On Remembering

I’m dropping in today to write a little update from our 100ft-wide patch of nature and beyond. Since I last wrote about this small plot of woods, three new species have been spotted - a fox jumping around the thickets, bats circling, hunting in the light of a full moon, and deer munching on meristem growth in broad daylight.

We have witnessed rabbits, squirrels, a groundhog, an opossum, a fox, bats, deer, and birds aplenty living in and utilizing this space. Many of the trees in this patch are Black Walnut, an allelopathic tree that secretes toxins into the environment to out-compete other trees and gobble up all the light. Black Walnuts tend to decrease diversity and I used to think of them as kind of a boring “white bread” tree whose presence make the surroundings a little less interesting. So, I have been shocked to see the kind of wildlife that has been frequenting the area and the variety of plants that have been popping up to prove me wrong.

I have to admit that when I first moved here I was constantly comparing this view to the pristine and ancient forests of Oregon. This area looked like a dumping grounds by comparison. It is pretty young ecologically. Side by side with an Oregon forest, the Maryland forest (at least the forest close to me) looks like a bunch of sticks in the ground.

I am really into trees. I wrap up a lot of my happiness in them. When people used to ask me why I moved to Oregon, I usually told them that I needed a change, which was true. But, a big part of the reason I moved there was for the trees. Conifers make me happy, the mountains fill me with life.

Oregon is an incredibly beautiful place and its beauty is so easy. You don’t have to look hard to find it. I used to drive around the streets of Portland and feel overwhelmed with happiness and gratitude for getting the chance to live there. Saying goodbye to the safety and serenity of that place tore me to pieces. But, I knew that eventually (if I tried hard enough) I would be able to take the freedom of Oregon with me anywhere I went. 

Most of the time I spent on this balcony in those early days of moving back, I would stare off into the distance at the trio of conifer trees that reminded me of Oregon and pretend I was somewhere else. I gazed out over the horizon, past what existed right in front of me. I would not see it. I could not see it. I did not pick up the trash. I tried to remember and hold on to that freedom. But, I felt lost.

These past couple months I have been refocusing, trying to stay present here, really being exactly where I am. As it turns out, thanks to a global pandemic, I have to. In this time of sinking deeper into this presence of place, I have reinvigorated my love of foraging and have been visiting the forest for solace and comfort.

I miss Oregon less as I learn to love the nature here even more. On a walk yesterday to a nearby patch of woods, I found a mighty oak in the midst of a tulip poplar forest. The trunk of this oak was so big that I couldn’t wrap both arms around even half of the diameter. I thought to myself, “bah!” at the idea of a Maryland forest being a bunch of twigs.

On one side, the oak tree was rotting, a series of holes the size of my hand pecked or torn into it, at least four of them, one after another stretching up toward the canopy. Yet the crown of the tree was still so full and luscious. I saw those soft greens speckled across the bright blue sky and thought to myself: summer colors and my heart was full.

The woods in Maryland are resilient, the trees are fighters. They shine in their own special way that needs no comparison. This is something I forgot. Something I am remembering. Where I live, in the suburban outskirts of the city, the wildlife are crammed into small spaces, yet still find ways to survive and to thrive.

I am still learning to relax into the presence of this place. The Oregon forest taught me lessons that I choose to carry with me everywhere I go. Their safety and comfort has allowed me to remember and to view the place where I was born through a new lens. And in this way, I am grateful to have had Oregon and also to have lost it.

The Lessons of Mushrooms

I’ve been spending more time in the forest since the quarantine began. I live in an apartment complex that is in walking distance to a patch of woods that surrounds a local river, which is a great privilege I do not take for granted. It has been raining a lot this April and morels are in season for a little longer. So, I have been venturing to the woods at least once a week to look for them (and also to collect garlic mustard - an introduced species that grows like wild around here). Just walking and getting my body moving has been essential to my mental health.

Also, I have been working on creating a hidden section to this site to house some of my recipes that I have been creating under the name The Radish Room (Instagram, Facebook) since 2017. You can find the recipes here: katcoolahan.com/theradishroom. I am slowly typing up my handwritten notes and getting good photos of favorite meals to share with the world. One dish that has worked particularly well with foraged ingredients is my sunflower pesto recipe. I substitute garlic mustard for the basil and use that as a sauce for pasta, with chickpeas and sautéed peppers and morels.

Foraging brings me a lot of joy. The hours spent in the woods forgetting about the outside world, then the hours spent in the kitchen remembering nature. Getting low to the ground looking for mushrooms changes my perspective, helps me to better appreciate the smaller aspects of the forest and the interconnectedness of the ecosystem.

This pandemic has brought joy and purpose to the forefront of my consciousness in a big way. The joys in my life now “pop” with a new brilliance. Yes, there has been sadness and despair and anxiety too. But those also illuminate the joy in a way. Because when I contemplate how I want to spend my limited time here, writing and being in nature stand out more than ever. Both of these activities are ways that I connect: to other people and to the natural world. I value connection, networks, diversity. I am finding new ways to connect that I never considered before, like online writing classes and zoom calls.

In many ways, I feel life has prepared me in its own way for this global health crisis. I spent the greater part of my adult life studying edible plants and the patterns of nature, as well as mindfulness and healing techniques to deal with depression and anxiety. I trained in yoga and reiki, I learned to cook and how to eat really well at home. I have (for the most part) eased away from alcohol and others ways of numbing out to pain. I have lost many loved ones, including a parent and a parent-in-law. Just this last year, my spouse and I lost three family members within a few months of each another. The year 2019 was, by far, the hardest of my life so far … and then in 2020 we all get hit with a global pandemic. For much of this past year, I could not understand how that kind of compounding loss ever could serve me, how it could teach me anything other than that I needed to endure and just keep living when things felt utterly hopeless. With each death, though, I realize that my grief evolves a little. I have gotten better at accepting life’s impermanence and moving with (instead of fighting against) the current reality. This has also illuminated joy in my life. I can be more present with my life when I live in this acceptance. I am by no means perfect in grief. Not even close. Grief answers to no one and will do what it pleases, after all. But, I do feel more prepared than before to deal with whatever life will throw our way next. I do want to mention that I also have the incredible privilege in this pandemic of not being in survival mode, worrying about a paycheck or housing or groceries or any other basic needs. Although this would not have been the case for me for most of my adult life, which is mostly a matter of timing, I have had more mental space and bandwidth to process and think. As Yuval Noah Harari so aptly says, “thinking about the big picture is a relatively rare luxury.”

Most of my life, I also believed that I was flawed because I could never just be one thing … I worked many jobs across many fields (environmental, fundraising, accounting, retail) and cultivated deep interests in several areas (nature/science, writing/communication, wellness/healing). I almost never felt adequate in the world and often felt like a failure for not being able to just put my head down and commit. But, now, I am seeing clearly how these aspects of myself converge to serve me (and thus help to serve others). Now, more than ever, I know that I was not put here on earth for the status quo. I am here to help build something new. In these words is where my interests merge, art is where they come together.

Mushroom hunting is a lot like life in this way. Sometimes I need to be patient to wait for the lesson. I need to get down low to the ground and humble myself to change my perspective. There is a season for everything in life. When the season is over it is time to let go and begin something new.

Tough Days and Little Joys

Just a little update (in the spirit of practice) from a walk today and beyond...

Yesterday was a tough day. This past winter, I applied to 5 MFA programs in creative writing. Those who know this already, know how much work and time I put into these applications and how excited I have been for the prospect of these programs. Well, yesterday I got my 4th rejection. I'm expecting the 5th to come any day now. But, maybe there is some semblance of hope still? Who knows really... Anyway, I did a lot of my grieving yesterday in preparation for that 5th decision (my top school). It may seem trivial right now as things are the way they are. But, grief is grief and it will not be told what to do. So, I just went with it and let the sadness take over for a little while.

Today I woke up sad af to still feel sad af but determined to get out for a walk at some point. I'm glad I did make it out. Something that brings me a lot of joy is watching the incremental changes in the season. Also, knowing in these uncertain times that there is food growing everywhere in suburban Maryland is a great comfort. Many of them are "weeds" - talk about a reframing! There was an abundance of chickweed, dandelion, dead nettle, wild garlic, garlic mustard, and speedwell to be spotted today.

On the walk, I also noticed that the magnolias have bloomed and their smell is in full force. Just a few days ago the flowers of this same tree were still tight and torpedoed. This knowledge brought a lightness, it made the days inside feel less monotonous now having proof that nature really is still marching on day by day outside. I think I may also have found a dawn redwood tree planted in someone's yard. I almost jumped back at the bark in excitement when I saw it because it looked SO west coast and nostalgic for an ecosystem I dearly miss - a very exciting find. This tree is another one I can monitor as it begins to regrow (they are one of the few deciduous conifers to they lose their needles each winter). Little joys, little joys. It's important to hold onto them now and always.

I am happy to (seemingly) be crawling out of that awful mini depression. Walks really help. I am cherishing them. And I am cherishing you too if you are reading this <3 Thank you.

On Sickness and Gratitude

Several weeks ago (starting on February 24), I contracted the flu. I woke up that Monday morning coughing and with a general malaise. Soon after, I answered a phone call from my sister (whom I had spent nearly the whole weekend with) who apologized profusely because she had just came back from the doctor’s and tested positive for the flu (type-A).

Having not had the flu since I was a young child, I was skeptical that what I had wasn’t just a cold. However, halfway through that Monday my fever shot up and did not come back down again until Thursday morning. My head hurt so bad during the time I had a high fever that I could not sleep for more than two hours at a time, I could not watch movies or read because focusing my eyes on anything at all was excruciating. I spent three nights in a row awake nearly all night just staring off into space, weak, drained, unable to sleep, barely able to eat. I contemplated the concept of a virus, a lot. I wondered how my body was fairing in the fight.

Once the fever broke, the ride wasn’t over. I spent many more days in bed exhausted with a violent cough. My chronic illness decided to flare just as soon as my fever broke. I quarantined myself in the bedroom and my spouse slept on the couch and fed me all of my meals. For over a week, I pretty much only went back and forth between the bed and the bathroom with no physical contact from another human being and very little socialization or entertainment. The quarantine seemed to work because my spouse never got quite so sick, although did develop a cough and fatigue. Today, 19 days later, is the first day that I woke up and my lungs have felt normal, where my cough has generally subsided.

It has been a wild ride.

I have had a lot of time to think about health, mortality, gratitude, purpose. In the time that I have been sick, MFA rejections have been rolling in, a global pandemic began, and I had to cancel my trip to San Antonio for AWP which I had been looking forward to all year. In the end, though, this experience has really forced me to be thankful in a big way.

I have a ritual at night before I go to bed that I call the “gratitude rock.” I hold a fossilized coral stone I keep on my bedside table in my palm and think of ten things from the day that I am grateful for. With each item I let a finger unfurl until my palm is open to the stone and then curl them back in until I am grasping the stone again. I continued this ritual while I was sick and it illuminated things about my life and experience that I couldn’t have known had I not been so violently ill. I found myself feeling deeply and profoundly grateful for things like my bed, a moment of sunshine, a cuddle from my cat, a text from a friend.

Sometimes my nighttime ritual feels like a chore, a box to tick off. It is tempting to quickly list items like food, shelter, a warm bed, health, etc and not actually feel any gratitude for them. But, nothing in this life is promised. I am not owed any experience or circumstance. Allowing myself to sink into the gratitude of what I do have is a practice that has transformed my life.

I am grateful to be alive.