I just got off a Google Hangout book club meeting with seven of my dearest friends. We all met during a fateful two summers as interns or outdoor education instructors at the Mono Lake Committee in 2008 and 2009 and have since stayed in touch and kept our heart connection strong.
About a month ago, Katherine and Claire came up with the wonderful idea to have a Mono Women's Feminist Book Club to read both fiction and non-fiction by women authors and get together once a month to catch up, talk feminism, nature, privilege, and build ourselves and each other up in this world.
Our first book was When Women Were Birds: Fifty-four Variations on Voice by Terry Tempest Williams. This was beyond fitting because of where we met, how our friendships evolved, and how intricately tied our relationships in this world are to nature, even when we live in cities or are so consumed by school or work or the many motions of our lives that we can't immerse ourselves physically every day. The book struck many chords in all of us and our discussion was rich and empowering.
Jessi listened to it as an Audiobook and she said having Terry Tempest Williams herself read it aloud gave so much gentle power to the book: it was being heard how it was meant to be heard. I am going to listen to it on tape now, so I can hear and feel that power and beauty.I heard Terry speak in Point Reyes (my hometown) in winter of '08-'09 and read from Finding Beauty in a Broken World. I was mesmerized, moved, and inspired by both her words and her world. I was 19 and had just read TTW's book Refuge at a time in my life when it could not have been more perfect. My dear friend had just committed suicide and I was broken. I turned to birds and nature to cope. I heard TTW speak just when I was beginning to carefully melt the mirror shards of my heart back into a beautiful reflective mosaic. After the reading, I waited in line to speak with her. She was wearing a long dark velvet dress and her silver hair and silver jewelry calmed me. I told her how much Refuge had helped me cope with Sumner's death and she empathized and it felt so genuine (I was learning that many people froze in response, but she warmed). She suggested a book on suicide, hugged me, and away we went.
I often carry her words with me. I am so out of practice as a writer, but I feel the inspiration bubbling up. I will make more time to sit in nature here in this high desert and let it flow. My own voice will return with the birds.
I am so thankful for these strong women in my life, for each of their voices and each of their stories.
