FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE:
Drive most any back road in West Virginia in the colder months and it will soon be clear that the state has an ideal habitat for wild icicles. A new initiative at the Yew Mountain Center aims to help WV take its rightful place as a leader in the global wild icicle trade. The U.S. Department Of Labor And Family Farms (OLAFF) announced today that it was awarding the Hillsboro, WV non-profit organization $4.1M to pilot a program aimed at growing the region's capacity to supply the world with sustainably-sourced wild and wild-simulated icicles. "We think this is an incredible opportunity to help mountain families, especially those that live near north-facing rocky outcrops, to earn a significant income while preserving the natural and cultural heritage of the region," said Will "Chill" Lewis, Yew Mountain Center's icicle farming coordinator. "Many here take our icicles for granted, but around the world, Appalachian icicles are increasingly in demand for their clarity, size, and botanical content." This opportunity arose as an unlikely silver lining of the COVID-19 epidemic as new technology and better systems were developed for cold shipping and storage. Costs of shipping frozen material have fallen in recent months, lowering an important barrier of entry for small producers of icicles. The organization, known for its experiential education programs has planned a series of "mittens-on" workshops starting in Nov. 2021. Participants will learn production techniques, ethical foraging practices, and strategies to sell their icicles to premium markets. Visit www.yewmountain.org to learn more.
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In times of challenge, I’m learning that what we pay attention to has heightened importance. Sometimes we need to focus on finding a way forward. Sometimes we need to focus not on a direction, but on the whole experience of a moment. In those times, I find it best to be close to trees.
I don’t know what it’s like to be a tree. But I like to imagine it sometimes. Arms outstretched in a permanent embrace of everything that arrives to its spot on the planet. Its solid matter a testament to its whole history. The tips in motion to seek a future in the sun and a present in the soil. Its silent defenses against harm and silent entreaties for cooperation. Silent, but clear and strong enough to sustain its force as a valuable participant in a connected community. As our understanding of forests deepens (and it does every time we set foot in one if we let it,) we realize how crucial it is to have dedicated places that exalt these ancient ecosystems. We can call it research, forest farming, eco-tourism, forest bathing, plein air painting, outdoor education, hiking, wandering… We believe that all these human activities are, at their essences, prayers to the greater forces at work in these living cathedrals. And, like prayers, they provide focus, direction, and meaning to the smaller transactions of living. By knowing forests, we know that strong relationships create resilience, shared purposes create power, and diversity creates enduring beauty. In challenging times, we think it’s a good idea to pay attention to trees. Trees persist. persist v. to continue steadily and firmly in some state or course of action. from Latin per--thoroughly + sistere--to stand Trees do it with atmosphere, minerals, light, and the cooperation of allies they’ve been politicking with for eons. The Yew Mountain Center persists with a passionate community of staff, volunteers, participants, and donors…cradled in our community cathedral of trees. This letter and our I Love Yew campaign is our entreaty, our invitation for you to be a part of this collective prayer for a connected, resilient, powerful, and beautiful way forward. And for times spent among the trees where forward is only one of the infinite directions we could go. With Love, Erica Marks Yew Mountain Center Director p.s. Like a healthy forest, the Yew Mountain Center is a place of renewal and re-invention fueled by creativity from our communities. Do you have ideas or questions? Please feel free to reach out to any of us at The Yew Mountain Center. We would love to hear from you! Get Out!
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pull [noun]: Sometimes it feels like our bones are made of magnets. Meanwhile, the moon goes for its daily walk. The world is always tilted, as if listening to something. -Megan Moriarty I am immediately drawn in by the forest. The trees reach out to me, casting themselves into shadows three times as tall as the trunks themselves. The moon beckons also, outwards and upwards on this mountain road. For anyone else who sought high ground last Wednesday night to watch the moonrise and marvel at its size and brightness as it first peaked out over the treetops, it won’t come as a surprise that on that night the intensity of the lunar pull actually increased causing a greater variation in tides. As I begin to walk, my tread slides and I become aware of my feet sinking every so slightly with each step. So fitting on the night of the “worm moon,” named for the return of soft ground and the emergence of earthworms. Although I’ve spent most of the evening looking up, it’s as if the ground is reminding me to look down also. The mud beneath me has a satisfying silt quality to it, and a darkness evident even by moonlight. This nuance in granular composition makes me wonder: What was here before? What lies beneath? What gives rise to this place? |
We are at the top of Briery for the super moon and vernal equinox, two celestial events that haven’t occurred on the same night since 2000 and won’t again until 2030. Although the alignment of cosmic elements isn’t something that typically attracts my attention, the intensity of this confluence peaked my interest. A super moon, or a “perigee syzygy,” is a full moon that coincides with the closest moment of the moon’s orbit. Based on my recent googling, the perigee is the point at which the moon is closest to the Earth in it’s orbit, and a syzygy is the lining up of 3 celestial bodies and occurs every full moon, new moon, and eclipse. So not only is the Sun-Earth-Moon system aligned, but the moon is half bathed in light, half shrouded in darkness. And this coincidence also happened to coincide with this year’s vernal equinox, the moment when the sun crosses the celestial equator northbound, making the day and night equal in length. And with a good bit of that night left, I decide to continue on my path.
As I walk and wonder how far I would follow the pull of the moon, I find myself at the edge of a large puddle where the road should be. The glassy surface creates another inverted universe, where the moon is still full, but shines up from the ground rather than the sky. As the season when days continue to get longer, Spring seems to be rife with the symbolism of things beginning again, rebirth, regeneration, renewal: to forward thinking and planning.
This night, however, seems to be urging me to reflect. To remember to look down and back, to take a closer look at the soil that gives rise to the Spring, and to seek the magic that can be found underfoot. To reflect on what has already been accomplished before surging forward with everything left to do and prepare.
When I wake the next morning to say my goodbyes to the moon, following it once again up and over a mountain ridge, I am amazed to already find the first signs of Spring beneath my feet as they pass over the grounds of the Yew. Seemingly overnight, determined buds of flowers and ramps have been pulled up and over leaves and snow. As I sit atop a sandstone outcropping surrounded by mountain laurel, I feel a reverence for the winter equal to my excitement for the spring; it is periods of dormancy that allow for new growth. I listen to the birds as the day breaks
and find myself looking forward to a growing season in which I hope to find balance, to notice the reflections in the puddles, the dark side of the moon, and the ground beneath the sprouts.
Ruthie Cartwright
Education Assistant,
AmeriCorps Member
As I walk and wonder how far I would follow the pull of the moon, I find myself at the edge of a large puddle where the road should be. The glassy surface creates another inverted universe, where the moon is still full, but shines up from the ground rather than the sky. As the season when days continue to get longer, Spring seems to be rife with the symbolism of things beginning again, rebirth, regeneration, renewal: to forward thinking and planning.
This night, however, seems to be urging me to reflect. To remember to look down and back, to take a closer look at the soil that gives rise to the Spring, and to seek the magic that can be found underfoot. To reflect on what has already been accomplished before surging forward with everything left to do and prepare.
When I wake the next morning to say my goodbyes to the moon, following it once again up and over a mountain ridge, I am amazed to already find the first signs of Spring beneath my feet as they pass over the grounds of the Yew. Seemingly overnight, determined buds of flowers and ramps have been pulled up and over leaves and snow. As I sit atop a sandstone outcropping surrounded by mountain laurel, I feel a reverence for the winter equal to my excitement for the spring; it is periods of dormancy that allow for new growth. I listen to the birds as the day breaks
and find myself looking forward to a growing season in which I hope to find balance, to notice the reflections in the puddles, the dark side of the moon, and the ground beneath the sprouts.
Ruthie Cartwright
Education Assistant,
AmeriCorps Member
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