Where the One Eyed Man is King

Just read a snippet about the expression “where the one-eyed man is king” which seems relevant for the times.  This album came to mind.  It’s lovely, especially when pondering things or making art…..

Yesterday was the complex holiday of Thanks-Giving – complex due to the whitewashed narratives of our childhoods (read Pilgrims and Indians and all of that).  Add the further complexities of this strange year to the mix – folks home eating alone or with not enough to eat, or opting out of gatherings altogether, or choosing to have gatherings anyway, regardless.  It’s just complex no matter how we slice it.  Thankfully my family had had our larger scale get-together back in October before things got out of hand with the virus and we all kept ourselves to ourselves this holiday with a zoom conversation late morning over coffee (and maybe a bit o’ Bailey’s too).

It was good to see everyone though I can sense the weariness in all of us.

To be honest, the quietude of the day was just fine by me really.  I’m often griping this time of year that I’d rather be hibernating than socializing and this year is our chance.  Our meal was thoughtful and well made, most things from scratch.  Since we weren’t cooking for a crowd, we could take time and care in a different way.  It was really quite lovely actually.

As the evening wore on, we kept in touch with the kids, providing back up advice to them and their households as they navigated their first Thanksgiving away from the nest.  It was bitter sweet.  They seem to have a new appreciation for everything that goes into a well-crafted holiday meal.

It wasn’t just blood-family touching base throughout the day either, but friend-family too.  Heart-family.  A text from a dear one in California with an old Irish saying:

“Ar scáth a chéile a mhaireann na daoine” 

which basically means ‘we live in the shelter of one another’, or more specifically translated, “we live in each other’s shadows”.  Protecting one another, in need of one another’s company and presence.  I could not agree more.   And then, a  sweet text from Ireland with video of the kids wishing their American friends a happy Thanksgiving.  My Taos based adopted family sent along their wishes as well.  We traded texted views of home-based natural life, as we often do through out the year.  Their mountain views to our hollers.  A heart-felt exchange of worlds colliding.  I am so grateful for all of it.

Eventually, we finished the pie and the washing-up over a Tune Supply concert that once again reminded me of the thing I will jump head-first most into once this is all over – music.  I am deeply missing that camaraderie.

For now, solo practicing and babbling brooks must suffice.

Today, as is our tradition, we avoided any of the “Black Friday” madness (not even sure if that is on this year?) and took to the woods.  Only the two of us, and currently dog-less*, it was quiet but beautiful.  We took our time to capture photos, study mosses and mushrooms and simply enjoy the splendor of a lovely day.

*Charlie doesn’t come on longer hikes, which renders us dog-less when in the woods.  

Muted autumn colors and horizons, Ohio style.
In which we all tuck in under a blanket for the season.

Shroomy faerie-land treasures thanks to recent rains and mild weather.

Like an other-worldly jewel.

The view up the holler.
Bogard, ‘not throwin’ away his shot.’

Though not a scientist, I have a soft spot for the mosses. I like their approach to time and reproduction, among other things.

It was wonderful to get out into the countryside today.  I’ve had our local hollers on my mind lately.  This time of year I often think of my grandparents and all of our old holidays up with them in Middletown, just north of here.  Middletown is a bit of a curiosity lately with the Hillbilly Elegy movie hitting the streams.  I loathed the book when it launched and will likely choose not to view the movie (much as I admire the work of those involved in this project).  I find I get my hackles up over the writing of JD Vance and would rather folks be reading Elizabeth Catte’s What You Are Getting Wrong About Appalachia if they are curious about this great swath of the country.  I suppose I don’t appreciate the one-faceted view of folks in general and more specifically, those facing the challenges of poverty.  There is so much more to Appalachia than meets the eye.  Much like most of the rest of humanity.

The tide seems to be finally turning on the current president, and I am counting the days until we are back on an even keel with a leader who seems to even want the job.  But I know our work as a country is only just beginning.  As we drive around to the quiet wild places here in our own back yard, we are confronted with our political opposites.  How do we get folks from such opposite ends of the political spectrum to see the light in one another?

We are all lit from within, like jewels in the autumnal countryside

Seamus Heaney wrote a poem called Whatever You Say, Say Nothingwhich is exactly what we do here a good bit of the time.  Perhaps that’s part of what got us to where we are today, so divided and deconstructed.

Perhaps we should all just go for a hike together when this virus is all said and done, to go out looking for spectacular mushrooms and mosses and figure things out in a more thoughtful way.

Perhaps.

 

 

 

Gifts and Gratitude

It’s a quiet Day of Thanks here in our little Spring Valley.  Just two of us humans and one little dog.  But we are well and soon to be well-fed all, and for this alone I am deeply grateful.

These last weeks and months have been such a wild ride, between a contentious election and this virus gone haywire.  I walk my anxieties away best I can in the early hours of morning.  Birds and trees as my constant companions.

I hope that you are finding some peace amidst the madness and sadness.  These are grief-filled times indeed.  But we must keep a forward momentum and do the things which make our heart sing.

Wherever you are, whatever state you are in, I wish you the best this day can offer.

Happy Thanksgiving everyone.

 

 

The Deadly Buzz *

In spite of a world gone mad, and all the news that’s fit to print, We are working day to day to tame the new reeds in our musical family – the DRONES.  To me the drones are an underpinning of that piping sound.  When everything is tuned correctly and working together, magic can happen.  Perhaps our democracy could learn something from this concept, yes?

Here’s the process video of the drawing today….

****** If you want to hear the buzz of the pipes in near perfection, check out the album Deadly Buzz by….

 Caoimhín Ó Raghallaigh & Mick O’Brien

Today’s title is a nod to their genius.  Enjoy!!

 

The mess we’re in

“We must mend what has been torn apart, make justice imaginable again in a world so obviously unjust…”

~Albert Camus (via Maria Popova of @brainpickings)

Life is messy.  Birth is messy.  Democracy, equally so.  We must choose the mess in which we live really.

Outside my window, I can hear the soundtrack to an Ohio autumn – an  endless hum of gas-powered leaf blowers in the distance.  It’s maddening.  I think about how one person’s version of ‘messy’ is so different from another’s.   My grandfather had some cottonwood trees in his yard with whom he battled.  They would scatter their seed with hopes for new beginnings in another yard elsewhere, and my grandfather would sweep them out of his little space, grumbling all along about how ‘messy’ they were, to his eyes at least.

Here in our little village we are blessed with much space, big trees too, which grew here before the village did.  So many of my neighbors employ gas blowers to gather the ‘mess’ that autumnal droppings bring, while we (in the minority) mostly leave them lie where they land.  Where my neighbors see a mess, we see possibility – a place where next season’s moths might grow and hatch, as one small but important example.

Last night I watched (and celebrated with a ‘wee dram’) the speeches of Kamala Harris and Joe Biden as they acknowledged what our sitting president has, as yet, refused to – the fact that they are the President-Elect and Vice President-Elect of the United States of America.  It was an historic moment and I wept through most of it.  Harris represents the hopes and vision of generations of women who worked for women to have a voice at the table.

It was, indeed a lovely moment.  And we are right to celebrate the ousting of such a vile representation of ourselves.  But here’s the thing, these last four years ARE a representation of ourselves.  We might not want to admit it, but there it is.  I live and love here in Ohio where I am consistently confronted with folks whom I consider to represent the very underbelly of this great nation.  But the concepts these people represent and fight for are the very things our country was built upon.  We have so much to unpack as a nation.  I feel like we are finally beginning to at least talk about the elephant in the room.  It’s a start.  And it’s a start that Kamala Harris is in now the VP-elect.  It’s a start that  an old white guy chose her as his running mate.  These are all good things.  And last night, I slept the sleep of the unburdened for the first time in perhaps four years.

Many of my friends and loved ones posted about feeling like they could breathe easy once more.  I felt (and posted) the same.  It’s not lost on me that metaphorically, this is poignant.  In an era of George Floyd and Covid, the ousting of the very representation of the worst side of ourselves gives us space in which to breathe again, at least for the moment.  But there is work to do.

We must climb into some semblance of heart space and tuck in for a good long winter’s resting.

We must awaken with fresh eyes at what is in store.  We mustn’t look away.  A couple of people dear to me have recently stated something to the effect of:

‘ I plan to just hide my head in the sand until this is all over. ‘

This is not a good plan, for one will only drown sooner.

Perhaps better to confront the demons that built us.  To show up with kindness in the face of great challenge.  To avoid any gloating or shaming of ‘the other side’ and instead seek to know what brought them to that dark space in the first place.

This may sound preachy.  But remember, I really only write here to suss out my own feelings.  I have people in my direct daily or weekly contact in my life who feel this election now as I did four years ago – like the world is going to hell in a hand cart and that all is lost in this young country.  But unlike their response to my sadness four years ago, I have no desire to wallow in their despair.  I merely want to get through to the next chapter on this planet with out killing ourselves in the process.  This will take all hands on deck.

Yesterday we took the afternoon to attend a foraging class at the Cincinnati Nature Center.  I could sense that at least a few of our fellow foragers were folks not on the same political train as we were.  It was pouring off of them like smoke.

But we foraged together anyway, averting conversation of anything besides the juniper berries at hand.  Honestly, had it come up and been a point of contention, I was not ready to pat the back of anyone disappointed in the results of the election.  That said, I also had no intention of being as cruel about it all as the vitriol I’d experienced four years ago.  And so we foraged.

We learned about distilling the flavor found in this native tree.

simple syrup with juniper berries, which aren’t really berries but rather tiny pine cones. it was delicious!
goat cheese coated with juniper ash. a strange and new flavor to me. I am intrigued to give it a go on our own!

Later that evening, T and I took turns doodling the little dishes of these tiny berries over a beer.

“We are our choices.”  ~J. P. Sartre

The world at large celebrated with us as the news traveled yesterday.  Bells were rung, songs were sung, leaders reached out to the effect of  “welcome back, America.”  It is this more than anything that leads me to believe that I am on the right side of history.  That we will look back at the trump years as a dark era indeed.  It is my hope that people hoodwinked by his way of thinking might come along for the ride, but we shall see.

Today, my body is weary from four years of a trump presidency, but at least I slept well.  I am keen to reclaim a hold on my inner-knowing a bit now that the noise of a constant, top-down gaslighting is to end soon.  I am working to pivot my working life inward toward the studio in order to better weather the financial storm of this pandemic.  I want to keep learning music, to knit more.  And, as part of all of this, I want to work for a better future for the planet.  With Biden and Harris in office, this feels more doable than it did just a few days ago.

And, for now, today on this lovely day, I’m gonna go have a few tunes.

Wishing you all well.  Let us go gently into the liminal months ahead of us……

 

 

 

Ciúin

Yesterday evening I took a break from breaking news.  (not news at all really, more like a collective zoom-based anxiety rave bent on driving us all insane as we wait, feigning a patience we do not feel.)  In the darkness, (’tis the season, what with the time change)  Charlie and I ambled quietly up the drive after her evening meal.

“Ciúin”  (Irish for ‘quiet’)

It was quiet, but for a couple of owls hooting to one another in the trees.

Quiet.

Any bit of true quiet feels like a miracle these days, noise of current events occupying mind and even heart of late. I find my little doses of quiet in these small moments – an evening meander with the dog, a morning wander around the village to put the moon to bed.  I’ve come to treasure these times.

Why I Wake Early

Hello, sun in my face.
Hello, you who make the morning
and spread it over the fields
and into the faces of the tulips
and the nodding morning glories,
and into the windows of, even, the
miserable and crotchety–

best preacher that ever was,
dear star, that just happens
to be where you are in the universe
to keep us from ever-darkness,
to ease us with warm touching,
to hold us in the great hands of light–
good morning, good morning, good morning.

Watch, now, how I start the day
in happiness, in kindness.

~Mary Oliver

Charlie snoozes in early morning moonlight. I get up to walk my miles. She doesn’t move an inch.
Friends, it’s okay to say Hello.
It will likely help us, and we do not do so alone. I also believe God greets us as we greet our days.
Neither I nor the poets I love have found the keys to the kingdom of prayer,
And we cannot force God to stumble over us where we sit,
But.
I know that it’s a good idea to sit anyway.
So every morning, I sit, I kneel, waiting,
making friends with the habit of listening,
hoping that I am being listened to. . .
There, I greet God and my own disorder.
I say Hello
to my chaos,
my unmade decisions,
my unmade bed,
my desire and my trouble.
I say Hello
to distraction and privilege.
I recognize and greet
my burdens,
my luck,
my controlled and uncontrollable story.
I greet
my untold stories,
my unfolding story,
my unloved body,
my own love,
my own body.
I greet
the things I think will happen,
and I say Hello to everything I do not know about the day.
I greet
my own small world,
and I hope that I can meet the bigger world that day.
I greet
my story,
and hope that I can forget my story during the day,
and hope that I can hear some stories,
and greet some surprising stories during the long day ahead.
I greet God,
and I greet the God Who is More God than the God I greet,
Hello to you all, I say,
as the sun rises above the chimneys of North Belfast.
Hello.
~Pádraig Ó Tuama
As I write this little missive, the democratic process continues to play out and unfold here in this country.  The other day I awoke especially early to play my small part in that unfolding, volunteering at the polls to hand out democratic slate cards on some shifts, and refreshments to all voters on other shifts.  The goodness of donuts and hot cocoa are something both sides of the political equation can agree on. 
Perhaps. 

It was a hopeful day.  A day of feeling like, no matter the outcome, I was doing my part (and had been for much of this election cycle, I should tell you).

It was cold that morning!!!
Mae Mae is a lovely dog who stopped by to check on things.  Her handler was there to help at the Caring Place.

One of my shifts happened to coincide with pick-up day at a local food pantry held at the same location as this particular voting precinct.  It was very interesting to me that the very outcome of this election would hold sway on whether people would or would not have to rely on community support merely to have food to eat.  One woman, both voting AND picking up food, said she relies on the food pantry because between food and her prescription medicines, she has to choose the medicines.  My heart broke.  Another lovely fella stopped in, also to vote as well as to pick up supplies.  He had a large roller  bag suitcase with him to carry what he needed.  He had recently become homeless.

I offered him a donut.

When my sister and I were kids and my mom was a newly divorced single mom struggling to make ends meet, we were, for a time, on food stamps.  I was young and don’t remember too much about the specifics but I tell you this as a snapshot of explanation for my left-leaning, take care of folks when they can’t take care of themselves, kindness-driven view on government.  People struggle.  This is a great truth of humanity.

Life is short, though I keep this from my children.
Life is short, and I’ve shortened mine
in a thousand delicious, ill-advised ways,
a thousand deliciously ill-advised ways
I’ll keep from my children. The world is at least
fifty percent terrible, and that’s a conservative
estimate, though I keep this from my children.
For every bird there is a stone thrown at a bird.
For every loved child, a child broken, bagged,
sunk in a lake. Life is short and the world
is at least half terrible, and for every kind
stranger, there is one who would break you,
though I keep this from my children. I am trying
to sell them the world. Any decent realtor,
walking you through a real shithole, chirps on
about good bones: This place could be beautiful,
right? You could make this place beautiful.
~Maggie Smith
Photo by Maine photographer Peter Ralston. Originally posted in the amazing newsletter offering of Heather Cox Richardson. Her writing is an informed balm to the soul each day.

I’d be lying if I said I was thrilled about the outcome of this election over all.  I had hoped that more people would see through the chaos of the last four years and would see that the Grand Old Party is simply not there for the regular citizen of the good ol’ U. S. of A.  Instead, I am disappointed that nearly half the country is willing to witness an experience another Trump term.  This is where we stand.  In all likelihood, we will see a Biden presidency presiding over a minority rule.  It’s not a total loss, of course it’s not.  There is much to celebrate!

How to move forward?  A big issue for me is climate change and I am figuring out how to be of service to bring this concept  into the collective light more fully.  After all, these changes will affect EVERYTHING in the very near future, in fact have already begun to do so.  We have a lot of work to do.

But first, for now, should things play out as they seem to be headed…..

We take a deep breath.  We drink medicinal teas complete with tinctures  (and possibly some bourbon this evening) to ease our anxieties.  We shed some long over due stress tears.  We listen with hope to someone who might be able to provide unity in our divided land.  Democrats should waste no time in appointing Stacey Abrams as their new leader to forge a new path – a path that speaks for everyone.  We as a country must learn to slow down and really see each other, person to person.  We must do some difficult soul searching and come to a reckoning with ourselves and with one another.  It is my hope we get this opportunity.

But, like so many – around the world even – I wait.

Just be quiet and patient.
Let evil and unpleasantness pass quietly over you.
Do not try to avoid them.
On the contrary, observe them carefully.
Let active understanding take the place of reflex irritation, and you will grow out of your trouble. People can achieve greatness only by surmounting their own littleness.
The main thing is not to hurry.
Nothing good gets away.
Patience is the master key to every situation.
One must have sympathy for everything, surrender to everything, but at the same time remain patient and forbearing…
There is no such thing as bending or breaking.
It’s a question only of overcoming, which begins with overcoming oneself.
That cannot be avoided.
To abandon that path is always to break in pieces.
One must patiently accept everything and let it grow within oneself.
The barriers of the fear-ridden can only be broken by love.
One must, in the dead leaves that rustle around one, already see the young fresh green of spring, compose oneself in patience, and wait.
Patience is the only true foundation on which to make one’s dreams come true.
— Franz Kafka
Meanwhile, like so many things during this strange era in which we find ourselves, there is a juxtaposing personal angle to this concept of waiting and patience.  We are officially looking for a new dog to welcome home to us.  I’ve put some heeler-feelers out and have filled out some forms to local rescues.  We have a bit of house work and building beginning next week here and the pup will hopefully arrive as that process ends sometime in December.  We shall see.  We don’t have an actual, specific dog in mind.  But we have narrowed to a blue heeler girl dog if we can find one.  I can just about picture her in my mind….
As we navigate these uncertain times, may we find moments of stillness, moments of joy amidst the seemingly overwhelming largesse of the world just now.  Yes, things are hard.  But there are dogs in the world.
And maybe, just maybe………..eventually…………..a new path forward.
Yours in patience and quietude,
Amy

 

Just the same

It is pouring rain this morning.  Despite this, I walk a few miles before sitting down to write.   Work at the concertina shop beckons as well – buttons to be polished, a case to be outfitted.  These quiet rhythms of walking and working, in one form or other, keep me grounded in the here and now, skirting the edges of anxiety – though thankfully not drifting too far into that country.  Worse yet in times of past perils, is the propensity to escape my body altogether.  This too, isn’t an ideal state.  So I keep to the rhythms of my days, best I can.

Yesterday, a day gray and heavy with weather to come, I stock up on a few basic groceries to set us up for the weeks ahead.  My favorite place is a market downtown, Findlay Market.  There is a lovely man visiting with a friend there and selling the Streetvibes paper.  I am glad to have a bit of cash in my pocket to buy his paper and support his efforts.  We stand  and chat about the weather and upcoming election, that there is a hurricane coming once more to the folk in Louisiana.  “Where is all this water coming from, anyway?” one of the men asks.   I answer, only slightly in jest, “Tears of our collective grief.”  This gets a laugh.

“There’s rain in the river and the river’s running through.”

~Nick Mulvey

I’ll be quite honest when I say that while my physically anxious tendencies are indeed mitigated with recent self-care and the slowing down only a pandemic can bring us, I am deeply concerned for what will happen in this country in the coming days.  The level of vitriol between opposing world views  is so palpable.  So much at stake.  And each side of the political coin thinks the ruination of our country will come with the election of the other side’s candidate.  It is no hidden thing that I am not a fan of this so-called president or his rabid followers, so you know on which side of the coin I rest.  To me, the direction of the world, not just our country, is really what’s at stake here.  No side of any coin will be able to exist amidst the climate changes already happening.  The election of Donald Trump would defy any efforts to save our poor crumbling planet.  His direction is simply the wrong way.  Greta Thunberg says “We are running out of time.”  and I believe her.

To anyone I know who still supports this mad man, all I can say is,

“I know you are so different to me but I love you just the same.”

Nick Mulvey

The song above has been rolling around in my head since I heard it on a podcast I’ve been listening to about the issues surrounding climate change.  It is a strangely hopeful show called Outrage and Optimism and I highly recommend it.  Instead of worsening my anxieties about the state of the world, it has merely deepened my ideas about changes that need to be made and how we can make them.   As I listen to this song, the words remind me of an old bible verse from Psalms:

“Be still, and know that I am God.” Psalm 46:10

 

Begin Again, Nick Mulvey

Mary was my mother’s mother and my sister too
There’s rain in the river, there’s a river running through
To the sea around these islands, crying tears of sorrow, pain
There’s rain in the river there’s a river in my veins
Mary, young as we may be you know, the blood in you and me
Is as old as blood can be
Is as old as blood can be
As old as blood can be
Living lines of memory through the markings on my hand
Ancient lines of living love, awaken in this land
Saying, I am in the forest, in the city and the field
I am in the bounty, come on, know me as I yield
I am in the falcon, in the otter, and the stoat
I am in the turtle dove with nowhere left to go
And in the moment of blind madness when he’s pushing her away
I am in the lover and in the ear who hears her say
Can we begin again? Oh, baby, it’s me again
I know you are so different to me, but I love you just the same
I love you just the same
I love you just the same
Love you just the same
Love you just the same
Love you just the same
Nigh-e
Nigh-e (Love you just the same)
Nigh-e (Love you just the same)
Nigh-e (Love you just the same)
Mary, if the world had 1912 to ’72 (Love you just the same)
Though we never met in flesh, here, I remember you
(Love you just the same)
Were woman you were gentle, you were modest, you were kind
(I love you just the same)
A mother, wife and gran you were a woman of your time
(Love you just the same)
Mary, young as we may be, you know, the blood in you and me
Is as old as blood can be
Is as old as blood can be (Love you just the same)
As old as blood can be (I love you just the same)
She says, I am in the living I am in the dying too (Love you just the same)
I am in the stillness, can you see me as I move? (Love you just the same)
I am in the hawthorn, in the apple and the beach (Love you just the same)
I am in the mayhem, in the medicine of speech (Love you just the same)
In the moment of blind madness when he’s pushing her away
I am in the lover, and in the ear who hears her say
Can we begin again? Oh, baby, it’s me again
I know you are so different to me, but I love you just the same
I love you just the same
I love you just the same
I love you just the same
I love you just the same
I love you just the same
This may seem like a leap for some, but to me the idea of “I am” is inherent to the notion of the divinity in all of us, including those in the natural world.  Those whom Joanna Macy calls ‘the more than human world.  One time in a yoga class, one of my instructors laid out the following further break down of the Psalms verse:

“Be still, and know that I am.”

“Be still and know that I”

“Be still and know that.”

“Be still and know”

“Be still”

“Be”

Will, Cincinnati Yoga School

We sat with each statement for a few moments to let it sink in.  To ponder what the essence of the words might mean for us.  It was a lovely meditation of sorts.  Perhaps thoughtful meditation is what is lacking in our country.  The ability to sit in silence with one another.  The opportunity to think and breathe deeply and just BE – which is as close as we can come to divinity most days.

We are not a culture prone to stillness, quietude and self-reflection.  In the 2016 election, I was the only one amongst my circle of friends not to be surprised by the outcome.  I’d had a spidey sense all along that Trump would be the result of that grizzly contest, though I couldn’t have imagined how badly things might go, and how quickly too.  This election, I don’t even have a spidey sense about what’s to come –  a likely result of 4 years’ gaslighting from our Abuser In Chief.  I have spent a lot of time these last four years angry and anxious about the state of things.  With the pandemic came the time to slow it all down and think deeply.  To sit quietly with radical uncertainty.  As awful as this year has been, I am grateful for the slowing down it has wrought.  I seek to find the bright spots in this era of darkness.  That is one.

As we careen into the days (likely weeks) of uncertainty ahead, may we find ways to center amidst the madness of it all.  Our own fears for the future of our country and for the world at large.  May we continue to find divinity in our fellow human beings, (no matter our differences) and in the not so human beings as well.  Make some soup, drink some tea.  Be well, stay safe, stay kind.

I love you just the same.

And one other lovely nugget from the Faroe Islands……

I love you just the same
I love you just the same
I love you just the same
I love you just the same
I love you just the same
Can we begin again?

Comfort and Joy

“There is another world, but it is in this one.” ~W.B. Yeats

Recently, we spent a week away in another world.  Down to the low-country coastal barrier-island of Tybee we traveled, as  I was feeling a bit sorry for myself for my lost (or at least post-poned) month’s work in Ireland, among other things.  Both of us pining for the sea, we watered the plants here at home, packed the dog and a kayak and some food into the car and slipped away into the pre-dawn darkness.

It was worth the day’s journeying.

We made friends with sand and surf and a few others – crow and cat being among my favorites.

There was much beach combing and waterside wandering.

Even Charlie found her way to the edges of things, though dogs aren’t permitted onto beaches in the proper sense.  I think she was content regardless of the limitations.

We should all be more like Charlie in this way, contented amidst the limitations we find upon us in these times.

There was much marshiness and moss which, mosquitos notwithstanding, I found to be quite captivating.

It was all so much to take in.  I found it exceptionally healing.

There were weddings to witness….

Sunrises to greet….

Sketches to make….

And paintings to begin…

so much more to do on this one. and more paintings to make from our magical time there on Tybee… more soon!

The space and pace of an off season beach town is something I highly recommend.  We were excited to plan a small getaway, but also a bit leery about whether there would be too many other people around whom we’d have to avoid, these being anxiety-ridden Covid times.

In the end, there was space to spare.  And we were grateful for it.

Soon it was time to come home to the harvest.  We still have a few tomatoes on the vine which may or may not ripen. (I am researching pickling options for green tomatoes….).

I gratefully gathered a few hawthorn berries to make into a tea, though mostly because I merely adore their color.

Eventually we readied the back garden for a small gathering of our family which would serve as a celebration of the season at hand, and possibly seasons still to come.

We sense difficult times in the weeks ahead.  Covid numbers are climbing and we will not  be able to gather indoors for Thanksgiving, and likely not Christmas either.  So I hatched a plan to host a “well-filling, out-of-doors, socially distanced, fully masked, early Thanksgiving” dinner for my family.  I decided I’d set a date and let the weather gods determine if it might happen or not.  In the end we were granted a most glorious day.  We went ahead with our plans.

Thankfully everyone was respectful of our strict protocol for mask wearing when not at the tables eating.

It was just good to have everyone ‘sort of’ together in one place before we head into winter.  A winter which may feel a bit like a revisitation to the quiet time of early lock-down and quarantine.

Time will tell.  But for this one day, we safely took what we could get.

I like to think Dr. Fauci would approve of our handling of the gathering, he having said, more or less, ‘if you can’t have Thanksgiving outside, and socially distanced, then don’t have it’.

Each separate family household came inside to fill their plates independently.  Even the kids were on board.  I appreciate the respect and care everyone brought to our day together.  I wouldn’t have chanced it all if I thought they might behave otherwise.

There was the typical fare – a turkey, smashed potatoes, stuffing, gravy, chips and dips and casseroles galore.  All of the standard comfort foods related to our traditional Thanksgiving meal.  While thankful I don’t eat like this most of the time, there is something about all of the carb-laden goodies that is truly good for the soul.  They don’t call it ‘comfort food’ for nothing.  We dove in with abandon and it was delicious.

Given one perfect day of weather for our early Thanksgiving, we then weathered rain on the following day to cast our ballots into the box at the local Board of Elections.  We were glad to do so.  Even today, people stand in line in the rain to vote in person.  At least we are all voting, one way or another.

Later, the rain abated and it was time for a hike in the woods…..

…..where nature is always full of surprising things.

A wander in the woods always has the capacity to reset things in our hearts, allowing for a recalibration of sorts.  I have a deep sense that things in general will be slowing now as we head into late autumn and whatever the rest of the season may bring with it.

This is the time to be slow,
Lie low to the wall
Until the bitter weather passes.
Try, as best you can, not to let
The wire brush of doubt
Scrape from your heart
All sense of yourself
And your hesitant light.
If you remain generous,
Time will come good;
And you will find your feet
Again on fresh pastures of promise,
Where the air will be kind
And blushed with beginning.
~JOHN O’DONOHUE
Excerpt from his books, To Bless the Space Between Us (US) / Benedictus (Europe)

I also have a deep sense that things may get even crazier here in this country in the weeks ahead.  Having cast my ballot early, along with so many fellow citizens, I find myself drifting away from the daily news, merely awaiting results of the eventual electoral outcome.  I have cautious optimism some days.  Other days, a drive into the countryside to the edges of our city gives me pause for all the republican paraphernalia and propaganda to be found there.  As usual, time will tell.   If this pandemic has taught me anything, it is to hold no expectation too tightly.  Everything can change on a dime.

This has always been the case, it’s just now more obvious.

I welcome the slow days ahead, as much as I miss holiday frivolity with loved ones.  Somehow a hibernation feels more natural for the season.  I often crave a bit of quiet this time of year, and this year perhaps I shall have it.  Sure there are still zooms and classes and the like, but my intent is to capture a spirit of spaciousness, thoughtfulness and mindfulness in the weeks and months ahead.  I think this space might give us some time to reconcile with all that has happened this year.  To perhaps shift our way of thinking and being in adjustment to the State of Things.

This month I have reinvigorated a daily drawing practice by participating in the annual “inktober” drawing challenge.  This has given me not only practice drawing in general, but making little time-lapse films as well.  Here are a few….

I hope the season is being kind to you in one way or another.  We are all grappling with so much of late.  And it’s all happening quite fast really.  My wish is that in the midst of the madness we might find a tune we love to play and play it.  That we might see something worth painting and paint it.  That we might begin or perhaps continue the planting and plotting of a garden bed.

I’ll share some paintings soon.  Keep the faith in the meantime.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Boogers of Beeswax ::: Twist of Hemp 45:::

We got a little gooseneck filming tool in the post today just minutes before I started today’s drawing so I did a quick movie to see how it works.  I like the gooseneck tool, but I need to change my angle.  It’s all an experiment.  

Anyway! John Joe Badger and I have been diligently working with the poor shocked drone reeds, trying to get them into tune.  My pipes teacher Cathy has been sooooo patient, teaching me all about how to remove the reeds ever so carefully and place bits of booger shaped beeswax here and there to teach the reed where to be and how to sound.  It’s one part wishful thinking, two parts magic and 1 part engineering.  But it’s fun to fiddle with as an escape from this frightful world on some days.

What are you doing to escape reality now and then?

 

Churning and Reconfiguration

“It is in your power to withdraw yourself whenever you desire.  Perfect tranquility within consists in the good ordering of the mind.  The realm of your own.”

~Marcus Aurelius – Meditations

There are days when I forget there is a raging global pandemic and that the United States is on the brink of losing grip on it’s democratic principles.  I am fortunate in this regard.  I live on a little acre, in a gentle village, mostly surrounded by nature.  At least that is how I frame it when I am at home.

“To know fully even one field or one land is a lifetime’s experience.  In the world of poetic experience, it is depth that counts, not width.  A gap in a hedge, a smooth rock surfacing a narrow lane, a view of a woody meadow, the stream at the junction of four small fields – these are as much as a man can fully experience.”

~Patrick Kavanagh

I am fortunate indeed.  And so I share a bit of it here with you on this blog.

In spite of an autumnal hinting in the air, the garden still produces in beauty and food.  I follow close behind with camera and paint box.

There are many mysteries to unpack in a little box of colors.  We should all have one, to better understand the world in which we find ourselves.

It is good practice, I think.

To follow the colors and shapes of one season into the next is to find ourselves in a maelstrom of change.   And couldn’t we all do a bit of finding ourselves in the world right now?

I think of color matching as a form of chromatic meditation.

From the vine into the sketchbook…..

And of course into the kitchen.

We continue to marvel at how our little accidental garden has come together so unexpectedly this season.

The garden comes together yes, but I feel like falling apart.  Not completely, of course.  There are many things here (just right here) that are wonderful, this is true.  But there are significant things in the broader world at large giving me pause that I work through bit by bit these days.

Politics in this country continue to go back in time.  Sadly I know I have people in my sphere for whom this feels like a good thing.  My so-called “pro-life” leaning acquaintances who vote Republican, merely to get pro-choice laws reversed.  And yet, they seem to forget that abortion rates were lowest ever under President Obama, while the lives and well-being of people already born slide back into the realm of understood inequity.  How is this “pro-life”?  I do not understand it.

On a broader scale, climate change continues to wreak havoc and it just doesn’t seem to be getting the attention it deserves in the world,  in our country in particular.

It does no one any good to obsess over these concepts on the global scale, only to freeze in terror on the personal.  And so I do not.  I do what I can with the garden, in the voting booth.  (Have you registered to vote?  It’s imperative for our survival, I think)  I stay informed, to the best of my ability, while also attending to my inner world where art and music and magic reign supreme.

I head outside to clear my head and I pay attention to the specific color of brown found on a receding fern.

I replicate it’s delicious color.

I think it needs more blue actually….

“Light is the mother of color.”

~Alma Thomas

Just over a week ago I was informed that my flagship Travel Journaling class, held each summer in Taos, New Mexico (cancelled this past summer due to the covid-19 crisis) could possibly go forward in June 2021…. but at half capacity due to regulations surrounding the pandemic.  Suddenly my “staff” (read, spouse and dear friend in support of this work) found themselves crunching numbers to see if this is indeed even doable.  As it turns out, with a small price hike, it is doable, even though I may have to turn a number of folks away or grant them space on a wait list. ( I was to have a full and bustling class this next year…..)

Like so many others I know in a variety of work-realms, I find myself questioning the very nature of what I do.  And it’s not just the pandemic which has me pondering the imponderable.  I wonder about all the flying I do (which to be fair, isn’t much compared to many, but shouldn’t we all be doing our part?)  I wonder about nurturing and admiring the very ground beneath my feet instead of traipsing round the world looking for beauty.  I have a couple of book ideas brewing where I focus on just this one little acre and all it has to offer.

“These are the fruits of my reverence, This is a love story.”

Obi Kaufman

I spend more and more time alone to think about it all.

“Nowhere can a man find a quieter or more untroubled retreat than in his own soul.”

Marcus Aurelius

I could really use an agent or an editor or someone interested in getting these thoughts out into the world outside of this blog.  I am not sure how to find one.  I do know that I will just keep writing, and submitting and see what happens.  If for no other reason than to settle my spirit in these troubled times.  Perhaps someday, someone will take notice.  (Like this lovely blogger!)

In another world, before this one, I was to travel to Ireland with a fellow artist and dear friend for a month’s residency in that land of magic.  The month was to be October.  We should be on the road just now.  Here we are below, in Antigua last spring.  While we were working separately there, we came together for some meals and mayhem along the way which was a blast.

Julie Persons and myself with the lovely and captivating personality of Claudia. Both Julie and Claudia make the world a better place with their presence in it.

One thing we share in our work is a deep sense of play.  I miss that.

Alas, our residency is canceled due to the pandemic.  For now.  We shall see what the coming years hold.  We allow grief for what could have been while also making room for the Big Griefs at hand in these unexpected times.  We will get there eventually, we hope.  We have come to expect the unexpected.

As for me, I continue to root down.  And grow the seeds which are planted here.

I’m a bit out of practice in the painting department, outside of a badger now and then – week to week – and that is ok.  I’ve ordered a little phone-holder tool that might help me share some of my process via video and perhaps that might enliven my social media game a bit in the coming weeks.  I don’t know.  (And whether I care for social media is another post entirely!)

It has thankfully begun to rain here, sorely needed after weeks of dry.  We are grateful.  I am going to go play some pipes out in the “back room” which is falling down and due for a rebuild any day now.  I am grateful for the distraction.

Below I am linking a few things making me think more deeply just now, helping me stay sane, keeping me hopeful.  I hope you will check them out as well.  Stay safe.  Stay sane.  I shall write to you from a different world in the coming days.  Stay tuned……

“I wish you a kinder sea.”      ~Emily Dickinson

This podcast, and all the supplemental stuff along with: https://accidentalgods.life/

This lovely conversation with a long time fave musician and a guardener I’ve long admired along the way…. (there is also a conversation with Mary on the Accidental Gods podcast to be found here.  It’s lovely.)

The work of Mac Macartney (also interviewed by Accidental Gods but he’s been on my radar for a time now.)  Here is just one TED talk…..

The notion of soil as the harbinger of life.  We have to save the soil….

Some hope that one person can make a difference……

And finally, if you need an escape, which will also provide you some things to think about in this world now…. Go read the work of Signe Pike. 

 

 

 

 

 

Arrival

We waited and waited, and now, just like that, the waiting is over and the work begins.

Frankly I don’t really know what I am doing.  I don’t know how to tune these reeds, or to make them sing their buzzy, intoxicating song together in unison.  It all sounds a bit like a spot of goose bothering just now.  I must remember that this is how it is.  And likely how it will be for a while still.  I have had the set out for a little while each day, even as “regular life” has been quite intervening and busy, more so than normal in these pandemical times.

This instrument is pushing all of my emotional hot-buttons.  The “I don’t deserve” and the “I’m not smart enough”.  The “aren’t I too old?” and the “who the hell do you think you are” hot buttons which run deep and strong and rear their ugly heads when insecurity beckons.  That said, I have done a TON of work over the years on these buttons.  Now they serve as reminders of growth.  I feel all of these things which make me feel small, and I order the pipes anyway.  I take the plunge in spite of the insecurities.  I allow myself this luxury even if they aren’t here to impress anyone or make any money.  I don’t even have to show them to anyone really.  Unless I want to.  I allow myself this luxury because the sound of uilleann pipes makes my heart happy.  And because I love Irish music.  There needn’t be any other reasons than those really.

As an object d’art, they are a stunning thing of beauty and perhaps I will draw them some, outside of the John Joe Badger series, just to draw the form of them.  We shall see.  For now, I will just play them a bit each day, call my teacher crying, begging for a zoom call to see what needs adjusting.  Perhaps one day they might even sound musical.  For now though…..

 

 

part rabbit warren, part spin on art & life & etc. art, illustrations & workshops by amy bogard