Awakening in the Catskills

The Power of Place

There are moments in life when we stumble upon threads of our history so powerful they seem to reach across time, knitting us into the fabric of those who came before us. My recent journey through the Catskills was just such a moment—a DNA awakening in the truest sense.

The call of these mountains has always been close to my heart, but this time, as I walked the woods near old family farms, it was as if I were moving through layers of memory. With each step, I felt my feet touching the soil and the echo of my ancestors' steps, overlapping with my own. The air, crisp and quiet, whispered stories long-forgotten but still alive in the veins of those who listen closely enough. These were my family’s woods—the places they once labored, laughed, and lived—and I was here, decades and generations later, breathing in the same air.

One of the most powerful stops was at an ancient wooden church, weathered but dignified, standing tall as it must have for centuries. It was easy to imagine distant relatives gathering here, offering prayers, seeking strength and community, possibly even holding their children up for blessings as I felt their essence brushing by me. In that quiet sanctuary, I sensed their spirits, a soft murmur in the walls and a resonance that held me in profound stillness. This was sacred ground—not only for the faithful but for me, as it awakened some deep-rooted understanding that defies words.

As I stood by the Hudson River, my hand dipping into its cold, steady waters, the experience felt almost mythic. The sight of its sweeping flow shook something inside me; it was a homecoming. The water, rushing around my fingers, was both familiar and astonishing, as if it had been waiting for me all along. In that moment, there was a recognition—a knowing so deep it brought tears to my eyes. This river, this powerful force carving its way through New York's landscape, had also shaped my family’s story. They too must have felt its power, let it anchor them, and maybe even trusted it to carry their dreams along its current.

The Catskills are no longer just a beloved place of beauty for me; they are something richer, deeper, alive with the rhythms of my past. I returned feeling altered, with a sense of grounding that has rewired my very DNA. There is a quiet, yet indelible, knowing now—a connection that I will carry forward with reverence, gratitude, and a deeper understanding of the land, family, and stories that live within me.

Little Joys

 This morning, as I sat in my home office, deep in thought, Lulu made her entrance with the quiet majesty only she could muster. Her bright blue eyes gleamed with purpose, and in her mouth was a delicate red dragonfly, its wings still fluttering. She chirped proudly, her soft purr rising in the still air as she presented her living gift. I paused, admiring her offering, knowing she awaited my full appreciation.

Kneeling beside her, I murmured my thanks. Lulu's purring grew even louder, a soft hum of satisfaction. Her eyes flicked between me and the dragonfly as if to say, “See what I’ve brought you? Aren't I clever?” After a few moments of shared admiration, she gave a tiny nod and a slow blink, clearly pleased with my gratitude. With that, she padded over to a sunbeam streaming through the window, curling up into a contented ball, her task complete.

I cradled the dragonfly gently in my hands, feeling the delicate hum of its wings. Standing by the open window, I watched it catch the breeze as I released it, its crimson form darting into the world beyond. 

Lulu, now basking in the sunlight, was already dreaming while the dragonfly danced away into the day. Our quiet exchange was complete in the soft rhythm of home and nature—a perfect example of the beauty in simple moments.