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12/17/2022

Winter Solstice 2022 -- Reflecting Light

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Light forms diamonds on icy crystals of snow in the low, slanting winter sunshine, the Winter Solstice arrives, and it's time for me to reflect for a moment before turning my gaze into the returning sun of a new year.
            I'm reminded of many memories of special winter moments where the play of light and darkness becomes so very poignant. In reality, there is much light that occurs during the darkest days of the year. The magical phosphorescence of a warm winter snowstorm comes to mind, or perhaps the brilliant chilly starlight that follows the storm as the skies clear and the temperatures plummet. During these darkest days, when the sun does shine fully, I seem to appreciate its shortened, ephemeral moments more than ever. The sparkle of sun on snow, or the shimmering of sun on the rare patch of unfrozen water are jewels to cherish. I also love to see the rays pierce the icicles that hang from trees, cliffs, stream cascades, and roof eaves. And then there's the winter moon rising high in the sky illuminating the nights with a cold warmth and stark shadows that fall upon the blanket of snow. Beyond that are the rainbow sun dogs that precede the storms, and beyond that and further north, for some, the Aurora Borealis.
            It seems that light is more precious in winter, like shade is cherished in summer, or like warm breezes in spring and cool moist breezes in autumn. And as I consider that light, I also consider and reflect on the magical moments that made up the year, especially those outdoor moments.
            Each month this year held a special memory: I recall a January day skate skiing on perfect cold snow in brilliant sunlight beneath deep blue sky and bright sun. For an hour in February, I ice skated on the glass clear frozen surface of a huge lake at sunset. In March there was a moment where the cold spring snow turned magically into running water. April brought rain and flowers, and May more rain—the first warm rain of the summer, and fruit blossoms. One May day found us kayaking on a Wyoming lake beneath white, snowy peaks feeling a warm wind and rain that within a day would bring the entire snowpack down in a massive mountain flood. In June, more warm rain fell, and mountain wildflowers greeted us on a forgotten trail where we walked with the moose, deer and elk. July brought some rare and beautiful thundershowers and a few mornings paddling on glassy calm waterways. In August I found edible wild mushrooms and savored their freshness as they simmered in butter and melted in my mouth. September was hot enough to make me wish for winter, but late in September we woke to see a dusting of snow high in the mountains. In October it rained even more, such a wonderful thing, and we escaped to the Colorado River for a short trip on its swollen muddy floodwaters, the days still hot, but the nights moist and cool. And in November it began to snow and become cold, so out came the cross country skis! And as December commenced, so did the writing of my next book—an enjoyment to work on during those long, dark nights.
            Not all memories of this past year are so magical, nor so great. World events seemed to worsen as well. But as I see those rays of sun angled low and illuminating the world with slanted light, I choose to reflect on good things and hope for the coming new year.

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9/11/2022

Autumn Equinox 2022

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Every year, for thirty years, I'd take a few eggs to school and balance them on a level surface in celebration of the balance of nature on this day half way between summer and winter. For some reason, the first day of Autumn was even easier than the first day of Spring for balancing eggs. Some of the eggs would also stay balanced for a day or two after the Equinox.
            Some people say an egg can be balanced on end any time of the year. I've tried a few times, albeit halfheartedly, to balance eggs during the other seasons. It never worked for me. Maybe I just didn't want it to work, because the balance of an egg on the Equnoxes feels like a magical mix of nature and science and even a little faith. Students often simply didn't believe the eggs were balanced until I'd nudge one to fall over. Then they believed; then they succeeded in balancing their own egg.
            Logic tells me that one should be able to balance an egg any time of year if they live on the Equator, but I've never made the trip to try it, and have not yet heard anything from those far away places. Perhaps if I stayed a few years longer in teaching, as an International Baccalaureate teacher, I could have gotten in touch with another IB teacher from equatorial regions for the experiment. Maybe you will someday find out for all of us!!
            Meanwhile, I miss the fun and repartee and even the occasional broken egg from those moments in the classroom. It was always a nice break from the rigors and rigamarole of full time teaching. Oh yes, I forgot to mention that if the Equinox fell on a weekend, I'd tell students beforehand to balance their eggs at home and bring in pictures. I always did the same.
            Now I'm retired and working only from home, but I still balance an egg in Spring and Fall. There is someting tingly and poignant when my fingertips finally slip from the egg's sides and it stands on its own. I can almost feel the gravity siezing the egg and taking over from my often slightly trembling fingertips. And I gaze for a moment at the balance and wonder at nature and our world.
            I put as much wonder into the book Creativity, Teaching, and Natural Inspiration which I published in 2019, now nearly five years ago. If you haven't read it, it's still available for only $5 as an ebook, or around $16 on Amazon or Unsolicited Press.
            My goal these days is definitely NOT to make money as a writer; it is simply to keep spreading wonder throughout our world.

Happy Autumnal Equinox,
Mark

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6/21/2022

Summer Solstice 2022--Storms and Finding Strength

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This week it rained, and not just a sprinkle, but it poured a solid half inch in fifteen minutes! And the wind did not blow, and it was a clean, cool rain—like a gift from nature. This week it also snowed in the mountains! Three inches or more piled up for a morning in many places. Again, another solstice gift from nature.
               I know that the heat and drought and searing winds will return, but for just a brief moment, I’m relishing this interstice. It’s been a long, long time since a classic summer shower has fallen on our little plot of garden and trees here in the city near the mountains. Maybe I’m selfish, but I find myself wishing it would happen again soon.
               Regarding the rest of the world, well, it’s been said that if you can’t say something nice, then don’t say anything at all. I’ll only say that I think of all the young women and men who have been my students over the years, and I wish them strength in tackling the challenges of change. May they truly begin the battle to regain lost rights for women’s health, regain a thoughtful and balanced government, and find a way to finally start the reversal of climate change. ‘
               Our time here on earth is short, and the future is so very long. But we can all leave behind our own tiny ripple of change, and someday those ripples might join and form a wave, and future generations will thank us for never giving up.
               There is still enough wild nature from which to draw strength. I hope everyone can find some of this strength to carry them through the storms on the near horizons.

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3/15/2022

Vernal Equinox 2022 -- Eddying Out to Rest

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As each new spring arrives and greenery rises with the warming sunshine, I’m filled with hope, despite the dark clouds lurking ever on the horizon. I remind myself to take my eyes off of the distant storms and to look more closely at what spring is revealing right in front of me. In order to do this, I must “eddy out” from the rushing river of society, media, and the violent rapids of human turmoil. I will be right back in that mainstream current as soon as I turn on any device, drive a car, or even look at the mail, but for just a few minutes each day, I seek rest from the rushing river.
            Those resting places, those eddies, are found where a new flower has just bloomed next to a melting snowdrift. They are found inside a spring snowflake’s perfection as it lands on my sleeve, or in a big fat raindrop that tastes like warm weather. They are found in springtime breezes and sunrises and sunsets. They are found when a migrating bird lands nearby for a rest, or when a wintering bird sings a new spring song I’ve not heard since last summer.
They are sometimes even found right in the middle of the city when for just a moment, I’m the only one driving or cycling on a three-block stretch of road, or the only one walking down a normally busy sidewalk. I always take a deep breath of spring air and relish the moment, even if that moment only really lasts a mere a few seconds.
            A number of years ago I compiled a book of essays entitled Interstices, and as I revisit that text with a mind to editing, revising, and perhaps publishing hard copy (It’s only published online on the Smashwords platform), I realize that the concept of The Eddy and the concept of Interstices are one in the same. Even as modern life accelerates to an ever more alarming pace, I return to the slowly evolving magic of springtime, and to the magic of taking “moments between” where rest and rejuvenation will always be a natural part of my existence.
            Happy Vernal Equinox, 2022.

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12/10/2021

Winter Solstice 2021-Wandering Wheels

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9/21/2021

Autumnal Equinox 2021 Altering Perspectives

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Inexorably the seasons change once again. Inevitably our earth’s climate and our world’s sociology change as well, and that change challenges all of us. But as I watch for geese and cranes flying south, and as I joyfully observe the first hints of colors in the aspen, oak, and maple on the mountain, I still find peace of mind and I still harbor hope.
         One of my favorite authors once said that when many people finally open their eyes to how quickly and how radically our climate is changing, this reality will send them from a state of denial into a state of despair. But I know in my heart that there’s an in-between. And as always, I believe in the magnificent regenerative power of Nature. I believe in the inspiring innovative human mind. I believe that both man and nature will survive.
         My heart truly goes out to the millions who suffer the most from fire, flood, drought, and sickness. We must do all we can to help our fellow humans whenever we can. At the same time, I watch with fascination as the changes unfold.
         The changing climate is allowing new plant species to grow in northern places, species that could never survive there before. Waterways are opening up that have been frozen for centuries, and undoubtedly secrets frozen in ice and permafrost are being released and discovered. Unexpected downpours in certain desert places are facilitating explosive blooms of plants that have been dormant for decades. And many animal species are adapting, surviving, perhaps even thriving.
         I know it’s not much, but due to fewer winter storms near home, I was able to commute 150 days on bicycle—something that was impossible ten years ago. (I did have to toughen myself up for the dry cold zero-degree mornings though). I know it’s not much, but I was able to sit out and feel warm rain fall on my face. In my youth, rain was always quite cold. And all the trees we’ve planted on our little half-acre in the suburbs are growing for a month or two longer each year. We now have a small forest—a tiny but significant contribution to a world where so many trees are being consumed by fire.
And so at this time of balance between summer and winter, I seek my own balance with the world around me, my hands outstretched, both holding on to hope.

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6/21/2021

Summer Solstice 2021--a reflection

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This seems to me like the summer of change is upon us. Here in Utah we were fortunate to have spring rains and snows, but the moisture ceased and the furnace turned up for June, and it didn't rain for months. Yet the garden came in beautifully, and by solstice time there was promise of summer and fall harvest--as long as we were careful with irrigation. And before many of the lakes and reservoirs dropped to record lows, we visited a few with our ocean kayaks and greeted the geese, cranes, herons, grebes, sandpipers, ducks, ospreys, eagles, and many others. We also walked upon a few snowfields high in the Wasatch Mountains and listened to the voices in the running waters.
But the drought deepened in the West, fires and smoke impacted everyone nationwide, and floods plagued others. And Covid did not go away. Indeed, change is upon us. Now it is time to start considering ideas of resilience, change, and adaptation. On the longest day of the year, I sat next to our garden, watching the birds snatch insects, and considered what it means to change, to adapt, to survive. By sunset I found peace of mind, not by reminiscing over what has gone, but by believing in the possibilities for the future of mankind along with the future of our natural world.

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6/12/2021

Summer Solstice 2021

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I'm hoping that at least a few of my former students are out there and happen to find this post. It's summer solstice again, and though I have much to celebrate, like retiring from teaching this June, I also have growing concerns for the natural world that we all love so much.
When I began teaching thirty years ago, I was a poet, singer, songwriter, and backcountry guide with a passion for "saving the planet." But aside from writing poems and songs and sharing secret places with people I hoped would vote to protect them, there was little I could do that would have real impact regarding the man/nature interface and its growing crisis.
So I turned to teaching, and in so doing, I have shared with my students knowledge about our natural world that most likely would never have reached them. If knowledge is indeed power, I pray that I have empowered thousands of people to be passionate about our natural world, to understand how our world came to this juncture in time and place and history, and to care enough to make change happen, both on a personal level, and for those with connections, on a political and social level as well.
Let us all now be guided by the wisdom of the authors I was able to teach: Henry David Thoreau, John Muir, Aldo Leopold, Rachel Carson, Edward Abbey, Al Gore, Edward O. Wilson, Rebecca Costa, and many more.

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3/20/2021

Vernal Equinox--Resurging Hope

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Nature and Humanity, inexorably intertwined, evolving as one on this amazing planet Earth, once again slide into Spring. Despite the darkness and storm of winter, the light returns, and so does hope.

No-one will deny the upheaval of this past year—socially, psychologically, physiologically—that formed like malevolent ice on a frozen lake. Many will claim that our world is forever changed. Everyone will admit that this year seemed eternal. Yet here we are on the verge of Spring once again.

As I stand for nearly the last time in front of a classroom full of young adults and lecture, (yes, I am on the verge of retirement) I do not see a world, a culture, a race of people ending. I do not fear for the future and what some feel might be the end of humanity. I see hope, and speak of hope. For all of you who are just beginning this incredible journey, moving from school into society, Spring brings hope. Let me explain.

Creative minds can open new pathways in our world—pathways to alternative energies, to microbiology that heals both humans and their environment, to philosophy that is both new and old, to political processes that encompass all people and all cultures and bring the world together as one. Now is the moment for creative endeavor, and for creative hope. And for those just starting out on this great journey, this fantastic wilderness river trip of life, there will be employment—jobs—lifestyle—success—meaning. I see this for my students just like I see the first rays of light early in the morning subtly glowing in the cool spring eastern sky.

One of my favorite thinkers, Edward O. Wilson, wrote that humanity is approaching a bottleneck where pressures of population and growth and pressures of environmental, social, and technological change are closing in on all sides like a bottleneck. But beyond the bottleneck, openness and hope arise. As humanity moves through this time, potential for all good things like nature, science, philosophy, wisdom, and world peace become ever more expansive. We move past the bottleneck into a bright and fulfilling future. There is no better time than Springtime for seeing the future of the world in this light, a bright light of hope and wonder.

Happy spring!

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12/18/2020

Winter Solstice 2020

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Here we are, on the verge of 2021, and on the verge of change. I find myself quite hungry at this time. I hunger for open spaces, good friends, music to share, and an awareness of what humanity needs to do to help the wonderful, magical natural world from which we all came. I hunger for change. I sense that our political climate is indeed about to change, but I worry about the storm of rich white powerful racist nationalist men who, for some reason, still exist like a cancer on the fine skin of humanity. And so I'm retiring from 27 years of teaching in order to take time to enjoy the few wild places and spaces, the last remaining wild creatures, and the vestiges of clean air and water. I also hope to continue writing and promoting my simple works. I look to the sunlight returning for just one more year, and I look to renewed spring. And I hope, eternally, for a better future. Meanwhile, as I prepare for my departure from the all-consuming world of public educator, I step away knowing that I've contributed to positive change. I step away knowing that I have purchased classroom sets of Aldo Leopold and Rachel Carson for four separate schools. I step away knowing that even if I never see it, I have made a difference. I'm ready for the journey into 2021, and I hope that at least a few readers of my work will accompany me on that journey.

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The music of Memories
Outdoors, out west, out of the ordinary

Mark Doherty

Winter Solstice 2022 -- Reflecting Light

Autumn Equinox 2022

Summer Solstice 2022--Storms and Finding Strength

Vernal Equinox 2022 -- Eddying Out to Rest

Winter Solstice 2021-Wandering Wheels

Autumnal Equinox 2021 Altering Perspectives

Summer Solstice 2021--a reflection

Summer Solstice 2021

Vernal Equinox--Resurging Hope

Winter Solstice 2020

Author

Links to audio recordings of Mark's lyrical poetry:

Whitewater Eyes https://youtu.be/qd0rsmzC5fg

Moenkopi Memories https://youtu.be/c_Kq4FQYFKk

Look for more coming soon!

The music of Memories Outdoors, out west, out of the ordinary

Mark Doherty

Author

Links to audio recordings of Mark's lyrical poetry:Whitewater Eyes https://youtu.be/qd0rsmzC5fg Moenkopi Memories https://youtu.be/c_Kq4FQYFKkLook for more coming soon!

The music of Memories
Outdoors, out west, out of the ordinary

Links to audio recordings of Mark's lyrical poetry:

Whitewater Eyes https://youtu.be/qd0rsmzC5fg

Moenkopi Memories https://youtu.be/c_Kq4FQYFKk

Look for more coming soon!