THRESHOLDS

By Lawrence Doe

“Edges are thresholds, frontiers, and permeable boundaries. These edg­es occur between what we know and don’t know, be­tween the seen and unseen. We all know the edge of can do and can’t do. Tran­scendence happens when we cross that threshold.” —quote from unpublished manuscript by author

I was born curious. That trait got me into trouble sometimes, but mostly fu­eled an adventurous life full of change, challenge, and wonderment. The impact of early childhood trauma resulted in an unusual brew of emotions and insights, resulting in deep reflection, compassion, and an artistic bent. My educator wife re­fers to me as a “kinesthetic learner”, a trait that requires movement and touch to process new information. We kinesthetic types have a hard time sitting still. That explains my restlessness, voracious learning, and in­cessant doing. My work life is widely varied—no spe­cialized, siloed career for me.

Nature captured my in­terest. As a young child, I was allowed to wander my grandparents’ farm alone. The inhabitants of the woodlot and two creeks were my instructors. Sat­urdays were spent wander­ing the forest, fields, and creek behind our family home. I found deep com­fort in those solitary wan­derings. I continue to find nature enormously instruc­tive in manifesting sustain­able balances. Time spent in quiet observation reveals beauty and mystery.

Perhaps my early child­hood is what made me won­der how other people lived. What were other families like? Other communities, different jobs and cultures called to my inquisitive brain. So I left home af­ter high school to go find out. I enrolled at Michigan State University, set log­ging chokers in SE Alaska, crewed shrimp boats in Key West, and roughnecked on oil derricks in Michigan. I spent years participat­ing with Ojibway, Onei­da, Mandan, Lakota, and Blackfoot making family.

Inquisitiveness can only be satisfied by using the senses. The survival skills of listening intently and clearly seeing used by our ancient ancestors are rare in modern humans, but still found in the curious. I use my eyes to look for patterns of relationship, whether in the woods or an office meeting. My ears tune to distant thunder, wondering if the storm will arrive as well as listening for em­bedded meaning in conver­sation. Touch felt through feet and hands tells me about the ground I walk and the things I hold. It is a mistake to think answers al­ways salve the itch of inqui­ry. The search for answers often produces more ques­tions and more failures than successes. I am sometimes okay, sometimes frustrated by that. But I keep seeking, I was born curious.

I’m not sure where my artistic side came from. No one in my extended family seems so inclined. In re­cent years, there has been scientific research into cel­lular memory where ances­tral knowledge is passed through genes. In Native community, it is called “blood memory,” where a young person express­es knowledge and skills not yet taught by elders. As a child, I would make comments that startled the adults. They didn’t know how I knew, but neither did I. I think blood knowledge is the source of my artistry which is expressed in all I do, whether crafting in leather and bone, cooking, or building fine homes.

My curiosity and artistry combines with a mechani­cal aptitude to identify and solve problems. I figured out how to use high-altitude fiberglass for a helicopter manufacturing company. Studying in multiple mu­seums and private archives taught me ancient hide working and painting tech­niques, which I combine with contemporary tech­niques for my artwork.

Living in Hovland’s bo­real forest, I have my feet in two worlds—the ancient, archetypal of our ances­tors and the modern world. As a seeker, I try to merge the two. While engaging our ancestral knowledge, I conducted drum, rattle, and mask-making workshops with Catholic nuns, envi­ronmental activists, spiritu­al study groups, as well as people healing from addic­tion and abuse. While en­gaging the modern world, I have developed and im­plemented programming for three social service or­ganizations and presented at national conferences. I owned and operated a leather goods manufac­turing company, then later developed a construction company specializing in vintage homes. With such a varied work life, I don’t have a one-word descrip­tion to name my profession or purpose. In truth, I was never interested in “what” I was in the world, but “how” I wanted to be in the world. In doing so, I have stepped over many “thresholds, frontiers, and permeable boundaries” on my 75-year journey.

They say curiosity killed the cat. Maybe so, but I’m not dead yet. So I would like to spend my remaining years sharing the insights I have gained in 75 years with you, the reader. I hope they might be as adventur­ous and helpful to you as they have been for me.