You've placed orders, you've sent notes and hellos, and some of you are now PWS|CSA members. For your continued support of my garden pursuits and botanical endeavors during these scary weird times, I am ever grateful. The shop has been dark for a few weeks now, and like most, I've been working from home, keeping myself creatively motivated and getting the garden primed for a bountiful year. I am fortunate and thankful to be able to make and create from within the comfort and safety of the place I love. These are like the old days when I worked between my home studio and the garden. But things are also nothing like the old days. So it was both a terribly difficult yet...
Hello friends - I’m writing to you from a new place in the world; we now live on the other side of a significant mark on our timeline. Things look shaky ahead.And yet, there is light in all of this. We are reaching out in new ways and learning new tools to make connections. We are reading + writing more, making art, starting seeds. We are grateful for the folks who are out at the front lines fighting this massive war and its tiny, molecular enemy. We remain isolated but involved. This disconnection from the machine allows for a reconnection with nature. We have seen communities show support from near and far; I am grateful for yours as we navigate...
Here we are: at the edge of the New Year, the past behind us, made up of memories that inform our choices, our hearts and hands. Time and how it moves through our minds is relative, but we can all agree there never seems to be enough of it in the moment - like these - where the ocean is so mighty you forget to breathe. Where you are so small, humbled by the pulse of the earth as it rumbles through your bones. Where you are invigorated by the salt spray moving over your skin and the giant smiles of the company you keep. There are no words needed, it is a collective appreciation, a shared reverence. So here...
The past couple of nights before heading to bed, I’ve been watching the stars + moon; all the lights off in the house, all the lights on in the sky. Winter Triangle rising over the ocean as we make our move through the milky way. Standing in the dark house, I steady my elbows on the kitchen windowsill, my eyes through the binos. Even with a bright waning moon, my view is full of stars. Scanning the sky, I find Betelgeuse, flickering red, like a cardinal on Orion’s shoulder, singing birdsong to The Hunter as he prepares for winter.
There are more trees on earth than stars in the Milky Way. This has been my mantra lately. The thought that pulls me out of my head and into the sky, out of my tiny world and into the big picture. It’s true: there are a staggering 3 trillion trees on our planet and just a couple billion stars in our galaxy.This mantra takes me up + away while grounding me in the moment. Anywhere I am, at any time, I can look to the tree line, to the sky for perspective, for celestial confirmation. A few other thoughts for heading up + away: comet tails can be millions of miles long and may also be the reason water exists on earth. while we only see one side...
