Blessingway

When I got the invitation by email a long time ago, I wasn't very excited about going.  I didn't really understand what we would be doing, although I knew that we were gathering to celebrate Katherine's baby that is due in February.  It was clearly going to be different from a regular baby shower -- we were invited to bring a bead, some fabric, a blessing or a poem.  No mention of baby stuff, although there was some tiny little link to a gift registry.

I am not a fan of parties that are focused on gifts. I go because I like the mother-to-be or the bride-to-be, but the whole thing is not really my idea of fun.  I do love weddings and babies, and obviously people need material goods, but I would be perfectly happy to send a gift with someone who enjoys attending showers. 

Anyway, I accepted the invitation, and postponed thinking about the bead and the fabric and whatever else.  The biggest obstacle, really, was the distance: 150 miles.  But in the winter we have plenty of time and no real excuses.  Carrie (and baby Zoey) and my mother and I planned to ride together, and it would take the whole day, from 9:00 in the morning until almost 7 PM.

Thank goodness for our friend Becky who always knows what to do and gets it done. She bought the baby gifts and had them shipped and she came over for lunch and brought her collection of beads and fabric for us to look through. Her next baby is due in about six weeks, so she was skipping the long car ride.  We all like Katherine, and we want to be part of a happy baby experience, but this whole thing just seemed more whoooeeee than we were.

Carrie and I got up early on Sunday and filled up the CSA room with piles of luscious kale and spinach and turnips and other colorful root crops, leaving it in the care of a loyal volunteer for the whole day (the CSA customers must have wondered what was going on).  Then we all got in the car and headed south. Zoey, the super agreeable three month old, fell asleep after less than half an hour and snoozed the whole way.  We chatted, Carrie drove, I knitted some, Mom napped some.

We arrived at Katherine's new little farm, saw her precise and professional hoop houses and her gardens all nicely tucked in with row covers.  She is a do-er to the nth degree.  There were about 20 women in her cute little house, doing activities created to engage us while we all assembled (a little different from a normal shower, but pretty reminiscent).  Her mother and her mother-in-law were both there, glowing with happy grandmotherliness. Almost everyone had driven for a good long while to get there, as they live pretty far from most people.

We had a nice lunch, provided by friends and family, just the kind of food we would expect.  Vegetarian, made with good ingredients, simple, perfect. Everyone was happy and smiling and nice and it seems that the current fashion is both pants and a skirt. Most people besides us were wearing that.  Who knew?

And then we got to the substance of the matter.  We went outside where it was windy and sunny, stood in a circle in the backyard, facing the mountains to the west, and we sang.  Many people knew the song already and it was easy to learn -- more of a chant, really -- about I am woman, I am infinite, with no beginning and no end.  Two cheerful women brought out smoking smudge pots (Mom told us later it was sage) and waved them up and down and around each one of us, solemnly, while we continued to sing. No explanation, no chitchat. Just singing and smoke.

Then back inside to sit on pillows and couches in a small circle, with an altar of candles and family memorabilia in the middle.  First we introduced ourselves, one at a time, telling our name, our mother's name and our mother's mother's name.  Then we went around and said how we all knew Katherine (I had been wishing and waiting for this part, and was glad to know who all these women were) -- many knew her from going to herb school with her (Sacred Plants, Clinic 1 and 2) and some of us knew her through farming, some were related, one knew her since elementary school.  It was also an opportunity for each of us to say what we admired/liked/loved about Katherine, which was very nice.  We each lit a candle from the big candle in the center.  Again, no explanation, we just did it.  I guess everyone else already knew what a Blessingway is.

And then came the beads.  I was knitting by this time because things were going very slowly and I was getting twitchy. Each woman slowly and solemnly explained why she had chosen this particular bead and then she carefully strung the bead on the necklace while everyone waited patiently.  After about four of these stories, which were lovely, I was wondering whether this might take all night.  I lightly suggested that we tell the stories but not watch the person who was stringing the beads because that seemed like unnecessary pressure on the stringer (it was hard). People were ready for that suggestion (phew).

 And so we said our blessings and our wishes and gave our maternal advice, with lots of love, while Katherine sat with her feet in a small tub of hot water and special herbs.  Katherine's mother had a very tearful afternoon, barely able to speak, which made the rest of us cry too.  But her tears were wonderful.  Of course I cried when I said my piece -- I wanted to tell her that she was going to learn what it is to love someone so much that it makes you vulnerable to great grief.  But I let them off the hook, and they laughed, when I said, "Blessings on you as you learn to be powerless." And my mother always cries; she invoked the need for peace in the world, as well as in our lives. (Carrie and Zoey were listening and nursing and napping in the next room so they didn't join in the blessings and beads.)

More singing, more chanting, some guided meditation. And a long dark ride home.

So now we have been to a Blessingway. I am glad we went, it was much more interesting than a shower, and I felt like we were giving Katherine strength and comfort and all sorts of warm fuzzies.  Her sister-friends were full of calm and wisdom, probably because they are herbalists who deal in sacred sorts of thinking more than most of us.  We vegetable growers are less spirit-touched. But we can sing and we can share and it was good.

The final ritual was winding a ball of red yarn around each of our wrists or ankles, attaching ourselves with this umbilical cord, singing "we are the flow, we are the ebb, we are the (I forget), we are the web" and then cutting it, but tying a knot so that we each have a red yarn bracelet to wear until this baby is born.  In some ways, that seems like a lot to ask, having this red string on my wrist for the next five or six weeks, and in other ways, it is a very effective way of reminding me to think about Katherine as she gets closer and closer to giving birth. And to think about all the other women with red yarn on their wrists, as we wait for this baby.