Dancing with Wind

Wind and Rain are here at Camp Bamboo. We arrived two weeks ago and are in settle-in mode. There's a lot to this; some of the steps are routine for all moves, some are unique to the experience. The Virus and the Wild Fire Smoke added elements to manage as everybody else on our Earth, and on this island in the Salish Sea, and we have done it. An episode of chemical exposure from an eye exam reminded me how debilitating MCS (multiple chemical sensitivities) can be. Slowly, I recover and recalibrate my body, mind and spirit to this now. Time has moved ahead, the Wind has cleared the air and the latest version of The Safety Pin Cafe is attached to our Vardo for Two.

Our new camp is the tenth one since we began life from the vardo. Each move has challenged Pete and me individually, as as a couple. When we started to build this wagon home we knew a few things, but would be without clues about many more. That continues to be true. The security of this small shelter continues to be that: we sleep well and safely, keep warm via the electrical plugs that attached to each new 'camp' and find ways to be entertained and companionable in 70 square feet. 

Camp Bamboo is much like other places we have lived even before we lived in a wagon. This 'aina , this place that sustains those who live here, is an au wai ... she is home to water. Like the cottages we lived in in Iao Valley on the island of Maui, Manoa Valley on O'ahu and at the foot of Mauna Kea on Hawaii Island, Camp Bamboo is a water catcher. In the summer months that quality will be invisible, but only until the Rain comes. We have moved at the in-between season and we must learn to dance with the wind. It is the Wind that brings change, and this morning the Wind called to me: Come Dance!

While Pete slept I left the futon, walked to the hooks holding my clothes and felt in the dark for my old winter coat. That same winter coat I bought from the second-hand store in West Seattle when we first arrived from O'ahu in 2008. That coat continues to serve me well with patches and my Ma's old Sarah Coventry broach to replace a snap that no longer snaps. In place, the coat and I stepped gingerly down the wet porch steps. I had a flash light and I could hear the wind dancing with the trees. That is a song that I have missed since we left the forest place with friends Eileen and Mary. 

In my black rubber slippers my feet are familiar with the clutch of toes like a tree frog. I grip the well-worn rubber and pa'a (stick). There is enough light from the illumination of stars and the presence of Makali'i (The Pleiades) and the stir of wind is contagious. In the darkness on this shaded hillside I danced with the Wind.

The Vardo is pulled into the (relative) flatland below the hill where The Goats and the Gardens live. The grassy land is filled with People's Medicine: Dandelion, Dock, Comfrey. There are probably others I don't know by name in the 'lawn' and at the edges Nettle and Blackberry are prolific. Alder soar above the curve roof of our home, the 'band-aid' trees hold space for Cedar who were once the resident water catchers made specifically for this land. They, Alder do not hold water the way Cedar does but they are wonderful at what they can do. We are grateful for their company, aware their limbs are more prone to snapping in big wind; I moved 'Scout' the Subaru from under them, just in case.

Soon Kala, the Sun, will rise in the East. I have a nice fat roaster chicken thawed and Jude's large Crockpot is waiting to be filled with the makings of chicken dinner to share with our friends here on this land. It's the first chicken dinner to be made in several months, and it's a hen raised here on Whidbey and that feels good. Sharing local food, dancing with the local wind, and settling into a new place on this island home are simple magic. I pray this moment of living a real life nourishes the very best in all who will eat the meal from The Safety Pin Cafe, where common magic for uncommon necessity is at the heart of things.