Serpent Box: A Book with a Soul

Serpent Box, a novel by our own Vincent Louis Carrella, who writes a column for Stone Voices, has been on my reading pile for a few years now. Earlier this month, while getting ready to head out to spend a few weeks in the north Maine woods, I snatched it from its temporary resting place and put it in my bag. It was a great decision.

The book is a gem. I love a book with a soul, a book whose words wrap themselves around me in a tight embrace and won’t let go, a book that greets me in the morning while I’m sipping tea, and a book that provides me with my last thoughts before falling asleep for the night. Serpent Box has a soul. Here's a snippet:

Baxter once said that a man in the woods was about the purest thing there was in the world, and the closest he could come to knowing God. A man can never buy with money this thing that the Lord gave him for free, he said. That sense of awe and respect one derives from the trees and the earth and all things that dwell in between them. He told Jacob that poetry was all around him, in the grass and on the surface of the leaves, and that the Bible was full of good words designed to mimic what could never be written, but could sometimes be heard and always seen—the rising water, the falling rain, the rush of river and wind, the passage of cloud banks and great ruminant herds, buffalo and elk and the trailing packs of carnivores, both man and wild dog, wanderers all, in endless migration to the grasslands that feed them. He told them that magic is neither myth nor mystery but that which cannot be explained or understood—which is how the world was and should always be. There’s magic in a caterpillar, he told him, and in an acorn and behind the stars. His ancestors had understood this. They worshipped the forest as some white men worship God He had only come to know and love God through time spent in the woods . . . .

Christine Cote
Shanti Arts 

Fall...What a Glorious Season

It's been a good summer...not too hot, not too terribly busy. Time to enjoy everything around me...my new puppy, my beautiful flowering shrubs, the mounds of ferns in the woods, family and friends. But summer in Maine always goes so fast. Spring doesn't seem to end until July 4th, and then by mid-August, the shadows are long, the leaves start turning, and the cicadas are buzzing in the trees—sure signs that fall is almost here. 

Today was a glorious day, the kind of day that ends with a warmth in your heart and a smile of contentment on your face. I got some editing done, worked in my yard pulling weeds and clearing out brush, wrapped some presents and made a cake for my friend whose birthday we will celebrate tomorrow, and sat on the deck answering email and watching my dogs chase each other around in the woods. It was warm, but not too hot, and there was a strong breeze coming out of the northeast that felt so good. I can't count the number of times I said, "It feels like a fall day."

Then, no coincidence, I'm sure, I pulled up the website of one of our artists, Susan Landor Keegin. Susan has exhibited her work numerous times at Still Point Art Gallery, and her work was featured in the summer 2014 issue of Still Point Arts Quarterly. I went to her site today to check the titles of a few paintings that will appear in our upcoming winter issue, and saw this lovely image...

Glorious fall, with its reds and golds, crunchy leaves, cool temperatures, and earthy smells. Pure delight. I easily imagine myself in this splendid landscape, enjoying it with every one of my senses and breathing it into my pores. Fall...what a glorious season. 

Christine Cote

Shanti Arts

Jack-in-the-Pulpit

It is not colorful, it has no sweet flowery scent, and it can very easily be missed as one strolls through the woods, but the Jack-in-the-Pulpit is quite possibly my favorite plant. When I moved to Maine twenty years ago, I found a few of these interesting plants growing in my woods, and I have carefully transplanted, protected, and nurtured them so that I now have several dozen growing and blooming in my gardens and plenty more still in the woods behind my house.

I think of Jack-in-the-Pulpit as the quintessential New England wildflower, though I'm told it can be found as far west as Minnesota and as far south as Florida. It is most certainly a plant found in the moist coniferous woods of the northeast, much like two of my other favorites—the Trillium and the Lady's Slipper. But Jack is so adorable—the cute little guy standing tall in his pulpit covered with a stunning purple and green striped hoodie.

From Jack-in-the-Pulpit, edited by J. G. Whittier, 1884

Jack in-the-pulpit
 Preaches to-day
Under the green trees
 Just over the way. 

Squirrel and song-sparrow,
 High on their perch,
Hear the sweet lily-bells
 Ringing to church. 

Come, hear what his reverence
 Rises to say
In his low painted pulpit
 This calm Sabbath day.

Christine Cote
Shanti Arts

Enfolded in Benign Embrace

I have never been afraid in the woods. 

I am calmed there, as though enfolded in benign embrace.  

This is the opening paragraph in Shanti Arts Publishing's recent release, Current: Essays on the Passing of Time in the Woods. This short paragraph alone convinced me to publish this book. 

Jeffrey Stoner. Road of Man Colors.

I first came to know Robert McGowan, the author of Current, when he submitted his essay, "Discovery," for possible publication in Stone Voices. After I read the essay, I immediately turned to my computer to write to Rob to tell him I wanted to publish the piece. I loved it. What was Rob's discovery? Himself. Speaking from the depths of his well-lived life as an artist, writer, husband, colleague, and friend, Rob came to discover who he was and what was important to him. He discovered truth and wisdom. In the life of any person, such a discovery brings the contentment we all seek.

Rob submitted a few more pieces for publication, both fiction and non-fiction, and his art was featured in the Spring 2012 issue of Stone Voices. He and I developed a wonderful relationship. He passed on his wisdom in a most supportive and collegial manner He, in fact, suggested that I consider publishing books as well as magazines, and he wanted my first book publication to be one of his. He was willing—even eager—to allow me to use the process of publishing Happy Again at Last: Life in the Art World to be a learning process for me as a publisher. I did learn a great deal from it. It was a tremendous gift from Rob. 

Rob died in November 2012 from lymphoma, likely the result of exposure to Agent Orange while in Vietnam. When he was first diagnosed, he was confident that he would beat it. He was looking forward to the publication of Happy Again at Last and had plans for book signings and author interviews. But he didn't beat it. He died within a year of his diagnosis. 

In the months before he died, Rob sent me several of his unpublished manuscripts with the hope that I might publish more of his work someday. When I read the manuscript for Current, I felt such a connection to Rob. I, too, love the woods and all they offer to the human spirit. Now, when I go to the woods, I recall sentences and excerpts from his book, and I am "enfolded in benign embrace"—both by the woods and by Rob's generous spirit.