January and February have been months of contrasts for us. In January we were lucky enough to visit the island of Culebra in Puerto Rico where it was warm and sunny and we walked beaches every day. At home in Vermont, it has been snowy and cold and we have walked the Trail Around Middlebury often and sometimes hiked up the Middlebury College Snow Bowl with back country skis. In the February newsletter of the Bread Loaf Mountain Zen Community, guiding teacher, Joshin Byrnes began with a poem by 17th century Japanese poet, Basho.

Winter solitude

In a world of one color

The sound of the wind.

I find I am carrying these words with me out into the snowy world.

Children and teachers at Principia School exploring the woods in the snow

As I walk or hike, wherever I am this winter, I also consider a poem of Sister Jina, a nun from the Netherlands, who coordinated the Family Retreat who we met in the 90s with Thich Nhat Hanh in Plum Village.

In a new book, Moments of Joy, she writes small poems for each season. In the Winter section she writes.

Walking in moonlight

Walking in starlight

Only my thoughts can disturb me

She writes in her introduction. I was not looking for anything. Beautiful moments just happened and were spontaneously expressed in words. She continues, I hope you will savor these moments of joy and be inspired to record your own. May many wonders reveal themselves to you on your path.

Aerial image of spiral in the snow by photographer Caleb Kenna used with permission

The poems that Sister Jina writes are not haiku strictly speaking, with rules about syllables, yet they have the feeling of haiku because many are focused on the natural world, do not use personal pronouns or punctuation for the most part, and focus on an arresting image, also for the most part.

I began thinking of our friend John Elder, professor emeritus at Middlebury College, and his practice of inviting students to collaborate on the poetry form called renga. In Japanese culture, the renga form also has strict rules. John uses a looser, more friendly and flexible form. Renga is a stringing together of haiku like images by different authors who are listening to one another and responding with their own images. Renga writing is often practiced outside in different seasons. Renga is a practice of collaborative haiku like poems, often spoken rather than written, of short phrases of images, seasonal references, without personal pronouns.

It occurs to me that young children often compose haiku like phrases and with them we can create a kind of renga. I “caught”this renga out of phrases spoken by our grandchildren, ages three, seven, and nine yesterday on a walk.

Why does ice melt?

Air bubbles in the ice move slowly.

Listen to the sweet sap falling into the bucket.

Why is maple sap sweet?

Hear the backyard birds!

Red-winged blackbirds up in the trees.

Another idea is to combine creating haiku like phrases or renga with the practice of Seton Watching, named for Ernest Thompson Seton (1860-1946), that I learned at the Vermont Institute of Natural Science…Sitting quietly in the natural world, waiting for what happens and what you notice…an animal passing by, a bird song, the wind in the grasses. Find resources on Seton Watching practice with students here and here.

Often, the wonders we notice also inspire play with the elements themselves. Especially for children, who are always playing with leaves, sticks, pebbles, mud, ice, as natural materials in the natural world. Like the spirals on the beach and in the snow pictured in this post. For many of us this play brings to mind the inspiration of Andy Goldsworthy and his interplay with the natural world to make beautiful, ephemeral compositions.

Spiral of coral and stones found on a pebble beach

Both of these practices, simple poems with few words, and playing with the elements of the world invite and nurture presence, play, joy, and wonder. They can be done individually or in a small group. These along with other practices and resources help to inform and shape a curriculum for learning in the natural world.

At Principia, a school in St. Louis where we work with the early childhood team, one class of four and five year olds and their teachers has been spending days outside every week in part of their campus called the East Woods. They are taking their time, exploring, drawing, wondering, imagining, in different seasons and times of day. They are learning through time and experience who lives in this particular woods close to their school.

Children at Principia drawing and writing in the woods

Among other resources, the teachers are inspired by Ann Pelo’s book, The Goodness of Rain. Ann Pelo writes…

This is what I want for children: a sensual, emotional, and conscious connection to place; the sure, sweet knowledge of earth, air, sky. As a teacher, I want to foster in children an ecological identity, one that shapes them as surely as their cultural and social identities. I believe that this ecological identity, born in a particular place, opens children to a broader connection with the earth; love for a specific place makes possible love for other places. An ecological identity allows us to experience the earth as our home ground, and leaves us determined to live in honorable relationship with our planet.

May we all find ways to be present, joyful, and grounded in the natural world on our own, with others, and side by side the children we love and teach.

Plum Village, France, Family Retreat, 1992

In March of 1989, Ashley and I set out from our home in Vermont with our two sons, Alden and Chris, ages five and eight, to points west. We planned to home school our children “on wheels” as we camped, visited friends and family, and the great national parks of the southwest and west. My mother had told us about a Vietnamese Buddhist monk named Thich Nhat Hanh who she had read about. She said that he held family retreats and that there would be one in Santa Barbara, California in early April. So we enrolled our family in this special five-day retreat. With Thich Nhat Hanh, or Thay as we called him (for “teacher”), we learned simple practices…counting ten smooth stones as we breathed, walking meditation, mindfully placing each foot on the earth in the orange groves surrounding the retreat center, tea meditations, bringing our awareness completely to sipping tea and tasting cookies, and sharing songs or poems. Along with the other children, our sons listened to Thay, rapt in attention, while he sat cross legged under trees in the shade and told stories of the Buddha’s life. Later Chris shared with us that he didn’t always understand the stories, but he loved listening to Thay’s voice. Thay walked with beauty and intention, touching the earth with presence and gratitude. He spoke softly and liltingly. We calibrated to his pace. We were all enchanted.

Thay ringing the bell, 1989, Casa Di Maria, Family Retreat, Santa Barbara

In 1992, after spending the year in Reggio Emilia, Italy, we made our way to Plum Village in France, Thay’s community established when he was exiled from Vietnam for speaking out against the war and advocating for peaceful solutions. At that time, there was an annual family retreat at Plum Village in August, usually for a month. For three summers, we went there for two weeks. It felt like an international family camp with adults and children from Europe, North America, Asia, Australia, and New Zealand. We walked among the sunflowers, played games, went for group walking meditation periods along the shaded paths, ate our meals outside beginning in silence and seeing each bite of bread or green bean as “an ambassador from the universe…holding the rain, the sun, the earth, the sky, the seeds, the farmers…all in one bite of nourishment.” Each of us had jobs that contributed to the well-being of all. We made friends that we still have for which we are deeply grateful.

Walking Meditation, Family Retreat with Thich Nhat Hanh, Santa Barbara, 1989

In those days, Thay was well known, but his following was not enormous. During that first family retreat in Santa Barbara, there were roughly 60 people, and at the summer family retreats in Plum Village, perhaps just over a hundred.

Thich Naht Hanh died on January 22, 2022 at midnight in Hue’, Vietnam, at the temple where he was ordained as a monk. He returned there three years ago, after suffering a stroke. In an email exchange yesterday, one of our friends from those early days, Roshi Joan Halifax wrote,

yes, Thay... now gone beyond.

I am grateful to have had such a close relationship with him for so many years.

Now his dharma is in all of us.

I am deeply grateful also. We were so very fortunate to have those early experiences with such a wise and compassionate spiritual leader and teacher. I love thinking that I am carrying Thay’s dharma with me, that it is inside me. What is Thay’s dharma?...our true nature as compassion, understanding, and love, our path of the practice of mindfulness, the teachings that reveal the truth and our true nature, in this case, Thay’s teachings which we absorbed in our young lives. Our young lives as parents, and our sons’ young lives as children.

Now, I hear Thay’s gathas everywhere. I heard my yoga teacher recite one this morning at the beginning and the end of class. A gatha is a song or verse used in meditation practice, and Wikipedia says that they were popularized by Zen Master Thich Naht Hanh.

In, out

Deep, slow

Calm, ease

Smile, release

Present moment,

Wonderful moment.

This is how Thich Nhat Hanh describes the meaning of this gatha.

“Breathing in, I know that I am breathing in. Breathing out, I know that I am breathing out. Breathing in, my in-breath has become deep. Breathing out, my out-breath has become slow.” Now we can practice, “Deep/slow.” We don’t have to make an extra effort. It just becomes deeper and slower by itself, and we recognize that.

Later on, you will notice that you have become calmer and more at ease. “Breathing in, I feel calm. Breathing out, I feel at ease. I am not struggling anymore. Calm/ease.” And then, “Breathing in, I smile. Breathing out, I release all my worries and anxieties. Smiles/release.” We are able to smile to ourselves and release all our worries. There are more than three hundred muscles in our face, and when we know how to breathe in and smile, these muscles can relax. This is “mouth yoga.” We smile and are able to release all our feelings and emotions. The last practice is, “Breathing in, I dwell deeply in the present moment. Breathing out, I know this is a wonderful moment. Present moment/wonderful moment.” Nothing is more precious than being in the present moment fully alive and aware.

Chris and Alden learning hugging meditation with Thay, 1989

Last night, we watched the last day of the ceremonies honoring Thay’s life in Hue’, Vietnam and Plum Village, France as well as other monasteries around the world. We watched as Thay’s casket was carried in a long procession of monks and placed inside a cremation structure. We watched as monks brought flames to start the fire. As the smoke curled around their faces, we listened to poems and songs shared by monks and nuns, and translations of letters written by Thay to his communities of monastic and lay practitioners. He wrote:

I am not in the stupa, (commemorative monument).

If I am anywhere, I am in your mindful walking and breathing.

Even today, I am still arriving as a bud about to blossom, or a tiny bird learning to sing in my new nest.

Do not stop the continuation of my ashes.

The Buddha, you and I hold each other’s hands, the beloved community, as we climb the hill of the century. You and I have never really been apart.

On the edge of the forest, the wild plum tree has burst into bloom.

Be a refuge. You are the continuation of the ancestral teaching.

I offer you great strength and energy.

Coming and going in freedom,

The wind still soars, earth opens to the clear blue sky.

Come home and relax in your mindful steps.

In an episode from the last few days, Krista Tippet replays a 2003 interview with Thay, and also several others who were present at a five-day retreat in Wisconsin lead by Thay that year. We hear from a female police officer, Cheri Maples, and a Black Baptist minister, Larry Ward. They speak about how they each were transformed in their work and life by Thay’s teaching. Please listen to this podcast and to the voices and wisdom of Thay, Cheri Maples, and Larry Ward.

And for we teachers, watch this film produced by teachers in Toronto and the organization wakeupschools.org of Plum Village. This piece was filmed during a retreat with Thay for teachers. Please watch this short, beautiful film and learn more about mindfulness in schools starting with teachers’ practice, insight, and happiness.

Many blessings to each of you. May you be safe and happy. May you be healthy and live with ease.

May you practice mindfulness as we climb the hill of the century as the beloved community that our ancestors, Thich Nhat Hanh, Martin Luther King Jr., bell hooks, and other wise and compassionate teachers have envisioned and lived their lives to show us the way.