Hiking as Animist

As you may have noticed over the last few posts, my mental health has been up and down and I desperately needed a break, so I used Memorial weekend to give myself a vacation. I took the Friday prior, and then the Tuesday and Wednesday (today) following off, with my main goal of getting the hell out of town and into the woods as much as possible. My mood was immediately lifted as I drove through northern Somerset county to one of my favorite short hikes: Moxie Falls. But even on a Friday morning, it was too peoplely. I wanted someplace remote and to myself. I took a chance and a 67 mile detour (which was a lovely drive, as all of Maine is) to the Maine Huts and Trails trailhead at Flagstaff lake (see photo above, with the view of Bigelow Mountain). It was completely empty. There was one other vehicle in the parking lot, but not a person to be seen or heard. No children. No dogs. Just me, the forest, and the lake.

I am in my spirituality 100% of the time, especially in the forest. I feel an overwhelming gratitude and joy when I am in nature. My phone is filled with pictures of rocks, mushrooms (so many mushrooms!), flowers, trees, water... pictures I take for myself, pictures I can't help taking because I love each and every thing I take a picture of. I apologize to moss when I step on it, I thank the wind for cooling me, ask the trees for support and grounding, ask the rocks to help me ascend or descend. As an animist, these are all beings with spirits, and they are friends. I found myself thanking the water for nurturing the plants and trees, but most of all, I found myself thanking the Mother for all of it. The earth. The progenitor of all life.

Sometimes I share the pictures I take, but to most, they're pretty nature pictures, or weird pictures of rocks and mushrooms. It's hard to truly show someone the world as I view it, because it's a feeling, deep down, of being part of it, of respecting it and treating trees and stones like old friends. The inexplicable pull toward running fresh water. The smell of trees. The smell of sunlight. A photo can't really capture all of that, but when I look back at them, I can remember it, and feel that joy again. It's like looking at pictures of old friends, because they really are old friends to me. Every hike in a new place is an opportunity to meet new friends, and I find myself stopping often to take their pictures and talk to them. I take the opportunity also to be in awe, to feel small in the world, to understand that in the end, I am insignificant, that I am but part of a cycle of life, death, and rebirth, and when I die, my body will feed trees and plants, which will feed animals and insects, and my spirit will go wherever our ancestors go. There is no permanence in death when you're an animist. There is just a cycle.

When I shared a picture of a waterfall on my Instagram yesterday, I wrote "There's something about waterfalls, that makes me want to open up and be swallowed by them, devoured by the powerful water until I don't know where I begin or end, only that I'm part of something unfettered and more ancient than I am" and that is a thought that runs through my mind often. Running water draws me, and I don't have complete thoughts on it yet to write more on. Maybe later when I meditate on it.

Sunday Bread

Every Saturday morning for the past month, I get up, have some sort of breakfast, and put together a no-knead bread dough to set aside. On Sunday morning, I bake. Bread was never a regular part of my diet, but having good bread, that I made by my own hand, has been a comfort. Toast fried in olive oil and rubbed with garlic, topped with fried eggs has been my dinner a few nights. Not all of my loaves have been successful; my first loaf was dense and didn't rise well. My loaf from last week was sloppy, sticky, dense, and also didn't rise well. It was tasty and chewy, but I didn't reach for it. But like all things, success and failure are learning tools. 

A lot of the articles about the recent boom in bread making during quarantine (note: you're not under quarantine) talk about the soothing nature of baking, how it's calming and helps de-stress. For me, it's helping to abate my need to hoard food. If you've been following this blog for any amount of time, or have read back, you know I've struggled with food insecurity in the past, but I have persevered with the skills I've learned from my mother to make a nutritious, filling meal from little more than bones. 

My depression has been bad lately. I want to travel and I can't. I want to see my partner, take care of him, make sure he has nutritious meals and I can't. Feeling powerless isn't something I deal well with, so I've been trying to funnel those feelings into other avenues. I still dream of a house in the woods. I bought a foraging guide and a mushroom identification guide. I've planned some time off so that I can run off to the mountains and hike for a while. When I picture myself living in the woods, I am still making Sunday Bread. It's an infinitely comforting thought, even if my life takes me in a different direction and I never have the house in the woods. Barring travel, there will be Sunday Bread every week, into perpetuity. 

Everything is Bleak

States are reopening, my own state has a plan in place for reopening rural areas. It's too soon. It's way too soon, people have become complacent and don't take the pandemic seriously, and we will absolutely see a spike in cases very, very soon. Listen, I know you want to be able to go out and do stuff, but this is too soon. This is bad.

Thinking about this this morning sent me into a panic attack. A small one, but a familiar feeling all the same. It started with an obsessive thought: this is wrong, this is too soon, this is wrong, it's too soon. Then came the familiar racing heart and insurmountable feeling of dread. I tried to distract myself with work but only managed to give myself repetitive motion pain.

My mental health is not okay right now. It hasn't been. I feel helpless and hopeless and there's nowhere for me to run to right now. I'm weepy and angry and I really, really just need a break.

So please, don't invite me out to dinner. I won't accept. It's way too soon, even with increased testing capacity.

Food Privilege

Today while I was at the auto dealership having my car worked on, I chatted with some friends via messenger about food. I admitted to a friend a certain smugness I felt, that I could relate to some vegans in that smugness, that meat processing plants were shutting down and meat was starting to become scarce, that I wanted to say, in my smugness "you don't need meat," but I don't say it out loud, because I have a really huge amount of food privilege and I understand that. Also I feel saddened that the demand for meat products has caused workers in the meat plants to become ill and die, and lose jobs, because I am still a compassionate person, despite a lot of empathy fatigue I've been feeling lately.

I am very, very fortunate that I am still working, that I am financially able to still access the specialty foods I buy (including being able to wait for my preferred brand of tofu to be back in stock at the grocery store, which of all things, I never expected to be sold out for two weeks), to be fussy about brands, and that my dietary choices are just that-- a choice. I am flexitarian because I choose to be, but not because of underlying health conditions, unlike a friend of mine who is vegetarian under doctor's orders and has been looking for nearly a month for red lentils that aren't astronomically high in price due to gouging (I offered her the little bit I had in a jar in my cupboard). I don't live in a food desert, and I have my own transportation to get to and from the grocery store. I have a huge amount of privilege, and I need to always be aware of that. When I first started writing this blog, I was experiencing some food insecurity. I did have food stamps, access to fresh vegetables and eggs from my sister, and I learned to make my food stretch, but looking back, I wrote some really cringey, privileged shit. It's important that I recognize that, and also recognize my food privilege now.

Sharing food is a love language for me. Nothing makes me happier than to cook for someone I care about. In the past, I have given food from my cupboard freely to friends in need, no questions asked and no expectation of repayment, and when there has been a food drive, I donated.  I have enough food. I have lots of potatoes and sweet potatoes, rice and lentils, and canned beans. I'm always happy to share what I have if my friends are having a hard time. I'm willing to make a pot of soup if someone brings their own containers for me to fill, and help people with recipes to use what they have on hand, because I'm good at throwing recipes together (I'd say maybe I should be on Chopped but I don't think they have the dishwashing budget to have me on the show). In the spirit of food sharing, I'm going to put my recipe for lentil soup below. Wine and sumac are optional, blending is optional. Switch up the cooking fats if need be. I strongly recommend the turmeric, though, so that's a spice I would recommend investing in. It doesn't look pretty but it's tasty and nutritious. I can usually get about 5 servings from it.

Lentil Soup

1 medium onion, fine dice

3 carrots, fine dice

1 sweet potato, small dice

2 stalks celery, fine dice

4 large cloves garlic, minced

1 cup small green lentils

¼ cup white wine

1 carton chicken or veggie stock

2 cups water

1 bay leaf

1 tsp dried thyme, crushed

½ tsp dried oregano, crushed

1/4 tsp turmeric

½ tsp sumac

¼ tsp black pepper

1 tsp seasoning salt

1 tbsp butter

1 tbsp olive oil

Heat butter and olive oil on medium. Add onion, sweat for 3 mins. Add garlic, cook until fragrant, 1 min. Add celery, carrots, and sweet potato, cook for a couple minutes. Add wine. Add lentils and all seasonings except salt. Add broth and water and let cook for 40 minutes. Add salt, taste, adjust seasoning as needed. Blend 2 cups of soup (or more to taste) and add back to pot.

Quiet

Sometimes emotional regulation is hard. It's something I have to do daily, ever since I made the decision to not be medicated for my bipolar disorder. Small things will still set me off, like the noise of motorcycles or trucks with loud exhaust, screaming children, my neighbors doing yardwork.

But then there is quiet. Warm rays of sunshine that Calypso curls up and naps in, the sound of birds outside, the stillness of everything. It's calming. The peace of being able to sit on my couch in silence, reading manga, with no one bothering me, no phone ringing, no one (not even my cats right now) demanding my attention.

Lately I've found myself annoyed with everyone. Annoyed with people calling their situation a "quarantine" or a "lockdown" (it is neither) and acting like they can't leave their house. Annoyed with stakeholders that call me for stupid shit. Annoyed with coworkers that are working from home but still manage to step on my toes while I bust my ass in the office. Annoyed at people complaining about being home when I would love, love the break and the rest.

The quiet is welcome. Because of all those people working from home at my office, it has been blissfully quiet. I've even turned the ringer of my phone down because I can actually hear it with no one there. When I come home I enjoy the quiet, especially on nice days when I have the kitchen window open while cooking dinner, listening to the sounds of birds heading to bed. Quiet afternoons on the weekend, curled up with my cats in a sunbeam. Quiet is a blessing.

I Miss the Gym

Pre outdoor run selfie

My gym has been understandably closed for weeks, and I miss it. I never thought I'd be that person that works out, the gym bro who talks about her gains, who complains when she has to miss a day, but I am. Going to the gym has been stress relief for me, has shown me that my body is capable of amazing things. Yes, I can walk outside (except today because it's fucking snowing) and I have been, and while I don't enjoy it, I can run outside. Being outside is great for my mental and spiritual health. But damn, I miss running on a treadmill, where it's easier and I can go at my normal pace for 45 minutes instead of having to do intervals of uncertain pacing and watching out for traffic at the same time. I miss doing leg presses and my hip abduction/adduction exercises. I even miss my dreaded and loathed shoulder presses. I miss the satisfying feeling of muscles that have been used and are tired. Doing exercises with 5 pound weights along with a YouTube video in my living room just isn't the same. And in some way, I miss the people that I see that I never interact with: strangely, slightly androgynous guy (he used to be one of those hold the side of the treadmill and flail legs as fast as possible people), sweaty running blonde, tall skinny running guy, shorter skinny running guy, elliptical girl who does grandiose arm stretches, all the older folks that work out in their poly-knits, and the staff. I hope they're all okay. I hope they're not losing their gains. I hope they're all healthy and safe and have enough toilet paper and food.

I'm Exhausted

Here's a picture I took of Skogafoss in Iceland. It's relaxing to look at.

I finish my work day completely exhausted every day these days. Today I was one of 5 people (4, later on after one left at noon) in the office that normally has about 21 people working in it. Because I am in charge of death, and a supervisor of my unit, I need to be there. Honestly, I'm glad to be there because working from home in my role is difficult, especially these days. But man, the heaviness of it all is so exhausting. My job hasn't really changed so much as how other people's jobs have been changed affects how my day goes. Where the medical examiner's office may send amendments to death certificates throughout the day, I am now seeing them done in big batches. Many funeral directors are working from home so there are challenges with reaching people. Communication is done widely through email and today I found myself directing an assignment for a staff member that isn't mine (none of my staff are in the office). When there were more staff in the office, the atmosphere was tense, negative, and heavy. It's hard to focus when it's like that. It's exhausting. I'm exhausted.

What's frustrating is that I have no real outlet. I came to love the gym and the stress relief it brought. This entire week the weather has been kind of garbage and I haven't wanted to go for walks, and running through the neighborhood isn't relaxing or enjoyable. Yesterday after I put my laptop away I made myself do an 11 minute weight workout because I needed to move my body, but I didn't enjoy it.

Barring exercise, I will probably be using this blog more. These are difficult, stressful times. I have a lot of resilience, but I can't help but recognize that my need to hoard food-- much like I did during my past food insecurity, back in the beginnings of this blog-- is starting to rear it's ugly head again. I have to remind myself that yes, that full canister of rolled oats, plus what is in the jar is enough. I have more cans of black beans than I know what to do with. I should probably give up bananas because they ripen too quickly. I don't need more tuna. You get it. My response to situations out of my control is to take stock of things, make lists, but it also triggers those feelings of food insecurity and financial hardship, both of which I no longer am experiencing. It's irrational, and recognizing that, writing it down, helps.

I'll be fine, and the weather will improve enough eventually so I can go running on my preferred trails. But man, I tell you, when all this is over I am running off to Iceland for a bit I think, because I know by then I will really, really need a break.