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.

 

Connections

"If women remember that once upon a time we sang with the tongues of seals and flew with the wings of swans, that we forged our own paths through the dark forest while creating a community of it's inhabitants, then we will rise up rooted, like trees." - Sharon Blackie

I read this spring that the things that were most important to you as a child are the things that are your core beliefs. I immediately thought of the ocean I ran in, the trees I climbed, and the grandparents who filled me.

Ancestors, Trees, Ocean.

In Ireland we learned that they say Sky, Earth, Water and it felt like a connection I've never felt before. 

And I got to bathe with seaweed.

We stood in an ancient Hawthorne grove in a ring fort. I touched a 500 year old Hawthorne and we sang to her. Now I sing it in my head as I pass the many Hawthorne's in our neighborhood.

"Red juicy berries and sweet white flowers,

red juicy berries and sweet white flowers.

Thorns that protect and connect to your power,

thorns that protect and connect to your power.

How can you teach me of softness and strength, of how to relate with love, with love.

How can you teach me of softness and strength, of how to relate with love, with love."

- Sage

So many portals we traveled to. Meeting ancestors all along the way. 

In a cemetery where some of the graves face west or Tír na nóg (Land of Youth) and the other half face east (the eastern church) overlooking the sea.

In another where in the ruin of a church an older stone from another time is in the window casing. A Sheela na Gig. And ancient visual of the Land and Goddess. Fertility and ancestors.

Truly there are not words for these connections and all I saw and experienced.

Reentering

Slieve Aughty Center

 Here I am. In the desert. But in someways my mind has not come back from Ireland. Mind? Maybe heart would be a better description. I've been using my mind as I get school plans ready, grocery shop and make dinner (no small feat after having personal chefs), and start back into work. Yesterday I spent about half the day at this computer creating a class and a presentation to go with it! 

Reentry. It's an interesting word.

Our third night on our herbal tour was the full moon. After a full day in a remnant of an ancient forest we had eaten and danced the night away at a pub. When we pulled up to our lodgings after dark (sunset was close to 10pm) and so tired we were greeted with this view. We had seen peeks of it along the drive but this. This was fantastic and another notch on a magical day.

Glengarriff, Co. Cork

This was my first experience on a "tour" but I don't think this was anything like what most would experience. A bus full of like minded people, a bus driver in Hawaiian shirts, guides who were more like family by the end, and experiences like no other. We did not go places other tour busses were parked, we went some placed maybe a tour bus should not have parked! We saw more trees than people. We bush peed more than we used public toilets. And may I add what an invigorating experience it is to pee in a nettle patch! Don't worry, no stings.

Burren National Park

I made connections I will never forget. Connections to the land, ancestors, myself, Fern, plants, trees, and new friends. Those connections were unlike any I think I've made before. During our opening circle we each had an opportunity to say our intentions for this trip out loud. Mine were to find peace and connection. Some of the places we stood held more peace than I even thought existed. A lot of friends have joked since I got back that they didn't know if I would come home...yea...

Wild thyme and orchids on the Burren

Each day during my morning time with myself I have been letting something from the trip come back to my mind. There is usually some meaning about it, however small. And there is always something. This morning it was these small shells, Common Limpet. They are in my Irish Seashore field guide under, "Snails, Mussels, and their Relatives" and it says they are characteristic of Irish rocky shores. I brought a couple old washed up ones home. These make me think of how at home I felt on that shore, the same at homeness I actually feel on my Grandma's beach. A place most sacred and special to me. At the time it felt surprising and exciting. I felt alive in a way I haven't. It made me miss home (San Diego) and feel at home all at the same time. It made me think if ancestors who maybe felt that way as they stood in places in the United States. A connection even though it was not home. 

This has been a good daily practice for me. A way to feel and sit while also reentering my life here. No lie it has not been all rosy. I have had some hard conversations with myself and have felt melancholy too. 

Leili just came in and said, "if you got half way to Ireland (Dan is on the east coast) I think you would just go and then tell us after you got there"! Ha Ha!

So here I am. Reentering. 💛

Feeling the Change

Beach near Lahinch Co. Clare, Ireland

 

This morning I put on a sweater for my walk. I felt it the other morning...Friday I believe. The change. Which was funny because just the day before Ashley English had written about the "Dog Days of Summer" ending on August 11th. She is thousands of miles away from where I live, and often the high Sierra desert is its own strange thing. But here we are like a switch was flipped.

I mentioned it to a friend, and her reply was, "oh there is plenty of warm weather to come still". That is true but not what I was saying. Of course this slide down really started on the Summer Solstice when the days cease growing longer and pause before slowly changing. But this feels different. School in our town started today. Not us, but for the last year.

I have a senior and an 8th grader, one in the last year of "prescribed" learning, one who has chosen public school for high school (here in Nevada its all or no high school, no switching between home and public).

So what did I do this summer? Gosh it flew by. I was so busy with new families and work at the beginning and then I left everything and spent nearly the whole month of July in Ireland. I still can not quite believe it. It was wonderful. Maybe I'll post about it. Since coming home there has been lots of catching up, lake trips, walks, and wanderings. No lie, the reentry has had some bumps. But it's been good too.

Spring

I went to the farmers market this morning.

It's been hard to get myself there recently. Nothing really, just the desire to do absolutely nothing, and talk to no one once Saturday morning comes. Maybe when it moves to Thursday evenings again...

Today I am watering my very large yard. By hand. My timer goes off every 20 min and I move my four hoses. We need to get the sprinkler system fixed. Or do a rain dance. But spring has sprung. The fruit trees are blooming, the dandelions are up, and my garden is covered in weeds.

I've been listening to THIS and THIS. I'm not a person who listens to every episode of a podcast but I've actually listened to a fair amount of We Can Do Hard Things lately. Maybe because life is fine but feels hard right now.

I've been reading If Women Rose Rooted, also The Diary of a Provincial Lady, and I recently finished Summer Kitchens. 

I've been watching Call the Midwife from the beginning. Predictable, easy, and not as stressful as watching the news.

I am also avoiding most news but still trying to stay informed on Ukraine and its people. I enjoyed this interview on the author of Summer Kitchens, Olia Hercules on BBC The Food Chain. And also donated to her #cookforukraine and World Central Kitchen.

 

Music

 

Well I guess I missed February. Really there was a lot. It was survival. Nothing earth shattering just lots of things that made a rather large hill.

This morning I was reading the NYT weekender article about pandemic playlists. 

I read THIS one and THIS one.

A couple lines that stuck out for me were, "I label my playlists by month and use them like a diary, to keep a record of a particular moment."

I think this hopped out at me because of my lifelong propensity to journal in one way or another, a written journal, a nature journal, blogging, instagram...the list goes on. And I do associate music with memories. But I've never been big on making playlists, I tend to listen to albums. Maybe a journal of albums.

Which brings me to the second quote, "I wonder what will become of our pandemic playlists years from now. Will we be inclined to revisit them?...Or will we leave them to history, fossils from a time we'd prefer to forget?"

Which made me think of earlier this week, I have found myself in the car a lot in this season of life. Practices and lessons, work and support...I have a lot of time in there. And I pulled up the second She & Him album on Spotify (yes I stuck with Spotify) because it has always reminded me of a simple time in my life. Four small kids, living with my dad after losing our house, beach days with homeschool friends, and driving along the coast to La Leche League meetings. But this time it was not simplicity and sunshine that shown though. It made me uneasy. My anxiety and sadness rising. My heart hurting. I was rather surprised. 

So back to that question, "Will we be inclined to revisit them?" I guess we will have to wait and find out. And them maybe wait some more and feel it again. 

Old Fashioned

 Blogs are so old fashioned. I think they are only used to link to from social media when you have an audience...

Oh well here I am blogging away like its the 2010's. The good thing is no one reads it anymore, I am mostly blogging to talk to myself in a less crazy way. If that's at all possible. Or maybe for nostalgia? Maybe not, there are no cute baby pictures or adventure pictures or even any crafting pictures. It's just words now. Words. There are already too many of those in the world. And if you were going to read words you would read a book.

I am currently reading The King Must Die. I just finished She of The Sea, next is If Women Rose Rooted. This year I made a list of books for friends, hand written, as a holiday gift. I thought it was a little silly but those I gave it to really loved it. And now I want my friends to write book lists. Or really any kind of list. Favorite recipes of the year (the really tried and true type you turn to again and again), most listened to music, favorite hikes, binge worthy tv, favorite gardening gloves...anything really! 

Slow and old fashioned are just right for right now I think.

Steam

Steam. Healing in all its ways. A warm mug, a warm bath, a dreamed of sauna, soup steaming up into my face, a just finished dishwasher "facial" as we call it here...

In times past we would have to work harder for that steam. Now it's not very hard. Hot water heater, stoves you don't have to light and tend (though I do cook on a 1930's gas stove with pilot lights), a dishwasher vs washing all by hand. With all of life "eases" have we made life harder? 

I was chopping veggies last night for dinner. I've grown to enjoy that time. Standing there, maybe with music, maybe in blessed silence. Maybe with a kombucha or a warm cup of tea. But just there. Rhythmically chopping. You can't hurry too much or you might loose a finger, you can't go too slow or whiney, hungry people might show up. It is, I think a good thing. The slowing down and doing something the way my grandmothers have done for eons.

Eons. Can you imagine it? Can you feel those before you when you do everyday tasks that have been done for generations? Inviting those who have come before us into our minds is a beautiful thing. There is much to learn, they have much to teach. Ancestors are there if we slow down just a little.

Last night I made THIS - Butternut Squash and Chickpea Soup but over rice.

And THIS Shakshuka With Feta (but we use goat chèvre) has been an easy but wonderful recipe on repeat in my kitchen. 

I usually treat myself to one cooking like subscription, I am really enjoying the NYT Cooking app right now, Bon Appétit, and Vegetarian Times have all been favorites in the past. I also checkout an insane amount of cookbooks from the library (especially in January and September). Fern and I have been getting some off the NYT Best Cookbooks of 2021 list. Most recently À Table by Rebekah Peppler.

 

Broth

 Its 2022.

I've pulled out some broth to defrost.

Life is unexpected. Occasionally I'd like it to be boring. Mundane. Predictable in its ease. Right now it feels like it is always demanding. Always changing. One fire to the next flood. 

I worry about the levels of stress we live with. The baseline level of trauma that is always there. And what we do with that trauma.

Sometimes I am caught in the inability to act because of life. Sometimes I can not sit still. But if we are all living this new level of stress and trauma is it an excuse anymore? Does it change our collective baseline? Does it change what is appropriate action or inaction?

We just finished watching possibly the most popular dystopian epic of my generation on film. Star Wars. The whole thing. I know we call it sci fi or fantasy but really its dystopian. They are our favorite tales. They make us feel like we are stable in our lives because of their chaotic lives. THIS NPR article was a great article from years ago. I don't think it is only for teens either, we are all trying to make reason of this world.

Are our lives really that different from these tales? No we are not flying at light speed. We don't have cruisers to hop on and fly away. But are we not all fighting battles between our own light and dark? The light and dark of this world? I don't know. It seems we are living our own dystopian novel, or at least the beginning of one.

Maybe our goals should be the same as the characters we watch though out the films. Connection, family of choice, letting people change, and tapping into that life force that runs through every tree, rock, and person.