Desert Bird of Paradise.
Something about native plants reminds me of the innate power of nature to inspire the creative process. Traveling each week to Ojai and seeing the difference in flora from here in the Central Valley wakes up my senses, which have become a bit numbed by ornamental garlic and parking lot maples. The sycamores even look different there, hearty and creekside, growing at sharp angles and adapting to the course of the wind. Years ago, I had the opportunity to work for, and study under, a California native plant expert, and it transformed my relationship to plants, medicinal and otherwise. I came to know them by their botanical names and still enjoy speaking them as if it's a language only some can understand. Though it sounds all scientific-hoity toity and probably annoys the heck out of anyone on a hike with me.
I fell in love with Indian Paintbrush, Mountain Mahogany, Queen Anne's Lace, Owl's Clover, Sticky Monkey Flower, Coyote Bush, Yerba Santa, yucca, manzanita, buckwheat, yarrow, rabbit brush, mountain sage, juniper, poppies, lupine and penstemon that I could call out to on my drive to and from my sacred home in the national forest. I would listen for the ones that were launching their seeds out onto the wind, the legumes pop!ping and seeming so active in their creative process.
Why does being out in nature connect us to our own creative process? Why was Henry Thoreau at his peak of sacred writing when he "went into the woods to be alone"? And Anne Morrow Lindbergh by the Sea? Nature + solitude seems to bring out the best in us when it comes to distilling our gifts down, allowing us to return proud of our efforts.
For me, sitting in the wind, seeing the magical diversity of every plant, (even the closely related ones), claiming their color and their scent, watching them propagate at their own feet, experiencing the abundance and tenacity of plants and trees to come back year after year through merciless rains, droughts, prunings, and even the dormant years when the conditions simply aren't right for them to appear...it all leaves me feeling as if my own creative offerings are as useful, as unique, and as prolific.
When you go out into the wild, what transpires? How do you experience the plants and trees, the stones and sky in a way that exalts your relationship to your medium? How do you approach the work after an inspiring day in your natural environment?
