To hear Alycin Hayes read Sumac Lemonade go to : Life is a Trip! Standing quietly by the fading embers of my campfire, I listened to the songs of morning birds. My blue tent, slack with the weight of evening dew, dried slowly as a strengthening sun rose in the sky. A grove of ripe sumac trees on a nearby rocky hill invited me to harvest them. Bucket in hand, I made my way to gather their red fruit. They were easy to reach as the trees were small, not even eight feet tall. In a short time I filled my bucket with as much of the furry fruit as it would hold and returned to my campsite to prepare to make sumac lemonade. The sun, now reaching its full height in the clear sky above, embraced me with an invisible blanket of hot air making my body perspire profusely. I removed my clothes and lay face up in the tall grass. Occasionally, a grasshopper would brush its body against mine, in a search for fresh blades of grass. I didn’t move - until the birds stopped singing. Suddenly all was quiet, a strange yet familiar silence made me sit up to listen intently. My gaze turned toward the now voiceless marsh. A dog barked. Three mallard ducks flew up above the trees briefly, then disappeared loudly on the other side of the wetland. Again a dog barked, followed by the sound of horses trotting on the trail which lay west of the woods. Nervously I arose, pieces of dry grass still clinging to my naked body. For a moment, I stood frozen, staring in the direction of the approaching horses, not sure what to do, when out of nowhere a white-talied deer bounded past me into the sumac thicket. Without thinking, I quickly followed and hid myself within the foliage of this sanctuary. Crouching low, I watched and waited. The horses' hoof beats were now accompanied by voices of men and women that seemed somehow familiar. I remained concealed. The riders arrived and quickly dismounted, holding their horses motionless like statues as they searched with their eyes for the occupants of my camp. The dog cautiously sniffed at the smoldering ashes of my morning fire. A naked child, I recognized, ran to my bucket of red sumac berries, picked up one bunch and took it gleefully to a woman sitting beside my fire pit. How did I know this child with long dark hair? She was remarkably familiar. I could smell the horses sweat as it rose from their steaming bodies and felt their relief when the riders removed the wet saddle blankets. Set free, the small Attawandaron spirit horses quickly bowed their heads to feast on the surrounding tall grass. In no time at all, my visitors erected three wigwams in a circle around my campsite and made a roaring fire. After cooking a meal on it, they ate their fill, casually throwing scraps to the dog while occasionally glancing around, waiting, looking for the owner of the camp to return. I silently remained hidden, watching. They could not see me. The young girl ran from one to the other laughing and cheerfully chatting about grasshoppers, food and the fire until she finally fell into a deep sleep beside one of the wigwams. A smiling woman carried her inside. Tired from their long ride, the rest of my visitors also entered into their respective wigwams to sleep. My camp returned to woodland silence, disturbed only by the sounds of breathing sleepers. Like a night owl, I watched silently from the woods. Gradually, distant memories began to fill my head. While pondering these echoes in my mind, a howling wind blew across the campsite lifting a spark from the ashes of the campfire, carrying it to the dry grass around my camp. With incredible rapidity the tiny spark changed into flames that hungrily licked at the dry meadow. From my sumac hill I could see dense gray smoke rising. I saw angry flames, galloping horses, yelling people, whimpering dogs, more roaring flames and heard a desolate crying girl. Suddenly I knew! The little girl was me, lifetimes ago. I felt her horrendous burning pain. We began to scream. Our voices became one, screaming again and again, louder and louder until no voice was left. Intoxicating black smoke darkened the sky. I lost consciousness… Awakened by the song of chirping crickets I found myself alone, surrounded by night. Pale moonlight revealed no sign of the previous day’s visitors or devastating fire. The wigwams had completely disappeared. The deadly smoke was gone. All that remained was my blue tent with a bucket of sumac berries next to it. Had I been dreaming? I wondered, that is until I saw the small bunch of sumac berries the child had removed from my bucket still lying next to the cold ashes of my campfire. … a message from another time. Wrapping myself in a blanket, I squatted beside my fire pit, lighting a new fire to boil water for my sumac lemonade. Yes, the little girl was gone, but not entirely. We were one and the same - shared lifetimes apart. My Recipe for Sumac Lemonade Harvest ripe, red sumac berries. Place in a large pot. Cover with water and boil over a campfire. Allow to sit for an hour to cool. Use a wooden spoon or your hands to "smoosh" the berries Strain. If you want sweetener use a little local honey or maple syrup. Enjoy. Alycin Hayes has spent much of her life adventuring all over the world. If you enjoy her blog you will also
want to read her books: Amazon Hitchhiker: A Woman’s Adventures from Canada to Brazil and her award-winning children's book Milo and the Mustang
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Freedom's Just Another Word...I returned to Brazil in 1977 with my best friend Jan Kalmusky. We flew from Toronto to a city located at the mouth of the Amazon River, Belem. After landing in this humid, equatorial old Brazilian port we set out to explore its beautiful colonial Portuguese architecture. Running along the dock by the river we found a vast open-air street market that sold all kinds of jungle fruits and Amazonian fish we had never seen before. Also for sale were indigenous handicrafts, a large array of young monkeys, colorful parrots and other rainforest animals I could not even name. There was one adorable, baby squirrel monkey that we could not resist. We impulsively bought it and took it home to our hotel where we soon began to realize owning a monkey was a huge responsibility. After it pooped all over our hotel room the poor creature's charm began to fade. We couldn't possibly travel with this baby monkey so we took it to a local park knowing that someone there would take it in. I still feel immensely guilty for buying it. At the time I didn't understand that its mother had certainly been killed to capture it. Poor baby. Soon after abandoning our little orphan we left Belem and started hitchhiking south east singing "Freedoms just another word ...". You see we heard that Janis Joplin had hitchhiked around Brazil so we thought if she could do it, we would too. Why not? We were two foolish, young, 23 year old blonde girls on the road to Rio. It seemed like a great plan. |
Alycin Hayes has spent her life adventuring all over the world. If you enjoy the stories and travel writing tips in this blog, you will also love her books: Amazon Hitchhiker:A Woman’s Adventures from Canada to Brazil and her award-winning children's book Milo and the Mustang. Archives
August 2024
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