Dana O'Driscoll 2020 is certainly a year to remember for many of us in the human realm. Here in Western Pennsylvania and up along many parts of New England, we’ve had an additional serious problem affecting the natural world—an extreme drought. This summer, the jet stream is way off of its normal course and so most of the major storms that would typically hit us have been forced south of us, creating the “moderate” drought that we are now in and causing uncharacteristically dry conditions. know there are other serious droughts around the world, such as the three-year drought currently happening in Germany. Climate change is making these kinds of weather events all the more common and teaching us powerful lessons along the way. In today’s post, I’ll share some drought lessons, drought land healing, and ways of working and honoring water.
Honoring Water and the Scarcity of Water
I think for people who live in areas that are usually abundant in water, it’s not something that is often at the forefront of your mind. For example, here we get about 40″ of rain a year and another 30″ of snow, and have precipitation an average of 140 days a year–so precipitation is a regular event that happens at least once a week, if not more. I must say, before this year, I was guilty of this–water was just always present. We had almost no need to water the garden, we would just wait for the inevitable rains to come. I realize that this perspective must be hard to imagine for people who live in desert climates or other low-rain areas, but for people who live in areas like I do, I think it is quite common.
But a drought lets you reframe your relationship to water because it becomes scarce. In modern cultures where we can literally buy our way into anything, we have been socialized to see scarcity as a bad thing. Yet, time and time again, I have found that the lesson of scarcity is important to both cultivating both more connected and sacred relationships and in gratitude practices. Scarcity is a lesson that nature provides through each yearly cycle. Scarce things are sacred things; something that is scarce becomes more valuable and meaningful. Any mushroom hunter knows this–if you hunt all season for the elusive hen of the woods (maitake) mushroom, and you find only one, it is truly sacred. You may harvest it or not, but certainly, you would be thankful for the experience. Perhaps you’d craft a sacred meal and enjoy it with friends. But if you find them all over, they become more common. For us in a water-rich climate, water and precipitation was so common that you really didn’t think about it. And then, the drought came. Scarcity came. And you realized how sacred water really was.
The drought has been a really good opportunity to reframe my relationship with water and honor all water as sacred, both in mundane ways and in ritual ways. Here’s an example. Our geese have a big plastic swimming pool (our pond is away from the house and is home to snapping turtles and other wildlife, so we opted for this closer pool). We have the swimming pool out in our front yard where we can easily fill it with the hose and where the geese hang out. At the beginning of the summer, I used to “bail” the pool–I had a large bucket and would keep bailing water out of the pool and dumping it on the ground until the pool was empty. The water would just spread all over the lawn and be absorbed. I didn’t think about it much, just checking off one more homestead chore to do before moving on to others. But as our rainless days stretched into rainless weeks and then into rainless months, the dirty water in the goose pool became sacred. That water became the most precious resource on this drought-stricken land: we could use it to conserve our water supply (we have a spring and cistern), a way to help the many plants in this drying up the landscape, and a way to honor every drop.
I would instead move the water into our wheelbarrow and wheel it around the property–into the gardens, into the perennial beds, into the edges of the woods, into the milkweed patch I was trying to cultivate. Every two days, I hauled water and prayed for rain. It became a kind of ritual in itself–offering what I could to this parched landscape, honoring the water, and singing for the rain. When we “dump” water on the ground, we are literally disposing of it and in that disposal mindset. If we instead offer water, honor water by pouring it with intention, returning it to the earth, and sending it on its journey back into the hydrologic cycle–this is where your own relationship sifts.
Other small amounts of water, too, became sacred. The water leftover in our big pressure canner became something to provide the forest plants with relief. Each drop mattered. I’ve been thinking about our bathtub upstairs and how to rig a greywater system. This drought prompted a new connection with water and an opportunity to engage in sacred action through our everyday lives.
Land Healing Practices During the Drought
Because land healing is an important part of the spiritual work we can do as nature-based spiritual practitioners and druids, I decided to work to address the drought spiritually. Within land healing, as I’ve outlined before, different kinds of practices exist depending on the situation at hand: energetic healing and palliative care. It is important to know what you are attempting to do if you are going to be engaging in land healing work. With regards to a drought, energetic healing is for lands that are damaged but in a place to heal (e.g. the drought has ended and now the land can heal–this is a good time to raise energy for healing). But for a drought-stricken landscape in the middle of a drought, palliative care is most appropriate: in this case, we would work with the spirits fo the land to minimize the worst of the pain and offer hope that rains will return.
The Water Grove of Renewal
If you are living in an area that is experiencing a drought, here is one palliative care technique that you can use to provide some relief. This is a play on my “grove of renewal” practice that I shared some time ago. For this, choose a small section of land that you have easy access to or that you own, or even a potted plant on a windowsill. For my water grove of renewal this summer, I had recently planted ramp roots in a small patch of forest. These were saved from the path of destruction at my family property. You should select if at all possible, an area that normally would not get watered intentionally by you (e.g. not your garden). Mark the space in some way (with flags, stones, sticks, etc.) so that you give it some kind of sacred boundary so that you know where to water. My water grove of renewal had a natural boundary; a small clearing in the forest surrounded by trees, about 3′ across.
This is the place that you will keep watered as a sign of hope and solidarity to the rest of the landscape. Every few days, bring an offering of water and water the earth. As I leave the offering, I say a small prayer that I wrote for the grove
Parched earth, dry soil, cracked clay.
Know that the rains will come.
Withered roots dried vines, drooping leaves
Know that the rains will come.
I leave this offering of water here as a sign of hope.
Know that the rains will come.
As this small grove of renewal radiates outward.
Know that the rains will come.
Endure for a little while longer.
The rains will come.
The rains will come.
The rains will come.
Do any other kind of sacred work here as you see fit: I brought my drum and flute and offered some music. I also offered my sacred offering blend. Spend time in this grove and remember–the rains will come.
Honring the watershed
During a drought, it is a good time to learn about and honor the watershed that you live in. There are many ways to engage in this practice, so I’ll share a few of them. The first thing you should do is learn about your watershed–what watershed do you live in? If you are in the USA, you can use this tool produced by the EPA. Once you learn your watershed, you can honor the tributaries, visit the headwaters (where the watershed begins) or visit a major river of your watershed. For me, our homestead is along the Twolick Creek/Blacklick Watershed, a minor tributary of the Conemaugh watershed, which is part of the Ohio watershed. I have worked during this drought to visit several spots along the watershed and do the following:
- Water blessing and healing rituals (some of which are offered here).
- Simply sitting and interacting with the waterway, which could include meditation or conversing with the spirit of the waters or watershed
- Making offerings of music, healing waters, or herbal blends
- Spending time in recreation at waterways, such as hiking or kayaking (provided the water levels are high enough).
Honoring the waterways is a fantastic way to attune to water, anytime, but especially during a drought.
Rain Workings
A final thing you may be tempted to try is rain magic or rain workings. These things can be done, and with great effect, but also, at great risk. I outlined one such rain working in an earlier post which you can try. Even something simple, like using a rain stick, calling to the sylphs and undines to bring rain, or making offerings can help. Rain magic and rain workings are a bit beyond this post, but I’ll pick them up at a later point in more depth!
And the rains come…
And, as things often happen, while I was composing we had temperatures in the 90’s and no rain for over two months. As I got ready to post this–the rains came. Two beautiful days of storms and gentle rains, courtesy of Hurricane Laura coming through our region. While two days of rain will not end the drought, it certainly gives much relief to this parched landscape. The rains will come.
When the rains came over the last two days, I saw it as an event worthy of sacred practice, of ritual action, and of celebration. I went out into the rain to dance, sing, and be merry. I stripped most of my clothes and ran through the wet and dripping landscape, allowing the rain to soothe me. I laid upon the earth and allowed my body to soak up the rains, just like the earth around me. I felt refreshed and renewed after so many long months of trying to keep everything alive. I rested in the gentle arms of that blissful rain.
Regardless of what happens in the future, I am in gratitude for the experience that was the drought of 2020–that I could more mindfully honor the waters of life, the waters that sustain us, and that water now holds a deeper and more central place in my practice. And I understand, more than ever, why my ancestors tied their spiritual practices and lives to the seasons: to honoring the harvest, calling the rains, and bringing abundance and life to the land. This is a lesson too easy to discount in the 21st century–but yet, the drought brought it to the fore.
PS: I also wanted to share a few updates on publications and the like! I finished going through the page proofs of Sacred Actions: Living the Wheel of the Year through Sustainable Practices. It should be released sometime in 2021–as soon as I’m able to share more details here, I will! I also was able to finalize the layout on the updated Tarot of Trees: Artwork and Meanings book. The 10th-anniversary edition should be available for release sometime in October (we are waiting on the printer to ship everything now). Thanks for your patience while I took this hiatus from the blog! If you have topics you’d like to see for the rest of 2020, please reach out!
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The 3 years in a row with drought here in Germany were a warning sign in neon letters. As an herbalist I stopped offering herbal identification walks in my area after July since last year because I could only show yellow grass. So many trees are already without leaves so that you cannot really look forward to the beauty of autumn with all the orange, yellow and red. Some wild herbs manage to thrive even in these extreme conditions and I call them my “pack of resilience” 😉 I try to adapt to these challenging times but every now and then I feel crushed. Keep going anyway with raising environmental awareness, beeing active in my local group and try to trust in mother earth and the river of life. Sometimes it feels more like beeing stubborn than beeing hopeful. A beautiful post Dana, with food for thought and rituals to explore.
Claudia, I cannot believe the massive drought you faced. Even after the 3 month drought (which is where we are now), it was so hard to bear. I know what you mean about feeling crushed. Its hard to be in nature when nature herself is under duress. Thank you for reading.
Thank you for sharing!
Do you have many river fords (where a road crosses a river bed and cars/horses/pedestrians can splash through) where you are? There are lots in the UK, on minor country roads. I find them to be very powerful, interesting places, which invite respect for, and interaction with the flow and spirit of rivers. I have some locally which mean a lot to me. Have you ever encountered fords in this way?
Hi Nicola, we don’t have any such thing here in Western PA! It sounds amazing though…tell me more. How are they powerful? Blessings, Dana
Hi Dana, thank you for the question, I had been thinking about ‘how?’ fords are powerful, which involves reflection on my experiences, but asking ‘why?’ makes me contextualise, it’s great for learning and making links with the many things I have been reading on your blog.
I feel like a ford is a point of dialogue with a river. There’s the water, there’s the earth of the river bed, but there’s also a human-made track, all converging. Perhaps it’s like a Rosetta Stone, saying the same thing in three languages, so from that initial understanding or translation, one can build further conversation? Humans can pass on the road (or stand on the road and interact with the river) but they must do it on the terms of the river, with care and respect, or risk damage to their vehicle, or even danger to life and limb if the river is in full spate. The river can say ‘you may not cross today’ and I think culturally it does us humans good to be told ‘no’ by nature. The other side of that is an invitation: ‘you may cross, you may interact at this point.’ This is offers a powerful opportunity to confront fear: even when the crossing is safe it can still feel scary or strange to interact with the power of a river. Approached with discipline, trust and openness, the fear gives way to invigoration with energy. Different rivers- or even different fords on the same river- of course feel very different.
I guess nobody would build a ford on a public road now, we’d be too arrogant or impatient to build a crossing knowing that sometimes it can’t be used, so fords reflect an older relationship with the landscape. At a ford, one is forced to notice times of drought or times of high water, linking back to your post- these things are made visible and immediate to humans.
Hi Nicola,
Thank you so much for sharing. This is really fascinating. As far as I know, we don’t have any such concept like this in the US. I know at one time we did have fords and other crossings, but those have long been replaced by bridges (at least in the area in the US where I live, it may be different in other states). Thus, I have never been to a ford or experienced such a thing. I think perhaps the closest for me would be kayaking–it is certainly a dialogue with the river and it can be scary to launch, knowing you are committed for the next 2 days and 15 miles! Another thought that comes to mind here in the Appalachians is the idea of a “gap”. So we have the Conemaugh Gap and the Cumberland gap in the region–these are “gaps” that people who were colonizing (especially moving west) would use to cross the Allegheny Mountains (the mountains form a very effective North to South barrier, preventing westward travel). They were important convergence points. But I don’t think they are quite the same thing. Regardless, it is certainly a fascinating concept. I’d like to visit a ford someday.