Water Reflections from Vermont

Water Reflections from Vermont

I now sit every day next to a stream, river, or the lake. I watch, and listen and pray. I seek God’s living water, Jesus Christ, in actual Vermont water.

Two weeks ago, with a friend, I walked Potash Brook, for two hours. (To prepare, I met with Teage O’Connor, who teaches Eastwoods Natural History at UVM and knows Potash Brook, which flows through Eastwoods, then behind my house, and then about 2 miles further into Lake Champlain at Red Rock Point). Teague had laid out three two-hour walks for me, penciling into my journal the walks’ ends and beginnings, especially where to choose to follow the brook under Interstate 89 and Route 7 (or alternatively walk over land). 

My friend and I entered the Brook beyond the Swift Street power lines. In sneakers, we navigated boulders, mud, quiet sun lit patches, and thigh-deep water, always meandering slowly. Birds and the sound of interstate traffic mingled with our reflections: “This is wonderful; we used to play in streams for hours as children; why aren’t more people, especially children, in the water?”  

 We followed the tracks of a raccoon, distinguishing its marks with a ruled track finder. The little animal had walked along the banks, into and out of the water. We watched iridescent dragon flies. Mid-point we stopped for fifteen minutes just to watch the reflections of trees and sun, silently. A beautiful day, ending at Klinger’s Bakery parking lot, with a feeling of gratitude for family and friends, for all the love I’ve received in life.  

[photo of Potash Brook]

Then last week, I drove to Richmond on a friend’s advice and sat at the Winooski River for an hour, deep in ferns. I wrote:

“Light shimmering, birds skimming, blue and green light,a cloud, gentle breeze, summer (the beauty of water)”

The Richmond Rivershore Natural Area, where I sat, not far from the historic Round Church, is “distinguished by Ostrich Fern and canopy of silver maple,” and is a rare river floodplain forest. I perched my little canvas chair “lean” in ferns on the riverbank and watched. After about one-half hour, a Green Heron suddenly landed on the dead branch above; at first I had trouble distinguishing it from a kind of living stick with a topknot; then I saw its yellow eye, or, rather, its eye saw me, and rotated and glinted; with the sun on it, I felt small, beneath a direct, unpitying, almost unnatural gaze.

Yesterday morning  I finished reading Episcopal priest Cynthia Bourgeault’s book The Wisdom Way of Knowing: Reclaiming an Ancient Tradition to Awaken the Heart. I reflected on how important what I now term “in between spaces” are in our lives. I’ve had them, as hopefully everyone who reads this blog has: for me they include sabbatical, Italian vacations, time in nature, meditation, being with a beloved, reading, reverie, worship. These moments of deep repose, where we are open enough to become closer to our deepest selves, can occur when we are caught up in something, when we may feel like we are no more than playing. They can occur as we lose ourselves, when we pay full attention.

Consider Mary Oliver’s poem: “It doesn’t have to be/The blue iris, it could be/Weeds in a vacant lot, or a few/Small stones; just/Pay attention, then patch/A few words together and don’t try/ to make them elaborate, this isn’t/ a contest but the doorway/into thanks, and a silence in which/another voice may speak.”—Mary Oliver

I long to pay attention and to hear.

Yesterday was my third Vermont water outing. This time I drove south.

After enjoying the Otter Creek waterfall at Vergennes [photo], I drove up Sand Road and hiked to the bluff at Kingsland Bay State park. (“Lake Champlain’s cobble beaches, cliffs, limestone cedar bluffs and rich oak-hardwood forests are the main features at this 1.5-mile lakeshore preserve. Marine fossils have been found in some of the shoreline bedrock. There is a deer yard and a number of rare plants, including autumn coralroot, golden corydalis, blue field madder and veiny meadow rue [from Places to Walk, Paddle and Explore in Vermont, The Nature Conservancy, 50^th anniversary edition]."

I waited for the sounds of the lawn mower on the grounds of historic (1790) Hawley House to subside as I hiked to the endpoint through the woods. I watched the lake through the trees on the shoreline cliff for an hour. I wanted to pay attention, as in Mary Oliver’s poem.

Luther’s definition of worship came to mind. “Our dear Lord himself may speak to us through his holy Word and we respond to him through prayer and praise.” Again, I felt deep respose and a deep sense of God's love.

The Bible teaches that the Word (God's voice) is (speaks to us) in all things (John 1:3;  Colossians 1:15-16). Do we pay due attention?