Southard's Pond
I remember the first time I visited Southard's Pond. It was the same day I told my parents that I was Pagan.
When I was thirteen, I felt misunderstood by everyone – my peers, my parents – just about anyone that didn't understand me or the new direction my life had taken. I had discovered Wicca that year, and couldn't figure out how to tell those that I loved the most. Because of my indecision, I stayed silent for ten years.
In the interim, I made friends that were of like mind. We became a coven, to my eternal astonishment...I thought I'd be Solitary forever. My friends shared whatever knowledge they found with me, and I with them.
They took me to Southard's Pond for the first time on Samhain, the day before my twenty-third birthday. They hinted that they had found the perfect birthday present for me, but didn't go into specifics. I never dreamed the trip was their gift to me.
It was fairly dark that night, as they led me with sure feet to a sturdy little bridge over a small creek. We sat down, and as I stretched my legs out straight before me, I silently marveled at my surroundings. Sturdy oaks and maples lined the creek's banks. The wind whispered through their nearly-denuded boughs. The creek itself burbled and chuckled to itself, as it passed under me. Tiny silver fish flit through the eddies.
I thought to myself: This place exists on Long Island? I never knew about it?
I took off my boots, and hung my legs over the side of the bridge. The creek swirled around my bare toes. So cold! I shivered and laughed, despite myself. When I looked past the creek and its copse of trees, I could see, through the deepness of the night, a natural pathway through the undergrowth. To this day, I swear I saw into forever. The spot my coven took me to felt right. It was a-swirl with energies, such that I had never felt before, and I felt like I had finally come home.
My friends let me take in these marvels for a while, before one of them touched my shoulder. I stood, and we cast our circle. There, on the little bridge that spanned the creek, we touched the Arcane when the Veil was thinnest. We rejoiced when the year began anew. And we danced.
Oh, how we danced.
-=-=-=-=-=-
Some twenty minutes after midnight, one of my closest friends nudged me in the ribs. “Happy birthday, Cassandra.”
I tossed my head back, and glanced up at the stars. I laughed to the night sky, and said, “Oh! It's so clear!”
Another of my dear friends grinned. “Yeah. Everything becomes clear, here.”
And he was right. I resolved right then to tell my parents about my spirituality. We bid our guardians farewell, and gathered our belongings. We quit Southard's Pond for the night, and left for our homes.
-=-=-=-=-=-
Later that day, my mother and step-father put coffee up. They invited friends and family to their house. They bought a cake, and presented me with birthday gifts. It was nice, but my little birthday party was the furthest thing from my mind.
After the last well-wisher left, after the last coffee-ringed mug went into the dishwasher, after the last smidgen of cake was entombed in Saran-Wrap and crammed into my mother's overflowing refrigerator, I steeled myself for the coming storm. “Mom...Dad?”
When I had their full attention, I almost lost my nerve. How could I tell them that I was a witch? How, without hurting them? Because I'm a staunch believer in the '1-2-3-RIP!' bandage-removal method, I cleared my throat, and blurted, “I have to talk to you about something important.”
I looked at Mom, and found that I couldn't tell her – not yet, anyway. I didn't want her to be hurt by my admission.
Dad nodded once. “Wanna do me a favor, and drive me to the store?”
“Okay,” I said, sighing with relief. Whenever Dad knew I wanted to talk about something (and didn't want my mother to hear about it), he'd decide that he needed a cup of coffee or a lottery ticket, no matter what time of day or night it was.
We got into my ancient powder-blue Chevrolet, and Dad told me to take him to the Lotto/liquor store/convenience mart some fifteen minutes from the house. We could easily have gone to the 7-11 around the block, but he sensed I really needed to talk about something important. As we drove down the street in the deepening gloom, I realized he had something to say to me, as well.
Before I could open my mouth, Dad said, “You have a bumper-sticker on your car...Pagan and Proud, it says...I want you to take it off your car.”
I opened my mouth in protest, but he held his hand up. “I know you want to live your own life, and you're allowed to do whatever the hell you want – you are an adult, after all – but I can't have you keep that sticker on your car.”
We pulled up to an intersection. I slid into the turn lane, and braked before the red turn-light. I pursed my lips and turned to my father. “Why?”
“Because!” He threw his hands up. “Because...I don't want a bunch of motorcycles parked in front of the house.”
Silence.
I shook my head, completely nonplussed. “What?”
“I don't want your gang to hang out at the house, either! I know you set up a little apartment around your bedroom, and I'm glad you decided to make a home out of the spare rooms, but I'm gonna put my foot down about your buddies. I'm not trying to run your life, Kid, but you need to know that you might be getting into things that are out of your control – “
Thank goodness the sun was down. Our little town was home to a lot of people, but it tended to roll up its sidewalks after dark. It was a good thing it had become dark, because the light we were waiting behind had turned green while we sat there; had anyone pulled up behind us, they would've scared the hell out of us when they lay on the horn.
“Wait, wait,” I said, waving one hand in my father's direction. “You think that bumper sticker...you think I'm in a motorcycle gang?”
Dad frowned, and said, “You call yourself a Pagan...you don't even own a motorcycle.”
I had to laugh. My grandmother's best friend's son was a Harley aficionado, and a member of the motorcycle Pagans on Long Island. I shook my head, still laughing. “No. My religion...when I say I'm Pagan, it means that I follow a religion where I worship a Goddess.”
Dad raised his eyebrows. “You're...a tree-hugger?”
Inwardly, I rolled my eyes. Outwardly, I nodded, resigned. “Yeah, I guess I am.”
Dad glanced at me. He shrugged. “Okay.”
I turned my head slightly and looked at Dad askance. “Okay? That's it?”
“Yeah,” he said. “What else is there to say?”
-=-=-=-=-=-
There wasn't anything else to say. We did what we had set out to do, then we returned home in silence.
In silence, Dad threw his jacket on the table and walked to his room. Dad squeezed my shoulder as he passed me. He left me standing alone in their kitchen, thunderstruck. After I came back to myself, I nodded once. “Okay, then.”
-=-=-=-=-=-
It's been fifteen years since that night. My folks have aged since then, and so have I. My dad still calls me a tree-hugger. But since the night of my twenty third birthday, I've not hesitated to come to him for advice – spiritual or otherwise – and for that, our relationship has strengthened.
My coven has long since dispersed, and we've scattered to the four points of the compass. We've married, had kids, made homes for ourselves. We still see each other, sometimes...and every time we meet, it's like we never parted ways. When we get together on Long Island, we go to Southard's Pond. We revel in the old, old magick there, as unchanging as the wind. We dip our feet in the clear stream. We laugh, and we love.
And we dance.
When I was thirteen, I felt misunderstood by everyone – my peers, my parents – just about anyone that didn't understand me or the new direction my life had taken. I had discovered Wicca that year, and couldn't figure out how to tell those that I loved the most. Because of my indecision, I stayed silent for ten years.
In the interim, I made friends that were of like mind. We became a coven, to my eternal astonishment...I thought I'd be Solitary forever. My friends shared whatever knowledge they found with me, and I with them.
They took me to Southard's Pond for the first time on Samhain, the day before my twenty-third birthday. They hinted that they had found the perfect birthday present for me, but didn't go into specifics. I never dreamed the trip was their gift to me.
It was fairly dark that night, as they led me with sure feet to a sturdy little bridge over a small creek. We sat down, and as I stretched my legs out straight before me, I silently marveled at my surroundings. Sturdy oaks and maples lined the creek's banks. The wind whispered through their nearly-denuded boughs. The creek itself burbled and chuckled to itself, as it passed under me. Tiny silver fish flit through the eddies.
I thought to myself: This place exists on Long Island? I never knew about it?
I took off my boots, and hung my legs over the side of the bridge. The creek swirled around my bare toes. So cold! I shivered and laughed, despite myself. When I looked past the creek and its copse of trees, I could see, through the deepness of the night, a natural pathway through the undergrowth. To this day, I swear I saw into forever. The spot my coven took me to felt right. It was a-swirl with energies, such that I had never felt before, and I felt like I had finally come home.
My friends let me take in these marvels for a while, before one of them touched my shoulder. I stood, and we cast our circle. There, on the little bridge that spanned the creek, we touched the Arcane when the Veil was thinnest. We rejoiced when the year began anew. And we danced.
Oh, how we danced.
-=-=-=-=-=-
Some twenty minutes after midnight, one of my closest friends nudged me in the ribs. “Happy birthday, Cassandra.”
I tossed my head back, and glanced up at the stars. I laughed to the night sky, and said, “Oh! It's so clear!”
Another of my dear friends grinned. “Yeah. Everything becomes clear, here.”
And he was right. I resolved right then to tell my parents about my spirituality. We bid our guardians farewell, and gathered our belongings. We quit Southard's Pond for the night, and left for our homes.
-=-=-=-=-=-
Later that day, my mother and step-father put coffee up. They invited friends and family to their house. They bought a cake, and presented me with birthday gifts. It was nice, but my little birthday party was the furthest thing from my mind.
After the last well-wisher left, after the last coffee-ringed mug went into the dishwasher, after the last smidgen of cake was entombed in Saran-Wrap and crammed into my mother's overflowing refrigerator, I steeled myself for the coming storm. “Mom...Dad?”
When I had their full attention, I almost lost my nerve. How could I tell them that I was a witch? How, without hurting them? Because I'm a staunch believer in the '1-2-3-RIP!' bandage-removal method, I cleared my throat, and blurted, “I have to talk to you about something important.”
I looked at Mom, and found that I couldn't tell her – not yet, anyway. I didn't want her to be hurt by my admission.
Dad nodded once. “Wanna do me a favor, and drive me to the store?”
“Okay,” I said, sighing with relief. Whenever Dad knew I wanted to talk about something (and didn't want my mother to hear about it), he'd decide that he needed a cup of coffee or a lottery ticket, no matter what time of day or night it was.
We got into my ancient powder-blue Chevrolet, and Dad told me to take him to the Lotto/liquor store/convenience mart some fifteen minutes from the house. We could easily have gone to the 7-11 around the block, but he sensed I really needed to talk about something important. As we drove down the street in the deepening gloom, I realized he had something to say to me, as well.
Before I could open my mouth, Dad said, “You have a bumper-sticker on your car...Pagan and Proud, it says...I want you to take it off your car.”
I opened my mouth in protest, but he held his hand up. “I know you want to live your own life, and you're allowed to do whatever the hell you want – you are an adult, after all – but I can't have you keep that sticker on your car.”
We pulled up to an intersection. I slid into the turn lane, and braked before the red turn-light. I pursed my lips and turned to my father. “Why?”
“Because!” He threw his hands up. “Because...I don't want a bunch of motorcycles parked in front of the house.”
Silence.
I shook my head, completely nonplussed. “What?”
“I don't want your gang to hang out at the house, either! I know you set up a little apartment around your bedroom, and I'm glad you decided to make a home out of the spare rooms, but I'm gonna put my foot down about your buddies. I'm not trying to run your life, Kid, but you need to know that you might be getting into things that are out of your control – “
Thank goodness the sun was down. Our little town was home to a lot of people, but it tended to roll up its sidewalks after dark. It was a good thing it had become dark, because the light we were waiting behind had turned green while we sat there; had anyone pulled up behind us, they would've scared the hell out of us when they lay on the horn.
“Wait, wait,” I said, waving one hand in my father's direction. “You think that bumper sticker...you think I'm in a motorcycle gang?”
Dad frowned, and said, “You call yourself a Pagan...you don't even own a motorcycle.”
I had to laugh. My grandmother's best friend's son was a Harley aficionado, and a member of the motorcycle Pagans on Long Island. I shook my head, still laughing. “No. My religion...when I say I'm Pagan, it means that I follow a religion where I worship a Goddess.”
Dad raised his eyebrows. “You're...a tree-hugger?”
Inwardly, I rolled my eyes. Outwardly, I nodded, resigned. “Yeah, I guess I am.”
Dad glanced at me. He shrugged. “Okay.”
I turned my head slightly and looked at Dad askance. “Okay? That's it?”
“Yeah,” he said. “What else is there to say?”
-=-=-=-=-=-
There wasn't anything else to say. We did what we had set out to do, then we returned home in silence.
In silence, Dad threw his jacket on the table and walked to his room. Dad squeezed my shoulder as he passed me. He left me standing alone in their kitchen, thunderstruck. After I came back to myself, I nodded once. “Okay, then.”
-=-=-=-=-=-
It's been fifteen years since that night. My folks have aged since then, and so have I. My dad still calls me a tree-hugger. But since the night of my twenty third birthday, I've not hesitated to come to him for advice – spiritual or otherwise – and for that, our relationship has strengthened.
My coven has long since dispersed, and we've scattered to the four points of the compass. We've married, had kids, made homes for ourselves. We still see each other, sometimes...and every time we meet, it's like we never parted ways. When we get together on Long Island, we go to Southard's Pond. We revel in the old, old magick there, as unchanging as the wind. We dip our feet in the clear stream. We laugh, and we love.
And we dance.