Revisiting Local Literary Matters

Drinking from the Stream

Edited by Phaedra Greenwood

When the political scene seems rather dim and chaotic, hopeless in some ways, I am reminded of what Plato writes in the Seventh Letter (Benjamin Jowett translator): “he [critic/philosopher] should keep quiet and offer up prayers for his own welfare and for that of his country.”

Here “she,” she, who prays for us on behalf of Mother Nature, has offered up literary prayers for us to read: a variety of women here, poets, essayists and fiction writers pray to the Muse in Drinking from the Stream (Taos, Nighthawk Press, 2013). This fine anthology, edited by Phaedra Greenwood, who spent ten years working on the project, includes short thematically related works of prose and poetry, focused on overcoming fear, whether internal resistance or external challenges posed by the powerful and sublime forces of culture and nature. As individuals these women behave with courage and grace, whether in the wilderness or among exotic cultural locales. As writers they express themselves in the authentic voice of experience.

You can buy a copy from Rick at Brodsky’s or from one of the muses at Op. Cit. books.

Inevitably an emerging writer from one of the Taos subcultures surprises one; a sort of “marginalista” (like me), who you know but you didn’t know she delved into the craft. For sure I was surprised by Lyn Crowl’s “Crossings,” a fictional tale of a sea and sailing adventure set in The Sea of Cortez about a treacherous voyage, she notably survived. But here’s the gift to the reader when “patches of the bay’s dark waters sparked, erupted. Silent bombs lit the water and spread into acres of emerald radiance…Sally watched a neon green feeding frenzy…movement in the water set the plankton aglow.” And “Neil!” she hissed. “Wake up.” But “Neil never stayed awake long enough to see it.” Pobrecito.

Years ago Lyn introduced herself to me as a western Nevadan, somebody from my neighborhood. I did not know this quiet woman was a writer. Course Phaedra Greenwood herself has been writing for years. In this anthology she has published a particularly touching bio of another courageous woman, Julia Butterfly Hill, who sat way up high in a giant 300 foot 1000-year old Redwood tree to protect it from the loggers—for two years. The little girl from the backwoods became one of the most admired women in America.

A second more private piece by Phaedra, called “Shaw Lake,” touches the tragedy of today’s transformation of our favorite places as the planet warms and the flora and fauna disappear. It’s particularly moving because modest in comparison to other stories in the anthology about say the Grand Canyon or Canyonlands or Mt. Denali or Tibet. “My annual retreat to Shaw Lake is not just an escape to Mama nature,” the author writes, “but also an attempt to return to center, to find my balance, to wallow in perfection.” She says, “A couple more years like this and the lake will be gone.” But we readers will still have Phaedra’s portrayal in prose and maybe she will share her photographs. We all have our own memories of those places disappeared by developers or the ones now fading due to climate change.

In some ways, Elaine Sutton’s “Canoeing Through Canyonlands” (alone) sets the tone for the typical adventuress (I like the 19th Century ring) as does Michelle Potter’s Ursa Major, a bear story set in Denali National Park, Christina Nelson’s “Jaguar Truth,” Pat McCabe’s “Ceremony,” a cultural confrontation with a particular Navajo Woman in the land of the Dine, and Linda Fair, Horse Fly eco-warrior, whose deadly narrative of “The Bitter Lake Massacre” sums up the conundrum when birds and farmers come into contact.

All of the above add up to what Virginia Black writes in “What I Came Here For” for “even if a large creature should come along and bite off my head, there is nothing to worry abut with these stars moving along so patiently, so steadily…This is what I came here for. And I got it.”

They all “got it.” But an anthology turns into an endless task so I’ll stop here, except to say the final piece in the anthology is a delightful travel piece about Tibet—and more—by Hilece Rose. Many of the names I didn’t mention in Drinking from the Stream to Taos-area readers are familiar, vaguely familiar, or new but each bit of prose and poetry rewards the reader.

You would do well to pick up the anthology and take it down to the Rio Grande this summer or up to Williams Lake to celebrate the jewels of Mother Nature and the prayers sent skyward by these…”adventuresses.” (There is more to life in Taos than Mabel and her cronies.)