New Ideas about Summer Projects

Currently, I have a few too many proverbial "pokers in the fire" or "pots on the stove" as they say. Although I had planned to have a finished proposal for the alternative medicine aka "Plant Medicine" and "More Plant Medicine" classes, as it stands right now I have about 12 books and 4 binders of notes/illustrations all patiently waiting for me to pull assessments and activities. But I have made significant project on the objectives.

The difficult part for me right now is that I wanted to make this more of a networking project - not necessarily a collaboration, but something very public and I have yet to select the forum with which to do so. This morning I will make some potential connections and spread my feelers out to see if I can solidify some of this.

The new timeline for completion has me finishing the mini-proposal on May 22nd.

And in honor of some of my frustration during this writing process, a poem from Giles Watson (from the Delta International Key webpage). He has a poem written on over 20 families of plants, in the Celtic tradition.

Hazel (Corylus avellana)

Wisdom lay within the ground

And she thrust forth a shoot;

The kernel cracked, and from her seed

There grew a long, white root.

Wisdom drank and Wisdom grew;

Men cut her down, and yet anew

A multitude of stems grew free

And Wisdom turned to Energy.

With Energy in every stem,

The catkins hanging down,

Her leaves spread wide above the stool,

A green and shady crown.

Her twigs grew strong in springtide showers,

She let forth crimson female flowers,

The pollen falling all the while,

Fertilising every style.

And from each nub there grew a seed,

And ’round the seed, a shell,

Condensing Wisdom in its heart:

At Autumntide it fell.

Wisdom fell into the stream

Where nymphs of flying creatures teem.

She sank towards the river’s floor;

A salmon swallowed Wisdom’s store.

A year hence, by riverside,

I sat and made my wish:

A rowan berry on a thread

I hooked, and caught the fish,

And Wisdom flowed from head to tail,

It glowed from every crimson scale.

I cooked the salmon in a pan

To learn all wisdom known to man.

I went to gather kindling wood;

I left my lad to turn

The cooking salmon in the pan,

For fear that it might burn.

His little finger touched its side,

And at its heat, he wept and cried.

He sucked his finger, scorched and red,

And Wisdom filled his little head.

Oh I am tired of fishing now,

And fool I’ll always be,

Yet still I seek the fish who ate

The seed from Wisdom’s tree:

A rowan berry on a thread,

And on the surface, crumbs of bread.

I sit and weep, by riverside:

“Wilt Wisdom never be my bride?”