My plane arrived in the airspace around DFW airport a bit ahead of schedule and began circling the field waiting for permission to land. It’s raining and after a few minutes the pilot reports to the passengers over the loudspeaker that we don’t have enough fuel to wait around “up here,” so we’re being diverted to Oklahoma City. The couple next to me begin discussing their concern about missing connecting flights to the beach where they had hoped to celebrate their 50th wedding anniversary. I had no connecting flights which was part of my annoyance since I had expected for once, traveling out of Pittsburgh I might not have to go somewhere I don’t want to go in order to get to where I’m wanting to go. I had no specific momentous occasion to celebrate, but the long-time women friends I was scheduled to meet with and I hadn’t been able to meet in person for the past 3 years. For the women gathering in the East Texas woods, and my colleagues and friends in Austin, this was an occasion for reemerging after a long period of sheltering at home and communicating only through our devices.
After an hour or so on the tarmac in Oklahoma, we are told that it’s not just a matter of weather. There was a fire in the fuel farm area of the airport, which I learned from a discussion among the passengers, is where bulk storage tanks hold and dispense aviation fuel. There is no fuel for planes at DFW and the entire airport had to be shut down.
After this dramatic beginning, we eventually got fuel in Oklahoma and made it to Texas, arriving in the midst of an unexpected cold front I was completely unprepared for. Packing the night before, I checked the weather forecast, which was 70 degrees in Dallas, so I took many of my heavier clothes out of my suitcase to make room for books we were selling at the book event–a decision I would regret throughout the 6-day trip.
Once at the retreat center I walk respectfully among the objects in the medicine lodge, and it ignites reminders of these past 30 plus years of my life in the process. There are photos of members of the group that no longer walk among us, and gifts they’ve given us, like the statue of the goddess Morgan given to me by my dear friend Jyoti who thought her serious, determined face and warrior stance looked enough like me that I could have posed for its maker. Many musical instruments, small shakers, drums, and a large gong were new, a gift from a young musician I’ve yet to meet. As the vibrations from these sound makers join the tones of a singer’s voice and the rhythm of her guitar, sound waves move through the air, rising to the ceiling, and falling back again to shower us with an experience that can only happen when we gather in person–the unity of entrainment, “(on the same wavelength), and the soothing of our bodies and souls.
Walking the land, toward the spring for which the center is named, I see the changes in the three plus years since I’ve been there. I notice the drought distress of the trees and feel relief that I’m able to find the spring easily by following the path of surface water from the recent torrential rain we drove through. I’ve always found the east Texas woods to be a place of dramatic extremes, no rain and then too much, too cold, and then way too hot – the thicket full of brambles and poison ivy, and climate change seems to be making it more so. Only during the days of the early April Gathering does it sometimes feel just right.
Once we decided to resume live events, it seemed logical that we’d drive the nearly four hours to Austin, a city I frequented regularly for five or more years, teaching and performing InterPlay. My Austin phone list contained over 100 names, most with notations on who the person was and how they got on it. “Musician who played for our performance at the Vintage Theater and at the Women’s Peace Conference in Dallas,” “African American Dancer,” “seminary student who went to the prison with us,” Talk about reminders and the joy of remembering! By the time I finished the chore of moving still functioning emails to constant contact there were 62 left to send an invitation to, and a tremendous feeling of gratitude for the people who had been my playmates and for what we did together.
The in-person event was glorious and beyond what I could ever have imagined. We were all so thrilled to be together in the dance studio that our dancing social worker, Barbara Jo Stetzelburger built just before the pandemic shut in-person events down. So, it was clear the Texas community members were reemerging too. It was good to support Barbara Jo in her sorrow on that day as many trees in sight of the studio had to be cut down due to disease. The music of Soyinka Rahim, who does a great job online, provided an over the moon aspect to our playing in person. She followed us with her drums and shakers and beautiful chants, and we followed her to the point we couldn’t tell who was following whom, always the best kind of collaboration.
I surprised myself about how tied I am to convenience and the familiar. Leaving the place where I’ve arranged to have my preferences available and my needs met, I found myself getting annoyed by small things –the, to me, unpleasant smell of the coconut mango hotel shampoo and soap, the search for drinking water that didn’t have something foreign added to it, the inability to get google searches and weather reports in the woods or as we traveled. The cold weather followed me everywhere I went, even to the hotel restaurant where my sister helped me wait out my flight home. After shivering at our table, for over an hour Maureen asked the restaurant host, whose own coat was draped over his uniform, if he could ask the manager to turn the heat up. He came back with the message that the airport had a gas leak, and the hotel was getting fumes, so they had to keep the front door open. Perhaps in my next reemergence, I can be a more accepting traveler, and a more efficient all-season packer.
