Walking in Black Fox Hollow
Black Fox Hollow (#BlackFoxHollow), our 1.5 acre wooded hollow, is many things to me. It is my refuge, my escape, my health spa, my connection to reality. The hollow is my source of spiritual solace, and my comfort in the face of a world dominated by an appallingly hedonistic species. I don’t know if it is true of all, or even many, people my age, but I’ve had enough struggle. Oh, I realize that just living is a struggle, you don’t have to remind me of that, but there are struggles in which we just don’t have to engage; politics, religion and economics. I’ve done my time doing battle with King Ghidorah. (#KingGhidorah)
I know that we have been so completely domesticated by Ghidorah [ii] that those of us who find it a disgusting plague on the face of our beautiful Earth; the antithesis of Gaia; are very few. If I can, by the mere act of surviving and facing the pains of existence each morning, be a thorn in the side of King Ghidorah, I will struggle with my entire being to survive. Black Fox Hollow, my niche of true nature and life in the midst of human chaos, is my go-to place to escape, heal and renew my strength to continue.
Black Fox Hollow is also a symbol of the true and wonderful nature that lies beyond the signs and symptoms of human occupation. I very much miss working in and hiking the Rocky Mountains of Montana, with its rugged peaks and plethora of wildlife, and wandering aimlessly (on purpose) through the wonders of the Sonoran Desert. The Hollow provides me a place to relive and remember the wonders and sensations of true and fulfilling life.
Stepping off the deck of our 'cottage-in-the-woods'; which amazingly is inside the city limits; I am greeted by my friend the Mockernut Hickory. We became very close when Pamela and I first moved here. We found that it was being strangled by Euonymus Fortuni; aka winter creeper. I got a 25 foot extension ladder and cut the deadly vine from the tree as far up as I could get. For a tree to die by strangulation caused by a deadly invasive plant introduced by (guess who?!) humans is not natural, so I don’t feel that I am interfering with nature by cutting it from trees or pulling it wherever possible. What is so typical of human infestation is that, even though we know that euonymus fortuni is a tree-killer known as ‘the kudzu of the north’, stores still sell it for $34.99. #InvasivePlants
Mockernut responded well to therapy and had a wonderful canopy the next spring. Then it got hit by a violent storm and a large section at the top was broken. Fortunately we were able to get the services of some tree people who did their best to remove the damage without killing the tree. They were successful, so today my first step off the deck is to at least smile at Mockernut, if not say ‘hi. How ya doin’?’
Our house sits about twenty feet or so above the hollow. It was never farmed because of the terrain and sink holes. From what we can figure it was the timber stand for a plantation.
Starting down the path the next tree I encounter is our Osage Orange, the laxative of mastodons. It still keeps our squirrels regular. Indigenous people found that Osage Orange makes excellent bows. I wonder if Chief Black Fox, for whom the hollow is named, used an Osage Orange bow. This Osage is too young to have met the Chief.
There is a fork in the trail by the Osage. I go straight. Up the hill from the Osage is a log from a fallen tree. It is one of my stop-n-think points. More than one essay or chapters in a book have been started here. Below is the sink hole. At the bottom of it is the “well”. Somewhere in the middle of the nineteenth century someone; probably the plantation owner; put a galvanized pipe in an opening into a wet cave thus creating a well. We know of a larger opening south of us which is big enough for people to go in. The County Agent told us about how hard it is to keep people, especially kids, out. I can’t help but wonder if it is a part of the great #MammothCave system that extends from the middle of the state almost to the Mississippi River.
On the edge of the sink hole rests the remains of our beloved Mother Tree.[iii] She was a giant and ancient Beech. Standing in her presence you realized that all of the other trees; fifty-five plus the nursery; seemed to be orientated toward her. We lost her and eight other beautiful mature trees in a violent storm that had 90mph straight-line winds. Actually Mother was so massive that she took down five other trees as she fell. We were devastated by the loss.
There is a raging debate among some scientists about Mother Trees and tree communication, but I find that the evidence strongly supports the community as well as communication of trees. There are still a fair number of people who believe that everything is alive and an important part of Gaia. For starters there are the indigenous people, ancient Gaelic Celts (my ancestors), and me. They call us animists. (#Animist) We don’t take anything from nature without asking permission and leaving a symbolic gift. (#Reciprocity) I will leave wild tobacco, if I have it, but more often red cedar berries. This act is called Honorable Harvest. (#HonorableHarvest)
There is a trail along the eastern edge of the sink hole, but I continue on and go around the corner where I am on the east side of the hollow with the ‘nursery’ between me and the sink hole. The nursery is my name for the open area filled with seedlings. There are about twenty or more small young trees here. Some have little red flags because they are so small, I want to be able to see where they are. Others are four to six feet tall. They are mostly American Elm, Ash, Hickory and a variety of types of Dogwoods. I did not plant any of these trees. They came here naturally. While I know that they mostly got here by way of bird droppings and animal poop, I can’t help but notice the proximity to the Mother Tree.
As I pass the east-west trail that crosses the middle of the hollow, I have an awesome view of our marvelous and gigantic American Elm that dominates the northern end of the hollow. It stands where the trail turns back south. The American Elm species was almost totally destroyed by disease in the 1950s and is still in recovery, so we’re really excited to have two mature elm and several young trees in the hollow.
Heading back south, the trail runs along beside our house and the beautiful limestone outcroppings that dominates the landscape. We are in a region of limestone karst topography so full of caves that it is not uncommon for a river to suddenly disappear underground. It was once an ancient seabed. The coal fields north of us were the ocean-front property of the time. Our home actually sits on an outcropping of Ste Gevevieve limestone (#KYGeology) that is about 340 million years old. (It is hard for humans to comprehend, nevertheless accept, that if the Earth’s 13.8 billion-year history were compressed into a 24-hour day, with the Earth forming at midnight and the present moment being the next midnight, humans would have arrived on the scene only 1 second before midnight.)
This line of limestone boulders sticking out above the surface are probably what saved our old trees from being destroyed to make way for yet another field. How lucky are we!! These boulders, given interesting shapes by water erosion, are beautiful and an important part of the spirituality of the hollow.
As I wiggle my toes against the cool earth, I think about that. Yes, my Black Fox Hollow has become my spiritual place. I know the hollow and the hollow knows me. Here one can experience the reality of life; flora, fauna and the Earth. The other day I was working near the sink hole. When I looked up there was a doe just a few yards away. She just stood watching me until I got my phone out to take a picture.
From the Marshpennywort to the giant Elsms and Oaks, life thrives and shares its wealth with me. Black Fox Hollow gives life essential oxygen to almost 400 people, most of whom would gladly cut it down to make a parking lot or shopping mall. (Humans are probably the only species in Earth history that will not take action to survive because it isn’t cost effective.) Humans have made themselves very fragile animals and there are many other animals that clean up after us, eat deadly insects and make our lives enjoyable, but we thank them by trapping and inhumanely killing them.
In Black Fox Hollow the security and equity of life still exists. Yes, the Fox will kill and eat the Squirrel or rabbit, but that doesn’t mean that either of them had more right to life than the other. As hard as I find this reality, the balance of nature is far more fair than anything the human brain has contrived. Our actions are selfish. Gaia’s actions are for the welfare of the whole.
The Spirit of Gaia is here. I can feel, I can sense her especially as I walk barefooted. I realize and appreciate the connection. I used to run many miles of trails barefooted until my work shoe became a pair of backcountry boots. I’m so glad that Pamela spotted and shared the documentary on earthing that has me again touching Gaia.
My spirituality has absolutely nothing to do with religion. The term "spirituality" is derived from Middle French spiritualité, from Late Latin spiritualitatem. The Latin spiritus comes to us from the Greek pneuma (πνεῦμα) which refers to the concept of spirit, breath, or unseen force.
For me, that spirit or unseen force can be experienced and observed in nature. When we find or experience the spirit; πνεῦμα; in nature, those places become our sacred place.
Black Fox Hollow, along with the wilds of the northern Rocky Mountains and Sonoran Desert are my special sacred places, where I meet the spirit. I can also experience the spiritual in any natural place undisturbed, unmolested by humans. I share this with indigenous people, as well as my Gaelic ancestors. (#GaelicAnimist) It is also interesting that trees are sacred not only to my Gaelic ancestors but many indigenous people here in the Americas. Walking through Black Fox Hollow, sensing the presence of the trees around me, I can understand.
Starting the climb back up to the house I look one more time over my beloved hollow. I know that Pamela and I will occasionally talk about how much work it is to care for. That’s okay with me, for I know that no amount of physical labor can repay the peace, the strength, the solace that Gaia gives me in Black Fox Hollow.
ENDNOTE:
[i] Gaia primarily refers to the ancient Greek primordial goddess personifying the Earth, seen as the Mother of all life, but also denotes the scientific hypothesis that Earth's biosphere regulates itself as a single entity . In essence, "Gaia" connects the ancient idea of a living, mothering Earth with modern scientific and cultural understandings of our planet as a complex, interconnected system.
[ii] King Ghidorah is a three-headed monster, originally appearing in Japanese horror movies around 1964 which I use to illustrate the oneness and the evilness of the system. Each head has its message. One tells us what we are to believe if we want to live (religion). One tells us to whom we must be totally loyal if we want to be safe (government). One tells us how we must work and accumulate and spend if we want to be comfortable and happy (capitalism). Put together they tell us we must serve them to survive. That is a total lie. Very few people can see King Ghidorah for what he really is because we've been programmed over thousands of years. Humans love their slavery to Ghidorah and will kill the very sources of true life and freedom in order to protect Ghidorah and their slavery.
[iii] The idea of a Mother Tree was introduced by ecologist Suzanne Simard, and describes large, central trees in a forest that act as hubs, connecting to other trees via underground fungal networks (the "Wood Wide Web") to share resources (carbon, water, nutrients) and even send distress signals, nurturing younger seedlings, including their own kin, to build resilient forest communities, demonstrating that forests are interconnected societies, not just collections of individual trees.
[Thank you for reading. I invite you to visit me at www.RustyPress.com.]
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