Dearest
Readers,
I’m
slowly dismantling the heap of sticks in the north side field near my Vermont home in order to dig a deep hole beneath the pile, and then rebuild it as a beautiful, hollow stick hut for thinking and abiding. It's slow going.
Day 1 |
I began
by spray painting the perimeter of the pile as a baseline for the future structure.
I tried to remove each branch carefully, spending time to discern the next one on
top. It’s a puzzle of tugging one after another until the right one slides out,
being careful not to snap the delicate tips. (not always successful.) Some are lightweight,
Others heavy.
Struggling with a heavy brute of a branch |
I’m sorting them by color, size and delicate
branch tracery.
thin, light-colored branches |
and a tangle of
small twig debris that may come in handy.
|
I also
picked out two straight birch saplings about 20 feel long, that will serve
as poles for a ladder coming out of the hole and through the top
of the hut.
Future poles for birch ladder (center with leaves) |
Closeup of two of several woodchuck holes under a layer of twigs |
Why am
I doing this? …because I find satisfaction in digging the earth, and
exploiting the metaphor of delving into the self. The underground in myth and
tradition is a place of death, and transformation. The hero who attempts the
journey of self-discovery hopes to return with the secrets of life and
transcendence for his or her people. It is risky business. Returning to society is key. Some stick studies are below. More digging and delving to come....
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