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Finding a Tree Ally

8/31/2018

Imagine walking into a forest where you are greeted by many old tree friends, each a member of a community. You know their common names, and the secret names they have taught you.

I got to know many more trees in our forest this summer, and they told me their “secret” names. This came about as a result of a Reclaiming class I just finished. One of our assignments was to create “subversive” magic in the mundane world. In other words, expose people to magic without them actually be aware of it.

For my assignment, I painted rocks. Some had pictures—fairies, crows, a dragon, pine trees and puffy clouds. Others had sayings. “As above, so below,” “Blessed Be,” “Magic surrounds you,” “Wyrd” and “Forest Goddess.” Still others had short messages in runes, Theban and sigils. I would put a couple of rocks in my pocket when I went out to hike, and would leave them hidden in plain sight for other hikers to discover.

After a few weeks, some of the trees began to give me reproachful looks as I passed them. What about me? They seemed to say. I want an offering too. Let me leave a message for the human visitors!
I made a point of stopping at those trees. I sat at their base, or leaned against them, my cheek to the bark. “Do you have a secret name or message you’d like to share?” I’d whisper. I got a lot of replies. I mean, a LOT.

I haven’t had the chance to paint a special rock for each tree yet. It’s now clear that my assignment will be continuing into next year. But here are a few names the trees shared, and a little bit about them.

This old man's name is "Forest Gateway" for obvious reasons. He fell along our private neighborhood path into the forest trail, and my neighbor cut him just enough to drag the two trunk sections apart and open the path. This guy has a ton of human and canine interaction. He appreciates the gesture of leaving him where he fell and enjoys being a greeter.

This is "Circle Elder," posing with my Border/Aussie best friend, Teak.

Elder is not happy with me right now, because he reminded me all summer that he wants a painted rock but I haven't gotten it done yet.

I warned him that he won't have it for long. He lives near the gravel circle that visitors use to park their vehicles while they play in the forest.

So, any rock I put on him will be found and claimed by a visitor immediately. But he's insistent. Pushy, in fact.

This tree calls himself "Sniffer." It's not a nickname I'd want, but this Pondarosa Pine says he secretly likes the fact that so many humans stop to smell his bark as they pass. He's in the center of a bend in the trail and so is quite accessible.

I told him I love the vanilla scent of his bark.

He said, "I know. Come back earlier next spring when my sap is running, the scent is much stronger then."

He also asked why the dogs and I don't come to visit more during the winter months. Good question! I said we'd make a point to come up after the holidays, and see if we can make it right before a big snowstorm. Maybe we can get snowed in....

This is "Ghost", a new friend. He is off the beaten path, and not accustomed to interacting with humans as much as the previous ones.

I asked him how he died and he seemed confused and said he didn't remember what happened. He seems very lonely and says he can't communicate much with the surrounding trees,

Hmm. I'm looking forward to spending an extended time getting to know more about him, including his species. I don't think he's a pine--see, he has smooth bark.

This one will be a challenge.

This is "Lantern Man." He is a big guy, with fully leafed branches higher up, and these strong, stubby branches at head height, perfect for hanging a lantern to light the trail.

No, he was not a victim of human pruning. He says he grew this way on purpose.

This tree is exceptionally friendly and outgoing. He stops me to say hello each time I pass. He's a happy guy, and I'm not surprised. Look at the beautiful setting around him, dappled sunlight, and the trail goes right under him. He's about three-quarters of a mile along this lightly-populated trail, so he gets enough company, but never a crowd.

This crazy lady calls herself "Witchwood." The photo doesn't do her justice, she is a striking specimen. She is right across the trail from a very shady, fairy-glen type grove of trees that feels highly magical as well.

I have left painted rocks in "Witchwood" and the adjacent glen three times this season. Every time, the rocks were gone when I went by the next day. Obviously she gets a lot of human attention. When I tried to visit with her, however, she told me to leave her alone.

Finding Your Tree

A simple way to begin to connect deeply with trees is to begin by selecting a species, and then finding an individual tree that calls to you. Different tree species work with different human energy patterns.

Like me, you may find that a specific species has already chosen you! When I starting spending time in Northern Arizona, I was sure that the quaking Aspens, with their golden fall leaves and white bark, would be my best friends.

When we built our cabin, I did a tree spirit blessing, asking the forest to accept their newest human neighbors and keep us safe. Part of that blessing included scattering seeds and corn around the perimeter of the property (the crows loved that part), and keeping a pine branch on the roof for a full moon cycle.

It must have worked. Ever since we moved in, the Ponderosa Pines have talked to me incessantly. It’s clear we’ve been adopted.

Be sure your tree is readily accessible. Pick a spot you like, and then pick your tree. You will want to visit it regularly and do so with minimal hardship, so pick a tree you have easy access to.

When you have found a tree, approach it slowly and allow the tree an opportunity to resist you. You may find you don’t feel comfortable there after all, and that’s okay. Move on. When you do find the right tree, take some time to get acquainted. Gently touch the leaves, and let the tree know you’d like to befriend it. Sometimes walking around the tree slowly clockwise, spiraling inward to the trunk, is a way to gently attract the tree spirit’s attention.

Touch its bark and spend some time standing against it. With your first few breaths, send your attention down into your feet to mingle with the tree’s roots. Then, on the next slow breath, send your attention into the trunk and upwards into the branches.

Close your eyes and listen. What do you hear? Breeze rustling through the canopy? Birds, and if so, what kind? Insects or other critters? This is your tree’s living environment. Enjoy the light and shadow, the movements. Note the pattern the branches form from your viewpoint.
Breathe out slowly again, sending your consciousness upward and downward. Don’t look for meaning or words, just let your consciousness totally absorb the scene around, above and beneath you. Acknowledge the divinity present here, and send your care and respect to the tree spirit before you.

Sometimes you come across a tree whose branches or trunks rub up against themselves or other trees, and when the wind is strong, they creak and bang. These are messenger trees, communicating audibly so that others can hear. Get to know one of these trees if you can. They often have a lot to say, and may be appointed “speakers of the forests.” Sit at the base of the trunk and let the creaking reverberate through your body. Put your ear to the trunk and hear the creaking through the tree. I find many messenger trees in the redwoods forests I’ve visited. In their case, you always want to listen to what they say, as their message is oftentimes, “Look up! Part of me is falling!”

It’s also interesting to examine your tree for its face—nearly every tree has one. Usually somewhere on the bark, there are full or partial facial features. Some say that the location of the tree’s face gives a sense of the tree’s accessibility and friendliness. Well off the ground means the tree prefers not to be approached. I don’t know if that’s true, I’d try talking to it anyway.

If you have some idea how long this tree has been alive, you may try opening your mind to its lifespan and see if it tells you its story.
Invite the tree to be your ally and spirit companion, and ask it to communicate to you any needs it may have, and any way it would like to be communicated with. Does your tree have a secret name it would like to share?

Ask it to guide you in your understanding of trees and tree spirits. Pay attention to any images you receive in your mind’s eye, in addition to any other promptings or feelings. You may not get any answers right now, but it’s important to show your willingness to give it attention, support and care, just like you would give and receive with any friend.
Now you have a new friend! If you don’t know what species the tree is, may a point to consult a reference book and find out when leave. You may want to take a picture of your tree, or draw it in your sketch pad, including a detail of a leaf for reference.

Learn as much as you can about the role this tree plays in your local ecosystem. How was this tree used by humans in the past? Does it still have human uses? What are the features of its wood? How widespread is this species? Is it under threat of any kind? Is it native, naturalized, or considered invasive? Does the tree have any medicinal properties? Knowing the answers to these questions can really help you understand how past humans have worked with this tree (or taken from it).

Another important question to ask is: what is the mythology and magic of this tree? You may need to look to different cultural sources and references to get a full picture. Some trees, like apple, cypress, yew, oak, ash, hemlock, rowan, and many others, are present in both the old and the new world, so you can study the mythology of both.

There are some trees that guard themselves closely, or don’t have faces that are accesable. And there are a few species that have energy that is not compatible with humans—yew and elm are two such species, according Danu Forest, author of the book Celtic Tree Magic.

Also keep in mind the time of year you attempt your communications. Many trees are most active and engaged when their sap is running in the late winter/early spring, or when they are in full foliage in the summer months. As winter approaches, all the trees, even the pines, slow down a bit. You won’t be able to commune with deciduous trees in winter, they will be resting, their energies focused on the terrestrial currents of the land. But you should be able to work with the conifers and the oak all winter.

Develop this relationship consistently through weeks, months and years, visiting your tree at different times of day and night, and different seasons, until you are familiar with its life rhythms.

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Getting Acquainted with Urban Trees

8/24/2018

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Would you like to talk with the trees in your neighborhood, and know what they are thinking and feeling?

First, know that the location of your tree will dictate how you approach it.

Urban trees are often a lot more “awake” than many of their forest counterparts, especially trees in parks and other well-tended places.
Think about it this way: in a remote forest, there are trees who have very likely never had any human interaction at all. A human has never touched them, never tried to speak with them.

Urban trees, on the other hand, live surrounded by humans, were almost certainly planted by humans, watered by humans, and generally have regular human interaction.

Photo credit: Squinert, Melbourne, Australia

A positive example is a tree in a local park or playground. Children play among these trees, climb them, make friends with them and hug them regularly. Adults often come to enjoy their shade, sit against them and read a book, or use them to hang up a hammock and more.

These trees are very open and friendly and are used to human interaction. These big guys are wonderful to talk and work with, and are a great place to start your tree talking.

On the downside, some urban trees have experienced higher than necessary levels of trauma, and might be angry at humans.

Trees may have been visciously pruned, or had their branches broken for no reason, and this will make the trees, as a tribe, angry.

So you may find some angry or sullen trees who feel violated by humans, or who have lost good friends (lots of them) in an urban setting. These trees may not only refuse to speak, but will physically lash out, whacking people with branches, falling onto houses in a storm, tripping you and ripping out the sidewalk with roots.

For these trees, consider doing some land healing activities: Apologize for their bad treatment, witness and honor their pain, give them space but come around often to let them know there are good humans out there.

Urban trees have to withstand different demands than their forest counterparts. Pollution can be especially hard on certain species. For example, at one time, sugar maples were planted heavily in cities all over the United States.

They’re beautiful trees, developing a wide canopy of cool, dense shade. In the fall, the leaves turn into a blaze of gold, orange and red. But the sugar maple is very sensitive to pollution, and as cities began generating more pollution with the advent of power plants, factories and automobiles, the sugar maples couldn’t survive. In smaller urban areas you can still find sugar maples, but they are relatively rare in larger cities now. Do you have any survivors where you live?

For the sake of the tree tribe and the living trees, I think it’s good to honor the fallen trees. One of my favorite things to do involves taking charcoals and doing healing drawings and ogham rune work on the freshly cut stumps, and leaving little blessings, such as acorns, tobacco, lavender, dried corn. In fact, I fill my pockets with these little offerings each time I hike out into Nature, just in case I need it.

If the fallen tree is in your yard, don’t get rid of the stump—use it for a planter!

You can even make a rune set from your favorite tree, and keep its spirit near you.

Figuring out what kind of typical interaction a tree has had with humans is a good start to developing a deeper relationship with that tree—and thinking about the tree’s daily life adds a deeper empathy to your life as well.

Most urban trees these days, are not seen so much as living things, but as something to make the back yard less sunny or to increase the curb appeal of a neighborhood. Bringing them back in line with sacred practice, and recognizing their worth and sacredness, is important part of working with trees and all nature.

One of the things that has happened as humans became disconnected from nature is that the fruits and yields of our trees are no longer honored as they once were.

A century ago, any apple tree was a prized possession, used for raw treats, to make cider, pies and preserves—so prized that they were wassailed and carefully pruned each year to ensure abundant harvests.

Now, people prefer to plant “dwarf” varies to “minimize the mess” because they don’t use the fruit.

The same fate has fallen on the citrus trees in Phoenix. Neighborhoods are infested with roof rats, who feed on the oranges that homeowners let drop, unused, in their yard.

Everyone wants to buy sterile olive trees, so they won’t bear fruit. And mesquite pods are usually raked up with the rest of the yard litter, when they could be ground into a nutritious—and gluten free—flour.

Today, the abundance of our trees is often seen as a waste product. I have found incredible amounts of tree harvest thrown in trash bags at the curb.

My oldest son, who lives in Wisconsin, moved into a new house and discovered his yard was filled with walnut trees, and the ground was covered with black walnuts. Rather than rake them up and throw them away, he did a little research. He found a source, a black walnut association that would pay him for the nuts. Run by the Amish, the association said they would husk the walnuts if Josh would bring them in. He spent a long weekend raking and loading nuts into the back of his pickup, and then hauling them to the collection site.

And this, friends, is what we need to do. It takes a little extra effort, and the pay is paltry or non-existent, but do it anyway.

We eat the tangelos we grow. The lemon tree is so prolific we can’t eat it all (I’m convinced that our years of ritual circles held in front of the lemon tree has given it super powers). We give a lot of it away, and we also slice lemons and freeze the slices, so we have fresh lemon for our tea and water year round. One year, we had a winter “snowbird” vacationing in our neighborhood. She rang the doorbell and asked if she could pick lemons, and brought round two delicious lemon pies the next day in return.

This year, for the first time, we had fruit on our hedge of sour cherry bushes at the cabin. I didn’t even have time to think about what to do with them; one of my book club friends asked if she could pick the bushes and make jam. You bet! I hope she was able to make enough to share next week.

Of course, I never have any trouble finding witches to take a pomegranate fruit from our tree in October. My scrawny little tree has supplied the fruit for many an altar. Yes, I occasionally eat one or put it in a salad too. Unfortunately, we rarely get a hard freeze in Phoenix, and that’s what’s needed to turn the pomegranate fruit that delectable deep red hue. So my seeds are often golden instead. But they taste fine.

The point is, what we don’t dishonor our tree friends by leaving their fruit and nuts on the ground to rot!

I believe that one of the best things we can do to really connect with urban trees is to recognize their yields, honor them by harvesting and using those yields, and plant some of their windfall. This is what sacred work is all about, right? It can become magical work as well, by making inks, applesauce, lemonade, and other tree-based items and food, or drink and seeds that are used to ritual or ceremonial purposes. Just as importantly, when you take the tree within you, you connect with that tree on a new level. You become intimate compadres.

Next week, I’m going to venture into the woods, and talk about forest and wild-growing trees. How to approach them to forge a relationship, inner listening and what to expect, tree faces and “messenger trees.”

Until then, go out and get better acquainted with a tree in your neighborhood! Blessed be.

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Living in the Forest

8/17/2018

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I’ve been thinking a lot about trees lately, ever since I got home from camp in Redwood State Park last month. The park is second-growth redwoods, so tall they turn the sunlight dappled in the afternoon. You can’t help but feel their presence.

Throughout the park are the gigantic stumps of the original stand. The stumps are big enough you could curl up and sleep in them—and several campers actually hung hammocks from the stump edges and slept there. Many of the stumps also provide the base for the newer, second growth trees, so the forest feels ancient and wise, as if the new trees absorbed the knowledge of their predecessors. There’s a lot of magic in that redwood forest.

We live in a forest at our summer home in Northern Arizona. Our cabin backs up against the Coconino National Forest, so we are immersed in tree life. The vanilla scent of the Ponderosa pines wafts across the back porch in early morning.

The raucous noise of the crows who gather in the trees at dawn, give way to the hummingbirds who zoom by us as we eat breakfast on the deck.

I feed the crows peanuts and the neighbors put a feeder out in the forest, so the crows are particularly attentive this summer. Unfortunately, so are the mother raccoon and her four babies.

The forest is, in fact, teeming with wildlife. My husband erected an infrared game camera at the edge of the forest. He and the neighbors keep the area stocked with water and a salt block. In the last month, our little feeding station has been visited by elk, pronghorn deer, a coyote, a grey fox, raccoons, rabbits and a small gang of javalina.

If you live in the forest in the West, fire is always in the back of your mind. This summer started with extreme drought conditions, and the forest fires in California have been some of the worst yet.

We’ve had rain almost every afternoon here, but that brings lightning, a major cause of our forest fires.

The forest gives us advance warning of the inevitable afternoon storms. The trees sway as the wind starts, and their restless branches whisper, “rain, rain, rain.”

The ominous grey clouds begin to build up against each other to the north or east, giving me just enough time to gather the morning newspaper and move inside to feed my suddenly uneasy dog, Teak, some calming treats. Then lightning flashes and thunder booms, shaking the house and driving poor Teak into the laundry room, nose buried behind the laundry basket against the wall. The ratta tat tat of the rain on our tin roof follows right on the heels of the lightning. We’re in the mountains as well as the forest, at 6800’ elevation, and the storms are abrupt and ferocious.

Storms in our desert place in Phoenix are different, they usually start as a dust storm (see last week’s blog on haboobs). The trees in the desert are different too.

They often don’t grow straight up. Instead, they twist themselves around like they’re trying to grow back into the ground. In a way they are; they’re growing aggressively toward their water source.

These guys are survivors.

We also have citrus trees, a lemon and a tangelo. In the spring, our back yard is saturated with the sweet scent of their blossoms, along with the Juicy fruit-gum scent of a Texas Mountain Laurel, with its purple, Wisteria-like drooping blossoms.

Every place I go, I’m reminded that we are all connected in a web of nature, and trees play such an important role in our planetary health. They provide the air we breathe, many fruits and foods, medicines, the wood we use to build our homes, the paper we make to print our books, beautiful sights and scents, and much more.
We speak to trees and they respond. We snuggle among their roots so they can comfort us, and we climb their branches and get a unique view of the world. We touch and smell their rough bark and feel a deeper bond with nature. We look up through their branches and see a dappled world beyond.

What is your favorite tree? Even the most urbane of us will have a tree we like the best, whether it’s a beautiful tree in the park or by the road, a special tree from childhood, or a favorite species.

At this point in my life, it’s hard to choose. The apple tree by my swing set when I was little. It taught me to love apples, right off the tree.

Or the huge, massive oak in the front yard of the first house I bought with my own money. I called that tree the squirrel condo, by the way, plenty of acorns to go around.

Maybe the beautiful maple tree at my grandparent’s house. The one I climbed every day after school. It knocked the breath out of me, so I couldn’t call for help, when I fell out one time. But I kept climbing.

Those mystical redwoods rank high on the list.
And, of course, the vanilla-scented Ponderosa pines I live with now. I’m so grateful I met them while I can still hike. The dogs are grateful also.

All around the world, trees hold a special position as totems of spiritual identity, as well as markers of our cultural heritage and qualities. The Welsh yew is a tree of national pride and has been a sign of cultural resistance, as well as the mysteries of Druidry. The Oak stands for strength, nobility, patience, and guardianship. With a root span as deep and spreading as the branches above, it is a living symbol of, “as above, so below.”

Legends of a “World Tree” abound in most cultures, such as the tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil in the Garden of Eden, the Tree of Life of the Hebrew Kabbalah, and the sacred oak groves of the Druids. The Yggdrasil World Ash Tree in Norse myth rises up from the center of the earth, its branches forming the heavens of the gods, and its roots striking down into hell, where a serpent is entwined at the world’s dark core.

For most any favorite tree you pick, there is likely a myth, a legend, a botanical or magical use.

In fact, our thoughts about trees has barely scratched their surface, so let’s continue next week. For the next blog, I think I’ll start looking for faces in the trees during my forest hikes. I’ll share those faces with you next week, along with how to find “messenger” trees, Celtic tree magic, and an ancient language derived from trees.

In the meantime, you can look for tree faces too. Take a picture, and show me what you find.

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AZ Weather in the Horse Latitudes

8/11/2018

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Before I moved to Arizona to live full-time, I thought the only serious weather issue was the temperature.

The Phoenix area is extremely hot. We average 110 days a year over 100 degrees, and it doesn’t cool off much at night. That heat is relentless.

I’m sure you’ve seen the postcard.

In early July, just when I feel I can’t take it anymore, I will scream if I see another temperature reading of 116 on my car dash, and I swear I’m moving someplace cold before next summer, something changes. Our single-digit humidity begins to creep up to 30% or more.

It’s the first hint that the monsoon season is coming to the desert.

I grew up in the Midwest and was used to lightning and thunderstorms. But when I experienced my first monsoon storm in Arizona, I discovered just how awe-inspiring life in the desert can be.

Though the word monsoon is often misused to refer to a single long, drenching thunderstorm, it is actually the name given to a large-scale weather pattern. The word derives from the mausin, Arabic for “season” or “wind shift.”

Why does Phoenix have summer monsoons? Doesn’t it seems counter-intuitive to have the majority of the rainfall when the temperatures are the highest?

The scientific answer lies in our distance from the equator. You see, we live on the edge of what is called the “horse latitudes,” two subtropical atmospheric high-pressure belts that encircle the Earth around latitudes 30 degrees North in the Northern hemisphere and 30 degrees South in the Southern hemisphere. The horse latitudes are those bands that sailors dread because their ships are becalmed when they hit these high-pressure belts of no wind and clear skies.

Those high pressure ridges are the product of global air circulation known as the Hadley Cell. The air at the equator heats and rises to the lower atmosphere, where it diverges, moving away from the equator, both north and south, until it cools and sinks around the 30th parallel in both hemispheres. At the surface level, the sinking air diverges again with some returning from the equator, completing the Hadley circulation.

The end result is that little or no moisture ever reaches the ground below this climatological high-pressure area. Thus, the horse latitudes produce arid climates in the areas below them. The Sahara, for example, is situated in a horse latitude. So is our own Sonoran desert.

But luckily for us, we get a reprieve.

That the high pressure ridge starts migrating poleward in late spring. The ridge across North America typically migrates far enough northward to begin monsoon conditions across the Desert Southwest in July and continue through September.

On average, Arizona gets about half of its annual rainfall during the summer monsoon.

In addition, the wind shifts direction in the summer. Arizona winds usually come from the west, but they shift to southeasterly in the summer, bringing moisture up from the Gulf of Mexico.
The wind shift and increase in moisture combine with the surface low pressure from the desert heat to produce storms in a cycle of “bursts” (heavy rainfall) and “breaks” (suddenly reduced rain).

Before the rain, the wind shift can trigger dust storms known as haboobs, which appear as loose swirling walls of dust several hundred feet high. The name comes from the Arabic word habb, meaning “wind.” They’re formed when air is forced downward and pushed forward by the front of a thunderstorm cell, picking up dust as it travels across the desert.

Driving through a haboob can be terrifying. Drivers are instructed to pull off the road, turn their lights off, and wait until it has passed.

The downpour from the monsoon thunderstorms spurs plant growth. Desert plants absorb moisture to sustain themselves after the wet season ends.

Prickly pear fruit ripens at this time, turning a dark shade of pink.

Every year I watch, amazed, as my trees grow tall and lush in the midst of such heat, and the plants in my landscape bloom in magenta, bright orange and red.

Who knew the desert had such vibrant plant colors?

Nothing like the delicate pastel pinks, white and lavender blooms of my Midwest yard.

The monsoon rains are always welcome, but also dangerous. Flooding and wind damage is common. All over Arizona, you will see dry riverbeds called washes. During monsoon season, these washes can fill with water very suddenly.

In fact, it may not even be raining where you are for a wash to fill with water, because the rainstorm may be happening upstream from you.

Every season, flash flooding happens and cars, people and even cattle become stranded or washed away.

Sadly, monsoon season also can make a tender box fire season even worse, due to the increased amount of lightning, up to tens of thousands of strikes per night in some areas.

Yes, life in the desert can be harsh. The unique weather patterns and monster storms remind me of the volatility of this rock we’re living on. The vivid bursts of plants, cacti and wildlife show how life can survive, and flourish, in the harshest environment. And the brief monsoon proves with stark reality how precious our water supply is to our survival.

Good lessons, all, don't you think?

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Eating Challenges

8/3/2018

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I’m facing food challenges this week.

First, I had to have a tooth extracted, my first. Plus a bone graft. Oh joy.

Because I hate having any kind of dental pain, I opted to have the oral surgeon put me completely under--general anesthesia. After the assistant inserted my IV, she said, “I’m just going to give you something to help you relax.” And that was the last thing I remember until the surgeon woke me up and assured me, “You did great.”

At the end of the procedure, they also injected a recently-developed analgesic (numbing agent) called Exparel, which is supposed to keep the area numb and pain free for three days, eliminating the need for a narcotic pain reliever. This is day 3 and so far, so good. We’ll see what tomorrow is like when the Exparel wears off. I filled the prescription for the pain killer just in case.

So, now I’m on a no-chewing, soft food only diet for the next week. Soft food is limiting enough, but I’m also diabetic, so my diet cannot consist of mashed potatoes, yogurt and applesauce. I need to continue to eat low-carb and protein rich meals to regulate my blood sugar and to make sure my bone graft “takes” for the upcoming tooth implant.

Here’s what I’ve found that adhere to the doctor’s guidelines, my personal needs, and still taste good. Note: They don’t all look good, but oh well, for this week, appearance is secondary. The main thing is that all of them are hearty enough to eat before taking antibiotics, ibuprofen and other meds that can cause nausea on an empty stomach.

·       Mashed avocado and cottage cheese. Add a little balsamic dressing and garlic powder and it’s tasty.
·       Whipped sweet potatoes, summer squash or cauliflower with butter and favorite seasonings. Just not red or black pepper or dill weed, which get caught in the teeth.
·       Green Smoothies with healthy ingredients (any of the above stuff, plus peach, squeezed lime, blended baby spinach, cucumber and carrot juice, plus a favorite seasoning (I prefer celery salt and garlic).
·       Fruit smoothies with a little frozen banana, strained strawberries and blueberries (the rest of the berries are too seedy), silken tofu, squeezed orange or lemon, and vanilla almond milk. If all of the ingredients are frozen before use, the smoothie is nice and creamy. I freeze almond milk and coconut milk in ice cube trays, and then take them out as needed.
·       Creamed soups with some added quinoa for bulk.
·       Sloppy Joe without the bun. A whipped veggie on the side with a little very finely grated cheese.
·       Cold Gazpacho soup, made creamy style, with a dollop of sour cream and lime juice on top. Yummy! This one will definitely stay in my diet when I return to solid food.
In a few months, after the bone graft is complete, I’ll get to go through all of this again.

So, let me leave you with this bit of hard-earned advice: First, don’t skip a year with your dentist, no matter what. And, second, if you have any tooth pain, don’t assume it’s gum sensitivity and try to cure it with Sensidyne toothpaste. Get it checked out. Trust me—an extra visit to your dentist for a cleaning and x-rays is so much more pleasant and cheaper than the alternatives!

When this adventure in eating is over, next week I’ll share my investigations into “raw eating” with the dogs. And, maybe, cats too.

Here’s to your health. And remember—brushing and flossing is not enough. Get those check-ups!

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Hollow Bones

Finding a Tree Ally

Getting Acquainted with Urban Trees

Living in the Forest

AZ Weather in the Horse Latitudes

Eating Challenges

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