In the time of the Olympians, Demeter lived in eternal sunshine with her daughter, Persephone. Demeter, goddess of agriculture, was an important and beloved goddess to the Greeks and nothing was more precious to Demeter than Persephone.
Persephone was fathered by Zeus, but she was entirely Demeter’s daughter and Demeter guarded her child from anyone who would wish to take Persephone from her. Hades, the god of the Underworld, fell in love with the beautiful maiden and approached Zeus to find a way to make her his own.
Demeter did not want anyone to take Persephone, but the thought of her graceful, sun-loving girl living in the land of the dead would be especially unsettling for the goddess. Zeus and Hades knew Demeter would never consent to the marriage, so they decided it would be best if Hades just kidnapped the girl.
Hades waited until Persephone was away from her mother with only her Nymphs to attend to her. He disguised himself as the most beautiful, fragrant flower and set himself where Persephone would see him – just out of reach of the others.
When Persephone knelt for the flower, the ground opened, and she fell into the Underworld. Once Persephone was below, the ground closed, and no sign was left of Demeter’s daughter.
The Nymphs had no idea where Persephone had gone and when Demeter returned, she was beside herself with the loss.
Demeter searched the earth for her daughter and with her sorrow, came famine. The plants stopped growing and people were dying. Zeus realized he had to do something, so he sent his messenger to negotiate with Hades.
Meanwhile, Persephone had been living in the Underworld with Hades. We do not know her thoughts through any part of the story. What we do know, is that while she is in the Underworld, Persephone ate 6 pomegranate seeds.
In Greece, EVERYONE knows that you don’t eat anything in the Underworld, yet Persephone does and when Mercury attempts to negotiate her return to Demeter and the land of the living, those seeds become a big problem.
In fact, eating six seeds almost got Persephone to be trapped in the Underworld forever, but Demeter was too powerful. Zeus had to appease the goddess or all of mankind would die.
To be fair to Hades and to calm Demeter’s sadness, Zeus declared that Persephone would spend one month for each seed eaten in the Underworld every year and would spend the other 6 months with Demeter.
This is the reason we have seasons today. When Persephone leaves her mother, the plants stop producing and begin to die off. However, in Spring, when Persephone returns, all the plants burst to life, and we have spring and summer.
As a mythologist, I tried to connect this article to the stories of an Algonquin bear hunt that explains why the leaves change colors in the fall or of Persephone’s yearly return to the Underworld that causes the seasons to shift, but I was more inspired from simply watching the animals and trees in our mountain community. The animals are not out as much, but even though I do not see them, they are busy making nests and storing food. Their work is not as obvious as their spring and summer activity, but it is important for their survival. I also noticed that the trees are turning colors and beginning to lose their leaves. Their fruit is a memory of late summer and a distant promise for next year. The animals and trees are focusing resources on the basics and preservation. It became obvious, to me, that I needed to fall back too and reorganize my mindset for the transition of the seasons.
You see, recently, I had been feeling out-of-sorts. I have felt more tired, less productive, and frustrated with myself. Regular seasonal mountain things, like power outages or road closures, felt more challenging and I was losing my patience more quickly than I should. I could not figure out what was wrong with me, but then, I realized – it is fall! Even though I have lived through enough years on the mountain to remember that the seasons are dramatic here, I forgot what those seasonal transitions mean for our day-to-day lives.
I was trying to live my life by summer standards and feeling myself falling short. While I filled my home with fall colors and good-smelling fall foods; I had not prepared myself for the fall. Instead of resisting with frantic attempts to be outwardly productive that is more suitable for summer; I needed to allow myself to do less, to rest, and to embrace the natural, more domestic nature of autumn. We physically retreat inside during the cold, dark days of winter, but we also need to give ourselves time to stop and go inside to ourselves during this time. Fall, and especially winter, are times for restorative stillness, reflection, and planning.
By researching for this article, by quietly watching nature, and reflecting to write – I learned to give myself grace and regain my patience. I learned by watching the trees that it is not only okay to release what does not serve us at this time, but also, that it can be beautiful to observe. The animals showed me that it is proper, not selfish, to focus resources on the home and that activities do not need to be obvious for them to be valuable. I learned to take time to rest, to reflect, and grow the seeds for spring.
Thank you for taking your time to read my ramblings. For more about the Algonquin myth of the bear hunt and the changing of the leaves in fall or the story of Demeter, Persephone, and the reason for the seasons according to Greek mythology, please listen to the links below.
My grandpa was a kind and patient man. He was slow to anger and quick to smile with us kids – but there was a time he lost his patience with me, a time with Jeff, and a time his dad lost it with him that I want to share. These stories have continued to be told in our family as the few examples of times when grandpa’s patience wore thin.
I don’t know when my grandpa started to take me fishing by myself. I must have been about my kids’ ages (7-10) when I became a good fishing buddy. We enjoyed fishing the Santa Ana River in Southern California together.
I was a city kid. My dad didn’t take me fishing and my mom and stepdad do not fish. It was grandpa that introduced me to the river, that taught me about the currents, and that showed me where to cast my line so it wouldn’t scare the fish, but flow naturally so they would bite.
Grandpa also shared his love for photography with me, specifically black and white photography. One winter day, grandpa thought it would be fun to take me to the aspens to take black and white pictures in the snow and catch a little fishing on the way home.
Like I said, I was a city kid, wearing city clothes. A long sleeve shirt, light jacket, jeans, and tennis shoes. If you are unaware of how to dress for a day in the snow and at the icy river – it is not jeans and certainly not tennis shoes.
The day started out beautifully. The aspens were the perfect subject for our pictures – especially in the snow. Soon however, my feet started to hurt and I wanted to go back to the warm car, but I was a trooper and I didn’t complain. I don’t think I even had gloves on – I was clueless.
We had time to warm up in the car from the aspens to the river. It was a pleasant drive as grandpa told me stories and we watched the snow covered mountains and trees pass the window.
As we walked out to the river, I hesitated. I knew the further we walked out, the further we had to walk back – and I was still cold. But, grandpa loved fishing, he wasn’t going to let a little ice on the creek stop him (he had full waterproof waders on). His enthusiasm was contagious as we got to the river to fish.
It was cold – but it was also very pretty. Until I slipped on one of the icy rocks in the river. I fell – hard – into ice, cold water. That was it, I had enough and wanted to go NOW! Grandpa was concerned but I was okay and we hadn’t fished long. I was crying and making lots of noise – between my splash and noise, he wasn’t catching any fish anyways and we hurried to his green Ford Explorer and cranked up the heater.
It wasn’t major, but I know my grandpa was irritated with me that day. His tone was different, his actions sharper – he has lost his patience with me. I felt like a fussy baby, not the tough oldest grandkid of Jack Jones. I was wet and cold and at that moment couldn’t even enjoy the beauty of the snow – it was the only time I remember grandpa becoming irritated by me.
The time he lost his patience with Uncle Jeff
Grandpa told me a story about a time he lost his patience with my Uncle Jeff when he was just a boy. They were walking the river, fishing. My uncle, being a small boy was lagging behind, I’m sure, and his arm brushed against a purple thistle. If you’ve never touched a thistle, it stings! The sensation is similar to how I imagine a hundred burning pins. There is an easy way to ease the pain – you either hold the affected area in the cold water or put cold river mud on it. At the time, my grandpa was already annoyed with Jeff.
Maybe grandpa didn’t know how bad a thistle sting could be but after seeing why Jeff was crying, my grandpa did something uncharacteristic – he lost his patience and got angry. He told Jeff that those flowers didn’t hurt that much and grabbed the thistle firmly into his hand.
Now, I’ve touched thistles plenty of times, but never grabbed it to were the needles would press into my skin. Grandpa told the story about how his anger made him foolish and the pain made his eyes well up with tears. He told me it was one of the worst pains he ever felt and it was even worse because it was a pain he deserved because it came from anger at his hurt son. He told me the story to teach me not to touch thistles but also to warn me not to let the anger win.
The time grandpa made his dad swear
I never knew my great grandparents except through stories, but my great grandfather was a good, kind, and gentle man. He was a farmer that prayed and often shed a tear when he took an animals’ life for food. My grandpa was raised a Quaker and according to him, his father never cussed or swore but did have two ‘Yankee curse words’ and I want to share a time of when my grandpa made his kind and gentle father so mad – he said them both.
Grandpa as an adult was mischievous and a bit of a trickster so I can only imagine what sort of fun he must have been as a young boy. One time, he and his friend got the idea to trick his dad. They got a bucket, filled it full of water, and balanced it on the wedged door his dad would be coming through and then, hid and waited.
When great grandpa walked through the door, the bucket did not turn over and instead of having a bucket of water spill out on his head, he had a bucket full of water fall directly, with full force onto his head – and then spill on the floor.
My grandpa said he could still remember the sickening sound of the bucket hitting his father’s head and the extreme sudden remorse he felt. He had only meant to play a joke, not seriously injure him.
Little boy grandpa and his friend stayed hidden out of fear as his father’s face grew red from the neck up and tears rolled out of his eyes down to the floor and he very quietly, but with great anger said “Rats … BEAN SOUP!”
And that is the only time my grandpa said he remembered his father cursing.
Today would have been my grandparents 69th wedding anniversary – my grandfather passed away almost two years ago and my grandma just remarried this week. Needless to say, I’ve been thinking of my grandpa more lately. I miss him so much and I cry more now than I did a year ago. He was an awesome man.
My grandpa and I had a special relationship and part of that relationship was built on fishing. I love fishing because it is a connection to my grandpa, to his dad, to my children, to my husband, and to my grandpa’s family in general.
So today, I was going to go to the creek to remember grandpa, but it didn’t feel right. We went with the kids to celebrate his life but this was his anniversary and my grandma was freshly married.
I wondered what grandpa would have thought. He loved grandma with all his heart. His love was beautiful, their love was beautiful. It was an example for our family and for the many people they reached through their lives.
Grandma was sad without grandpa, her health deteriorated, and she began to feel she could not live independently. Her new husband makes her happy, he brings the bounce back to her step … at 90, my grandma is giddy with new love. I know grandpa loves grandma enough to want her to have that happiness. I can almost hear him chuckle with her at her girlishness. I’m crying as I write this. My grandpa had a great laugh.
So, I didn’t go to the creek, I painted. I painted a fish, a frog, a puma, and another rainbow trout for grandpa.
I think grandpa would like my paintings. I think he would place them on reading desk in the back room or on the bookshelf in the living room. I think he would be happy to see how we have carried out what we learned from him.
I miss him most with the happy times. He would have loved getting to know my husband better, seeing the great grandchildren with their growing personalities. He would be happy to know Mike’s kids live a country life, that Joe’s kids are as athletic as ever, and mine have their mother’s creative spark. He would love knowing we all keep the river in our hearts as a part of him.
So happy anniversary grandpa. We love and miss you forever – here’s some rainbow trout for you – I hope you enjoy them in heaven as much as I enjoyed painting them for you here on earth.
“There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.” Maya Angelou, I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings
I lived most of my life with untold stories inside of me. I wouldn’t acknowledge the stories from my past and was afraid to believe in stories for the future. This was a painful way to live because I wasn’t my true self. It took years of studying mythologies and depth psychology to begin to understand the importance of our stories. Once I embraced my stories – both lived and unlived – life began to change in ways I had not before imagined possible. I was no longer content to live the life that was easy. I wanted a life that was interesting and fulfilling. I learned how to write my story and actually live it! I had control of my life. It wasn’t easy, in fact it was terrifying, and continues to be an ongoing journey but the rewards are certainly worth the effort. In fact, the effort has been its own reward. I invite you to join us for a weekend of self-discovery to find out what stories need to be told and how to tell them to shape a better future.
Our speakers Juile Paegle, Kathy Jaffe, and myself, Tracy Marrs are enthusiastically preparing meaningful experiences for our exciting weekend focusing on the power of words. You don’t need to be a writer to have a story to tell but if you want to write, Julie and myself have years of experience guiding writers of all levels to awaken their untold stories and make them alive on the page. Oftentimes, facing these stories can be difficult, Kathy is a licensed therapist with a background in word power and living mindfully. Her experiences and training give her the ability to help others as they navigate their narratives to find their authentic selves.
If things get a little too cerebral, take a break and go for a swim in the pool, relax on the deck and listen to the birds, or wander along the many scenic trails, on your own or with a friend. Also, make sure to take time to quiet the mind and stretch the body with our amazing yoga instructor. Stories can heal the past, enrich the present and comfort and inspire us for the future. Your story is important – let us help you find it, express it, and live it.
Is fly fishing a hobby, sport, or ritual? To answer this question, one must first have a working definition of what ritual is. According to my understanding of his article, Jennings asserts that ritual contains three key elements. First, that it is a pattern of action, something done in the same way over time. Second, that pattern of action is the symbolization of what is known or manifested through myth, this is the way we understand and explain our world through myth not science – it is symbolic. Finally, ritual is a means of transmitting and gaining knowledge (111-113). To these criteria, I would like to add inclusion, the knowledge is shared by sharing the ritual, it is through the experience of sharing the knowledge and the ritual acts, that it is through the experience, the participants gain a bond, and a sense of community. I will use these three components for defining ritual to determine if fly fishing is in fact, a ritual.
Some people may try to argue that fly fishing doesn’t qualify as a ritual, that it is a skills-based activity that lacks a deeper meaning, a myth, but to authors like Snyder, fly fishing isn’t just a ritual, it is an entire religion, which is the myth. He argues that there is a spiritual component between man and nature that exists in the act of fly fishing. He points out that “fly fishers around the world frequently describe their experiences of fishing through the use of terms such as religious, spiritual, sacred, divine, ritual, meditation, and conversion. Further, drawing upon religious terminology, fly fishers will refer to rivers as their church and to nature as sacred” (Snyder). As an avid river lover and fishing enthusiast, I lean toward Snyder’s assertion that it is most certainly a spiritual experience that fits all the criteria to qualify fly fishing as a ritual.
Pattern of action
Ritual is a pattern of action. It includes repetition, but not all repetitions are rituals. The action can occur for multiple individuals, like high school graduations or weddings, or it could occur multiple times for an individual like a ritual before a football game for a team or individual. A ritual must also have symbolic meaning, the actions need to have meaning based on myth, not science. Brushing your teeth every day is a pattern of action but we do it because we know, based on scientific evidence, not just beliefs, that it will help our teeth from decaying, so brushing your teeth is a pattern of action that is not a ritual.
Fly fishing is a pattern of action. Fly fishing is a delicately balanced sport, a mixture of scientific and mythical movements. Each flick of the wrist is done with a finesse from repetition and rhythm, the fisherman consistently attempts to improve his technique through repetition. There is a slow, meditative quality to the actions, a sort of grace in the technique that adds to the mythology of fly fishing. It is a sport, a pattern of actions filled with meaning and symbols that makes it a ritual as well a sport.
Symbolization of what is known or manifested through myth
In order for a pattern of action to be a ritual, it must also have a symbolic component, it is something based on beliefs, not proven fact. While those beliefs may also coincide with proven fact, they are based on what is known through myth, not science. The actions are driven by the ritual and the symbolism of the actions, such as studying the life cycle of a mayfly to connect with nature and learn more about your ritual, not strictly for the sake of data for future practice of the sport.
What is the myth of fly fishing? Snyder’s article is a great example of the myth of fly fishing, that it is a type of religion that connects the participants to nature in a deep spiritual way. Fly fishing is certainly a symbolic structure that leads to a knowledge of nature. To become an adept fly fisher, one must learn about the fish, the insect life, and the river and apply this knowledge to the growth and improvement of their ritual. I think these components of fly fishing not only show that there is a myth for fly fishing. The belief is that fly fishing connects the participants to nature, to a higher power, and helps them feel connected to their world, it is not about catching fish for food or competition, it is purely a way to “construe and construct their world” (Jennings, 112). Since ritual and myths must be learned or shared, ritual need not only be a symbolic pattern of actions, it is a way of transmitting the knowledge contained in and around the ritual.
Knowledge transmission and inquiry and discovery
Ritual is a means of knowledge transmission that encourages the participants to conduct further inquiry and discovery. The participants share knowledge with each other and are led on a path of continued inquiry. Rituals are a process of learning, the participants learn and grow with each time they participate in the ritual. Also, since ritual encourages inquiry and discovery, participants often gather information, like reading articles, studying technique, or other forms of inquiries when not actively participating in the ritual. Many fly fishers also tie their own flies, an extension of the ritual or may practice casting even when they are not at the sacred site, the river.
If the participants cease to practice the ritual in the spirit of the ritual and merely a set of actions, it is because the ritual has lost its myth for the participant and in order for the ritual to have that sort of transitive, sacred nature, there has to be a shift in the ritual for the participant. My grandfather told me about a time when a retailer gave him the opportunity to tie flies for money. He enjoyed tying flies and had so many, so he agreed. After completing a few orders, he decided not to do it anymore, it took the myth out of the ritual. He continued tying flies but never again for profit.
Rituals have a transformative nature and often lead to a change in status through participation. To be a ritual, it must manifest some sort of change, growth, or reflection and in society, it establishes the participants as practicers of the ritual. A person has either never been fishing, been fishing, goes fishing, or is a fisherman or angler. All of these terms are levels of status within the fishing community depending on the amount of experience an individual has had with fishing and knowledge acquisition. With fly fishing, the more a participant experiences the ritual, the more they study techniques, materials, and locations, the more respected they become within the angling community, which is true of most but not all rituals.
Participants in a ritual are sharing knowledge of the ritual with each other when they participate in the ritual. In other words, ritual is taught and it is taught through experience so it bonds the participants with a connection to community. Even when the participants don’t experience the ritual together, just both having the shared experiences bonds them, gives them a shared knowledge. The thing that separates ritual from just passing along knowledge is that it does contain myth, so by sharing the experience, we are also sharing the myth and beliefs. It is more than a shared experience, it is a shared experience that repeated with symbolic meaning becomes an action that unites us to each other.
Ties that bond
With knowledge transmission, there is either learning through shared experience or some sort of mentor situation. Most fly fishers fished when they were little kids, often with an older member of the family, sibling, parent or grandparent. For me, it was my grandfather who took me fishing. I feel a connection to him every time I go to the river or think about fishing. He taught the myth to me. Cutchins writes about this in his article, about how the participants of fly fishing expressed how fishing not only made them feel connected to nature, it connected them to each other, it helped to make them feel oriented in their world.
Fly fishing is definitely an act that bonds individuals through shared experience. First, there is the journey to the ritual site, the river and the shared enjoyment and the acknowledgment of the river as a sacred space. This creates a shared belief that the river is sacred so it should be revered, maintained and protected. Not all people are concerned with the health of local rivers but all participants of the ritual of fly fishing share the concern simply because it is their ritual site, a sacred space, and it has symbolic meaning. Next, you have a belief that specific techniques will help you catch a fish, like a special method of casting or place to fish. Anglers can share this knowledge with each other to establish and maintain intimacy because fishermen don’t share secrets unless they feel a connection to the person.
For me, I can’t go to the river or even think of a fish without feeling a connection to my grandfather. By taking me fishing and sharing the mythology of fishing he shared the ritual that shaped who I am today. I am part of the community of people who go fishing, I wouldn’t say that I am of angler status but I can connect with other fisherman through talking about fishing and our shared experiences. It is an instant comradery that is only shared with other members of the angling community. More importantly though, the ritual bonded me with my grandfather in a way that only ritual can do, it created a shift in my belief system, making fishing a part of my personal myth.
Cutchins, Dennis. “Elitism, Keeping Secrets, and Fly Fishing in Utah.” Western Folklore 63: 189-202. JSTOR Arts & Sciences III. Web. 22 June 2014.
Jennings, Theodore. “On Ritual Knowledge.” The Journal of Religion 62: 111-127 . JSTOR Arts & Sciences III. Web. 22 June 2014.
Snyder, Samuel. “New Streams of Religion: Fly Fishing as a Lived, Religion of Nature.” Journal of American Academy of Religion 75: 896-922. JSTOR Arts & Sciences III. Web. 22 June 2014.