I sleep and dream in a tent surrounded by grasses and wildflowers. On one side of my tent is a vegetable garden and on the other is a narrow stretch of forest along the Bighead river. Above my tent is a branch on a 45 degree angle that leans against a vertical branch sticking out of the ground.
This is where, every morning, sometime between first light and sunrise, a song sparrow perches and joins the other birds in singing thanksgiving to the world. Sure, an ecologist would say that birdsong is a way of declaring territory, or possibly attracting a mate and maintaining that bond. But maybe this is not the only reason.
The original human inhabitants of this land, who over thousands of years came to understand the plant and animal beings better than most of us can even being to imagine, say that birds also sing to cheer up and inspire human beings and to give thanksgiving. By singing far more beautifully than a conventional alarm clock, this song sparrow has inspired me to share some of life’s wonders I am grateful for.
First, to the sun I give thanks for bringing each new day and bathing the Earth with light and energy.
To the Earth, our mother, I give thanks for nurturing and sustaining all life through cycles of growth, decay, and regeneration.
To the waters, the ponds, streams, rivers, lakes, oceans, the waters below ground and in the atmosphere and within the bodies of all living things, I give thanks for quenching our thirst, delivering nutrients to the roots of plants, cleaning the Earth, and holding the sun’s energy.
I give thanks to the atmosphere, that thin layer of air within and above the Earth that is the breath of all life.
Thanks to the plant beings that stretch from the low growing shrubs to the tallest trees for holding and enriching the soil, for purifying the air, and for providing sustenance for all the animals, including humans.
Thanks to all the animal beings. Those that dwell in the waters and keep the waters clean, those that dwell in and on the Earth and in the air. Thank you for providing sustenance in times of need, for being our teachers, and for inspiring us with your beauty and diversity of skills.
Thanks to all the people of the Earth, friends and family, those we have not met, those who came before us, and those still to come.
I give thanks to the moon for reflecting the sun’s light at night and for causing the tides in the ocean and in our bodies. To the stars and galaxies of the vast universe, I send thanks. Besides giving light when the moon cannot be seen, the stars tell us direction, hold stories remembered and forgotten, and provide perspective and equanimity.
Lastly, I give thanks to the universal creative force within all things, the Great Mystery that is the essence of Being. Indigenous peoples all over the world have always had as a central part of their cultures some variation of the thanksgiving address, what the Haudenosaunee (Iroquois confederacy) call the Ohenton Karihwatehkwen (the words that come before all else). It reminds us of the deep, interdependent connection that we share with all life and all the elements of the universe that support life.
As relative newcomers to this land (North America or Turtle Island) and as part of a culture whose colonialist mindset continues to systematically degrade and sever the strands in the web of life, we would do well to restore awareness of these relationships. The consequences of not doing so is losing recognition of what we have lost and what we are losing, and thus lessening the quality of life for those alive now and those still to come.
I grew up around St. Marys, about a two and a half hour drive south of Meaford. Like much of southern Ontario, the great forests are gone there except for some tiny fragmented wood lots surrounded by vast farm fields where natural soil fertility is rapidly being depleted and often exported in the form of corn, soybeans or meat.
The Thames River flows through town, but nobody swims in it or eats the fish that were once so abundant and diverse there. Various sources of industrial pollution, including pesticides and high levels of bacteria from sewage and livestock are the main reason.
Much of the riparian zone vegetation that once kept the river clean has been removed for roads, lawns, and farm fields.
But that is not the main focus of this article, or future articles I intend to write for The Meaford Independent. Rather, I hope to in some small way contribute to a growing culture of nature connection, perhaps by sharing some stories of the life in this community that often goes unnoticed and under-appreciated.
