OCTOBER 2026

Dear Kind and Gentle People,

OH, MY SOUL! The Autumn Equinox was welcomed with an outdoor gathering of friends, crafting hag torches from dried mullein stalks gathered from the garden. Each stalk was lovingly dipped in four layers of wax, and they will be waiting for us when we gather to celebrate the Winter Solstice.

The pumpkins—punn-kin, as they were pronounced in old Maine—have been harvested, while the quince will wait patiently to be picked after the October 26 full moon. And heartfelt thanksgiving is offered for the gift of rain. It came too late to bring the fields back to life for a second cutting, but it did restore the mill pond from a giant mud puddle to some of its former glory.

At the Newfield Community Church, we are celebrating the Season of Creation with glorious displays of hydrangeas held in my mother’s and grandmother’s copper wash boilers—the very same boilers that, in yesteryear, were home to lye soap, washboards, and the endless work of “keeping the unmentionables spotless through every boil and scrub.”

Each week during Season of Creation, we have also enjoyed Maria Case’s short, chant-like hymn, "A Strand in the Web of Life Let Me Be,” published in Then Let Us Sing. Its text is loosely based on the famous, though much-disputed, speech attributed to Chief Seattle and centers on the sacred interconnection of all living things within the great “web of life.” 

And perhaps that is the epiphany hiding in plain sight. We are not separate. We are strands. Each of us is woven into something immeasurably larger than ourselves—the living, breathing, beautiful web of Creation. What happens to one strand touches another. What we do, what we neglect to do, what we choose to love, and even what we choose to forgive becomes part of the pattern.

So, it is my hope that, during the remainder of this Season of Creation, we will remember that we are all part of the great web of life. May we renounce practices that cause harm to ourselves, to one another, and to this precious Earth. May we learn to live gently upon it, serving with humility, gifted with the courage to love and the willingness to put compassion into action.

Perhaps our calling is not to save the whole world all at once. Perhaps it is simply to tend our strand. To mend what we can mend. To cherish what has been entrusted to us. To leave behind a little more beauty, mercy, and goodness than we found. And in doing so, may we help leave a world in which those who come after us can still glimpse the goodness of the Infinite Creator. May we become people who do not simply talk about love, but live it; who do not simply seek forgiveness, but offer it; and who do not simply hope for a better world, but help to co-create one.

So, today, open your heart and hands to care for one another and for this beautiful Earth. And when you find yourself wondering whether one small act of kindness matters, remember the strand. A single strand may seem fragile and insignificant. But woven together, strands become something strong enough to hold us all.

Jesus the Christ—our teacher, companion, living hope, and one who connects us to that sacred strand in the web of life—is with you.

As Always,

Gobs of Blessings and Heaps of Happiness,

Petah

Rev. Dr. Peter Stickney

Punn-kins in Grandfather’s Wheelbarrow – photo by Petah

Season of Creation at Newfield Community Church – photo by Petah

Autumn Equinox at The Mill House – photo by Petah