Blessings from Bubo

They say that, when one experiences repetition in numbers or in visits from the wildlife nearby, whether in the conscious or subconscious state, the Universe offers these synchronicities as a message needed for that being; something surreal and life-altering. What we take from those visits, if we pay close enough attention to details and the intense feelings of these momentous occasions is up to our divine interpretation, if we attempt to interpret them. Not everybody does.

Now, I don’t know who the collective They or them are, though I’m certain many had to have been shamans, healers, sages and other deeply spiritual beings. It sounds very much like something they would translate into such terms and, after some of the adventures I’ve been blessed to experience in my life, I’m inclined to agree –whole-heartedly.

Who am I? You’re likely wondering. I’m on the journey to discovering that myself, but I am called Sam Younger, a single mother to two brilliant boys who, ordinarily would be accompanying me on our escapades with our adventure-thirsty Silver Labs. This summer, though, was their first –correction- our first apart from each other for an extended amount of time. They would be spending a majority of it with their dad, helping out at the family hotels and café in the wide, Wild West, river-running on the Green River, camping and hiking in the canyons and we’d all done together years before.

Meanwhile, I would be working my jobs, forcing myself to refrain from being the stereotypical Helicopter Mom and grab life by the reins in the interim. My goal was to fully experience this Siren call to assume the Quests I’d been craving, but had been far too timid most of my life to truly embrace and savor on my own. Until now.

My journey took me from my comfortable and busy life on the Redneck Riviera of the Emerald Coast up into the ever-inspiring mountains of Southwestern Virginia, near the Appalachians. A place I’ve been to and enjoyed many times with my boys and our canine compadres. This would be a completely different sojourn. One I fully expected to more fully open my eyes, heart, and mind, but not with the intensity that it had.

Sixty-one acres of mostly-forested mountain complete with vibrantly-colored wildflowers, shrubs, ivy, trickling streams and a beautiful, self-sustaining mountaintop lake. Mental images of Bob Ross recreating it on canvas complete with happy clouds reflecting off the smooth surface of the lake makes me chuckle to myself and fills me with a longing to be there as often as I can. A smile tugs at the corners of my mouth as I recall our first sojourn there; a fishing attempt that while not very fruitful- still makes us laugh at the now-fond, silly memory. Yes, going from the World’s Luckiest Fishing village where one can pull up Snapper and Triggerfish moments after dropping your line from the fishing boat, one has expectations and hopes of catching some Pike, Catfish, perhaps even some bass. We’d ended up catching a great, big, water-laden log that was too heavy to reel in so we’d had to cut the line to not break the rod.

Thankfully, this Mother Goose is both prepared and resourceful. I’d already purchased some trout from the market and it was ready to be cooked up in the form of a hobo-dinner, so it wasn’t a complete loss. There’s just something extra satisfying about cooking up fish you catch and clean yourself that makes the flavor that much more pleasant.

On this particular trip, I’d done the same. In my cooler, I had a nice fillet of Rainbow trout already packaged up with onions, zucchini and herbs from my grandparents’ garden, complete with a couple slices of Applewood-smoked bacon to keep the fish from drying out. It was all wrapped up and ready to toss from cooler to coals for after I had my fire started.

The drive up the mountain to the lake is always so peaceful and serene. True, it is slow-going at a fifteen to twenty mile an hour pace after your turn off the Highway, with all the bends and turns on the road safety is key, but it allows one to better appreciate the surrounding splendor. Deciduous oak, Maple, Beech, Cherry, Magnolias, and Yellow Birch are interspersed with Hemlock in the lower elevations. As you make the climb higher, Red Spruce, Rhododendrons, Mountain Laurel thickets and dozens of fern species, Trilliums, wild Orchids, Flame Azaleas and Violets greet you along the way. A breathy Thank You has often been whispered in gratitude for the wild splendor of this place with a resounding HOME that echoes in my very soul.

It was a holiday weekend, I knew it would be busy, so I’d made certain to get to the campgrounds early enough to secure myself a cozy spot away from where most others would be making their weekend homes. With my new marigold-colored tent –Thank you, Outlet Discounts- pitched, tarps beneath and prepared for above should the weather shift, my pack, mummy bag, and teddy bear creating a cozy atmosphere inside, I changed my clothes and set off for a stroll down to the lake. Not in your usual camping togs, I’ve never been your usual girl. Instead, over my modest, one-piece swimming suit, I had pulled on a diaphanous white with floral pattern dress that had multiple slits all around the legs that I’d scored from one of the Goodwill stores Clearance racks. No, I wasn’t trying to capture the attention of any humans there.

In my mind, I was Titania, Queen of the Faeries, or Artemis ready to be greeted by my wildlife admirers. Also, no, I hadn’t taken any sort of Hallucinogen, I have always had an incredible vivid imagination. In this world, but never truly of this world, and I’ve always been perfectly happy about it. Beats sitting back and letting this beautiful mind and vessel go to waste watching whatever entertainment they have streaming on the tv.

Were there other campers there, watching me as I moved through the grasses, sedges, and rushes as though I’m an otherworldly being? The probability is high, probably even higher that they thought I just might be herbal-enhanced. I’d definitely take it as a compliment if they did believe that I appeared as a being slipped through the veil to enjoy the Divine creations surrounding us. Did I pay any attention or care otherwise? Not one ounce. I was there to commune with Nature, and nothing or nobody was going to stop me. Nothing and Nobody did.

I meandered around, aimlessly, my hands out to my sides, savoring the faint tickle of the leaves and blossoms on my fingertips and palms. My unbound hair tickling my face and shoulders in the gentle breeze that also had my dress playfully tangling about my legs. At an altitude of thirty-five hundred feet above sea-level, away from toxic fumes where one can breathe in and enjoy the heady aroma of the Spruce and other Flora, it can certainly aid in clearing one’s mind of any concerns, so long as one allows their mind to be clear.

The thrum of the earth’s energy pulsing through the soles f my bare feet and playing in my heart could easily be compared to a composition played by Lindsey Stirling or Josh Vietti. The music Gaia shares with me when I tune into her station brings a light into my being that feels as though I’ve slipped into another realm where others don’t concern me. Who needs earbuds when you can tune into Mother Earth’s sweet symphony?

Before I lost any more daylight, I sauntered back to my camp to set up my fire. My dear uncle, who is more like a big brother to me, we get along so well and the difference in our age is just a few years, had sent me up the mountain with some wood from his house in case there wasn’t anything dry to use. While my fire-starting skills at that time couldn’t be described as Survivalist-worthy, I was able to get it glowing and my coals heated up enough to cook my hobo-dinner.

The flavors from the crackling Beech wood combined with what was already packaged together in the foil pouch was mouth-watering. Say what you will about the combination, but properly cured bacon cooked together with fish, onions and veggies is remarkable.

With a full belly, a body satisfied from a peaceful stroll, and the warm lull of a fire, it is easy to get drawn into a meditative state when taking in the dancing flames and brilliantly-colored embers. So accustomed to seeing bright oranges, soft violets, and lava reds, I was pleasantly discombobulated by the stunning variety of pinks. To not capture it all on camera would have been a crime of unnatural proportions, especially as the sky darkened further. I’ve never even much of a pink-lover, but I was so enamored of the varying, glowing shades, I was positively entranced. There is no other word in my internal thesaurus to properly describe how compelled my gaze was to not drift away from the fire.

A faint shriek echoed by two others in different locations pulled me from my trance. I am aware of the Black Bears, Bobcats, and Raccoons that inhabit the area and didn’t want to entice them into my campsite on this particular journey, thrilling as it might have been, so I’d set the scraps into the fire, offering them to Ares and Hephaestus as thanks for keeping my fire going so beautifully and keeping me so toasty warm. The shrieking continued, I’d considered perhaps some squirrel or grouse had unfortunately become dinner to larger predator, it was an unfamiliar sound to me.

As the screeching grew louder and closer to my camp, I used the video setting on my phone to capture the noise so I could replay it for my grandpa, a skilled hunter, who might be able to identify the animal for me after getting back down the mountain. I might not have cell service up there, but the camera and flashlight apps work well enough and that was all I needed.

Nearby, I saw a light figure moving about just on the other side of the old wooden fence from my site. With my fire down to mostly embers by that time, and it being too late to justify adding more kindling when I’d likely be going into my tent anyway, it was difficult to see what the figure was and I didn’t want to frighten it away with my flashlight. I took as many pictures as I could with my phone camera set on night mode. Something large and white flying directly past me startled me, only for a moment, but enough to get a little squeak out of me and draw its attention. The incredible white expanse of its wings was amazing.

There, on the old wooden fence, it perched not twenty feet from me. I moved as stealthily as I was able, which –in actuality- isn’t very stealthy at all because I didn’t want to take my eyes off this magnificent gift from Athena. A barn owl, gracing me with its wise presence. Truthfully, I don’t know how I didn’t scare it off with all the leaves crunching and twigs snapping under my shoes I’d been wise enough to slip on –along with my jeans- before starting my fire earlier.

Perhaps, I amused it; perhaps, it was just as curious about me and my intrigued, awed energy as I was about it. Somehow, for some reason known only to the universe, it decided to stay, to watch me and allow me to take my photos, and stayed even after slipping my phone into the back pocket of my faded denims. I reveled in wonder that, in all the years I’ve come to this place, it was on this particular sojourn that I was blessed by his visit. I caught and held my breath, slowly edging closer, close enough to see the shifting of its snowy white feathers in the inky dark night; to catch the contrast of the longer, delicately patterned feathers against the smaller, softer, downier ones beneath. In the distance, I double hear the other two calling from opposing directions. This one, I’d decided to call him Bubo after Athena’s owl, called back. Fertile my imagination may be, but I’d never thought to be so close to a wild owl.

Bubo stared at me, telling me without words that he was allowing me to see him because it amused him to do so. My belief is that my energy was so pure and filled with such reverence he could sense it and that was why he allowed me to sidle up closer. Or he wanted a much closer view of the Village Idiot expression I was likely wearing to share with his compatriots when next seeing them. That’ll give ‘em a Hoot! I could imagine him thinking and barely suppressed the urge to laugh aloud at my silly sense of humor.

I prefer to think it was the former, but either way, I wouldn’t have cared. The sense of deification that filled me in those minutes had altered me on a deeply spiritual level. As if deeming me worthy of his lofty presence, Bubo met my astonished gaze and I could see there were eons of knowledge in their depths. My breath hitched and his feathers ruffled a bit, it could have been the breeze, but I was extremely close to him.

Slowly, I raised my hand, reaching out tentatively to see if he’d allow me to touch him, to feel the magnificence of his ethereal energy under my fingertips. So entranced was I, that I hadn’t paid any further heed of the screeching of the other owls coming closer. As though he was alerting them to having come upon a human worth enough to be graced with their presence. Stars, how worthy I felt, so completely aligned with the Divine that the Universe was blessing me threefold. The other two had flown over the fence, startling me when they’d flown past; one finding perch on a lower branch of a nearby Red Spruce, the other into the clearing between the trees, lit up in the moonlight like the celestial being it was.

I’m a big believer in Angel Numbers, as well as the power numbers have behind them. Three happens to be my favorite number, so much so that much of the time when I see triple threes, I get a giddy feeling in my heart and goosebumps on my arms and nape. So, to be so glorified to have three owls come to grace me with their presence, all together and on the same night was beyond magical for me. They were bringing me a clear message from the Universe. What it was, in that moment, I didn’t know, but was hoping to find out. Again, I slowly raised my hand in an attempt to see if Bubo would allow me to touch his feathers, to feel the heat radiating from him.

I would love to be able to honestly say he did. Or that he or one of his feathered friends had gifted me with a glossy feather; that the Divine had a message for me complete with sealed scroll or envelope written out especially for me with some mind-blowing secret from the Ether–Too much Harry Potter, I know. Stars, even a little nip on my hand for getting too close to carry with me a special memory would have been welcome.

Unfortunately, a noisy pickup truck towing the small fishing boat loaded with fireworks chose that moment to crunch noisily over the pebbles on the dirt road at close to thirty miles an hour interrupted the pristine energy as they tore through the camp area, music blaring on the radio, only for them to turn around and head back, taking the turn towards the boat ramp.

The three of them were gone from my sight so quickly, I felt instantly bereft at their hasty departure. The irritation I felt at such disrespectful people breaking up at divinely-timed meeting and message from the Heavens grated at me. Upset my alignment with nature, I supposed. I waited for them to come back, but their departing shrieks moved further and further away until I could no longer hear them.

After flossing and brushing, I ensured the embers were out by pouring sand and water over them and stirring until smoke no longer rose up from the rock-enclosed pit. Smokey the Bear would have puffed up in proud approval in my forest fire preventive measures. I crawled back into my tent, bundled up in my sleeping bag and snuggled up with Bubba, my teddy bear I’d brought on all my adventures with me since I was a toddler, believing that after the excitement, I wouldn’t be able to sleep a wink. I was wrong, but the last thing I heard before drifting off to dream land was a distant screech, almost as if casting a sleep spell over me.

The next morning, I woke refreshed, eager to look for any sign of my late night magic assembly with my feathered friends, but not a single feather, white or otherwise, was to be found in any of the areas where I’d seen them. So my attention turned instead to the lake to bask in the majestic sight of the mist rising off the glassy surface, adding to the mystical atmosphere. A feather or divinely-written message would have been miraculous, the latter was highly unlikely, but if you don’t ask, the answer is a resounding No. In the long-run, though, I was blessed enough to have had the experience at all and it will forever remain in my mental scrapbook.

Later that morning, I took my bike for a ride on a trail I’d never been on, in search of a Cliffside I’d heard about but never seen. An older couple, seated comfortably under the awning of their RV had given instructions on how to find them, but I must’ve taken a wrong turn at some point. I love wrong turns in these instances. They take you down new paths you wouldn’t have otherwise found. On this particular wrong turn, I found a beautiful, stately oak that had forked close to the base of the trunk that created a small pool of rainwater.

Stump water, which is rain water that naturally collects in a tree stump or in a natural hole in a tree is considered to have magical and healing properties. It’s also considered to be lucky and takes on whatever magical properties of the tree in which it is found and can mimic the tree’s power.

In ancient Greece, there was a sacred grove of Oak trees with a reputation in the area of prophecy. In many myths, Faery folk live in Oak trees and bushes. They are deeply grounding trees and, if you speak to them, they offer you grounded wisdom. Also, in many cultures, it is believed owls are signs of wisdom, curiosity, courage, and transformation. Taking that wrong turn had proven to be fortuitous because, as I collected some of the Stump Water in one of the glass bottles I seem to always bring with me on my adventures, I found a white owl feather that matched the patterns I’d been able to pick up on Bubo the night before.

Since then, I continue to grow, to transform, to seek and obtain wisdom that’s been around for Millenia but disregarded by the general masses as Hocus Pocus. My very life has transformed, along with my relationships, my feelings about relationships that no longer serve, and what I truly want in this life time. All of it has altered course onto a path so new to me and I relish each change, no matter how miniscule it may seem to others.

I kept the feather, and regularly go back to that Majestic Oak where I collected the Stump Water, gathering new bottles each time. I won’t repeat what my youngest son compared it to, but it was colorful. His concern was that I would drink it and go off the deep end. I add it to my plants on occasion and they’re magically thriving. I can only believe that because most of my other plants tend to disappear back into the ground seeking asylum from me. I have shared this with my boys, and, had I not taken the pictures and captured the footage that I had, along with the gifted feather, they likely would think it was another story from my wildly vivid imagination. Until next we meet, Bubo.