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World Water Day
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Having left the southern California drought in August, and endured three horrified drive-bys of Lake Shasta since our departure, World Water Day is officially on our calendar from here on out. About seven years ago I attended a fund-raiser where I heard an environmental activist say, "The color we should all be talking about in school isn't green...but blue." Water.
Not so much in honor of World Water Day as simply a well timed necessity - E.P and Baan-ko spent Sunday March 22 building a bridge over the now impassable "boggy place" in front of our cabin stairs. Following the direction of their Uncle Issa they stacked cedar planks on wood blocks and piled woodchips over pvc piping to better distribute the drainage. It was a great conversation starter regarding learning about our new watershed here on Orcas Island (which is the Salish Sea that extends into Canada.)
I spent the time that they labored on their bog-bridge finally getting the photos together of our spontaneous meeting of "wilderness Jamie" - which, like so many good beginnings, came out of the water.
Two weekends ago a family sunset walk turned into a spontaneous skinny dip (which is not uncommon for E.P and Baan-ko.) Narrow but surprisingly deep pools had formed behind leaf spackled "beaver dams" they had built earlier in the afternoon. Backlit by "magic hour" light we reveled in something super-natural taking place as we watched their little bodies baptised by the early spring pools. One's childhood creek is as powerful and holy as the Ganges - E.P. proved this as he burst into an energized "Om Namah Sivaya! Om Namah Sivaya!" to carry the initial exhiliration of the polar plunge out of his body. As both kids stayed and soaked (longer than any adult would dare) sanskrit was exchanged for Elizabeth Mitchell's "Spring has sprung" which eventually encouraged a fanciful exit dance and an almost desperate streak to the bathhouse in search of warmth. Which is where we found it - Wilderness Jamie.
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Fire from Scratch |
Obsidian.
Cedar branches, logs, and bark.
Bow drill.
The perfect exhale.
A spark.
First, small dry cedar branches are consumed.
Then knife chopped cedar kindling is added as fuel.
Finally axe chopped cedar pieces are stacked log-cabin style.
For hours our fire by friction roars.
It took an hour longer than the ten minutes it usually takes us to prepare our cookout fire. The kids were ravenous yet didn't mention a peep. EP chopped a cedar log with an axe, then a hatchet, and then a knife creating logs, kindling, and finally the popsicle-stick sized pieces necessary to ensure our spark would eventually blaze. With nest making right up Baan-ko's alley, after impressing upon her the sharpness of the obsidian, we let her do all the scrapping of the inner cedar bark from which she molded a sturdy yet soft nest of cedar fluff. Her skill far exceeded her four young years of age. With all the props in place the magic show took center stage as Jamie used his whole body (foot holding one piece of wood, one hand holding the dowel, the other hand the bow) to create a red hot ember from friction. We were quieted by the communal quest for flame. He had already warned us that he doesn't always succeed in creating an ember.
There was a group gasp when we saw the glowing red wood drop into the nest Baan-ko had prepared. With the care extended a newborn we passed nested ember from cupped hands to cupped hands. Jamie told us how to bring the glow to flame, "blow on it like you were blowing on a spoonful of soup, carefully, so that the soup doesn't spill off the spoon." We all tried our best, but only Jamie's exhale worked. Breath. Smoke. And like magic truly worthy of a curtained stage - the nest was suddenly alight. He had a handful of fire that he quickly got to an awaiting pit. We were breathless and silent.
And shortly after we were fed both body and soul.
The kids learned that we aren't as entitled to cooked food and warmth on demand as modern conveniences have lead us to believe. With our success they tasted a new flavor of gratitude - one forged by cautious optimism and teamwork. A "need-fire" in the truest sense of the term.
