Solitude in the Swamp

A 24-hour retreat.

A solo spend-the-night in the swamp is what my weary soul was aching for on this new moon weekend. I finally made it happen. I brought along my trusty, silent companion Ruby Jean, the cattle dog.

We sat by an evening fire watching the sun set and thinking about my brother, Michael, since he was the one who helped me gather this little stash of firewood almost a year ago from a HELLene downed oak at Grandpa’s old river house where Michael first lived and when I lived just up the driveway from him for a few short months, my life felt complete.

We awakened to 49 degrees in the house which was much warmer than the 28 degrees outside. I made another little fire and I drank coffee and watched the birds and squirrels on the dilapidated back deck. Ruby lay at my feet, basking in the warmth that good oak firewood provides.

Things I noticed: sparkles on the frost laden area of the deck where I throw out bird seed. The birds have created a circular area where they gather along with a couple of squirrels to partake of the seed I throw there. All the rest of the deck is covered in crunchy brown fallen leaves. On the wall behind the wood heater there are a few tiny rainbows as the sun creeps up and splashes through the crystal hanging at the sliding glass door. They wave to and fro on the wall as the shadow of steam rises from the old copper pot on the back of the wood stove. I see a pileated woodpecker swoop through the swamp canopy and land high on a tree closer to the river. Two little squirrels have emerged from their nest and are sitting on snags opposite each other basking in the rising sun and grooming themselves. I imagine all the birds gathered on the roof around the flue from the wood heater as another spot to find warmth on this very cold morning.

I struggle while I’m here to let go and be. I have to stop myself frequently when I look around trying to create “to-do” lists in my mind. Now is not the time to paint the great room, hall, or living room. It is not the time to get the plumbing fixed and put the bathroom back together. It is not the time to tear down the rotting back deck, repair the back walls with holes on the outside above it, or paint the outside of the house.

What I can do: keep it as neat and tidy as possible, feed the birds and squirrels, watch the birds and squirrels, be thankful this place is in my life. I feel held here. I feel peace and calm here. I feel seen here. I will create here. I will breathe here. I will BE here.

As the day leads into afternoon and it warms to a balmy 49 degrees outside, I get dressed and Ruby and I set off on a little hike in the swamp. Down the hill beside the house, through the back gate and onto the meandering trail to the old bridge road. Once up on the old bridge road, I climb between the limbs of a small downed oak from the storm, walk under another small oak, and climb over two bigger oaks who came down in 2023 in Idalia to the point of the old road where a small magnolia now stands and where a couple of bridge posts still stand beyond in the swamp. The old bridge that was wooden with no sides. The old bridge where Grandpa and Uncle Hildrie liked to park their cars to pose for photographs.

On the small magnolia, I hang some spanish moss that I found on the ground blown from the tree tops I surmise. Then I scoot down the hill into the swamp and lay my hand on the Seeing Tree to greet her, walk carefully among the crawling roots of a giant oak out into the open swamp area between my house and the river. It still takes my breath away the amount of open sky there is.

I walk among what feels like dinosaur bones from these ancient trees. Trees that were saplings when my Grandpa grew up here. This swamp will never feel the same but I’m hopeful for what is to come and to get to know the young trees that will eventually fill this space in. Perhaps the reason the river is so low this winter is because Mother Earth is germinating new trees in these open areas. We must be patient and watch.

We wind our way down to the river’s edge, taking note of the crowd of cypress knees gathered in a low area. We breathe in, we breathe out for several minutes taking it all in, watching the current slowly ease by with our worries. Then we meander our way back to the house, find a comfy camp chair to sit in and bask in the afternoon sunshine for awhile.

A little writing has been done and a bit of sketching and painting have been done. My heart is grateful for this place. Now it’s time to pack up and head back to the “real world”…sigh

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Thank you for being here. Thank you for reading.

Blessings to you all!

💜B💜