Drinking from the Stream: Women's Prose & Poetry About Nature

DRINKING FROM THE STREAM:

WOMEN’S PROSE & POETRY ABOUT NATURE

I’m proud to announce the publication of a collection of women’s stories and poetry about nature: Drinking from the Stream: Women’s Prose & Poetry About Nature, published by Rebecca Lenzini at Nighthawk Press in Taos. Thank you, Rebecca! Sales have been good and most of these authors have had a chance to read from their work. (See Writing Life in Taos: https://pgreenwood478.wordpress.com/tag/taos/)

April, 20014

I scheduled five readings over the summer for the authors included in DRINKING FROM THE STREAM: Women’s Prose & Poetry About Nature. The first, “The Dark Side,” was held April 26, 1-3 p.m. at the Taos Public Library. The second was on International Migratory Bird Day, May 10, 1-3 at the SOMOS office in Taos with Linda Fair, Michele Potter and Meg Peterson. The third, “Women, Water and Trees,” is planned for Saturday, May 17 at Taos Public Library with Elaine Sutton and myself. The fourth reading is Friday evening, June 27, 7 p.m. at SOMOS. The fifth reading was August 9, at Moby Dickens, one of our local bookshops.

As the time grew closer for the first reading The Taos News gave me an interview with freelancer Savannah Rodriguez. I was pleased because she sent some interesting questions over e-mail. I had a chance to think about them and reply in writing. Here are her questions:

1.             How long has this book been in the works?

2.             When was this book first published?

3.             Tell me about the title of the book, “Drinking from the Stream.”

4.             Why did you choose to use nature as the main focus for this book?

5.             Tell me a little about the women writers and your experience in working with them.

6.             Besides nature, is there another reoccurring theme throughout this book? If so, what?

7.             Where can the book be purchased and for how much?

8.             Is there anything else you would like to say about “Drinking from the Stream” or about the authors? 

 

Here are my answers:

At least a decade has passed since I first began to gather stories and poems from my women friends and writing students. Nature was the magnetic lodestone that drew the stories together. I did not exclude men’s nature stories – I just never came across any. Many of the men in my creative writing group were–and still are–writing about the devastation of the Vietnam War. That is their path and I totally respect it.

Drinking from the Stream, recently published by Nighthawk Press, (thanks to publisher Rebecca Lenzini!) is about sacred water–the life force. (All water is sacred. As they say around here, “Agua es vida.”) So the title is a metaphor for drinking from the stream of life. In the beginning we all drank from the living waters; in the end we all return to the Source.

I did not choose to use nature as the main focus of the book. The creative process was not deliberate but intuitive. The intuitive is always right on because it knows more than I know by my lonesome. I merely collected the stories and the themes shaped themselves.

Many of the authors in this book are old friends whom I have loved, admired and hiked with for many years. Others shone like beacons in the tempest as they read their poetry and prose, so I asked for their stories. The casual way they handed them over, the patience and trust they invested in me inspired me to slog on in the face of many rejections.

Working with a cross-cultural mix of sensitive and talented women as a mentor and friend, I reveled in their natural skills with language, rhythm and description–even some who had never published before. Their courage, bedrock honesty and willingness to reveal themselves continue to amaze me. Some of these stories and poems are laced with wry humor. Others express a deep love for the earth and its creatures. A few offer a Zen-like embrace of opposites. Several are tales of revelation and transformation. I love the way these brave and hearty women wrap their arms around darkness and plunge into light.

A few stories were so quiet or so outrageous that I wasn’t sure if I should include them, but in the end I saw how they helped connect the whole work with a cohesive rhythm.

As I proofed the final copy, I sometimes burst into tears at the last line or whispered, “Wow! Well done!” What I gained by reading the collection straight through from beginning to end was a certain resonance that echoes back and forth between the authors. A call to consciousness. Almost like the voice of Mama Earth herself pleading for sanity, unity and communion.

And if unique writers were not enough, I was also blessed with the chance to work with two intelligent, perceptive women: the artistic designer Barbara Scott and stalwart publisher Rebecca Lenzini. This gentle, collaborative process has been not only an exercise in mutual respect, but a celebration of creativity itself.  Coaxing talented writers out of self-doubt into works of strength and simplicity has expanded how I experience my own life and deepened who I am. Thank you! All of you. Gratitude and love!

This collection may be purchased from any of the authors or from myself. The going price is $15.00. Contact me at pgreenwood478@gmail.com or better yet, come and enjoy one of the series of scheduled readings with a variety of authors.   

The Annual Death of the Little Blossoms

Brrrr!

Contrasts

Daffodils

Hyacinths

Lambert's

Oh, say can you see?

Old Tree Down

Tulips

The water in my mare’s bucket was frozen this morning. The raucous storm that flooded the Midwest brought some light snow to our mountains; last night the temperature dropped to ten degrees. Typical of spring in New Mexico, this is what John Nichols calls “the annual death of the little blossoms.”

In El Prado I noticed an old dead tree blown down across from the post office, and another with the grass around it burned. I wonder if wind and lightning did that.

Luckily, in our deep valley the apple trees have better sense than to open their buds, so there’s still a chance we might get some fruit this year. (She said cautiously.)

AND, oh yes, we do need the precipitation!

(Photos all by Zander. Thanks, Zander!)

Return to the Sea

Traveling Companions

Sea Turtles

Red-footed Booby Baby

Frigates

Sting Rays

Little Blue Heron

Map to the Blue Hole

Reaching Out

Rainbows on Coral

Fish Fest

Green Sea Turtle

Look, Ma. Five legs!

Snorkeling–because I still can.

Black Howler, Endangered

Winter in New Mexico seemed long and cold this year. In March, if I can swing it, I like to fly off to my favorite island in the Caribbean, Caye Caulker off the coast of Belize. I first went down there to become certified as a scuba diver and liked it so much that I returned again and again. This year, for the first time, my son Alex came with me. I felt lucky to have this tall, good-natured companion beside me, taking photos, helping with the luggage, sharing the misery, the laughs and adventures.

For me the point of this trip was to film the coral of the Great Barrier Reef with my JVC underwater camera. I also wanted to introduce Alex to snorkeling and the strange world under the sea. During the first ten days–when it wasn’t raining and we weren’t nodding off–we took snorkeling tours with some of the best guides Caye Caulker had to offer. Juni took us out in his sailboat to Shark-Ray Alley, a marine reserve, where we swam with the nurse sharks, played with the manta rays and took photos of huge leatherback and green sea turtles. Juni, a nut-brown man in his senior years who guides every day if the weather permits, dove down about 15 feet and coaxed a couple of green eels out of their hole under the coral. He also played with sharks and rays that followed him around like puppies.

We braved a day out at the famous Blue Hole at Turneff Island and Half Moon Caye. The two-hour ride outside the reef in open water was rough, with wind and high waves, but at last we slipped into calm waters to snorkel the edges of the Blue Hole. This coral has not suffered as much damage from the hurricanes and looks almost as good as it did when I first came down to dive 16 years ago. From the air, the Blue Hole, at the center of Lighthouse Reef, looks like a meteor crater. It’s actually a sinkhole 400 feet deep and over 1,000 feet across. According to my guidebook, it began millions of years ago as a cave with impressive formations. But at the end of the last ice age sea levels rose 350 feet and flooded the cave; then the ceiling collapsed.

Alex and I reveled in the quiet beauty of Half Moon Caye where we snorkeled the coral in shallow water and chased lots of colorful fish. Then lunch at the white picnic tables: stewed chicken, beans and rice–traditional Belizean fare. Followed by a stroll down a sandy path to the bird sanctuary to climb a high platform for a view out over the treetops where the red-footed boobies and frigate birds nested in bewildering numbers while their mates soared overhead. The booby babies were about the size of mature ducks, but white and fluffy as Easter toys. The male frigates showed off their bright red, balloon-like sacs to attract the females. Which seemed to work. The one with the biggest balloon got the girl.

The last ten days of our sojourn, we took a bus south to Placencia, which has a real beach, compared to Caye Caulker, which is a mangrove island with docks and lots of birds, only a mile from the Great Barrier Reef.  Our hotel in Placencia was right on the beach so we could listen to the waves shushing the sand–except for the live band at the nearby Tipsy Tuna that boomed on and on until midnight. (Friday and Saturday night only, folks!)

On our last day in Placencia, as the wind died and skies cleared, we signed on for the Monkey River tour with the renowned "King of the Howlers," Percy Gordon, aka Rambo. This sharp-eyed middle-aged black man was quick to tell us about his Barebones Tours that had been written up in Esquire Magazine. He picked us up in Placencia–with ten other ecotourists. We were barely into the lagoon when we spotted a dolphin leaping from the water with a big smile, just like Flipper, a visitation that left some of us giddy. Then we snaked through a maze of mangroves and zoomed across silky water that mirrored the luminous clouds until we came to Monkey River, a village of about 200 where Gordon was raised and his relatives still live. Traveling up the Monkey River, he pointed out endangered black howler monkeys high in the trees, bats clinging to tree trunks low to the water, slider turtles enjoying the morning sunshine, an osprey, a little blue heron. He said if he saw a crocodile he would try to catch it and bring it aboard for us to see. We thought he was kidding. Suddenly he leapt into the water and raced for it, but the croc got away. To the relief of some of the passengers. Soon we came to a narrow corridor in the greenery. Gordon tied up the boat and we followed him along a leafy path into the rainforest looking for howler monkeys. He carried a machete (pronounced down here, ma-chet, two syllables.) In the distance we could hear the terrifying roar of the monkeys, like the suck-in breath of a giant vacuum cleaner, a primal ripping sound. Gordon challenged them with a guttural “Whup! Whup! Whup! Waaah!” Some of them “went ape” and started down the trees toward us. Others hung high in the 100-foot canopy, puzzling over our antics. Mosquitoes feasted on my fingers as I struggled to hold the camera steady. I had to hand it over to Alex who got some cunning photos.

We trotted after our guide along the rough path–“Watch out for that armadillo hole!”–into a tall, arching bamboo forest. I was in awe, having never walked through a real bamboo forest before. Gordon is a “medicine man” or shaman who knows the plants and explained the many uses of them. He pointed out a vine of cat’s claw, una de gato, which he said could cure cancer. Then he cut a branch from which water flowed and offered us each a drink. We tipped back our heads while he dribbled the sweet, clear liquid into our throats. I immediately felt energized and so did some of the others. He also scooped up a handful of termites and offered us some. “ I eat bugs!” he declared. But we wrinkled our noses and declined.

In the boat on the way back to Monkey River, Gordon poled us to within three feet of a crocodile that was half buried in mud so we could hardly see it. He splashed it until it blinked and dove under. Downstream, he beached the bow on a sandbar and invited us to take a quick swim in the cool, clean water. I, for one, couldn't resist. Delicious! After a great lunch at Alice's Restaurant, (his mother is Alice), laughing at Gordon's wild stories, we buzzed back up the coast. In the depths of the lagoon, we stopped to observe the gentle manatees, cows of the sea, as they surfaced, sucked in a breath and dove to the bottom again. (They can hold their breath up to 20 minutes!) By late afternoon we landed at the dock in Placencia. If you follow up with some aloe for your sunburn, an exotic tree lily tucked behind your ear, and a seafood dinner at a local restaurant you might discover that you've just had one of the best days of your life!

A Great Victory for the Wild and Scenic Rio Grande!

U.S. Senator Tom Udall shares the victory aqui in Taos.

Cheers!

Cisco Guevara, river runner, congratulates Taoseños.

Monday, March 25, 2013 marks a great victory for those who love the Rio Grande. After years of unrelenting effort involving many groups and individuals, President Obama signed a proclamation to designate Rio Grande Del Norte National Monument. The courtroom at the Taos County Courthouse was packed to the walls with those who came to celebrate and applaud U.S. Senator Tom Udall who sponsored legislation in Congress to protect BLM land along the northern stretch of the Rio Grande. He also thanked retired U.S. Senator Jeff Bingaman for his support and organizations such as Rivers and Birds and the Rio Grande del Norte Coalition, created by the New Mexico Wilderness Alliance.

Individuals who make their living along the river also had a chance to express their gratitude. Cisco Guevara, called by The Taos News, “the poster child” for conservationists, is a sturdy man with a white beard who wears a big floppy hat. Udall introduced him as a man whose roots in the community go back 400 years. Guevara says that he listens to the water day after day, and “the water is thirsty.” He should know. As one of the owners of Los Rios River Runners, he spends most of his days rafting in the Rio Grande Gorge, so he is well aware of problems with the flow of the Rio Grande due to growing demands for water and drought in New Mexico.

The proposal for the National Monument was designed to protect a quarter of a million remote acres in Taos and Rio Arriba counties. When Congress gridlocked over the bill, Senator Udall, retired Senator Bingaman, Representative Ben Ray Lujan and Senator-elect Martin Heinrich urged President Obama to use his special powers to make the designation under the Antiquity Act.

Udall said, “Taos is usually contentious, but on this issue, everyone united.” He was happy to see a diversity of cultures represented in the audience and joined in the prayer offered by War Chief Samuel Gomez from Taos Pueblo. Traditional uses such as woodcutting and grazing and already established mining will be allowed to continue, but no new roads may be built within the area and no future growth will be allowed on public lands. According to the Albuquerque Journal, “ . . . monument designation will ensure that development such as oil and gas or mining will not occur.”

Thanks, +President Obama!

 

Wild Horses near the Colorado/New Mexico line

Slow Down!

Open Range

Mare and Colt

Slaughtering Wild Horses?

I first became aware of the beauty of wild mustangs when I saw small herds of them standing beside the road near the Colorado/New Mexico state line. As I watched them graze close to the edge of the road, I saw cars, trucks and RVs passing at 75 or 80 mph as if the horses were invisible. No one slowed down. The horses didn’t seem to notice the cars, either. A weird disconnect. A couple of days later, one of the fillies I had admired was hit and killed as she stood in the middle of the road where her mother had died before her.

That was about six months ago. Since then the issues around wild horses have escalated  from cars killing horses in open range to drunken hunters shooting into the herds with shotguns, to whole herds being rounded up and sent to slaughter in Mexico. And now a legislative panel has unanimously approved a $20,000 study to determine the feasibility of an equine slaughterhouse in New Mexico. What’s wrong with this picture?

Humans don’t have many domestic animal friends. Cats, dogs and horses. Dogs need us. Cats, not so much. For centuries we have bonded with gentle, intelligent  horses. Why can’t we allow wild horses to live in peace on Wild Horse Mesa in Colorado and in other designated areas? Why doesn’t the BLM intervene when wild horses are rounded up for slaughter? Right now, so I’m told, forty baby horses from a month to a year old, are captured in a pen in the Costilla area, most likely waiting to be sent to slaughter. What can we do about it? Better hurry!