Writing

 

I've thought about archiving this blog for a while but enjoyed the place to write, even if only occasionally. I am trying out writing over at Substack. Hope over and if you feel like it let me know what you think?

Hmmm...

 

Is Substack the new blog? Words, maybe a picture or two, links, comments...as I continue to be disillusioned with social media but crave the connection as winters darkness (and my own) descend I have found myself craving time to sit and read the words of a few there.

Kathrine May, the author of Wintering (highly recommend) wrote about the Norwegian friluftsliv (free-lufts-liv) or "open air life" and linked to THIS Orion article which then lead me to hopping into the hold queue for the book The Open Air Life at my local library. And this is what I crave. Not endless scrolling or perfect kitchen pictures with sourdough rising (also suggest Anne Valley's substack this week on that too and then hop to Meg Conley's older stack on it too) but thoughts, sharing, and reading.

And then a little doing too, on Carson Ellis's post she links to a beautiful recording of an Appalachian singer of old and professes her love of quilting and her burnout on illustrating. It made me think maybe I could figure out what to do with this quilt top my grandma made for my parents wedding AND THEN NEVER DID MORE...

I think I like the thinking. Now I'm off for a walk with a friend.

My Red Cabbage

 I don't know if you can tell from the hazy color of this photo but we are smack-dab in the smoke line for yet another northern California wild fire. It's exhausting, partly because living with poor air makes you tired and partly because of the drain on mental health. 

But I grew this sweet head of red cabbage (and no critter ate it) so I made it into slaw for some fish tacos. Making this dinner I ended up running out to the garden (masked) several times. I wish I had had more time in my garden this summer. Between traveling for a month, scorching temps, and now wild fire smoke is been paltry. We will see what the next weeks bring. But I do love getting to cook with my garden produce. I didn't plant much for harvesting this year because of my travels but with all the tomato plants I planted I did expect a bit of a larger tomato harvest with enough for some roasted tomato sauce to can. We are in the time when we could get our first light frost, though nothing is on the forecast yet. So it could kick into high gear if this smoke abates soon.

I'm also starting to think about soups now that the equinox is next week. I've been thinking about the African Peanut Soup from the Oh She Glows cookbook, and Cannelle et Vanille's Lentil and Root Vegetable Stew with Broccoli Rabe and Fried Eggs (book is a little different than her online version). Outside of soups I'm thinking of Fish Wives' Smoked Salmon Risotto by Spencre McGowan and getting back into making muffins in the morning.

Any great recipes to share friends?

Change

 What makes a place a place? 

The plants, the people?

The climate, the location?

I guess it is all of that, and more.

For most of my adult life the "winds of change" blew in quite frequently. Moving, was the most frequent change. And somehow that change kept some things static. There was newness for sure...new walls to hang pictures on, new people, new places to explore. It kept one busy.

Now it's been many years since a change of place. But nearly everything else has changed in those years. Big things. Hard things. Small things. It's a more exhausting kind of change. The kind that drags on you. Pulls you down. 

I think I am craving the other kind of change. New place, new scenery, new walls. Maybe I'm trying to outrun the other kind of change. But it's not really in the picture currently. Thats fine, good actually. But I wish I could magic some new into my walls. A little Mrs. Weasley action. 

But I still could really use a moving clean out...but since I'm not moving I just don't have time...

September 1st

It's September 1st.

It was also near 100 today and will be all weekend. 

But I pulled out my favorite bookmark anyway. A friend who was a neighbor who moved to Maine made it for me. It reminds me of her, of New England, and even of my Grandma J who use to send me check boxes of waxed fall leaves. Memories are strange things. Both beautiful and hard, welcomed and dreaded.

Yesterday I found a box I had been looking for. It had pictures (real, analog, printed out photos) from the 1990s-2004. Pictures from middle school, high school, college, marriage, and babies. Other lives I've lived. Other friends and family either no longer here or just no longer quite so mine.

Beautiful and hard. Welcomed and dreaded.

I picked up this book at the library not quite sure I was ready for it but interested none the less. Its set in 2020, about quarantining...did your chest tighten just a little at that thought or did you smile? Beautiful and hard, welcomed and dreaded.

I enjoyed it actually, the book. I read the bulk of it on the beach by the lake. But then finished it in bed. Maybe not the best idea...my mind whirled for quite a while after. My sleeping tincture not really touching it. Do you like a story that is all wrapped up at the end or one that leaves you wondering? Imagining? Whirling? 

What memories are left form 2020? Longing for the quiet, still pace life ground to a halt at? The uncertainty and fear? The sadness and loss? I have all of them but somehow I still find some longing for the screeching halt. Within all that sadness I still have some longing. I don't really understand it. I lost two people in 2020. One to the pandemic and one to another sad sickness. It was horrible to not be with family and friends but also it was nice to not have any one expect anything of me as I grieved. Beautiful and hard, welcomed and dreaded.

But I guess that is life isn't it.

My children grow and it is beautiful and hard.

The seasons turn and it is welcomed and dreaded.