April 2025 - ayikipisim (Frog Moon)

Welcome to the last post of my 13 Grandmother Moon series, what a journey it has been!

It is hard to believe that a whole year has passed since I began these posts. I have learned and grown so much, both in the 13 Grandmother Moons course and through connecting with the land. So much has changed and so much remains the same here in kahasiniskak sipisis pasahcaw (Mill Creek Ravine).

The spring is an interesting time, because both new life and old snow are evidenced on the land. I am struck by the contrast of paths that are perfectly dry and sunlit, and other areas which are more shady and still covered with ice and snow. I pause to breathe it all in, this balance of light and heavy, warm and cool sections of the earth I have been walking regularly in the past weeks and moons.

I take a closer look at the ground in different places. Here there are pinecones, there is fresh grass. Now there is ice, and as always, rocks. I love how different the ground can be within the same small area of land.

As I walk through this uplifting place, I am filled with happy memories and reunions with aspects of the land that I have connected with during the past year. Here is the creek, sparkling in the sun and flowing in the warm air, which just recently hosted icy crystals on its surface. There is the orange brain or jelly fungus - it survived the winter and I resisted the temptation to peek under the snow! (The fungus is the tiny orange dots on the log below, I only found it again because now I know where to look). Because I only discovered it in August, I am looking forward to watching it swell and grow from its shriveled, hibernating winter form into its bigger, brighter summer self.

As I stare out at the banks of the familiar creek, I try to open my senses, to pause and sense what is being communicated to me, how I am perceiving it, and how I interpret it. The usual feelings of peace, space, nourishment, and grounding fill me with calm expectancy. What is being communicated is promises made and promises kept. I made a commitment to visit and be in relationship with the land, and have tried to ensure that this relationship is reciprocal. I have kept my promise to visit here regularly, and the memories and connections I am reminded of today reassure me that the end of this course and these past 13 moons do not at all mean an end of this relationship or my time on the land. There is so much to learn, to see, and to do; I have so many questions and a strong desire to maintain this relationship with my special place. I perceive the promises made and kept with the re-emergence of the orange fungus, the thawing of the creek and the land, and the blades of grass sprouting all around me. There will be a continuance; this moon does not represent an end of any kind.

As I examine the earth, I think to myself, "The grass is fast". It is fast, and sneaky! I remember how barren the land was last moon, but now green is flushing through the dry brown leaves, and shimmering in the treetops as the first leafy buds emerge. It is faint, but it is there, growing stealthily and quickly. Another thing communicated to me is a guarantee that the world will keep turning. Seasons will come and go, some things will vanish forever but others will remain, keeping the same shape or changing form over time. I perceive this with the familiarity of this moon, when I think back on how the land looked last April, last ayikipisim. I interpret this as a feeling of grounding and safety: I might leave this place or the earth, but the land will not leave me.

I am drawn to the rocks of this place more so than ever. Of all the living and nonliving elements in the ravine and along the banks of the creek, the rocks are the most stable, present, and anchoring. I will try to communicate what I am learning this month with rocks.

When I turn to leave, a small bird catches my eye. It is a black-capped chickadee, one of my favorites. It flits overhead, from a stump to a branch and back again. This tiny bird seems to have no fear of me, and it is highly interested in the stump - which I have never really noticed before. I wonder if it has a nest in there, or what is so intriguing? I wish I had brought food for the bird, to help it along but also to draw it closer. When I sneak a peek, I see no nest but dried wood bits in the stump's hollow. There must be insects or seeds inside for the chickadee to eat! I did not need to bring food, or to bring the bird closer. It is close, there is food, the earth will provide. Again, a sense of continuity, stability, and grounding is being communicated to me even as I start to walk out of this place. I love it here, and already cannot wait to return.

Thinking about constancy and continuity, rocks will guide the peg dolls I create to express what I am learning this month. I tried to choose a variety that reflected the colors and shapes I saw on the ground. Here is my last set of peg dolls, the last winter moon symbols, that represent the conclusion of this course.

I like that they are a bit smudged and seem a little bit dirty. The earth looks messy this time of year, dust and mud and bits of things are everywhere, and the peg dolls reflect that. I don't have a favorite, but I love the different colors and shapes!

Last Thoughts on Going Outside with Children

Over the past 13 Grandmother moons, I have offered tips and reflections about spending time on the land with young ones. I have shared some of my favorite memories of my own children and the ten years I ran my family day home. Instead of offering more ideas, I encourage you to make your own! The outdoors is a place of wonder, invitation, curiosity, and engagement. Children are some of our very best teachers; they invite us to look closer, slow down, and explore the intricacies of the natural world. Open the door. Step outside. And stay for as long as you can.