Walking in a weedy wonderland

I toiled last summer to design and outline a seven-circuit labyrinth in the “back 40” at the cottage. Then the lawn guys carved out the path. 

Greg collected and placed rocks to define where it leads. Last, I covered the path with mulch to keep the weeds at bay.

In September just before we left, we planted bunches of three daffodils each around it — 28 bunches in all, as it turned out, a nice coincidence with their being 28 days in the lunar month. Unlike the labyrinth at Chartres, the seven-circuit type doesn’t have actual lunations to mark the lunar calendar, but the little clumps of daffodils were a reminder of the moon and all it signifies.

It was neat and tidy when we left last fall. In fact, practically all labyrinths I have encountered are just that—neat, tidy, and dare I say, almost perfect. Here is the one at the convent of the Sisters of St. John the Divine in Richmond Hill:

Source of photo: http://www.ssjd.ca/labyrinth.html

It is similar to mine because it its outlined in stones.  So you can imagine how I felt when we returned this spring and found this:

My first thought was: oh no, it is so overgrown! In fact, it was so invaded by dandelions I thought I should call it a dandelinth. The daffodils were slightly past their prime, their yellow completely outshone by the dandelions’.

My dismay was assuaged by the fact that the path was still visible, and I enjoyed walking around it while looking at the various stones. They were all the same (red sandstone) yet unique (in shape and size).  

I thought about this difference in sameness for a while and also about rocks: calm, solid, perpetual, unchanging.

Of course, I immediately began to weed as I walked. Then I reflected that I was treating the labyrinth as a thing to be worked on rather than as a means for inner quiet, meditation, and even mystical experience. None of the other labyrinths I had enjoyed required my on-going  care and keeping. They were usually made of cement and other materials which prevented the infringement of weeds. On them, I could just quiet my ego and follow the path on an inner pilgrimage. This one pleaded for my objective attention and hence, the engagement of my ego.

So at first I thought what a pity it was that I did not have the “right” attitude towards it. Would I ever feel I was not working on it as merely an artefact and just let myself experience what walking its path offered my inner Self, my soul?

So then  I decided I would pull weed weeds from the path only on the way in. Being bent over and humbly weeding would suit the penitential nature of the way to the centre, at least according to one way of looking at the walk in. Each weed could be a flaw in myself or a trouble in my world or a trouble in the world at large, which needed to be pulled for personal and worldly improvement nay, even perfection.

Then on the way out, I would refrain from working on it and have a true Sabbath — a time of opening my soul to whatever God/the holy spirit/the divine within/the mystery of nature wanted to put there. It would be redemptive.

Unfortunately, it didn’t work out that way. In or out, I could not resist pulling up the twitch grass, dandelions and other weedy things.

Then I had something of an epiphany. It is all right to be a Martha working all the time: Unlike the biblical Martha, I was enjoying it. It had a rhythm. Yet, I did not feel impelled to totally weed everything, nor did I weed with any pattern or intent:  A swath of twitch grass which I had been happy to ignore going in would attract my attention coming out.

So, not only was the labyrinth not perfect, neither apparently was my plan to do things right. 

I reflected on the word perfect. It has come to mean flawless, but if you go back to the Latin root, it means “through” from  per and “made” from feci, the past tense of facere, “to make or do.”

So in its literal sense, “perfect” means to work through or make through. It is a process or experience, not a product or a goal. It is in actual hands-on doing (for me, at any rate), that I feel attuned with the creative and behind that, the Creator,  and that I feel an attachment,  even love, for this inanimate weedy object, my labyrinth.

Now I feel  more attached to it than if it were flawless. As I go round the path, obscured by the greenery along the border, I am taken by surprise by the twists and curves. I have to pay attention to how I am walking to avoid tripping. The way is not clear to my immediate vision even though I know the way is there, and all I have to do is to follow it. Nevertheless, I have to weed it out to keep the way passable.  How like life this is. The way is there, but not always easily seen. 

The tall weeds and grasses at the side form a tunnel which in my four-year-old imagination, I am exploring and clearing. It is play, not work.

Finally, it’s not about having a belief (weeds are like flaws and must be pulled out) but about having the experience (I care for the labyrinth and it provides me a path). I dislike apportioning a moral value to the poor twitch grass. It’s not the fault of the weeds that I pull them up; it is just what I have to do to keep a clear path. And I have learned not to be annoyed by them.

In a sense, I am not walking on the labyrinth,  I am the labyrinth and all that it signifies about going in those contained circles to an inevitable centre.  The interruptions by the weeds in my way are moments for pausing, stooping, pulling, and standing up again: sort of doing physically what we are to do spiritually in our journey.

A day or so after having these thoughts, I read a quotation from Rumi in something Richard Rohr wrote in his daily meditation:

I want to...instead of being

irritated by the interruption and daily

resentments, feel those as kindnesses.

Admittedly, it’s easier said than done, but after I leave the labyrinth and return to my daily life, I hope this  pattern  of response to life becomes more embedded in me.

Trespassers Will

We are back at the cottage for another summer. I am always filled with trepidation, as we turn off the highway onto Howe Point Road and I see the cottage for the first time in eight months. Is everything OK? Yes, it all seems intact, at least from from the outside. Big relief, especially considering the 25 feet of snow which smothered the province last winter. But what about the interior? Have mice chewed the place to bits?

Not this year, thank goodness, but we did have a number of other trespassers — from the animal, plant and human worlds.

The plumber, who came a few weeks ago to turn on our water, reported evidence of a squirrel in the crawl space under the cottage. Thank goodness, he seems to be a bachelor, the squirrel not the plumber, that is, as there is no evidence of a nest for babies. I was heartless in wanting him gone dead or alive, until I saw him scampering around the bunkie, the woodpile and most recently the deck.  So cute.  He seems to have eschewed the crawl space now that the weather has improved. One of the vents, which he pushed on to get in, needs repair, something Greg discovered when he lowered himself into the depths.  Greg is tired of doubling over and ducking his head down there, so Nutkin's departure is a good thing.  

Alas, the bad news is that Nutkin has also rejected the live trap we set. We used  peanut butter as irresistible bait. A friend suggested using Squirrel peanut butter rather than the No- Name brand might have been the better choice. 

And people at church attest to the native intelligence of PEI squirrels. Apparently, they have long since figured out you can get at the bait by putting a paw through the bars and not actually going in. 

We have reduced the amount of peanut butter to a dollop rather than a ladle-full and have now placed the trap out by the woodpile. I am not holding my breath. The young woman who sold us our trap at Home Hardware in Souris said they caught two birds, a mink and several other critters before nabbing their squirrel.

We shall of course have to get the vent fixed. Our builder was by early one morning to investigate, and the thumping and crashing convinced us we had caught the squirrel, but no, unless squirrels have also learned to drive trucks and are called Mackenzie.

My second area of concern was the labyrinth which I have renamed the dandelinth, because of the thousands of  dandelions now overtaking it.  There is also a lot of twitch grass invading the path. However, the path is still visible, and Greg has made a few more  runs for the large, flat, red sandstone rocks we use to mark the outline.

Initially I was quite dismayed by the weediness. But then I thought it is a wild labyrinth not a perfect one.  Dandelions are great for bees, but I must admit not seeing too many redeeming features to twitch grass. I may try to discourage it by pouring on a mixture of vinegar, salt and Blue Dawn dish detergent, a non-poisonous remedy  recommended by friends on Facebook. I will keep you posted.

Then there was the possibility of ear-wigs in the well. The plastic casing around the electrical wires had come apart, thereby opening a way for bugs to crawl in. Initially I thought the mowers had hit it, but more likely it was the result of frost heaving the ground and snapping the housing. When I went to pay the plumber’s bill, I asked about it. Turned out it was something plumbers fix, not the well drillers. Go figure!

Lucky I mentioned it, as having earwigs get into your well contaminates the well and is therefore something to be avoided  at all costs. A somewhat taciturn young man turned up at our doorway at breakfast  the next day and once we realized why he was there, he put things to rights and we had a nice chat about the weather. So our delicious water is now safe from insect invasion.

The fourth trespassers were of  the human variety and a bit more complicated to deal with. I’ll save that for another instalment, as I  have promised myself not to be too lengthy. Also I have run out of steam for this afternoon and feel a murder mystery beckoning.

 ‘Til later then…

Rock on!

The last time I wrote, I had just finished getting the path cut out and spread with mulch. I decided not to use plastic sheeting under the mulch because it felt too slippery.  Admittedly the grass and weeds will grow through, but I leave that for next year.

There is still lots of mulch to spread if needed: 

My next challenge was to make sure the path was visible even if choked with weeds. Thanks to our friends on Howe Point Road, we found someone with rocks to spare.  Several trips  down the road to her place, and we had enough to begin outlining the paths:

The shot below shows the geometric and what is called the geomantic centre of the labyrinth. The geomantic centre is what is decided upon as the best place for the labyrinth design to start. There is an element of divination in deciding upon the correct place (more on that later). It is the rock in the centre of the picture where the path ends.

The geometric centre is the centre which is the result of having built the labyrinth around the geomantic centre.  It is the oddly shaped (sort of a blob with four arms) at the lower centre of the photo wherein sit the two flat rocks. 

At least I think is the case. I am unclear about this and may have them backwards, as I tend to be a bit dyslexic. If I can get something backwards, I inevitably will. Corrections welcome if kindly stated. 

I am referring to what I read in this web-site about how to design a seven-circuit labyrinth:  
http://www.labyrinthos.net/layout.html

Anyhow, I will leave augury for a later blog. 

This will finish as much of the labyrinth as we can do for this year. What I would like to do eventually is to plant wild flowers along the path between the stones. As you can see things quickly become tousled.



For reasons which remain opaque to me, Greg really enjoyed harvesting and placing the stones. It was heavy work. Some mysteries are just as well left that way especially if one wants to have the same behaviour repeated at a subsequent time ...

Off he goes to pick up another load:

Later on, we planted three daffodil bulbs in each of the 28 holes I had dug around the perimeter of the labyrinth. They will make a great spring-time display, that is unless the skunks dig them up in the interim. Not shown here is the sprinkling of moth balls I provided as a discouragement to more uprooting. The skunks don't eat the bulbs; they just hurl them over to the side with what I imagine is skunk disdain for their not being grubs.

Mowing the labyrinth area happens unexpectedly

I am not sure why I decided to make a labyrinth. Mostly I just wondered if I actually could. I would like to think I had a deeper purpose. I probably do, but I am not good at articulating that sort of thing. Concrete practicalities are where I shine.

The first thing I did was to decide where it was to be. Putting it in the lawn would have inconvenienced the lawn mowers to no end, and it would have to be a very spiffy, well-kept version. That required too much maintenance from me as well.

I had no idea lawn mowing was such an exact science. The zen of mowing kicks in too, I've heard.

I tramped around the field for awhile musing. The marker shows where we planted our $10 sugar maple tree. In a few years it will be visible above the grass and in the meantime I didn't want it to be accidentally mowed.

This was taken back in June. Now the tree is no longer visible. Golden rod has replaced the dandelions. 

So  I made a sketch, which shows the two existing paths, which join up further down the slope and end up at the water's edge. I liked the idea of coming upon a labyrinth in the wilderness, as it were.

This shows the view from the back of the cottage and the Friendly Giant's grave aka veggie garden.

Steering well clear of our maple seedling, I placed two markers at what would be the tentative  entrance to the labyrinth area and then four more outlining the circumference to which I tied plastic bags  so they could be seen:

Going down a path to a path seems like fun to me; here is where it will go.

It seemed no sooner had I arranged with our lawn-mowing company to do this work, than the mowers arrived. I was pleasantly surprised. I showed the  foreman my little sketch of the work to be done and brought him up to speed about the meaning and purpose of labyrinths. He looked a bit taken aback, but I figured he simply had not done a lot of labyrinth preparation. He was right into it and suggested using corn to mark the side of the path, as someone had done this effectively in another part of the island. This struck me as a good idea especially as we could later eat the cobs, a strategy that seemed to surprise him for reasons which still puzzle me. In any event, he went ahead and made the initial big circle:

I love those little mowers; they buzz around like hummingbirds.

The labyrinth project gets off to a good start. This is the first circuit.

However, several hours later,  a large truck appeared towing a flat bed trailer on which was a much  larger piece of heavier equipment. I watched as a large burly guy with a shaven head approached the deck where I was standing.   I wondered why the crew had returned. It turned out they hadn't.  It was a different burly bald fellow  Seems the first crew had been there only for the weekly mow.  This explained Burly One's demeanour; I  must admit his sangfroid in the face of what must have been surprising information was impressive.

This job in the field apparently required heavy-duty bush-hogging, hence the new guy and the impressive equipment. I told him his twin had done a very careful job with the smaller mower, which seemed to be still in fine shape upon departure. After a few moments' conversation about other things, which is de rigeur down here,  Burly Two then departed. He seemed slightly disappointed. He told me his next job was to help move some cottager's newly purchased 400-pound statue to a different place on his property.

Of all the crackpot schemes.

I decide to make a labyrinth

Thanks to hearing  Radha Lion’s wonderful presentation at the final intensive of the Haden Spiritual direction program at Mt. Carmel, I learned more about my enneagram type. I am a "Five."  I like being a five because fives spend a lot of time taking things in. We are very observant. As well, we’re excellent listeners because we don’t feel the need to talk a lot. 

However, the downside is that we soak up information and perceptions to such a degree as to be avaricious about it. We are disinclined to produce outflow. We don’t speak enough.  After the intensive,  I read The Enneagram: A Christian Perspective by Richard Rohr and Andreas Evert, and   I concluded I need to spend way more time expressing myself.

So when I began to think about creating a labyrinth at the cottage, this project quickly became an exercise in actually doing it, not just thinking about it. 

But “why a labyrinth?” you ask. Good question. I love labyrinths. Need I say more? Well, yes, I do apparently.

Walking a labyrinth is a way of “meditating by doing” — good for people like me who have trouble sitting still. 

It is important to note that a labyrinth differs from a maze in that it appeals to the other side of the brain from the linear, problem-solving, ego-dominated side we usually work from.  What is the source of this effect?  Unlike a maze in which there are many false paths and dead ends, there is only one path in and out of a labyrinth. (You can call it unicursal — if you, like me, favour $10 words.)

Source|; http://www.stjohnsdryden.org/labyrinth.html

The result of this difference is that you don’t have to figure out the correct path, as you do with a maze (multicursal). Nor, incidentally, do you care about how fast you do it this time as opposed to the last time. Instead, you slow down; in fact,  the twists and turns tend to slow you down. You are invited to leave the goal-directed analytical part of your brain and go to what is intuitive, imaginative, and receptive. You leave chronos time (measured, clock time) and may enter kairos time (God's time or if you prefer, the eternal present, the now).

For me, setting aside my need to measure, control, analyse or influence events is a lesson I have to learn again and again. I need connect to the immanent side of the divine: the receptive, mysterious feminine if you will.

Simply putting one foot ahead of the other will get me to the centre of a labyrinth and then back out. This knowledge frees me from outer distractions and allows me to be open to my inmost self — and to God within. 

Confident that God (or the Divine or the deep meaning of creation) has placed me on a life path which, although it goes to and fro or even doubles back, nevertheless unaccountably unwinds towards the divine centre of my being — my soul — is a very comforting thought for me. 

The labyrinth acts as a symbol of this journey — or this pilgrimage — inward.  When we walk the labyrinth, we are connected to the source of our own being as well as to the calm centre of the path. Trusting in the meander of the path is one of the main reasons the labyrinth is so powerful a tool for psychic and spiritual wholeness.

Source: http://www.unitync.net/Labyrinth.html

Where did the labyrinth originate? Stay tuned! And yes, eventually I will stop talking about it and show actual pictures of the work in progress. I am a Five. I am taking a while to get out of my head ...

I decide to make a path in our field

Having lived without a lawn for quite a while, during which various projects have been underway, we've become
accustomed to  the grasses and wild flowers in what we now call our meadow.

However, a path through the field could be like stretched-out labyrinth:

 

 

 

Here are Greg and John, intrepid trail blazers. John advised me that making a path would require only 15 minutes a day of conscientious trampling.

 

 So far so good. Some grasses flatten more easily than others:
 

 

Because the meadow used to be a ploughed hayfield, there are still the remains of furrows. It was good to slow down and walk deliberately. I enjoyed pausing to look at wildflowers:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 These grasses were incredibly soft to the touch:

 

 

 

At the bottom of the filed under the trees are ferns; this is a species  am not familiar with:

 

 

 

 

At the bottom is a woodsy part. We had some of the trees planted there years ago, but thought they had all died during a drought later that summer.  Several years further on, we discovered to our surprise that some had survived. The remnant of the original rows are visible. They are at the Christmas tree stage. 

 

 

 

Obviously this is the old crone of the woods!

 

 

The fir trees and sky reminded me of an Emily Carr painting:

 

 
It's a fair hike back up the hill:

 

 

But back to pathmaking ... The trail is leading to the barely visible bunkie. The house on the right belongs to our neighbours.

 

 

 

Closer to the top, I decided it would be fun to have two ways to get home, so I trampled  divergent paths and remembered Robert Frost's poem:

 

 

 

Back at last to the bush-hogged part of the yard:

 

Like the good Brownie I used to be,  I tied the grass in knots to mark the way in for the next time:

Just a few steps to the deck and cold lemonade or a G&T!

The grasses play in the wind and I play in them. One should never be too old for the sheer joy of doing somewhat silly things.  then I forget how old I am. It's nice.