What is so special about the relationship with a mother, who is capable of healing us or hurting us? Her womb is the first landscape we inhabit. It is where we learn to respond: to move, to listen, to nourish ourselves and to grow. The maternal environment is perfectly safe: dark, warm and humid. It is a dwelling within the Feminine.

I was waiting to arrive at my Zamorano refuge to be able to read this book that reconciles with the wild, the essential, the primary. Tempest weaves Ecology-Cancer-Adaptation in it and the result is a work that is both educational, committed and tender. Educational because it tells us about the species of birds that inhabit the Great Salt Lake, that region of deep America, Utah, as unknown as it is mysterious; committed because each pearl of wisdom is also an ecological and political claim; tender because it narrates how her mother faces the diagnosis of cancer, preparing to die while the whole family resists it.

A work that has everything: moments to get angry, to learn, to cry, to laugh, to reflect, to dream, to feel the heat of the sun and the breeze, to take a salt bath, to let oneself be carried away without resistance... while you are being bombarded by mosquitoes. Life itself. Those conversations of three generations of women: grandmother-mother-daughter are unforgettable. A book that reconciles with life and pushes us to appreciate what we have; a book that teaches us to love the wild nature but that obliges us to wake up before the ecological disaster that we are causing. In short, a book to embrace and then go and embrace those we love.

#Refugio #TerryTempestWilliams #MaternidadesLit #Ecologismo #Cáncer #Vidaymuerte #Librosquedejanhuella #Vocesdemujeres #Librosquesanan

It’s truly strange to sense the advent of change. It’s so easy to simply ignore it.

An underlying restlessness seems to trail along with it, much like birds gathering in flocks just before a storm. We carry on with our daily business with the customary briskness, yet deep in the pit of our stomachs, there is a feeling of something fragile and insubstantial.

These moments of peripheral perceptions are brief, sharp bursts of understanding that we often tend to dismiss, similar to catching a glimpse of an animal’s movement out of the corner of our eye. We turn, and there is nothing there. They are those powerful and delicate impressions that we let slip away.

I am well-acquainted with the solitude that my mother refers to. It is what bolsters me and shields me from the turmoil of my own mind. It makes me completely present in the moment. I am like the desert, vast and silent. I am like the mountains, unyielding and majestic. I am like the Great Salt Lake, mysterious and profound.

There are other languages being spoken by the wind, the water, and the wings of birds. There are other lives to take into account: the graceful avocets, the elegant stilts, and the silent stones. Peace is the perspective that can be discovered within the patterns of nature. When I witness the ring-billed gulls pecking at the flesh of decaying carp, I find myself less afraid of death. We are neither more nor less than the life that encircles us. My fears emerge in my isolation, while my serenity surfaces in my solitude.

Terry Tempest Williams is a writer who has a profound and active interest in environmental education and conservation. Her book "Refuge" is not only a memoir of a period in her life when she accompanied her mother through her illness and then lost her grandmother shortly after, leaving her as the matriarch of the family at just 34. But it also delves into her deep connection with the Great Salt Lake, which is on their doorstep and the place where she grew up. She is obsessed with its landscape and wildlife, and this lake, with no outlet to the sea, becomes a powerful metaphor throughout the book.

The memoir is filled with short chapters, each named after a bird species that inhabits the lake environment. Williams observes and notes these birds over time, and they represent the life cycle of species, adapting to change, migrating, and making way for the young. She also writes about her family history, her Mormon culture, and their connection to the natural world, which is infused with spiritual values.

As the Great Salt Lake rises, Williams experiences a deep sadness, mourning the loss of the Refuge as she knew it. However, she also finds refuge in poetry and the words of other writers, which soothe her during this period of grief. The writing in "Refuge" is a beautiful blend of the personal and the environmental, at times poetic, sometimes scientific, always passionate and honest. It is a book that you will want to read again and again, savoring each page and the profound insights it offers.

I have lived in Salt Lake City for almost a year.

It's a remarkable place where family, faith, and nature are intricately interwoven into the fabric of everyday life.

Nature and family hold great significance for me, while organized religion does not have the same level of importance.

I am not a Mormon.

However, there is something truly special about residing on the periphery of the Great Salt Lake and the Wasatch Mountain Range.

This unique location compels one to deeply reflect on their life and contemplate the profound meaning of being close to nature on a spiritual plane.

Terry Tempest Williams's book, Refuge, is an absolute gem for women who desire to turn their thoughts inward, particularly when it pertains to our relationships with our mothers and daughters.

It is a captivating book that delves into the lives of women, the world of birds, and showcases the remarkable strength and resilience that both possess.

The most heartrending part of the book for me was witnessing how Williams and her family coped with her mother's cancer, her final days, and the subsequent grief.

My own mother passed away from breast cancer over 20 years ago, and the pain of that loss still lingers.

It's a beautiful book, one that should be cherished and reread as life evolves and there is a need for a "refuge" within the pages.

I'll be completely honest.

100% I wouldn't have picked up this book if it hadn't been chosen by our local book club. However, I did find certain parts of it quite enjoyable.

It makes for a very interesting read, especially if you are from Utah.

Since our book club is based in Salt Lake City and we have several ex-Mormon members, it led to a great discussion.

I don't feel it's appropriate for me to rate this book as it is so personal to the author.

It includes her experiences of her mother's battle with cancer.

But if you have an interest in birds, are from Utah, or are seeking a memoir about losing a loved one to cancer, I think you might like this book.

It's also fascinating to know that it was written before the author left the Mormon church.

As you read it in the present day, it gives you a lot to contemplate.

Overall, it's a unique and thought-provoking read that I'm glad I had the opportunity to experience through our book club.

This is no ordinary book penned by an ordinary author.

It is the work of a passionate nature lover and a dedicated nature writer.

Although nature writing may not be my preferred genre, Tempest Williams has managed to touch me in a way that no other author has ever done.

Over the past few years, I have turned to this book as if it were my dearest friend.

It always lives up to my memories and expectations.

Williams' writing is so vivid and engaging that it transports the reader into the heart of nature.

Her descriptions of the natural world are both beautiful and profound, making the reader see and appreciate nature in a whole new light.

This book is not just a collection of words; it is a celebration of nature and a call to action to protect it.

It is a must-read for anyone who loves nature or is interested in environmental issues.

I highly recommend it to all.

“Why does death always seem so surprising to Americans? Don't you realize that dance and fight are the same thing?” This thought-provoking question challenges our common perception. Death is an inevitable part of life, yet it often catches us off guard. In American culture, there may be a tendency to focus on the present and avoid thinking about the end. However, by comparing dance and fight, we are reminded that both involve movement, rhythm, and a certain level of skill. Just as in a dance, we may gracefully move through life, but there will also be times when we have to face challenges and fight. And just like in a fight, death can come suddenly and unexpectedly. Perhaps we should learn to embrace both the beauty and the struggle of life, and not be so surprised when death eventually comes.

I truly wish that Williams had made a more distinct separation between the beliefs of the LDS (Latter-day Saints) and her own personal ideas.

The blurring of these two aspects, when combined with some of the personal and family issues that she projects onto the Church, unfortunately gives a rather inaccurate view of what the mainstream LDS beliefs and believers actually stand for.

It is important to understand that the LDS Church has its own set of doctrines and teachings that are held dear by its members.

When personal biases and issues are intermingled with the perception of the Church, it can lead to misunderstandings and misinterpretations.

Williams could have presented a more objective and accurate portrayal if she had been more careful in differentiating between her own thoughts and the official beliefs of the LDS Church.

This would have allowed for a more informed and respectful discussion about the LDS faith and its adherents.

Cancer is a terrifying disease that no one wants to have.

It can bring great pain and suffering to patients and their families.

The thought of being diagnosed with cancer is enough to make anyone feel scared and helpless.

I, too, don't want cancer.

I want to live a healthy and happy life, free from the threat of this disease.

I know that prevention is the best way to avoid cancer, so I try to maintain a healthy lifestyle by eating well, exercising regularly, and not smoking or drinking too much.

I also get regular check-ups and screenings to catch any potential problems early.

Even though I take these precautions, I still worry about getting cancer.

It's a fear that many people share.

But I try not to let that fear consume me.

I focus on living my life to the fullest and making the most of every day.

Because in the end, all we can do is hope for the best and do our part to stay healthy.

Refugio has filled the house and my heart with images and textures, feathers, birds in flight. The heat of the desert. Salt that fissures the skin and the mouth. Ice.

In this book, Terry Tempest Williams immerses us in her world, traversed by the Great Salt Lake (its fauna, its floods, its harshness, its sacredness) and the cancer that her mother lives with. She, belonging to the “clan of the one-breasted women”, leads us with a lucid voice through her experiences and intimate thoughts.

Between biography and ecological essay, she establishes a clear symbiosis (I say science and I also say magic) between nature and ourselves (we, who are nothing if not nature). The calm and the storm. Feeling safe or not. Caring for the nest, migrating in flocks. Or alone. The family, motherhood and rearing. Nature being a refuge but also a cry. The human attempts to stop the lake for economic interests. The eggs emptied from the birds, our uteruses, the animals we attack, the nuclear tests, the cancers that are taking us. The need to walk from death to life. The women centered on themselves and on what surrounds them. The genealogies.

With all this, it is tenderness in the face of life and fears. It is strength and word in the face of injustice.

Refugio welcomes but also takes away the solid ground under our feet. It helps you to embrace, in some way, impermanence and pain. Death as something that simply is. Slowly.

That - and so much more - is this book. And I am going to live, from now on, with echoes of it.

The painful embrace of death is a reality that often haunts our lives. It serves as a stark reminder of why I hold such a deep hatred for hospitals.

This particular thought has been lingering in my mind, and it makes me reflect on the various experiences I've had within those sterile walls.

There is a book that I have in mind, a book that I want to revisit in a couple of years. I believe that with the passage of time and the accumulation of more life experiences, my perspective on it might change.

The words, "But the feeling I could not purge from my soul was that without a mother, one no longer has the luxury of being a child," resonate deeply within me. It speaks to the profound loss and the sense of growing up too fast that comes with the absence of a mother. It makes me realize how precious the role of a mother is in our lives and how her presence or absence can shape our very being.

Everything about Great Salt Lake is exaggerated - the heat, the cold, the salt, and the brine.

It is a landscape so surreal that one can never know what it is for certain.

When most people had given up on the Refuge, saying the birds were gone, I was drawn further into its essence.

In the same way that when someone is dying many retreat, I chose to stay.

I finished The Hour of Land late last summer and fell hard for Terry Tempest Williams. I wanted to read everything she has written.

Nearly a year later, I am finally getting around to Refuge. It grabbed me immediately.

This was written nearly 25 years ago, but her prose just sings with strength and passion.

This one deals with her dying mother and the threatened survival of the Bear River Migratory Bird Refuge at the Great Salt Lake. It is truly excellent.

The description of the Great Salt Lake makes it seem like a place out of this world, with its extreme conditions and mysterious allure.

The author's decision to stay at the Refuge when others gave up shows her deep connection and commitment.

Her writing in Refuge is powerful and moving, as she weaves together the story of her mother's illness with the plight of the Refuge.

It is a testament to the beauty and importance of nature, and the need to protect it for future generations.