This past spring season was a fast one. It started with prepping the greenhouses, seed sowing and filling flats of pots. Organizing the hoophouses and making my timelines for planting are the usual tasks that I have in March. I realized last year that I was experiencing pain and more weakness in my arms, which prompted me to let go of vending at the farmer’s market. I thought that with a little less physical work, it would heal. But after several appointments with the doctors, I learned that I had rotator cuff and bicep tears. So, a couple of weeks later, I had surgery. About a week after that, I was able to transplant little seedlings into their containers. Working in the warm sunny greenhouse was uplifting, and I knew that I would heal in time. After a final delivery of plants to my wholesale accounts prior to Memorial Day, I turned my focus toward physical therapy so that I would be in good shape for an upcoming 11-day herbalists retreat to Ireland beginning the end of June. The trip was hosted by Wild Routes Ireland along with herbalist, Rosalee de la Forêt. I couldn’t wait and I needed to make sure that my body was ready to carry a backpack and that I could lie down in a bed (I was sleeping in a chair then in a bed with many wedges and cushions). I had less than 3 weeks to go.
Then my mom died
I am still processing.
My family encouraged me to continue with the plans to go to Ireland. So I did.
I have so much to share, and I tried to separate what I wanted to write about the trip to Ireland from the death of my mother, but they were both so intertwined. Here are some reasons why.
There were 25+ attendees, mostly women, and three men. The first night there was an opening ceremony held indoors. There were chairs lining the walls of the room in a circle, with a mandala created in the center on the floor. A round flat basket was filled with plants and gifts, surrounded by branches, leaves, candles, feathers and other items representing the four directions. I sat on a chair with a heater to my right, which I thought would keep me warm since it was beginning to storm outside. Then to the right of the heater, another chair was in place to continue the circle. To my left was a chair that continued the circle in the opposite direction. People continued to enter the room and found a chair to sit in. Then our host, Tara, entered the room and instead of sitting in the only empty seat to my left, she found another chair to add to the circle, and sat in that. The chair to my left stayed empty during the ceremony.
Tara started with her introduction, and the instructions for us after we sang a song and called in all of the directions. We were to introduce ourselves, what brought us here, and to share with everyone what our intentions were with this trip. As people began sharing, emotions became elevated. About a week before this trip, another herbalist, John Gallagher, died. He was a mentor to many of the people in the room, but mostly a mentor and friend of Rosalee. She spoke, as did others, mentioning his name. Some talked about their intentions for this trip, others of personal struggles that led them to a transition in their lives, some wanted to learn more about herbs and plants, others wanted to learn more about the country. Then it was my turn. I spoke briefly of my intentions for wanting to learn more about Ireland and become deeply connected to the people, the land, and the plants, omitting anything about the death of my mom. Introductions went past the empty chair to the left onto the next person. I suddenly felt as if that empty chair needed to be there. It was there for the people that were not physically in the room. A place for others that were no longer with us. I got a little choked up, feeling as if my mom was sitting next to me. We finished the ceremony and left the room. I thought to myself about the empty chair and told myself I was reading too much into it.
Next, about a week into the trip, we hiked through a formal public garden to an old growth yew woodland. I learned that Yews are Chieftain trees, are considered sacred, and are associated with death and resurrection. We were given a brief introduction to the grove, and were instructed to spend some time here, sitting with a tree of our choice. When we felt we were ready, then we would get up and find our guide to continue with our hike. The grove felt calming, comforting, and cool (the temperatures were unusually warm for Ireland). I really didn’t feel a connection to a specific tree, then I saw one on the outside edge of the grove where the roots were curving up and out of the ground and appeared like cradling arms. I thought that it looked like a fun place to sit.
As I settled into my spot, I took a few deep breaths and relaxed with my back against the trunk. I thought of my mom. I allowed the tears to flow down my face. I whimpered and told her that I missed her, and that I didn’t want to leave this spot because I wanted to continue to talk with her. I heard somehow, not with words spoken out loud, but heard and felt in my head and heart, that I couldn’t stay, but if I wanted to talk to her more, I could do that at my home in the pines where I have sat many times. I wiped my face and crawled out of the embrace of the yew’s roots. I was standing there when another woman in the group turned to me and was surprised to see me. She told me that she saw me sit at the tree, looking around a little, and that I was gone when she looked back. Then suddenly, I was there behind her. I smiled and laughed a little, telling her that I was in the tree. This experience in the grove felt like a matter of a few minutes. I didn’t realize it had been a total of 30 minutes. I continued with my group and never shared my experience. I’m a bit shy and appreciated the other person sharing her experience of what she saw, or didn’t see, with me.
On the last day, we all gathered flowers or other natural items for the mandala for our closing ceremony. This was on the lawn nested between a beautiful stone building where we stayed and the ocean. The sun was shining, the sky was blue, and our spirits were joyful. Again, we sat in a circle around the mandala. Tara held a clear glass bowl of water that was collected from the holy well we visited the day prior. As the bowl was passed around the circle, we were asked to share what we learned on this trip. Everyone sat close together. This was even more emotional than the opening ceremony, maybe because of our experiences, or because we knew each other better and felt that we could freely express ourselves. I recall thinking about my gratitude toward the hosts, and how this was the best way that I could have been introduced to Ireland. I was in love with the people, the land, the plants, the stones, the water, and the history. The glass bowl of water was placed in my hands, and I started to share my gratitude for the hosts and found that the emotions of everything took over and I cried and cried. I don’t even know what I said. I passed the bowl to the next person, and it continued around the circle. Our other host Chris was last. I recall him mentioning how hard it was to be last after hearing everyone else. The group was asked for volunteers to carry the bowl of water to the ocean and pour it in, releasing all of the wishes and words that were spoken back into the water. I quickly raised my hand; this was something I needed to do. I felt a strong urge to pour and release the emotions I was feeling at that time into the ocean. I, along with two new friends, walked across the lawn, through a small, wooded area, and over some seaweed. I was barefoot, I wanted to feel the whole walk. We poured the clear glass bowl of holy water filled with our gratitude into the ocean and headed back to the group.
We all proceeded to dismantle the mandala, sending the parts back to the edges of the land to decompose. A woman, Bri, came up to me holding a white feather and as she handed it to me, she shared that when I was talking, crying and holding the bowl, that the feather floated down from the sky next to me. At first thought I wanted to blow it back in the air, but then I decided to hang on to it for a bit.
After coming home and began to unpack, I found on a quick internet search, by every source mentioned, that white feathers symbolized angels, links between the spiritual and physical worlds, and many other similar messages across many cultures. I had to wonder if this message, along with the other experiences I had were from my mom. Her way of letting me know that she was there with me. I knew in my heart that everything was ok.
Now, as the August sunsets become earlier, I feel the urgency to take more time for swimming and enjoying the warmth of the season. Water is healing, and immersing myself in it is one of my favorite things to do. The ocean in Ireland is about the same temperature that Lake Michigan is right now. I’m now hoping to take a dip every day. I hope that no matter where you are, you can embrace the water and experience summer healing.
