Finding Rituals in Memories

Bench with a View

Bench with a View © 2013 Bo Mackison

“Ritual practice is the activity of cultivating extraordinary ordinariness.” ~ Ronald L. Grimes

This is the bench where I sat while I contemplated the day, my life, the world, even the boundlessness of the universe. I was  restless. Untethered. I had just finished a project I’d been pouring my soul into for the past six months. It was time to send my work, my labor of love, out into the world. And though this was a time of fruition and celebration, it also was a time of saying goodbye, letting go, even a bit of grieving. I seemed to be going through a bit of postpartum blues after birthing my project and readying my official announcement to launch my Desert Wisdom Cards into the public realm.

Realizing this is a common reaction to the completion of a beloved project — joy coupled with letting go — I sat in solitude and let my mind wander. I decided to create a ritual to both celebrate and provide a sense of closure to this part of my creative life.

I took in my surroundings. The prairie grasses were yellowing, the summer flowers had set seed. The apple trees were over laden with ripened fruit, and some of the apples had dropped onto the earth. Cracked walnuts were along the paths. Yet there was evidence of bustling life all around me. Geese in flight, meadowlarks perching in the maple trees, the autumn flowers of the prairie — showy goldenrod, purple asters, daisy fleabane — in full bloom.

I considered what was happening under the surface. This summer has been one of multiple losses. I’d anticipated that the completion of my Desert Wisdom Cards would bring fulfillment and joy. They did, but they also touched  gently upon more feelings of grief. I understood that this feeling was temporary, there were other projects waiting for my attention, but I also wanted to honor this time of transition.

That All May Be One

That All May Be One ©2013 Bo Mackison

And so I searched for a meaningful ritual, one that might bring a feeling of comfort and acceptance, of saying goodbye while looking forward with anticipation.  So I asked a few questions…

What could I use as a guide?  What components might be in a transitioning ritual? What would a healing place hold?

  • the night sky, dark, abundant with stars
  • open spaces, open minds
  • spiritual spaces, resting spaces, thinking places
  • a container that contained my curiosities, my questions, my collections
  • quiet, slow, peaceful
  • folk art, expressive art, art that tells a story, art that has heart
  • kindnesses and little gifts (When traveling it is customary to bring tiny gifts in exchange for kindnesses received along the path and to those who share their stories.)
  • a place in nature, ecological, in balance
  • a place my great-grandmother would have loved

The last thought — a place my great-grandmother would have loved — was the trigger that helped me address my longings. I thought of the many things I’d learned from my great-grandmother when I was a child, of the many things she’d loved. I thought of the changing season, summer sliding into autumn, of the routines we had made extraordinary in their repetition as we did our late summer chores with love and respect and companionship.

We picked a late summer flower, a single blossom, from the garden every morning and placed it in a tiny vase on my great-grandmother’s dressing table. We gathered the remainder of the harvest from the vegetable garden before the first hard frost, cleaned and cut the vegetables, and made huge pots of vegetable soup with my grandfather’s supervision.

Pears

Pears, Ripe on the Branch © 2013 Bo Mackison

We cooked applesauce, apple butter, peach preserves. Then spent the last hot days of summer canning our bounty. We made dough, rolled it out, and cut the dough into long noodles. We dried herbs on racks in the pantry. We raked the garden and added to our compost pile. We pulled the quilts and blankets out of storage, and draped them over several back yard clothes lines to air in the breeze.

We adapted our evening rituals to the sun’s earlier schedule. Instead of sitting on the porch after supper, chatting with passing neighbors, we set up a table in the kitchen for puzzles and games. Once it started getting dark while we ate supper, we fell into a simple routine of cleaning the kitchen, then playing games of Parcheesi or Pokeno. We would take an evening walk around the outside of the house just before bedtime, making sure all was as it should be, admiring the starlit skies.

So much love and care and honor went into these simple actions. Home and hearth. Routines and rituals – all good for the soul.

Today I jotted down a few reminders – ways to prepare for the changing season, routines to ease the change from busy day to rejuvenating evening, rituals to remind me of the sacredness in the ordinary. Simple actions – gardening, cooking, preparation for autumn.

Do you long for a way to honor the changing seasons, for the ordinary turned extraordinary by the practice of ritual? What might you add (or subtract) from your days in honor of the ordinary, the sacred?

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Bo Mackison is photographer, book-artist, collector of stories, naturalist, curator and owner of Seeded Earth Studio LLC. Today I thought of my grandparents and great-grandmother and contemplated one of the gifts they gave me –the quest for routine and ritual.

 

 

The Bliss of Falling Leaves

Falling Leaves

Falling Leaves ©2012 Bo Mackison

Every leaf speaks bliss to me, fluttering to the ground. ~ Emily Bronte

Falling Leaves

This has been a wonderfully bright and colorful autumn. The trees held tightly to their leaves longer than usual, giving me plenty of opportunity and  time to photograph autumn color before all of the falling leaves left only bare branches.

I have always had a special affinity with autumn, loving the trees and their layers of colors, loving the crisp, cool evenings in fall after a summer of sticky, humid nights, even loving the annual raking event we always had on a weekend in late October.

Blog Anniversary Winner

I celebrated the 5th anniversary of Seeded Earth Studio’s blog a few days ago, and offered a give away, a photograph, to one of my blog visitors who left a comment on the blog birthday post.  I said I would pick and announce the winner on my birthday, and so the day has come. There were 20 comments. I used a random number generator from the internet to choose a number.

And that number is: #10.

Counting the comments, the winner is #10 — ta-da — Susan Vial.

Congratulations, Susan. I’ll be contacting you very soon, as soon as I return from my Chicago Adventure! Sweet!

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Bo Mackison is a photographer and the owner of Seeded Earth Studio LLC.  She is attending the Filter Photo Festival in Chicago the week of October 15.  Bo will be blogging about her conference experience – workshops, lecture series, gallery walks, portfolio reviews, and much more. 🙂

Quiet Space – September’s Photo-Heart Connection

Quiet Space

Quiet Space © 2012 Bo Mackison

The beginning of a new month! When I turn the calendar to a new month, I know it’s time to look for a photograph for Photo-Heart Connection from the last month’s photos. I look for one that speaks to me in a special way.

Here is my choice from the many photos I took in September. I took it on the last day of September, on an early Sunday morning when Autumn’s sunlight cast a spell on me. I stopped at this set of prayer benches situated high on a hill overlooking the city I call home.

It was a quiet morning.

A quiet time in a quiet place and I was grateful to spend some time resting on one of these benches.

I felt a deep connection with place, a sense of renewal, a new strength. I acknowledged that I am at a crossroads, and that simple acknowledgement gave me an inner peace for which I had been searching.

“We are all faced with a series of great opportunities brilliantly disguised as impossible situations.”
~ Chas. R Surndoll

This photo is my choice for this month’s Photo Heart Connection.

Bo Mackison is a photographer and owner of Seeded Earth Studio LLC.  She joins other photographers at  Kat Eye Studio and posts a photo taken the prior month that “connects with her heart’ during the first few days of the new month.

Still, There are Blossoms

Aromatic Asters

Prairie Color in Asters © 2012 Bo Mackison

“What is seen by the eye is transformed and colored by the vision of the mind.” ~ Robert Wade

These asters are my favorite of all the asters. Not delicate and petite, but rather “in your face” and frazzled, full of the spirit that they require as one of the last flowering prairie plants of the autumn. They can manage a bit of stress, too. They can survive a mild frost easy enough, though once a hard frost hits, the prairie fades from golden and russet to deeper shades of brown. The flowers’ pale, shrivel, and drop upon the prairie earth.

So when I walk in the prairie as the season turns (officially) from summer to autumn, I always check on how the spirited, aromatic asters are doing. I smile at the bits of color left in the prairie, those blossoms of bright purple.

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Bo Mackison is a photographer and the owner of Seeded Earth Studio LLC. Walking in the prairie is a walk for the senses and a balm for the depleted soul.

Lands that I Love

Late Autumn in the Prairie - Hidden Colors

Hidden Colors in the Prairie © 2012 Bo Mackison

A passion builds inside anyone who spends time on the prairie. ~ D. Showalter

In the winter, I spend my time in the Southwest and often wander the open spaces of the desert. It felt like home, the desert stretching as far as I could see, the first time I stood in the desert’s midst, turning in a circle, looking at the diversity, at the low clumping grasses, the bursts of yellow wildflowers, standing in the thick ground vegetation where I had perhaps expected sandbox sand.

It was a surprise to me. Why would I have such a thrilling connection to this secret land, land many people describe as desolate, and yet I could see nothing but wonder. This was not a land of my desolation.  A land of little water, yes, and of grand schemes for plant conservation, but wherever I looked there were compact surprises of the natural sort.

And now, in this last week of summer, where the touch of autumn rests heavily in the niches of Wisconsin, I notice similarities of the prairie and the desert.

The tallgrass prairie stretches far, blocks my view with its six-foot tall grasses and flower stalks, and I imagine it stretching for miles. Imagine I must, for most of the prairie has been swept clean, readied a century ago by the tractor’s plow, for corn and soybeans.  And now the neighboring land waits for winter covered with a different type of remnant, the sheared rows of cornstalks.

So I keep my eyes focused on the prairie spaces, on the swaying grasses, the sudden stalks of flowers dancing above my head, the prairie flowers twisting, wending their way, forcing their way ever skyward. Grasses and flowers with pioneer names – calico asters, switch grass, prairie cord grass, needle grass, cup-plant, compass plant.

In autumn, these prairie spaces have a certain look, the familiar is so similar to the arid desert grasslands.

Prairie in the autumn. Desert in the winter.

Lands that I love.

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Bo Mackison is a photographer and the owner of Seeded Earth Studio LLC.  Another day traipsing paths through prairie – her muse for both photography and words.