My Sacred Place
As a child, my mother, my younger brother, and I spent a week camping each summer at Alsea Falls. Sometimes with friends, usually without. My dad would join us the last couple of days, but not before then. Sometimes we were rained out and so miserably wet. Those times were great memories in the making. Often my brother revealed to us his Boy Scout camping tricks, like rigging a garbage can out of sticks.
My special place is a camp sight on the left of the loop, just 20 feet or so from the cold clear creek. My brother and I would spend hours splashing and wading and waiting as we tried to lure crawdads from their cozy hiding spots underneath bounders. We found the most success with hot dogs, a camp necessity. We filled our bucket with several crawdads, wondered at why they were called craw-dads, watched them for a while, and released them back into the water. One of our last trips, when I was around age 16, my brother filled the bucket with several "dads" and boiled them for a meal. I recall being surprised (never being so close to my food source), and then thinking it must make sense or we wouldn't be doing it. We were meat eaters after all and "dads" are meat, I told myself.
In this sacred place, we two hiked for hours through the old growth forest, climbed high into tall fir trees, swung and jumped from them, sat reading and playing at the bubbling creek for endless hours. Simply spending time with my brother, who was my best friend and favorite childhood companion. The air was clear, the sky was blue, a canopy of green was overhead, so many birds and bees, the water alive and constant, comforting, washing away our sorrow, fear, grief, depression, disappointment, pain. Comforting us, soothing our cells and our souls as we spent those quiet days splashing in the gurgling Alsea Creek. My happy sacred place.
What is one of your favorite sacred spaces?
When you write about it, how do your senses come alive?
What do you recall that most surprises you?
|bonding with Mother Nature and one another|