How the Wisdom of Mentors Guided My Steps into
e r u t Na
By Sharon Powers
F
or a young adult it may seem like society expects you to be working steadily toward your higher education or career. But what if society doesn’t offer what you want to learn? Enter: self-education and seeking mentors. I am a nature lover and fondly remember sunny days with my mom enjoying the outdoors. Our family had lots of pets — a rabbit, hamsters, birds, fish, a turtle, cats, dogs and ponies. But my mom had a thing for hand-taming wild animals. You might see her sitting out on the lawn after dark coaxing a raccoon out of its hole to eat from her hand (she did this with skunks too). Or coming home from school, she’d say, “Listen, there’s a wild cat in the spare bedroom. Don’t go in there and don’t tell Dad.” On a warm afternoon we could find the honey bee’s home by painting some bright blue chalk powder on the bee’s backside with a small watercolor paintbrush, and tracking the direction and timing of its return. So cool! There was a day in winter when she had already tamed the chickadees (this takes months), and she stuck me out there on the snowy deck to experience it for the first time. I still tame chickadees today. Simply start by leaving a
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“Blend with the land and celebrate life.” —Hopi glove with seed in the palm near the feeder. Begin to put very little food in the feeder so that it runs out more often. With lots of stillness and patience you can transition to sitting out there to feed. It only works with an empty feeder. And if you ever get those little chickadees tame, you can stick your favorite elder or kids out there and see some joy come alive! I grew up on the west shore of Grand Isle, Vermont, so Lake Champlain was right there. Our summers were especially amazing with freedom to roam the old cedar woods and mess around in boats. The neighbors were a very traditional farm family — three boys — and I had four brothers. With all those boys around, I was happy to pal around with a girl down the road. At the neighbor’s farm — I called it “Mary’s house” — her working kitchen was just so fascinating to me that I spent a lot of time there, so much that I kind of blended in sometimes. After all, Mary
did not have a daughter; maybe I fulfilled something for her, too. Their way of life was different from ours in that they worked the land producing so much food, and my dear stepdad commuted to his bank job. I tromped all over that farm, including the hedgerows and forest. I could see how tied to the land these folks were. There was a related man — we called him “Uncle Richard” — and he would let me tag along when he gathered big baskets of butternuts up in the hedgerow. He would let me sit and watch him clean buckets of fish from ice-fishing, which he then sold in the city. But I could only hang out with him under one condition: that I didn’t talk, just keep quiet. It was a phenomenal way to learn a skill, all good. I did keep in touch with Mary all through her old age. She lived to be 91. That’s her picture holding a chickadee. You can count yourself lucky to have a parent(s), relative
