Cycles of freezing and thawing.

Tags

awareness, meditation, mindfulness, spring

Within moments of taking this photo on Sunday morning, the view changed entirely. The sun appeared from behind the house and began touching the tops of the trees, and I sat gazing out the window, watching the clouds part and the chunks of fresh snow fall helplessly to the ground. By the time we left the house for a visit to Gorham, nearly every trace of Saturday’s snowfall was gone.

On our daily walks around the loop, we’ve noticed the bigger frost heaves on the paved road starting to smooth out one day, and then seize up the next as the temperatures swing wildly within each 24 hour period of early spring.

I have been enjoying the whole mess of it, and noticing the parallels in my own experience. The shine from our recent seven days on retreat seems at times to have faded entirely – and then other times, the gem of that beautiful experience is polished anew by a single moment of awareness of the simplest things, like: the first step in moving from one room into another; tension in the shoulders suddenly releasing upon noticing it; the memory of a dear friend who died three years ago; a pair of goldfinches at the bird feeder; a fragment of a song looping through the mind; pondering a to-do list and a plan for later in the week; the sound of delight in a friend’s voice on the phone; the sounds and sensations of warm running water at the kitchen sink; wondering what to blog about; looking at the above photo and remembering how quickly it all changed.

Each thing that happens, no matter how small or significant, arises, and is known, and then passes. Each one of these occurrences is a chance to thaw the frozen heart and mind, to shine up the gem in each of us, the one that sparkles with the wisdom that is always available in every moment. All we have to do is look, and notice what’s here.

The seeds of songs.

Tags

music, seedlings, seeds, songs, songwriting, spring

I know it’s an overused analogy, but it’s true – songs really are like seeds, and you have no idea how – or even if – they will find fertile soil, take root, and push their way up towards the sun.

Last week I wrote about how one of my songs is doing just that, and I taught and shared that same song again at this past Thursday’s session of the Daily Antidote of Song. That action seems to have put some other things in motion, one of which is an invitation to lead a weekend-long singing retreat whenever schedules can align to make that happen. Really exciting!

In looking back over the past week, there were other signs of song seedlings taking root.

I had a couple of really enjoyable rehearsals for two very different musical projects – one for this week’s Mardi Gras show, and another with Leah for our Peaceful Means project – both of which were deeply inspiring and invigorating. What a thrill to work with drummer Jared Steer for the first time and to hear how ‘The Gumbo’s Too Hot‘ took root in his mind and expressed itself through his chops! (Craig – have an awesome vacation this week, buddy! We miss ya!). And then to work on originals with Leah and continue planning the release of our debut recording later this year, a song from which Leah shared recently in her work as an NVC trainer and was asked, ‘I’d love to be able to use that song for meditation. Is it available anywhere?’ Not yet, but it will be! Another thrill!

The other day I went looking through a song notebook for something else, only to rediscover a song I’d started writing last fall that I’d kinda forgotten about, and spent about an hour coaxing that one a little further out of the ground.

I had another studio session this week with my dear friend Jan who is finally recording a collection of her songs, some of which she wrote decades ago! There’s one song of hers called ‘Deep Beginning’ that I have fond memories of singing with her and with Circle Voice Singers, the community singing group we were both members of over 20 years ago. Another thrill indeed to put down the backbone of this particular song, and to plan for and imagine the voices that will soon be added to ours in the magical space of the recording studio!

Four of us convened at Davy’s the other night to flesh out, jam on, and record several versions of an instrumental that the composer (Davy) has plans for. It was so fun and freeing to show up, plug in, sit down, read down a chart, and create groove after groove with three of my favorite musicians and humans – something for the seed stores.

I’m surely thinking along these lines this morning because the first day of spring is in view, and the hours of sunlight are steadily increasing; the birds in our yard are singing more, eating more; the sunlight is stronger; the pace of everything in the natural world seems to be ramping up. And I’m helplessly – joyfully – being pulled along that current of life, singing as I go.

Always arriving precisely on time.

Tags

meditation, mindfulness, nature, spring

The early spring window that delights me so much every year slammed shut this week with the arrival of those most unwelcome of guests – the black flies.

And they really like me, always have.

Black flies don’t bite, they suck! So goes the old joke.

Because of these tiny hungry pests, I’ve quickened my steps on our recent evening walks, which can still be so thoroughly enjoyed for their exquisite, kinda-feels-like-summer stillness, and for the salmon colored brush that washes over the sky.

I was so thrilled to hear my first hermit thrush of the year this week, too, with its otherworldly trilling echoing through the woods. And we finally spotted a pair of loons on the pond, and I watched them through my binoculars diving for fish again and again as we swatted at the bugs.

And wow, did it get hot this week. In the 80s with hot dry sun. The high fire danger was finally quenched this weekend with some much needed rain, and the green that was just beginning to bud out is now exploding vibrantly into view.

Everything is always arriving – black flies, birds, leaves, rain, sun – and though my personal clock says, ‘Okay, no thanks on the black flies, and I’ll take the rain at night and sun during the day, please,’ nature gives no damn about that. It just shows up precisely on time, all the time.

I’m trying to be a little more like that, too – showing up precisely on time for everything. And I don’t mean being punctual (although that matters a lot to me, too). I mean in the sense of being present to what’s happening – being reflective rather than reactive. I keep remembering, again and again, to practice zooming out at the beauty of the whole scene, rather than in on each annoyance that distracts me from the larger view.

And I’ll be getting lots of practice as the mosquitos arrive… and that means the dragonflies and bats will soon be doing their zigging and zagging across that same peachy sunset sky looking for their supper.

Taking baby steps with (and like) a hornet.

Tags

life, mindfulness, spring

(the pre-show view from the balcony at SMAC on Thursday night)

This past week was all about taking baby steps and knocking the rust off of things—my in-person performance chops, my out-in-the-wild social skills, and, most especially, my ability to stay present in the quickly changing circumstances of all these things.

This past Thursday night, Shawn and I played in the barn of Stone Mountain Arts Center, a local listening room gem that has hosted everyone from Lyle Lovett to Judy Collins to… me?? The main hall is dark right now, and so owners Carol and Jeff have transformed their barn lobby into a magical place with little ‘hobbit holes’ where folks can dine in little pods and then move their chairs a little and take in whatever is happening in the middle of the barn—and on Thursday night, it was Shawn and I that were happening.

It was my first time in front of a living, breathing, in-person audience since last August. Applause?! Wow, what is that?! Faces not on a screen?! Really feeling someone’s presence. Really hearing their silence. Really noticing their eyes smiling above their masks. How full of life each and every one of us is. Every moment was beautiful, and I leaned into every second without reservation. The waves of joy and surprise and ease and even awkwardness and discomfort that rise and fall during what used to feel so commonplace are an experience that I hope to never take for granted ever again.

After we set up and sound-checked, we were seated up in the corner of the balcony. This was a five course dinner deal, and we weren’t excluded from this star treatment. Vegan delight after vegan delight arrived at our station, and we were stuffed full before the main course.

Shawn joked, ‘Carol, you’re spoiling us! Every gig should be like this! Play a couple songs, eat some food, play a couple more songs, eat more food…’

Shortly after the second round of music, I was making my way back upstairs when I was stopped by someone wanting to briefly chat. As I looked deeply into the eyes of this fellow human—another action I hope to never take for granted ever again—I thought I felt something crawling on my left hand and, without looking away from my conversation that was now coming to a close, I brushed away the nuisance. What came next as I walked back to my table was an excruciating pain along the edge of my left palm below the base of my pinky. The hell is this? I thought to myself, and then realized that I had just been stung by one of the few hornets that all of us up in the balcony had been noticing as they performed their early-spring, aimless, slow-motion drift, newly awakened from within the walls of the old barn.

The side of my hand was swelling quickly. I went and got washed up and someone brought me a bag of ice. Within minutes, I was eating more delicious food, laughing the whole thing off, and ready to play the rest of the night with no problems. Carol apologized to me profusely. I smiled and said, ‘I appreciate that, but it’s no big deal, really. It’s just preparing me for my first vaccine this week.’ (This Wednesday!)

‘She’s a tough kid,’ she told the chuckling crowd as we started the next round.

Later, after getting home and feeling so full in heart, body, and mind, I realized how similar I am to that hornet—slowly waking up from the hibernation of this whole last year, moving around with some sloth and uncertainty, not quite in my rhythm yet—and, in my exhaustion, not without some venom and the ability to use it! I hope I can always remember to contain my grumpiness, and laugh and be grateful instead, as we all take these baby steps back to shared in-person experiences.

I wanna be like water when I grow up.

Tags

Arethusa Falls, hiking, life, spring, water

(A wall of ice with Shawn for scale)

Shawn and I were able to observe one of our yearly traditions this past week—hiking up to Arethusa Falls as close to the first day of spring as our lives will allow.

The falls are accessible by a fairly easy, in-and-back trail at the southern end of Crawford Notch State Park, with about 800 feet of elevation gain. It’s beautiful any time of year, but March is our favorite for several reasons: there are usually very few people around; there’s still enough snow and ice on the trail to both smooth out the usually rocky, rooty trail and require the use of our micro-spikes; and the unique beauty that awaits us at the top—a wall of water over a hundred feet tall almost entirely encased in bluish ice.

What draws my attention most strongly to memories of past years’ hikes to this gorgeous place is the sound of the water moving, rumbling, tumbling, behind and underneath the ice. I love hopping here and there when we get up to the top, seeking out all the different sounds and tones and harmonics that are unique to this short window of spacetime.

We didn’t make the trek last year. We had just gotten home from the cancelled tour and, along with the rest of the world, entered into isolation from the pandemic with a sense of withdrawal from the life we once knew, as if it were now out of reasonable reach and accessible now only by memory.

I have thought of these falls now and again over the past year, eager to see them again in the state we found them last Tuesday. In my rumination, I’ve been so deeply comforted by the fact that, while the humans of the world adapted to the new normal being built from and around the pandemic, the water continued to move, day after day, over that wall of rock and earth, following the ancient course of every drop of the world’s water back towards the sea from which all life emerged. In this way, each drop is coming and going again and again, partnered with gravity in an infinite dance.

I could learn a thing or two from the moving water. It’s simple and easy. It knows the way, and never questions it. It holds and changes its form, effortlessly, no matter the conditions. It’s essential for life. It’s best when it’s unpolluted. It’s flowing and soft, and yet steady and strong enough to wear away rock and earth. I wanna be more like water when (if?) I grow up.

Dirty dogs and frost heaves.

Tags

life, spring

The first day of spring here in the northeastern US is a big deal—it’s the official farewell to winter, to night being longer than day; it’s a celebration of the turning of this big beautiful planet towards warmth and light, rebirth and joy. No matter how much beauty one finds in winter—and there is plenty!—the anticipation of spring and all of its stored-up joy is immutable. The shiver one feels in the still-cold mornings doesn’t survive the warmth that is generated in one’s heart in mid-March as the ugly snowbanks give up their form and the sun bends just so through the kitchen window.

That stored-up joy leaks out in so many ways this time of year in the northeast. I feel it as I soften into the warmth of the fleece on my back as it absorbs the sunlight. I hear it in the thunder of sheets of melting snow sliding off the roof and onto the lawn. It appears as I stand in the driveway listening to a single tufted titmouse ‘peter-peter-peter’-ing in its search for a mate. It’s in the laughter shared with a friend while we watch their two freshly bathed dogs rolling around in the dirty, newly-revealed front yard.

All of this joy is also accompanying the news of loved ones near and far who either have received, or are about to receive, their second vaccination. While I’m feeling really hopeful these days, I’m also noticing the urge to skip right over the ugly-dirty-snowbanks-melting-and-the-frost-heaves-are-still-flattening-out-and-when-can-I-please-get-my-first-shot phase and get right to the yay-it-is-finally-summer-and-it’s-safe-to-come-out-now-and-travel-and-hug-and-sing-with-my-friends-and-do-all-the-happy-things-all-at-once-right-this-damned-minute phase.

Then I remember that wanting is the root of suffering, and the other day I started singing, over and over, the seedling of a new song:

Does anything need to change right now?

It’s a really good question, and one that I am constantly asking myself these days.

Yes, I’m impatient.

Yes, it’s seemed like an especially long winter, and it has certainly been a long strange year.

And yes, it is possible to be happy right here, staring at this screen, or staring out the window, or laughing at a clean-oops-now-dirty dog rolling in the dirt. I can even find happiness in slowing down, over and over, as I navigate the frost heaves that are flattening out— and yes, maybe more slowly than I would like, but flattening out all the same.

Just like those frost heaves, both my impatience and my joy continue to rise up, make themselves known, and then fall away again.

I don’t want to resist the dirt. I wanna be like those pups I saw this week and roll around in it—carefree and full of laughter and an openness to the fullness of experience.

Saturday Morning Musings – Where is spring?

Tags

life, patience, perspective, spring, weather

It seems like everyone in this neck of the woods is asking the same question: “Where is spring?”

A year ago at this time, yes, there was still snow on the ground (as seen in this photo that I took at that time at Arethusa Falls) but this year we didn’t even attempt our-first-day-of-spring hike to the falls.  We’re waiting until some of this stuff melts – whenever that may be.

On the day of the vernal equinox this year, we awoke not to chirping birds, dazzling sun and balmy breezes, but instead to a heavy, gray sky and a fresh foot of snow in the yard.  We went snowshoeing in the woods behind the house instead.

So, yeah – where is spring?

It’s been an exciting week.  I’ve been selected as an official showcase artist at SERFA, taking place in North Carolina in May.   This is an awesome opportunity to share my work with venues, presenters, fellow performers, and to make new friends.  I’ll be traveling down and sharing this opportunity with Shawn and Davy, bandmates extraordinaire.

Just six weeks from now, we’ll be loading up the Winnie and headed south.  First to the conference, then Shawn and I continue on for a few-weeks-long adventure in the Big Easy.

This week I also received an email from a woman in Utah who wants to cover one of my songs – “We All Have A Song” – on her upcoming CD.  What an honor!

Dave said, “This has been a great week for you!  You should buy a lottery ticket!”  Ha!  The last time I bought a lottery ticket was about 20 years ago, and I won $250 on a scratch ticket.  I figured I was ahead – why push my luck?  So I stopped buying them.

With all of this snow still on the ground and all these exciting developments, I’ve been having a hard time staying focused on what’s in front of me.  I keep thinking about six weeks from now, all the things that need to be done and tended to.  I keep daydreaming about New Orleans, about green grass, about opening my bedroom window and letting a cool, sun-kissed breeze bring in some desperately needed fresh air.

“When is spring?”  As weary as I am of the endless winter, I’m equally fed up with this feeling of wanting it to be over with.

It’s time, at least for now, to shed that impatience.  Normally, I think that patience is an overrated virtue, that it gets in the way of living a full and passionate life.

When did I get in such a rush, anyway?

What is wrong with this moment?

Or this one?

My life is unfolding, petal by petal, from the tightly twisted promise of the bud.  The sun is already shining on my face.  The water is already flowing under the ice, against the rock.

It’s already beautiful.  I just have to take the time to notice it.

Spring is here!  It is always here.

 

Happenings in the merry month of May!

Tags

Andy's Old Port Pub, Auburn, Conway, Conway Cafe, Delaney's, Great Falls TV, Heather Pierson, Heather Pierson Quartet, Jeremy Dean Band, Joe Aliperti, Maine, Maine Songwriters Presents, Manchester, Matty Bowman, May, music, Nate Towne, New Hampshire, North Conway, Norway, Old Port, Portland, Shawn Nadeau, spring, Strange Brew Tavern, Tucker's Music Pub, White Mountain Hotel

May is off to a gray start here in New England weather-wise — but that beautiful color of green that is painting the landscape and the tips of all the trees is so incredible!  It’s the same color that has overtaken the kitchen counter here at the house — so many seedlings of tomatoes, cukes, leeks, basil, parsley, dill, lettuce and chard waiting to be planted outside in just a few weeks.  What an amazing time of year!

And busy, too!  Here’s what’s happening in the next couple of weeks:

Saturday, May 5th

Tonight! My dear friend of many, many years, singer/songwriter Nate Towne, will be releasing his second CD, Empty Tables and Chairs, at a very special show at Tucker’s Music Pub in Norway, ME! I’m psyched to be joining him along with some other awesome musicians (including the amazing Rusty Wiltjer on his beautiful handmade drums) as part of the celebration. 8 p.m. start — and no cover charge!

Wednesday, May 9th

I’ll be the guest host and feature at Conway Cafe’s Songwriters Showcase!  Every Wednesday, Conway Cafe, located in the heart of the village of Conway, NH, opens its doors and its stage to songwriters of all stripes to come share their talents.  6 to 8 p.m.  Come early for the buffet, and stay for the great offerings from the wide variety of players who come out to support this great event every week!

Thursday, May 10th

Shawn and I return to Portland, ME to perform at Andy’s Old Port Pub on Commercial St.  Our first outing there was very well received and we’re excited to return!  7 to 10 p.m.

Friday, May 11th

I’ll be at “home base” – playing solo in the Ledges Dining Room of the White Mountain Hotel in North Coanway, NH from 6 to 10 p.m.

Wednesday, May 16th

The Heather Pierson Quartet (with Shawn Nadeau on bass, Matty Bowman on drums and Joe Aliperti on sax) will hit Delaney’s in North Conway, NH from 9 p.m. to midnight.  Bring your dancing shoes!

Thursday, May 17th

I’ll be travelling downstate with The Jeremy Dean Band to play at Strange Brew Tavern in Manchester, NH from 9 p.m. til the wee hours.  Blues, blues and more blues is what we’ll have on tap!

That’s it for now.  I’ll send an update down the road about the rest of my May calendar.  Be sure to connect with me on Twitter (@HeatherPierson) and Facebook (HeatherPiersonMusic) to get the inside, day to day scoop on what’s happening in my world.

Oh, and check this out — it’s the first song from my and Shawn’s recent appearance on Great Falls TV in Auburn, ME!  Enjoy – and thanks much for your love and support!