devotion to little things :: mending our bodies and souls

A tiny Liberty of London patch on my grandmother’s dresser sleeve.

Hydrate.

Rest.

Repeat.

After giving Covid the slip for the last three and half years, it finally grabbed me by the ankles and dragged me in to bed. I’ve been in a fog here on the hill for two weeks. It seems like it’s been a good time to be away from much of the news and the outside world.

I can see the light at the end of the tunnel and I’ve been rethinking how to put my life back together once I’m up and about. Mending my immune system, mending my spirit, mending a tiny corner of the world…

How have you been, friends? I have missed you.

xo

devotion to little things::acorns

Silk, cotton, linen.

Gathering acorns, thanking the tree they fell from, creating a dye pot and simmering cloth…connecting Mother Nature with my studio and my hands…a weekend spent in meditation. Using the cloth I had dyed and some old calicos from my stash, I cut little circles, ran a running stitch around the edges, drew up the gathers and stuffed a bit of batting into each pouch. I tucked the raw edges into an acorn cap rimmed with glue…and VOILÁ…make believe acorns.

I have some acorns soaking in water, to see if any of them will split and sprout. If I have success, I’ll have a wee oak tree growing on the kitchen windowsill. If that’s not a bit of hope, I’m not sure what is. :-)

Do you remember David M Bird’s work? His acorn critters are some of my favorite whimsies.

And my dear friend Anne has posted a tutorial on how to paint acorns that’s just lovely.

The colors in Vermont are fading fast, but the beeches still sing in the woods.

Batman brush hogged the meadow a while back, and the gardens are mostly put to bed. Batman spread goat compost (from our neighbors down the road) on the beds and in the hoop house. The leeks and sage and parsley are hanging on. The sky has been heavy with mist and rain and we are snug inside.

I hope you are able to find a little thing or two in your neighborhood, to tuck in your pocket, to draw a picture of, to share with a friend…something that might ground you for a moment or two…to bring you into the present moment.

Be gentle with yourselves and those around you, friends. These are times when love and light are more important than ever. xo

a little grandchild and her little birthday quilt

Tilly and her birthday quilt!

Look at that gorgeous honeycomb quilting!

Our youngest grandchild, Matilda, turned one this week. Her mama, her Auntie Gretta and I started working on her birthday quilt last February. Lindsey collected fabrics from her stash and from a Dear Stella series. She had some ideas about a piecework pattern and Gretta drafted it for us, with each of us piecing a third of the quilt top. Lindsey and Gretta sent their sections to me in Vermont (thank you USPS) and I stitched them together with mine. When I went out to visit family in Detroit in April I took the quilt top with me. We three shopped for a backing at Ann Arbor Sewing Center. Then Lindsey made a roll of binding, made the backing, found some batting and dropped everything off at Amy’s place, for some long arm quilting. Lindsey and Amy decided that a honeycomb pattern would be just right. The quilt found its way back to Vermont this summer, when Lindsey and her family came to visit and we sat around on the three season porch and sewed the binding on together.

On the design wall in my studio in Vermont

Lindsey, Gretta and I have collaborated on quilts before and it’s such a lovely way to stay connected to my girls who live far away from Vermont. We enjoy making quilts to celebrate special occasions, knowing that they will keep loved ones cozy for years and years to come.

And there’s not a lot of room for melancholy when you have a needle and thread in your hands. Come to think of it, a need and thread are little things, too.

:-)

P.S. Lindsey took most of these photos and gave me permission to share them here with you.

P.P.S. I am finally responding to your kind comments on my last post.

devotion to little things

Dearest friends,

I have been avoiding this post for ages. I’ve written it in my head so many times. But today I’m writing it, because sometimes life just gets really hard. And sometimes it’s healthy to acknowledge that.

I’ve been enmeshed in some melancholy that I can’t seem to shake. Maybe you have too.

A few weeks ago I had some fairly simple day surgery that got all caught up in my heart condition/anesthesia protocols and I have had to wrap my head around some new realities. I don’t share this for sympathy, or as a request for medical advice. I’m just sharing it to acknowledge that as we age, our lives begin to show the wear and tear on our bodies. This is natural. We can get angry and fight it, or we can accept it and find grace to move forward with renewed appreciation for each and every day. I’m seeing this chapter in my life as an invitation to pay better attention to what I put into my body, how I move it and what I choose to do with my days.

Autumn in Vermont has been so very odd this year. The late frost in May, the flooding in July and the heavy rains again in August have taken their toll of the foliage, the harvests and our spirits. Our view, which is usually spectacular this time of year, has been more muted and the leaves have blown off the trees much sooner that usual.

Domestic and world events these past few weeks are enough to bring anyone to tears.

So, what to do, friends, with this melancholy?

I’ve been holding the word devotion close to my heart this year. As I thought about what to write about here, I thought perhaps I could reflect on little things this fall. A devotion to little things. And I’ll take my cue from one of my favorite quotes, via Bread and Puppet Theater.

THAT SIMPLE-LIGHT MAY RISE OUT OF COMPLICATED DARKNESS

For instance, I had a few pieces of jewelry that I have not been wearing because they were broken. I finally pulled out my pliers and fixed two bracelets. The simple pleasure I got from repairing those old favorites was so fun! I moved on to sewing some patches on old pj’s and doing some mending. Then I organized a drawer in the kitchen. Today we harvested carrots from the gardens, and I set the Hopi black sunflower heads out on the three season porch to dry. We brought some apples in from the yard. I scrubbed the front door mat and draped it over the deck railing to dry. I wrote some snail mail. I cut some holes in a cardboard box for the cats to play in.

I have not created world peace. But I have created a renewed sense of peace in my home. I have pulled myself back from the edge of melancholy and now I have fresh energy to move forward in a more productive way. I’ve made space for possibilities.

So, for the next bit, I’ll be devoted to little things here. I’ll share ideas and small projects to cultivate hope, to bring light to the darkness.

And if you have some ideas, dearest readers, please share them here in the comments, or send me a message. xo

in the midst of the equinox

Have I lost track of something/someone that I would like to reconnect with?

Are there things I’ve carried with me that I can set down and leave behind?

What brand new experience might I want to try?

How about you, dearest readers? What things might you consider as we step from one season into another? Are you able to make space to ponder?

And thank you, each and every one of you who left a thoughtful comment on my last post. I so appreciated them! I may share a few more peeks into our trip in the future, as they seem appropriate. Lots of inspiration there, for sure!

Be sure to look up at the sky some night, the constellations are sliding along the horizon, and changing places with one another. xo

the kids thought we might never come home...

My two brothers and their partners joined Batman and I on a two week adventure to Scotland. We had never traveled together as adults. It’s odd, but it feels like if I try to write much about it, it will lose its magic and wonder and preciousness.

So here’s the briefest of context. We started out by self piloting a narrowboat on the Union Canal. We went through the Falkirk Wheel, the Falkirk Tunnel and over an aqueduct on our three day journey.

Then we spent a night in Oban on our way to the Isle of Skye.

We had three days on the Isle of Skye, quite a gorgeous place.

Then on to a week at a self catering cottage in Rothiemurchus, at the heart of the Cairnhorns National Park. (I squealed with delight when I saw Hannah Nunn’s post “in the pines” just a few days before our departure.)

The weather was absolutely amazing. We spent our last day in Edinburg, where rain finally caught up with us. We had fretted a bit about our return flight due to the hurricane, but the travel elves kept us safe.

along the Quiraing walk.

We spent as much time outdoors as we could, walking, hiking, birding, catching up with one another’s lives along the way.

We got takeaway, we dined in pubs and fine restaurants and had picnics on the trail. We cooked and baked in our wee kitchens. We drank “whiskey and wine” and I had so much delicious fish!

I’ll remember the misty mornings along the canal, where I fell asleep at night to the swaying of the water at our moorings and all of the lush green foliage cascading over the canal banks. I’ll remember the cows grazing and the amber bales of fresh cut hay in the fields. I’ll remember the lovely folks who biked and walked along the tow paths, many with sweet dogs, ready to say “hiya!” as we passed one another. And chatting out by the tiller, with whoever was piloting the boat at the time.

I’ll remember the hard, rocky hikes with the totally-worth-it-views at the end. I’ll remember the taste of cold water when I need to stop and catch my breath along the trail. I’ll remember just gazing at the horizon or tilting my head to the sky, exhaling and being fully present, over and over again.

I’ll remember the soft pine needles underfoot in the ancient forests, the scent of freshness and decay all rolled into one…earthiness. The rocks and the moss and the ferns and the lichen and the birds. The trees. The trees. The trees. And the lochs.

And the fun of having days and days with Batman and my brothers and their partners.

What a gift. What a gift.

xo

a teaser...

Safely home, tucked into my very own bed, a bit of sleep and then up and restless and brewing tea in the dark. My Circadian rhythm has me back in Scotland. In my little bits of sleep I dreamed of moss and ferns and tall trees and lochs and gravel paths and canals and of being wrapped in the freshest of scents. I have lived in the midst of magic and I hope I won’t ever forget what it felt like…

a summer mini series:: part six:: pausing

Our sunflowers are late to bloom, but here they come!

I’m taking September’s invitation to set back and breathe in every precious moment. I won’t be posting here for a few weeks. Here are a few of my current faves to keep you company while I’m away.

An enduring fave, Hannah Nunn.

Her friend, Sarah Mason.

And her friend, Alice Fox.

Also, Kate at Foxslane.

Be well, friends.

breathe, hope, notice, invite, love, create, wonder, celebrate

xo

a summer mini series:: part five:: terroir

The cherry tomatoes in the hoop house are coming on strong. We made a compote the other night. Cherry tomatoes, pressed garlic and torn basil leaves (all from our bit of earth), tossed in EVOO, with a dash of salt and pepper…roasted at 400 degrees for 15 minutes, then tossed and roasted for another 15 minutes, until everything was juicy and simmering. We poured it over Trencher’s Farm House’s radiatori, a treat in and of its own!

The slicing tomatoes are coming into the kitchen by the armful, the San Marzano are not far behind. We’ll use those to make sauce.

Lindsey sent me a photo of a vegetable galette she made and I asked her for instructions. We made it in our kitchen and it was amazing! See above. I have tried to attach the instructions here on the blog, but my techno skills have been thwarted! Send me an email via my “contact” box on the website, I’ll send you a document via email. xo

While we enjoy bringing food in from our gardens, we’ve also been supporting our local farmers at the weekly farmers market up in Montpelier. So many farmers were wiped out by the flooding in July, and those that made it through are being celebrated. Those who did not are being cared for by the amazing mutual aid here in Vermont, as well as NOFA-VT.

There’s really nothing like eating food from the soil here in Vermont. It’s one more way to “keep our heads above the overwhelm.” Nourishing our bodies with foods close at hand…the terroir is cherished. Food has not been shipped in a container truck across miles and miles of asphalt. It has not sat in warehouses. Farm to table is one of the most fun ways to eat, and I hope more and more folks will have access, as we find new ways to navigate our food systems here in this country.

The flower gardens are shifting gears, too. The ferns are moving into their bracken phase, the black eyed Susans, echinacea and daisies are playing so joyfully together. Queen Anne’s lace, goldenrod and milkweed dance along the side of the road as cars drive past. Some of the sugar maples are beginning to show signs of color. My favorite time of the year is on its way!

The feed corn planted along the ridge has been growing, folks are harvesting their last hay mowing. Vermont’s trinity of blue sky, white clouds and green fields will forever be holy to me.

I used a bit of leather from the factory floor of The Vermont Glove Company here in town to finish off this wee rope bowl. My studio has been very quiet this summer. Not sure why.

Are you looking forward to the “blue moon” on August 30th? I’ll “see” you out there! xo

a summer mini series:: part four:: flow

Sometimes it’s just lovely to wake up in the morning and decide to do something you’ve been meaning to do for a while. Batman and I picked marigold heads from the raised beds (we use them as insect deterrents and to add color to the veggie rows) and I strung them on thread, anchored by a wooden bead. I strung the first attempt with any old thread I grabbed from my thread rack. It broke when I tried to hang the string of blooms from the ceiling on the porch. I heard my dad say, “If you’re going to do something, do it right the first time”. Haha. Thanks dad. So, I went back down to my studio and found the button thread and tried again. Voilá. These will dry in the breeze and be ready to pop in a jar once they are cured. I’ll use them to dye with once the chill sets in and the sunlight contracts each day. I’ll be looking for some sunny color by then.

Finding a project and getting lost in it is such a treat. The woes and worries of the world drop back, and we can focus on scents, textures and colors. I noticed the sounds of a tractor off in the distance, gathering of one more batch of hay. The birdsong changes with the season, if we listen carefully, we can hear it. My mug of tea reminded me of far off farmers, halfway across the world, gathering leaves for me to enjoy here in Vermont.

Finding flow is another kind of sanctuary. Where have you found flow, friends? I invite you to drop a comment below! xo

Also, thanks for the many thoughtful notes you left on my last post. I love to hear from you. I try to answer them right there in the comments, too. It may take me a few days, but I do try to catch each of you.