Recent provincial measures and interprovincial bridge shutdowns have imposed a welcomed break from cabin renovations.

These restrictions have also caused memories of helping create flood barriers along the Ottawa River in 2019 to resurface. I remember passing those cumbersome sand-filled sacks down long, winding lines of volunteers. My muscles ached and my inner monologue was stuck in a lamenting loop: Why did I sign up for this?

But something astonishing occurred amidst the grumbling: Inertia was magically replaced by momentum when we managed to match the pace and rhythm of our line mates. Heavy bags suddenly floated effortlessly down the line through the collaborative efforts of well-timed, intentional hands.

Alas, someone would inevitably falter or remark, “Is it just me or should we go pro?!” – the spell sadly broken and the bags, sacks of cement once again. I may have been the one that jinxed the operation. I remember some random guy hissing just that in my direction.

But while it lasted, we were poetry in motion.

As cabin renos are presently halted, I will tell a little tale about a mystical event from the cabin a couple of weeks ago.

The Art of Dowsing

There is a local farmer whose family has lived in the area for generations. Although his age involves some well-earned decades, his physical conditioning puts the rest of us to shame.

If the present world order disintegrated, a zombie herd headed his way, and an asteroid entered the atmosphere, he would take a sip of coffee, look at his wife and say: “Well, I better go feed the cows and tune-up the tractor.” I don’t think panic easily registers in his amygdala. Self-sufficiency may be part of the reason.

He is a man of many talents. It turns out that dowsing, or divining for water, is among his repertoire of inherited gifts.

I had spoken with his wife a while back and casually mentioned that we were thinking about putting a well on the property:

As promised, he appeared one Saturday afternoon as we were working outside.

“I hear you are looking for water”, he said as he strolled sure-footed over clumps of snow-hidden tree stumps and roots that Dave and I had been tripping over and kicking all day.

He took a quick look around, noting the hills and flow of the land. Out came the divining rods. Within a few minutes, he had located two main streams of water.

I do not know a lot about the art of witching for water. My bit of research revealed the writings of Confucius mention dowsing, it is a practical art form practiced for millennia, and is surprising accurate.

According to the Farmer’s Almanac:

One study was conducted by the German government in the 1990s…researchers paired up experienced geologists and dowsers, sending them to dry regions like Sri Lanka, Kenya, and Yemen…In Sri Lanka alone, drill teams drilled 691 wells under the supervision of dowsers and found water 96% of the time. Skeptics would argue as long as you’re willing to drill deep enough, you’re bound to find water. However, the dowsers were also asked to tell their drill teams at what depth and how much water they would find...they were accurate to within 10-20%.

The Canadian Society of Dowsers provided more cool info:

Every language spoken on planet Earth has at least one word to describe dowsing…The dowser was regarded as a highly intuitive or illuminated being, who achieved this level of awareness through dedicated study and practice of the mysteries.

Dowsing has been used to detect energy fields, increased gamma ray counts, sources of contamination, underground outlets to lakes, radio towers and frequencies, magnetic fields, human auras, shorts in electrical wiring, broken pipelines, to diagnose mechanical problems in cars and locate lost graves.

Dowsing is also referred to Doodlebugging. I may join the Canadian Society of Dowsers just in the hopes of receiving a bumper sticker that reads: “Professional Doodlebug Aboard.” This may become an incredibly useful skill in the future as well, as water tables continue to recede and our resources diminish.

Our local dowser certainly seemed to know what he was doing. He mainly focused on finding the flow of water and where it seemed to be strongest. He found smaller streams but settled on the ones about 20 feet from the corner of the cabin. He settled it by saying:

“If I were digging for a well, I’d dig right here.”

Here was the problem: I didn’t want that to be the spot.

I asked him if he was sure. He gestured to the land behind and said that the land slope and rock formation dictated the direction of the underground streams coming from the mountain.

He then offered up his divining rods. “You try it.”

I tucked my elbows in and held my hands loosely around the rods. I did my best to avoid ideomotor movements – muscle movements caused by subconscious mental activity that make anything held in the hands move. Those rods swung directly in line with the strongest source of water. No matter where I walked, and how hard I tried to focus them on finding water where I WANTED it to be, they consistently swung back to the original site.

Even so, the internal battle continued. I needed a strong vein to be found about 40 feet to the right. Why? Because the convergence of the streams, the best place to dig, were found directly over the fire pit.

I love the fire pit. I love the location, the size, the beautiful views enjoyed from all angles. The aesthetics are perfect in my opinion. Efficacy is another story. I have never been successful at starting and maintaining a roaring fire in that pit.

As soon as the divining rods determined the best location in which to dig, Dave and I shared a look: no wonder the fire hole doesn’t work well.

I do not know if this is foolishness or fact, the former making much better material for a story. I may simply be a lousy bonfire maker. Or the energy from the underground stream is interfering with my ability to make fire.

As the farmer drove away, Dave and I sat down on the log benches along the pit perimeter and looked at the flow of the land. Intuitively, what he had offered felt right. I will let you know when we eventually dig for a well.

It was a new experience for both of us. Watching this solid, capable farmer hold dowsing rods with gentle reverence was a refreshing juxtaposition. He shared that none of the sites he has found have ever run dry. “I could never witch like my sister could, until one day, she touched my arm when I was trying. Ever since then, I’ve got the gift.”

In regards to my irritation concerning the best well location – well, just another example of how the cabin often produces a crap-reflecting mirror in which to gaze inwardly. After all, who the hell tries to control the flow of underground streams? They are exactly where they are meant to be, doing what they are meant to be doing.

The art of appreciation involves ample, daily practice like any other art form. Enjoying what flows in my life – streams that ramble along, twisting and turbulent at times, bubbling with laughter at others – is easier done in theory. Floods can often take us by surprise and the immediate response is to stop and control the flow. If I can learn to create enough healthy momentum, let go and allow the waterways to do what they need to do, then my inner divining rods will have done their job.

Karma Cabin Lesson #9: Only a fool thinks they can control the flow of things beyond that which is meant for their tiny grasp.