Field Note #7: Taking Notice

I took a familiar secondary highway in northern Ontario and noticed a sign I’d not seen before. It had a unique logo and an intriguing name. Was it an intentional community? A resort? An art installation? Was it new, or had I just not taken notice in the past?

“Tiny Village: Woodland” was five km. off the main road, down a skinny dirt road with overhanging trees. I’m regaining trust in this combination of road features  as I adjust to driving a larger vehicle.

How do I know I trust this road? My body sends me the news. My right hand hits my blinker, my right foot hits the brakes, and before I know it I have officially played the second Curiosity Card of our adventure. I think I’m developing a bit of travel sass!

I reach the end of the road, and immediately know where I am. Can you guess how I know?

I’ll give you a hint. There is a witch at the gate. There are spiderwebs in windows. There are orange lights on a boat. If you didn’t guess, It’s Halloween in August, and this means I’m at a seasonal campground. As we learned from our experiences with Christmas in July!

I ring a bell at the office, because I’d love a tour while there, and a lovely woman tells me there is a beautiful spot with my name on it, because of a last minute cancellation due to the weather.

I begin to say I didn’t intend to stay, but hesitate just long enough for a second noticing to occur. I see pictures and a map on the office wall with images of monarch butterflies and a prayer flag installation. She notices me, noticing.

“You can write a prayer on the ribbon and tie it to the rope in the forest. When you realize your prayer is answered (I note she says when and not if ) I hope you return to tie a coloured on to replace the white one. And do take a photo of yourself in the butterfly.” She’s a bit sparkly, if I’m honest.

I’m now staying. I’m not sure how one gets into a butterfly, but my curiousity is still driving the bus.

I explain my legs won’t quite get me to the prayer flags, but i would reflect on my wishes, and make a ribbon to hang. She kindly offers to take me in a quad the next day.

Our site is gorgeous. Two tiers with big beautiful trees and a wee beach of our own. I can’t quite navigate the hill to the beach (more than once and I could write a whole piece about that one adventure ) but the view is gorgeous and the lapping of the waves on shore, with rain on the lake, is a delightful duet.

I get us parked and feel Pippa and Cornelius settling in for the day. I ask Cornelius if he wants to poop in real sand as an enrichment activity before his nap. He laughs at me, but he really does sometimes use outdoor spaces like Pippa and I now always carry two bags just in case!

In retrospect, I think he laughed because of the weather, not the suggested activity. Admiral Cornelius officially declares a Rain Day, running on Rain Time. Two sets of paws and ears disappear under blankets and I am left to my own devices.

I lay on my bed for some proper day-dreaming. My new favourite device.

Prayer flags and monarchs. I keep thinking how funny it is how those two things make me think of so many people I love: a close friend who has a collection of monarch art, family members who have travelled to witness the monarch migration in Mexico, a dear friend who currently works with a conservation group who hatch and release, and a daughter who is heart-connected to a culture where prayer flags and ribbons are not uncommon.

Initially, I go right to reaching out.

I want to tell them that I am thinking about them. I want to tell them I wish they could see these butterflies and ribbons. I want to share my delight. Then I notice this weird awareness that I seem to want to have this experience through other peoples eyes. How often do I do this? What’s that all about?

Then I feel …sort of like I inhaled …another way. And I felt lighter. Present. And then, a question arose.

What if I just let the delight… be? I sit with this until I notice the idea finish itself.

What if I let the delight be… mine?

These butterflies are mine?

The prayer flags are for me?!

This idea seems so novel! It’s really tickling my fancy, in a way that feels really new, so I decide to notice what else comes up on Butterfly & Prayer Flag Day.  I rest my eyes, and start to thumb through memories, images and ideas related to both.

As a young girl, I spent many hours picking monarch caterpillars from their milk-weedy ditches and bringing them to pupate and hatch in my bedroom. I’d rush home after school in early September, sometimes finding one or two fluttering about my room. They would ride my finger downstairs, and I would release them outside.

I didn’t understand why my adults took no notice of a squishy worm that could change into a beautiful flying creature.

It wasn’t just a little changed, it was fundamentally transformed into something with entirely different rules for existing. And it accomplished this crazy change… alone. Hung upside down from a leaf. Where it seemed to turn fully inside out before its whole head fell off its upside down body, and it morphed into a sparkly lime green jewelry box with a golden ribbon around it.

Then it happened! I felt the landing. Like a hundred little butterflies were settling onto my body.

These butterflies were mine. I felt them inside me. Meaningful to me.  I was reminded not to worry so much when it feels like my head might be falling off. I was reminded of the power of rest. And safety. And quiet. I felt that being inside-out might actually sometimes be a surprisingly productive experience.

The thoughts keep coming. I was reminded that hanging quietly in a familiar place waiting for nature to do most of the change-work is a legitimate way of being for some creatures. It’s a genuine way of approaching life. Or navigating uncertainty. Huh.

I also had to laugh, because I bet a caterpillar doesn’t text his friends to say “HEY EVERYONE I’M ABOUT TO DO THIS AMAZING THING. WATCH!” I bet that caterpillar doesn’t try to use other caterpillar’s eyes to make sense out of becoming a butterfly. He just has to become it by following his hundred little feet. That all just know where to go.

On the way out, I see the beach butterfly I am meant to take a picture “inside of”. There is no one there to take the picture, but I took some editing liberties for the sake of fun.

All those little butterflies? Those are all the people I love, who also love prayer flags and butterflies. They were still with me. I was simply not needing to have the experience through their eyes, as maybe has been my way. Maybe for a long time. Maybe always. It feels quite new.

The next morning, I left a bit earlier than expected and didn’t see our host.

I wrote “Trust the Process” on my ribbon (in honour of the headless caterpillar) and was tying it to the door of the closed office when she rushed down from her house to tell me she was sorry she didn’t get there earlier.

She gave me a big hug and told me she would tie my ribbon for me and reminded me to return when the wish comes to pass.

She may see me sooner than she realizes.