, with rock as my bed and starshine and moonlight as my lanterns. It would be challenging, but doable. It might even be enjoyable.

I’d settled into a rocky depression, and was watching for the first stars of the evening to appear, when I saw two hikers maneuvering along a rocky ledge, high on the opposite side of the crevice. I whistled three sharp blows. They looked towards the sound and saw me. We communicated using hand signals and shouts. They realized quickly that I was off trail and couldn’t find the path.

They had a height advantage. They scanned the rocky puzzle below them, considering the rocks, the paths. Then they pointed the way, guiding me through the deep shadowed crevices and around boulders. Finally, I scrambled up a rocky wall and I was once again on the trail.

We walked together towards the road. At the first solitary toadstool, they asked if I would take their photo – they were father and son, New Yorkers, on their annual visit to the Utah Wilderness and wanted a memento.

Once we were on the more-established trail, I slowed down, motioned them to go ahead. I needed some quiet time to think about this experience, the realization that I’d been lost and had not panicked, that I was capable of spending a night alone in the wilderness of the red rocks.

It was in getting lost, that I had indeed discovered innate strengths I had not known I possessed.

It was in the getting lost that I actually found myself.

Blind on the River, a Poem

Blind on the River

We stand huddled inside the river blind
and focus on the guide’s detailed instructions:
Whisper, no pointing from the windows–no fingers, no long lenses,
no flashes, no glare from cell phone screens.

We exercise prudence, aware that any misunderstood
behavior could startle the flock, disturb their rest.
The sandhill cranes might mistake our movements
for those of a hunter’s gun, its long barrel, its trigger’s flash–
a learned signal to take flight, to flee danger.

We gather in this community – in the blind and of the blind –
to witness the majesty of the sandhill cranes’
sunset gathering, their return from nearby cornfields and grasslands
to the river which affords them rest and respite.

They settle first on the far banks of the Platte,
a mass of quivering gray feathers, jostling together, dancing,
settling in, then they fly into the water–
braided river, shallow and expansive–
night refuge for hundreds of thousands of large winged creatures.

From their winter homes in Mexico, Texas, Arizona
en route to nesting grounds in northern Canada, Alaska, Siberia,
they pause to refuel for the final stretch.

We whisper, take photographs with our cameras,
but more importantly, we tuck the sight of this migratory
phenomenon deep within our memories,
imprint the sound of their prehistoric squawks
into our minds.

Standing in the hush of coming darkness, devout,
whispering prayers, we are solemn in our request
“Do not startle, cranes, be safe and stay. Let us see.”
Thus blessed with their presence, it is we,
not the cranes, who soar in the delight of it all.

__________

Written after spending an evening in a Platte River blind at the Sandhill Crane Trust in Wood River, Nebraska.