Years ago I was driving through a part of NH during one of my Vermont camping trips and I excitedly popped off a postcard to my mother, who is from Claremont. She is from the southwest corner of the state, this was the north — Woodsville and Haverhill to be exact — the western border along the Connecticut River, across from Vermont’s Northeast Kingdom.
“I feel this soul connection, here Mom, yet I’ve never been here! It’s like I know this place.” I tried to explain.
Later when I called her and mentioned it again, she snapped, “Well, my grandmother was born there.” She gets testy about family history for many reasons I won’t go into here. And her grandmother is my great-grandmother, you know?
I have always felt magic in the woods, talked to spirits and worshiped deities amongst the trees since I was a small child. The woods are alive with spirits and they are where I am most at home. And so it was in the woods at Squam this past Saturday.
I only went to the art show but I understand now why it is too hard to write it all out in one post too soon. It is an experience that must be absorbed first, savored, to be shared, yes, but to be held onto before letting it go. Like a spirit in the woods.
i love these words, dearheart! and you know, here in australia, the australian aboriginals that the place you were born, and your ancestors were born, form songlines in your spirit, making it your homelands in this deep, profound way… it sounds like what you were experiencing…
squam sounds like it was such a beautiful experience for you… so perfect 🙂