July 2013
Her Wild Roots
Welcome to Her Wild Roots Newsletter!
Her Wild Roots is an organization dedicated to providing
women of all ages and backgrounds with support, inspiration
and opportunities to cultivate a deeper connection to the
natural world.
Our newsletter is intended to let you know of upcoming
programs and to fill you with a little bit of curiosity and
excitement to explore your own inner calling to the wild,
within and without.
THE NEST
I was surprised when I saw it. A nest shoulder height on an
oak tree in the middle of my yard. I could peek into it and
there were three small eggs …white with brown speckles. The
nest itself was a thing of beauty, an architectural wonder. It
hung from the fork of a branch, wound up with bits of grass
and wasp nest paper, birch bark and even some of my hair, I
think. I didn’t want to stay too long or too close. Where was
the mother? I ima gined she must be a young and
inexperienced mama. Why had she chosen this busy spot in
the yard to build her nest?
When Steve, my honey, got home I showed him the nest. His
enthusiasm and sense of wonder and protection all kicked into
high gear. Out came the binoculars. A new APB was issued
hourly: now she is on the nest, now she is off, don’t get too
close, look how adorable she is. And she was. It was a red
eyed vireo, my best guess anyway. Her nest was small, about
two inches in diameter and her little tail and head stuck out of
it. Over the next few days we developed great affection for her
and her comings and goings.
Jeannie and Kathy after backpacking in the San Juan Mountains, CO.
There has been a great deal of
interest in our 7-month program
starting in February 2014. Don’t be
disappointed, secure your spot
soon. Check out our website at
www.herwildroots.com for details!
Watching her, I began to wonder about the act of building and
then sitting on a nest. I don’t know what goes on in a bird’s
head, of course, or if it is an urge that even comes from its
head. But in my mind I looked at that sweet girl and saw it as
an act of hope and faith and commitment. Huge ideals, in
something that weighed less than a handful of cotton balls.
I was sitting at the kitchen table when I got my first glimpse of
the marauding blue jay. Now, I am one to usually let nature
take its course, but in this particular instance, I ran outside and
scolded it…. “No, no, no!” Sometimes, “survival of the fittest”
is more like “survival of the cutest” around here. The mother’s
calls were full of distress. We couldn’t stay there all day and
the blue jay had its eyes on an easy meal. And so the eggs
began to disappear, and then the nest was empty. No eggs, no
mother. We were crestfallen.
ODESSA LAKE
(THE NEST, continued)
It occurred to me that something had happened to us when we
discovered that nest. We had been filled with hope and faith
and commitment too. We were looking forward to the journey
along with this little mom.
What did she do after this? I don’t really know. I like to think
that she learned her lesson and built another nest in a better,
more secretive place. I like to think that her hope, faith and
commitment were now joined with perseverance and
determination. Mostly, I like to think that watching that bird
taught me some beautiful life lessons and that nature is full of
those lessons.
Out in the yard today, I heard a vireo’s persistent lovely call
and I am grateful.
Jeannie Bergstrom, June 20, 2013
We are now accepting applications for our
2014 program. Please go to our website at
www.herwildroots.com for details. If you
would like more information or to receive
an application, please email us at
[email protected] or call Jeannie at
413-367-2842 or Kathy at 413-625-2550.
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helping us the spread the word about
Her Wild Roots.
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As I begin to recline on the sun-baked rock
that I have been sitting on for the last hour,
or possibly two,
resting from my early morning hike
to this high mountain lake,
refreshing myself with fruit and nuts
and dark velvety squares of chocolate,
I am mesmerized by speckled trout
popping to the surface of the water,
a red squirrel that chatters in the towering pine
beneath which I sit,
the marigold- colored butterfly that insists
on flirting with me,
fluttering up and down bare arms and legs,
the soft brush of a lover’s whisper,
exactly how I imagined a butterfly would feel.
And not the least,
being in the presence of an ocean of great gray,
whales of breaching granite,
that appear to reach for puffs of cotton clouds
in a piercing cobalt sky,
I hear a plop,
and realize that my camera is now
on the bottom of the lake.
And I am happy.
Kathryn Dean