summer garden

watering
planting
deadheading
deer-proofing (ha!)
weeding
bees
bunnies
foxes
chipmunks
woodpeckers
cardinals
drowning in gratitude
magic hour
gardener

return of the light

the dining room in winter light.  the art is jupiter and her moons, which i painted this january.

oh hello there.  i came over to get a recipe and realized that i have positively abandoned this little blog space.  it's been over six months since i've posted.  there is nothing earth-shattering or deep to write about, but i feel a wee update is in order:

• we are nearly one week past imbolc, the return of the light, that halfway point between winter and spring solstice.  i dreaded the coming of winter.  i believed it to be a primary source of my panic and anxiety last year.  with some minor hiccups, i've made it through this far without any issues other than some mild insomnia.  i'm still practicing most of of the nutrition and wellness routines i established last spring.  as we move toward march and the anniversary of my panic, i take one day and night at a time and remember the light will come.

• i am devouring garden catalogs and have placed a huge conifer order that will arrive from the pacific northwest in march.  this year we are focusing on carving out another large piece of lawn and converting it to garden.  we will also tackle the shady sloped side yard that has so much potential but has been very neglected for a decade.  gardening saves me.  and while i want to be present in february, i can't help but daydream of june:

magic garden, june 2018

• this weekend is cold (but partly sunny, so i'll celebrate it).  we will spend some time tending to the inside of our home with regular housekeeping and finishing some bigger, not-so-exciting  projects like replacing the baseboards.  this house has loved me through thick and thin and i plan to return that love through tiny gestures of care.

i hope you are well and safe and loved and can feel the light on your face, wherever you are.

six senses sunday

the flower garden at spikenard bee sanctuary

see

• the beauty and vision of spikenard bee sanctuary in floyd, virginia
• i've been documenting wildflowers on walks and hikes for the past few weeks.  it's incredible how many more you see when you are tuned in to their existence.

hear

• rain, rain, and more rain.
• my luca dog has gone mostly deaf so he barks all the time now to make sure he covers all his bases.  

smell

• that shot of ozone scent after all the rain.
• everything smells positively mossy.  
• lavender leaves crushed between my fingers.
• gardenia blooms and the last of the honeysuckle, so strong and sweet it makes me swoon a bit.

touch

• weaving plant material on the garden loom.
• hands in so much dirt.

taste

• homemade honeysuckle ice cream 
• a good old-fashioned moon pie while taking a roadtrip break in fancy gap, virginia

know

• a soft sense of moving in the right direction.
• the grace of easing up.
• a sense of safety, knowing folks care.

* * * * *

sunday grace: solstice

december morning sun in the kitchen on gypsy hill

the winter solstice arrives this week on december 21st (for those of us in the northern hemisphere).  it is one of my favorite times of year, this point in time when we teeter on the edge of darkness and light.  from the latin sol (sun) and sistere (to stand still), solstice is a moment to become still and reflect on the past, release that which no longer serves, and prepare for what is to come.  we see and hear the wisdom of nature:  darkness relieves us of our capacity for busyness, animals rest, snowfall brings its exquisite hush.

there are so many ways to recognize this tender transition.  here are a few of my favorites:

• create a tiny solstice altar with candles (symbolizing light), photos of ancestors (symbolizing the past), and bits of spruce, pine, or juniper (evergreens symbolize life during winter).
• reflect in your journal:  what were your accomplishments, lessons, and losses during the past year?  what are your best hopes for the year to come?
• burn a solstice fire.  on a piece of paper, write down something you would like to let go.  put it in the fire and see it dissolve in spark and smoke.
• join a community celebration.  we will be gathering with our local waldorf cooperative at a community potluck, solstice spiral, and bonfire where the children will be reading their poetry.
• no matter the weather, place your bare feet on the ground outside at night.  simultaneously sense the solid support of the earth and vast unseen possibility of the dark sky.

happy solstice friends.  i wish you just enough darkness to see the stars and perfect light to illuminate your beautiful life.

six senses saturday

welcome to christmas at gypsy hill

see

• lady bird
• a lifetime of christmases as i open each box of the vintage ornaments.

hear

• swooshing through piles of raked leaves.
• the tiny bells on the handmade wreath when the front door opens.

taste

• thank you, turkey, for thanksgiving dinner, leftovers for days, and four quarts of medicinal bone broth.
• i ate a mashed potato sandwich on friday (leftover potatoes on a squishy roll).  and it was amazing.

touch

• putting things away.
• giving things away.
• throwing things away.

smell

• december on my skin, as the boughs of pine and spruce and juniper are cut and tied together.

know

• gratitude runs deeper than a list when you value the dark, the light, the mistakes, the triumphs, the loss, and the love.
• translating the qualities of presence for an upcoming class i'm teaching, noticing the nuances of what it means to be attuned to now.

sunday grace: the grace of beginning again

in this moment, irregardless of the chaos or confusion or exhaustion or despair, the option to begin again is available to us.  even if it's the fourth beginning today.  this option comes with each breath until the moment our breathing ceases.  the breath is our regular reminder to clear the table of the debris of failure (actual or perceived), stupid words, careless deeds, worn out ideas of who we are. the breath is our regular reminder to see with new eyes, love with an open heart, and take a first step into our ordinary brilliance.

"a friend.  is someone who supports your breath."  -nayyirah waheed

sunday grace: the garden and preparing for glory

yesterday was the first perfect day of spring in virginia:  sunny, clear, clean (lots of rain earlier in the week), and a beautiful seventy degrees.  we spent the day preparing the front and back yards at gypsy hill so that they can achieve their maximum glory in the months ahead.  the work was quite unglamorous in the sense that it involved more shovels and fertilizer and wheel barrels and trash bins than flowers and lemonade.

i couldn't help but think about the work as a metaphor for life, soul, and embodiment right now:

• where are the spots that require more digging?
• how is the ground?  is it packed and settled so tight that it supports, but is bereft of nutrition and aeration?
• what areas need extra nourishment?  which balance of nutritional components is optimal for current conditions?
• what are components that may require thinning, pruning, transplanting?  how will they thrive under different circumstances?  more light needed here?  more shade and shelter for this?
• what needs to be respectfully moved to the compost bin?  how did it once add to the beauty and meaning here?
• who are the people who show up to do the hard, down and dirty work with you?

i'm reminded of a poem i first read in my adolescence.  it's totally corny but i still love it so much. upon reading these words at age eleven or twelve, i began to discover my first real sense of personal power and agency in the world.  

comes the dawn

after a while you learn the subtle difference

between holding a hand and chaining a soul.

and you learn that love doesn't mean leaning

and company doesn't mean security.

and you begin to learn that kisses aren't contracts

and presents aren't promises.

and you begin to accept your defeats

with your head up and your eyes open

with the grace of a woman, not the grief of a child.

and you learn to build all your roads on today

because tomorrow's ground is too uncertain for plans.

and futures have a way of falling down in mid-flight.

after a while you learn

that even sunshine burns if you get too much.

so you plant your own garden and decorate your own soul

instead of waiting for someone to bring you flowers.

and you learn that you really can endure,

that you really are strong

and you really do have worth.

and you learn and learn,

with every goodbye you learn.

-veronica shoffstall

plant your own garden, actual and metaphorical.
happy sunday junebugs.

stillness

sunday grace: now

now from lisa parks on Vimeo.

hello loves.

i made my very first tiny film.  i am still (forever) practicing with camera work and editing, but i kind of love it.

i hope you do too.

things have been weird lately.  i needed to focus my attention on beauty, rather than harshness.  love, rather than resentment.  all while still being present, awake and alive in the somewhat fucked up emotional landscape of now.

i love you.

five senses friday

it's been a while, five senses friday.

{see}

• brilliantly white fresh snow
• pink, purple and blue january sunsets

{hear}

• the sound of my own voice learning yoga asanas in sanskrit (my new favorite sound)
• listening to my own "om"
• last week i stayed in a hotel that played barely audible house music in the elevator and hallways, i still hear the echo of the beat.  

{taste}

• medicinal herb-infused bone broth
• rose-cardamom syrup in hot cocoa

{smell}

• purple hyacinths on the window sill

{touch}

• each sacred ordinary object as i arrange and rearrange the tiny altars throughout the house
• folding one thousand paper cranes

sunday grace: the grace of making

i don't pretend to know the solutions for our world.  but i do know the solution for my little world when things seem to be falling apart on a larger scale:  when there is destruction, create.

needless to say my maker hands have been very active over the last few days.  it seems when they are not making something, they are pressed together in prayer or resting in calm abiding during meditation.

creating is the opposite of destruction.  it has such healing magic on both an individual and collective level.  the act of creating soothes the soul and provides contribution when you feel immobilized and hopeless.  it can be an antidote for collective despair.

some of my makes from the last few days and weeks:

this giant wood panel (that my beautiful husband made for me) is just being played on right now.  i'm writing little bits of understory as i continue to layer with colors.

a few weeks ago, i decided i needed to do something with the beads i have been hoarding for years.  i learned to make crochet beaded necklaces from a video tutorial.  it's kind of addictive, that repetitive productive process.

i want to make handmade gifts for my loves this christmas.  i sketched out a ganesh to print on fabric for a sachet filled with comforting lush fragrance.

when i was stuck pondering how to simplify the sewing of the sachet, i remembered that i had sketched and watercolored a ganesh a few months back that would be a simpler circular shape.  so it is.

still experimenting with natural fillers, but it's kind of awesome.

i met a friend downtown for a few healing hours of catching up over hot spiced cider and tea.  i was overjoyed to see good karma tea in the shop.  it's so lovely (and a little weird) to see your art (i designed the logo) in the world.

i'm taking some baby steps (because honestly, i think they are the only steps i know how to take) in figuring out how to share my making with the world.  one step was ordering a set of contact cards (yes, contact cards, because i have a strong avoidant reaction to the word business and everything associated with it, so i'm using my own language around sharing my work).

while i was mixing scents for the ganesh sachets, i explored capturing the scents i love around our home.  i have said so many times, "i wish i could bottle that smell".  so i did.  this fragrance oil is everything i love about here:  woods (cedars, juniper), comfort (coffee, cocoa, chai) and spirit (nag champa).  i had such an amazing time making it that i am working on sharing it.  because i need my entire world to smell like comfort and safety right now.

i kind of caught the scentmaking bug, i'm currently working on a holiday scent called soulstice fire.

i hope you find yourself with some time and space to create something lovely today.  our world needs your individual gracemaking.  thank you for making art, friends, peace, healthy children, soup, tea and conversation flavored with empathy and compassion.  thank you for weaving together textile and community and asana and story.  thank you for creating our beautiful world.

i love you.

let's hygge

it seems my entire life i've been obsessed with things danish.  my favorite day trip when i was a child was a visit to solvang, a wee danish village smack dab in the middle of california.  as a young adult, i fell in love with danish mid-century modern furniture.  copenhagen is on my bucket list.  i live and love my life with a characteristically strong yet sensitive danish man.

as our winters continue to get longer and grayer and colder here in virginia, i'm intrigued by the concept of hygge, the danes' notion of staying cozy, warm and happy during winter months.  i am currently devouring the year of living danishly, by helen russell about a woman from london who moves to denmark.  a new friend describes hygge to her as, "having a cosy time."  she further explains that it is about home and warmth and food and drink and friendship.  and apparently those of us in extraverted-focused cultures like western europe and the americas have challenges with hunkering down, getting cozy and embracing the still silent winter.

as i continue to research hygge, i assess that i've done a pretty decent job of having it intuitively.  but this winter i want to be more intentional about having and doing it.  here are some ideas that have been swirling around my head:

getting outside
it is interesting that when i first started thinking about hygge, i associated it as going outdoors more in the winter, about exploring and embracing the natural beauty of virginia during her coldest days. this can include:

• walks in the snow
• snuggling up by the backyard campfire
• foraging for shed deer antlers (we have a herd of six deer who regularly graze through gypsy hill.  occasionally we spy the elder buck.  this year he was seen sporting five-point antlers.  i'm hoping he sheds them in our forest.) 
• finding an outdoor christmas or winter market to explore
• a weekend trip to hot springs (because hot natural mineral tubs in the snow!)

light
the short days of winter often take their toll on me emotionally.  i require regular sunshine to function well.

• this summer ken installed a giant skylight in the kitchen.  it has already made a huge difference in the quality of light in our home.  our house is surrounded by tall forest trees, when they shed their leaves in autumn, natural sunlight pours through the windows.  now it is going to be superilluminated.
• we replace our lightbulbs in winter with brighter lights and more wattage.  (also, i am still missing incandescent bulbs...cannot get on board with l.e.d. or even halogens...)
• thinking about glow as a substitute for light...massive amounts of candles, hanging lanterns and twinkle lights are a must.

cultivating inner warmth
there is no better way than yoga, friends.  it physically warms the body and a regular practice produces an inner glow that cannot be replicated.

• this winter i'll be doing yoga teacher training with my friend and teacher cyndi lee.  
• extra warmth and friendship guaranteed by the beautiful sangha at yoga goodness studio
• my weird schedule this summer and fall has required me to get committed to a regular home (and hotel) practice...this will serve me well on those days when we are snowed in.

tea (and other liquid warmth)

• of course i have to have my coffee in the morning, but i love having hot tea the rest of the day
• we have the best local organic tea at good karma tea company (you can order online if you don't live here).  the company is run by two amazing women and i got to design their logo.
• i like to experiment with making my own blends as well
• i've also become accustomed to sipping a mug of hot water several times per day
• and my go-tos chai and tazo passion

painting
winter days when not a lot is going on provide large chunks of time to be in the studio.  this winter:

• complete the commissioned ganesh (he's almost done!)
• paint BIG; four huge blank canvasses are waiting
• the interior walls of the house feel like they need something new as well...
• finishing up a painted mandala on the front brick porch
• sharing it with others via collaborative paintings and workshops

poetry and books
so many books in the "to read" stack and so many more stories i'm craving, including:

• the muralist, by barbara shapiro
• the japanese lover, by isabel allende
• hunger makes me a modern girl, by carrie brownstein
• and we are forever adding vintage poetry books to our growing wall of lovely words

color and warmth
color is always important to me, but even more necessary when it is hazy white-gray outside.

nourishment

• i love making and eating soups from scratch, my favorites are chicken+white bean and superspicy carrot.
• i've been making my own bone broth as a base for all of them, bodies need extra fat and minerals during the winter months
• thinking about an organic citrus delivery service (the citrus available here is kind of blah)
• ditto avocados, they are required eating for this california girl and i am not down with the mealy watery ones of winter in the mid-atlantic
• but also focused on eating seasonally and researching what nutrients bodies need during the winter and that are grown locally...squash and kale, anyone?

rest well
you guys, bed is kind of my favorite place.  i am not at all averse to an 8pm bedtime.  most nights i sleep very soundly because:

• good sheets are a non-negotiable
• i like the air to be cool and the bed to be warm
• a big humidifier hums all through the night, for great sleep, great skin and great white noise.
• we make a good effort to limit other electronics/screens in the bedroom

(but sometimes i drink hot cocoa with marshmallows and binge-watch sex and the city.)

more hygge to come!

join me in turning our bad attitudes about winter into soft anticipation of a season of coziness and wonder.

words

lately, i have very few words.  so, these:

and above all
watch with glittering eyes
the whole world around you
because the greatest secrets
are always hidden
in the most unlikely places.
those who don't believe in magic
will never find it.

-roald dahl

art lately

loves, it's been a super hot and humid summer.  and while i miss all the hiking and hammock lollygagging and other outside frolicking that this prevents for me, i'm loving all the indoor painting time.   i've been busy splashing some color on canvas in between dayjobwork and organizing the studio and all the other bits and pieces of life.

the piece above is a reworking of a practice canvas (the surface on which i try out colors and marks and techniques).  it's always funny to me how they end up being some of my favorites; probably because i'm not thinking too hard about what it needs to be.  the stage above is the hardest part of the mixed-media process for me:  when i am in absolute love with the way it looks, but i know it still needs some evolving.  i don't want to let go of any of it.

that sounds a lot like life.

i finally made the decision about which parts would show.  what i love about this process is that all of the beauty and mistakes are still there inside and the piece wouldn't be or look the same without them.  this one is still in process, resting, waiting for more inspiration.

i finally got a proper mixed media journal.  and above is my first spread.  i love that the background is completely comprised of leftover paint and paper from other works.

i am completely in love with the stage of this work.  it's the biggest canvas i've worked on, a commissioned piece.  i'm stuck here and completely in love with the colors.  it keeps telling me it wants to be something other than what i intended.

summer mornings on gypsy hill are the best.  there is this moment when the sun just peeks over the treeline and rainbow rays beam through the forest.  they are soft and intense at the same time.  i love love love to paint outside.

a few months ago, i wrote a spontaneous poem where i'm from (you can read it here).  i love it so much i've decided to capture a few lines of it in a series of smaller art pieces.  the work above was a piece a did a few years ago which i wasn't very happy with.  i reworked it a bit and now i love it.

the piece below is inspired by the lines, i am from strong women who are not afraid of dirt or silence.  it features my paternal grandma, great-grandma and great-great-grandma before they made the journey west to california during the dust bowl.

sunday grace: a new practice

when i started this blog seven years ago its primary purpose was to serve as a spot to ground me in the beauty and living of ordinary life.  the first few years i posted like a crazy person and i've noticed the posts have become fewer and fewer in the past years.   i want to reintroduce the practice of using this space as a reflection of my days, checking in with life practices i've chosen (to make sure i am doing them, not just thinking about them), and serving as a weekly benchmark to move me forward.

so i thought i would use this sunday post as a reintroduction of this practice, organized by some of the things that are important to me.  i want to reflect how i am doing with actively including them into my day to day life.

f l o w e r s

s k y  g a z i n g

n o u r i s h m e n t

cantaloupe with urfa biber chile.  and all of a sudden, tomatoes everywhere.

a r t

this is a little doodle i did while participating on a 16-person conference call.  when you are an introverted intuitive, the purpose and effectiveness of a conference call tend to escape you (so much of the context and nuances are missing), so you engage your brain however you can while you listen.

this is a new piece i'm working on in its early stages.  i like to capture the layers of the work as they move and change.

we had a bit of rain this week.  i took the piece outside and let some showers inform the direction of the work.

i experimented with some chemical movement on the same piece as well (drops of alcohol).

in a future layer, a full moon is going to be central to the piece.  just layering some understory here.


c o m m u n i t y

we spent part of saturday at an art fair held in a barn.  several of my favorite local artists and farmers were there.  it was so delightful to see them.  i especially love seeing their children play and work alongside them.

is there anything more quintessentially summer than a children's lemonade stand?

m e a n i n g f u l  w o r k

i put a few pieces of my work up on redbubble and am so grateful for the response.  stuff like this...putting work out there...is challenging for me.  i ordered one of the phone cases and am very pleased with the quality.  i also love the sweet doodled box it arrived in.  (there is a link on the sidebar if you are interested.)

i also taught a class this week filled with new child abuse workers.  they were eager, energetic and soaked it all up like sponges.  this makes me happy.

also, painting.  lots of painting.

y o g a

i did two group classes this week and one practice at home.  i also took a group meditation class and meditated at home five days this week.

s t o r y

i am reading turning the mind into an ally for an upcoming training.  it is a wonderful book about meditation and i highly recommend it.

we watched still alice last night.  this movie is haunting me.  my grandmother descended into alzheimer's quite quickly, so i've always been aware of its presence in the world.  but this story about a woman experiencing early-onset alzheimer's really hit home.  see it.

h o m e

did i mention the rain this week?  this is a view from my kitchen at twilight.  the forest outside is wet and lit.  inside it is dark and cozy.  i will never ever get tired of this view.

and while i am loving my new practice of moving out into the world a bit more frequently, i always love coming home the most of all.

thank you grace.