The Power of Joy

With the red of the maples and most of the other leaves gone, the green doors of summer open into the valley behind the house I grew up in. In the bewitching hour before sunset, I walk through the doors into a vast cathedral lit by the warm glow of  the yellow and gold leaves that remain. I roamed these hills and got lost here before I even went to grade school. I damned the stream and the caught a trout with a bright red leaf in this valley. I made my first fire, cooked my first meal, and slept on the ground for the first time in these woods. This is where I began becoming who I am. Before they were mine, these woods were farm fields. They have continued to become forest in the 35 years I’ve been gone. The irritating thorn trees and sticker bushes of my youth have been replaced with miles of impenetrable multi-flora rose strung through the understory like barbed wire along the front lines of war. The old dirt road has been a muddy mess since city sewage lines wer...

Huge, elaborate crystal chandeliers hang over the wooden bar like upside down wedding cakes flash frozen just as they began to melt in a hot wind. One wall is covered with shimmering glass mirror tiles, hand painted on the back but in front of the sliver, matched and mounted perfectly to create a 20' x 10'  Mediterranean scene. Vince was at the piano with sax, bass and drums sitting in. A black cowboy hat and black shirt with a red bandanna around his neck made a perfect spaghetti western costume for the still dashingly handsome and very Italian proprietor of the Italian family restaurant in town. (There’s one in every town in the east south of Vermont and north of Virginia, isn't there?) His rock covers were well played and well sung, if a little ponderous, but the jazz interludes in between betrayed his true gift. The real treat was the costume contest. Contestants came onto the stairs beside Vince as he noodled around for a song that fit their get up. Ther...

I’ve found a new love – riding the backroads of Bulter County, PA (35 miles north of Pittsburgh). Since April I’ve spent over 3 months here and logged at least 1500 miles over the hills, through the hollers, and along the cricks of Western Pennsylvania. Challenging terrain. Achingly beautiful farms and forests. My bones came from this soil. Flying and floating through the fields, farms and forests along these quiet rural roads is like discovering a symphony written just for me and being able to play all the instruments in the orchestra like a virtuoso. I came from these rocks, woods, cricks, and sky. As fall fades into winter, the mother that bore me into this land lies in the county home fading towards death. I’m  blessed with the time to grow closer to her as she moves farther away from everything she’s known. My daughter’s Waldorf education introduced me to the concept of head, heart and hands experience. Seeking those experiences has shaped and lead me thr...