There are certain things that still speak to me. Wild things.  I hope I never lose track of them. However it doesn’t escape me that they become more and more difficult to pursue. 75387c95fa59776fbd3b911e72510bdeI hate that. Less for myself, more so for those that come after me.

My girlfriends and I, all of a certain age, have been talking more and more about this stage of life we find ourselves in. Not still “young”, yet not what we see as “old.” Nestled in between those two definitions…. Still dreaming of who we will become, and thankful we survived who we were.  Wondering how we hold on to our “wild,” yet setting a role model to those young women looking for guidance.  For it is our “wild” that in so many ways, moved us forward, as if the wind to our sails.

I think wild has gotten a bad wrap. Often seen as a rebellion of sorts. Some negative image of being unruly and out of control when in all truth it is none of that.  It is that “thing” that reminds us to listen to the inner voice… the gut…. that instinctively knows the truth.  How often I relied on that when I was a young mom… a young wife…. a young woman… going against the social norms. . . . that wild thing that whispered, “they are your kids, you know what they need.” That wild thing that screamed, “don’t give up, God’s not done with either of you, yet.” That wild thing that said, “its your body, you know if something is right or wrong.”

I was reminded of the wild again this past weekend as I again harvested the elderberries that grow “wild” at our families cabin. No one tells it to. Yet, it had an older tree who spread its roots… drop its seeds and left its impact on the young trees in its path.

There is a beauty in the wild. I loved standing in front of the elder tree and be reminded that in order for it to remain wild… in order for the next generation to marvel in it, they need to see it, to experience it, to see that wild is not always a negative… I love the idea that this tree was not “planted” by any man…. it didn’t require mans approval to be… its worth isn’t wrapped up in someone elses ideals about it. Rather, its very exsistance.. its value.. its beauty a God thing.  And, those that know that… know the value that it brings.

I stood in my kitchen and made jelly and Sambucus (a mountain medicinal used to build the immune system during cold and flu season), reminded that I know this because of a heritage passed down.

My life is a lot like that tree who passed down its seed to the next generation. My friends and I, are at that age where we need to be more vocal about what it is that we know. The things that life has brilliantly, and in some cases not so brilliantly, taught us… things like; you can survive this, your babies are only babies for a short time, what you are going through is not unique to you, secrets do more damage in the dark, and you are not alone. Mostly I guess I want them to know that their wild, isn’t always a negative. It can be the thing that moves you to that next place, where life can look better, so that when it is your turn, you too can help the next generation of women who need to see you as a tree firmly planted in the wild, bearing fruit that nourishes and heals.

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