Sideways Light



The angle of the light is shifting. It sits lower in the sky and shines sideways and sparkly on the moss and ferns, turning them to green gold. Shadows cast on white walls dapple them gray and blue. My eyes dip in and out of the light trying to focus but the layers are deep and lacy. There are no hard lines. Anything definite is elusive. All is soft and glittery and ghostly and as the cicadas rattle and wow the dog day song, my heart beats with some effort around their noise as I shuffle into the morning, feeling dry and tired–knowing the light has hit my brain sideways too, making it darker and sleepier and more contemplative. It and my body long for hibernation but electric lights and manmade clocks and the absurd economic push of our culture deny the request. I shall stage a revolution. I shall dismantle clocks and smash bulbs. I shall lie still and listen to the cardinals and wrens chirping good morning and savor the soft coolness of the sheets and drink in the subtle shifting of the seasons and ignore the calls of the village. I shall float along the dusty rays of the sideways light…






How I spent my summer…

 I revisited authors and books I haven’t thought about in a while. I reread some works. I watched some lectures. I listened to audiobooks. I made some paintings. This was my summer vacation. They are available for sale at my Brambly Thicket Etsy shop if you wanna give a writer watercolor a good home.


Flannery O’Connor


Zora Neale Hurston


Eudora Welty


Toni Morrison


Virginia Woolf

photo 7

Marcel Proust

photo 6

Henry David Thoreau

photo 5

Jane Austen

harper lee

Harper Lee


Gertrude Stein and Alice B. Toklas


George Eliot

flannery 2

Flannery O’Connor


Emily Dickinson

Bronte sisters

The Bronte Sisters


Where this road leads…

Hello. Remember me? Does anyone even check in over here any more? Do people keep blog readers anymore? Will you know I have popped in over here once I hit the publish button?

I have missed keeping this strange journal going and have been thinking a lot about what I would like to see happen here so that I can keep it going. I have been blogging for a very long time, since long before I became a mother and moved to my little cottage in the woods. I really don’t want to give up this practice now–but I can’t figure out the whats and whys of it anymore. I feel a compulsion to keep it going but I have been at a loss as to what I’d like to share –so I just stopped. It seems I have wandered far away from the long rambling posts about beekeeping and homeschooling. I still keep bees and I am still very involved with my children’s schooling, even though we do not homeschool anymore. I just don’t feel the need to write about those things here anymore.

I’ve been thinking about what I would like to write and why all summer. I just haven’t been able to sort it out. I intended to clean house over here and start up a new writing practice while we were home on summer holiday but nothing ever came of those plans, obviously. I’ve popped over here and started several new posts but I wandered away, leaving sloppy drafts unfinished–and after a few days I tossed the posts in the trash and vowed to try again another day–but that day didn’t come until today.

It seems I don’t have much to say–or more accurately, I don’t have much I want to say here on the public blog. To be honest, I have had a lot on my mind this summer but most of what has been spinning around in my head hasn’t been anything I’ve wished to share. I have been processing a lot. I’ve been thinking about ways I’d like to change my life and these thoughts are so precarious, tentative, ephemeral, delicate… It seemed wrong to expose them to the harsh light of the Internet. My personal life really ins’t your business so, I have taken to writing in paper journals again–journals I can share with my children one day–or burn. I feel a little sad that this habit of journaling online has fallen away. I have met many wonderful people and had a lot of great conversations out here in the blogosphere but I and the world have changed and I just can’t sort out why I should keep it up–and so I won’t. Not in the way I used to at least.  Today, I think that the best way for me to return to this practice is for me to share my art–the one thing I do make to share–the one true way I believe in connecting with others and we’ll see where this road leads…




The watcher at my window





I know these are low quality, artsy iPhone photos but I am so taken with this crow. I had to share them. This particular crow stays close to the house lately and we are so aware of her that I have to try to capture her somehow. We see her flying by windows and sitting across from windows where we know she is looking in the house. I have to tried to photograph her when I see her but I never seem to do a good job. My phone just isn’t the best choice at these distances, I know. I need to pull out my SLR and sit it by the window. I know she will return after the rains pass. I really want to get a better photo of this woodland watcher. I’d love to paint her. She seems so aware of us and just talks and talks to us–or maybe about us anytime we’re out in the garden. I see her walking around on the branches over our heads to improve her view of us–her funny little feet grabbing and hopping at delicate branches and her wings flapping just a little to help her keep her balance like a stealthy tight wire walker up in the forest canopy. The girls say she watches and talks while they play outside. O saw her outside the window eating in the field yesterday. I see her waiting and watching from this same spot in the woods every morning and afternoon. I wish I spoke crow. I’d love to know what is going on with this chatty corvid. There are imaginary tales weaving around my brain and paintings asking to be made. I am sweet on this crow. I am starting to count on seeing her every day. I will have to resist the urge to name her. I do like her company though.



This is the phenology wheel I put together from the scribblings in my daily journal from last year.


This one isn’t very specific. It is filled with images and dates when certain animals or plants were noticed around my home this past year. I am trying to me more attentive and more specific this year. We’ll see how I do on my wheels for the rest of 2014.

This is the full moon chart for 2014. I have others I will have to show you later. I do so love these wheel calendars.



Turning toward Spring

Polished glass and pottery bits found down by the water.

I am ready for the seasons to turn –to turn away from Winter and towards Spring. This week I have seen flowers blooming and watched baby bees making test flights and foragers bringing in pollen. I have started clearing up the garden spaces and fertilizing the fruit trees and roses. I have been edging my roads, clearing them of Winter’s mud and placing stones around fragile new plants popping their heads up after their Winter’s sleep in my meadows and gardens. I have been taking walks in my quiet pine forest and watching as the green of new life pushes up through the wet, dead leaves and pine needled. I have marveled at the strength of new growth. I watched a jonquil push a stone over in a week’s time with it’s mightiness! I cut vines to stop them choking my trees and made wreaths. I cut weed trees and added them to my huglekultur bed. I turned over wet, moss heavy bark and watched ants. I brushed my fingers along freshly bloomed violets and the fuzzy heads of pink Magnolias. I saw a moth with a huge comical proboscis drying his wings on a branch and I have seen pairs or birds, hawks, woodpeckers and kingfishers, together and noisily preparing for their futures. I have heard owls and raccoons down by the water and watched crows dive bombing hawks that have come too close to their territories. I feel things turning–slowly and quietly and I feel relieved. Winter has been hard and strange. I am ready for the brightness of spring. I am counting the days until the equinox when we will feast with friends and celebrate the move toward warmer, longer days.


Reflections on TEDx Birmingham

Phew! What a day.

So you’ve asked to hear about my TEDx experience. Hmm, well, it was a long day. There were moments when I felt I spoke a different language from almost everyone there. Everyone in the crowd talked of teams and systems, programs and organizations, credentials and goals. Many on stage talked about overcoming failures and hope. There was a definite buzz and the event was well organized. I respect the hosts and planners and speakers that pulled this thing together—but I felt like I was slogging through jello all day. I felt the urge to bolt through the glass doors in the lobby a couple of times so I could get out into the fresh air and breathe. I was aware that the members of the audience had been handpicked and were there to schmooze and network. It felt a bit like a singles mixer. Everyone had that hopeful twinkle in their eye and walked around seeking—something—new and different and better! I leaned against a column with a tepid cup of tea and watched most of the day, flashing back to high school where I also held up many a column during pep rallies and pageants and longed to run away. Everyone in the audience giggled over the idea of connection and flashed their giant name tags but, to be perfectly frank I have never felt more disconnected—from community and reality as I did yesterday. I know I could have escaped to the yoga and meditation room (Yes, there was a yoga and meditation room.) but I felt I needed to stick around and listen. I wanted to believe in the surprises they told me were around the corner.

Michelle Forman’s talk about the work she does with her documentarian students was good and inspired me to try harder to tell my stories well and sparked my interest. I want to hear those stories and learn more about her program now. I would have loved to watch one of those videos instead of the man with the Yo-yos during the break between speakers. Glenny Brock’s stories about the Lyric theater were funny and fascinating and also sparked my interest and my love for this city—and made me want to learn more and more and more about our history! Her tales spoke to my sense of place—my place and I was really glad I stuck around to hear her talk. Her red boots and sassy storytelling abilities were the most authentic and interesting part of my day. The other talks, especially the ones about education, left me cold though. Though I appreciate the devotion and enthusiasm out there to do for our children in Birmingham, I have moved so far from the places they are standing that it was hard to listen. I listened as I was told twaddly tricks for capturing students attention in a classroom so they will sit still in their seats and I squirmed while I was told how Mr. Potatohead could teach me how to read a map or do math. I was encouraged 2-3 times by people that need me to believe and pitch in to just walk through the doors of a Birmingham City School to show I care. (Good luck getting past the security checks at the front door or getting those teachers or students to listen to the loon that walked in off the street to get to know them. Ha!). I listened as they told us how our children deserve more and better and that our children are the foundation of our future, but I heard it from people who see education as a trick, something they have to force on the children who just don’t know that a “good education” is what they need or that have been in an administrative or fund raising position for so long that they have lost their perspective. I heard how we need to help our children get better at taking tests. Sigh. Still missing the mark after all of these years, I feel.

My husband is a public school teacher and he gives so much of his time to the children of Jefferson County. I know what it takes to be a public school teacher—the long hours and the endless meetings. I know it is a failing system that needs a huge overhaul to survive—for our children to survive and thrive. I also know that I still expect more for my children despite the hundreds of hard working teachers out there. The education paradigm has to shift and I heard nothing about that sort of things from these speakers. I heard talk about holding up an old system—enforcing a tired old scaffold. I was hoping for more. Sentimental stories about hopes and dreams weren’t enough. We were holding a pep rally for our growing city but I don’t feel like the game plan is strong enough to win the game—yet. There are holes in the plan, as far as I see it.

Chris Hastings of Hot and Hot Fish Club talked about a sustainable food system for Alabama and though I am a firm believer that this could and should happen in our state, I didn’t feel he dug deep enough—or maybe it’s just that I don’t see enough people understanding what he is calling for. Giving us a little box that contained a seed (a pecan) and asking us to plant a tree for our grandchildren was clever but I need to know what to do next to make this dream happen. I have already bought the dream. I need details and a place to sign up. Shopping at Pepper Place Farmer’s Market or the Jones Valley Urban Farm isn’t enough to change the way the food system works. It’s just a new way to shop—which is a step in the right direction but I want to learn how to help the farmer grow the kale. I don’t want to be told about the 2-3 markets that sell Alabama kale. There need to be more and in order to get more, we need to talk to about the farmers. And where were the voices calling for changes in school cafeteria lunch programs that I know are here and loud and proud in Birmingham? Where was Jones Valley Urban Farm in this conversation? Chris Hastings mentioned them but I wanted to hear their voices! I wanted to see the children from the Seed to Plate programs. I wanted to see pictures of the Community gardens they are building in the city. I wanted to see the children that are working veggie stands and learning to grow their own food in Birmingham. I also wanted to hear from the brewers and the music venue managers and owners. I wanted to hear from the gallery owners and artists and makers in this city that are building up communities like Avondale and Eastlake and Woodlawn. What about showing the people whose sleeves are rolled up and making changes in the city!? What about the designers of the parks and ball field and greenways? What about the people working to preserve the wildlife and waterways in Alabama!? Where were the voices of the people caring for Ruffner Mountain?? Where was REV? Oh, man. This list could go on and on…

What I am trying to say is that even though I know their intentions were good, the crowd selected felt outdated and isolated, elite and separate from the world I live in. I wanted to hear from the movers and shakers that are making changes in our “Magic City”. I wanted to hear from the families that are trying to live in this city and how all of these magical changes we are so happy about are making their lives better. If our new buildings and programs and organizations are only for the affluent and educated then, we have not progressed as a city. I felt there was a definite absence of voices at this event. We talked of the need for better education and more arts but we didn’t talk to the families of the children in this city or the artists of this city. I challenge TEDx to step it up next year.

And what about the ARTS? Yes, there were performers at the event and I applaud them for getting what they do out there but there is some exciting stuff happening in the arts community in our city. I wanted to hear the voices of the people living and working as Artists. I enjoyed the talk given by Graham Boettcher. I can’t say anything bad about anyone encouraging us to love art and to go out and look for art in all of it’s forms and in unexpected places but there was a whiff of condescension when he suggested our appreciation for art in this city was when we were searching for treasures ala Antiques Road Show or asking for the fake Remington cowboys to be brought back out at the museum because obviously in Alabama, we don’t know much about art but we know what we like. Obviously collectors and curators are a huge part of the art community and a driving force but the voices of working artists were glaringly absent. I know there are curators and festival organizers that bring the arts to people in Birmingham that could have given brilliant talks. And where were the painters and writers and sculptors? If you want me to sit up in my seat and listen, you need to show me some art—not just the checkbook that pays for it. I need more than a call for funding in arts education, though it is greatly needed, I need you to show the people of this city what great art is being made in this city and by whom! Where was Space One Eleven? Scrollworks? DISCO? Day of the Dead? Art was spoken about as an abstraction or commodity. We have living art in this city. When I met people in the crowd as we were pushed into a big caffeine laced schmooze, people looked puzzled when I told them I was an artist. Ha! I was obviously in the minority at this gathering. I am not an educator and I am not a performer. I didn’t speak the language of consumerism or marketing. I talked about living and place and creativity and education and I was met with polite smiles and blank stares. If we want people to fund the arts in this city, shouldn’t they get to know the artists and stop marginalizing and romanticizing the artists? We are active members of this city’s culture and communities. Let us be more than decoration at an event like this. I know there are some strong voices in this community. I wish I could have heard some of them yesterday.

I will tell you now that I was not one of the select few that had to write an essay and send a CV and a $100 check and plead for an opportunity to sit in one of those seats yesterday. I won my tickets. I can assure you that I would not have been chosen had I asked to be added to the list of the elite few. I am a mom, a small time but long time working artist, a garden farmer, a beekeeper and chicken tender and my back and head hurt from working so hard to find a way to live a creative and holistic life in this city so my family can keep our heads above water AND connect with and encourage the growth of this city but I know these credentials wouldn’t have earned me a place at the Magic City Pep Rally yesterday. I move and shake in quiet ways—and some days on my own. Those aren’t the voices folks want to hear and sadly, I don’t think I am in the group that they are speaking to either. They want shiny idealistic dreamers and tellers of sentimental tales of hope. Frustration, anger and dirt probably has no place at a joyfest like they put on yesterday and I reek of frustration and leave muddy tracks behind me everywhere I go. Oh well. Such is life. I wanted to believe in the potential of this event. I wanted to believe that the voices might have truly been about change. I needed someone to make me sit up in my seat and get a little mad and to be honest, the only speaker that really did that for me was the one from South Central L.A.—the Guerrilla Gardner—that they screened for us in between speakers. I’ve seen that old talk on the TED site and though it’s a good one, I didn’t need to hear his voice again. I know there are voices in Birmingham that are just as passionate and they could get me just as excited about moving forward —but I didn’t hear them yesterday. Maybe next year they will ask those people to speak. I doubt I will rate a seat for those talks though. It’s an exclusive event and unless I win two more tickets through a social media site again, I won’t be seen as one of the people who could benefit from attending. Instead of nibbling goodies from Hot and Hot with lawyers and scientists and doctors, I will probably be sipping beer from a local brewery with folks somewhere as it streams live—or maybe I will just catch the edited videos on YouTube put out there for the rest of us to see—or maybe I won’t watch at all. I am not sure it will change the way I feel about our city. Either way, I am glad I got to sit on the front row yesterday. I sat there in my dirty boots and I listened to make sure I have been feeling mad about the right things, to make sure I am pushing for the right changes and you can bet I walked away from the event feeling charged up—but not because they tried to make me cry or opened my eyes to anything new. I certainly didn’t need them to tell me how magical our city could be if we just loved it a little more. I walked away feeling like I’d spent the day at a Chamber of Commerce conference and was a little disappointed. I felt scrappy and convinced that there is still some serious division in this city that needs tending and mending. I was also proud that I stepped up and listened. I didn’t run away when I felt the urge and this week I will go on doing what I can to make living in this city magical for my children.


Looking toward Spring

The walk to the water was crazy. I had to stoop to the level of the little wild things to get under the boughs so heavy with snow.

It's melting so quickly.

Frozen grass.

This has been a curious winter. The last snow we had was just beautiful–but I am ready for spring. How about you?

I'm home and I went straight to the creek with The Ghost. Sigh.

Good morning. We went out for our morning walk and looked at the crazy gray sky. We saw lots of birds flocking at the edge of the woods. Wondering if we'll get snow...

The Ghost and I are still taking our walks together but I am a little tired of the mud and the snow on my boots.


I think the birds are ready too. They seem as winter weary as I feel. This guy was frustrated by the ice that held onto his dinner during the last ice storm.

Spring is in the Green Room.

But there is hope. Spring seems to be pushing in–slowly.


The shape of things


Trash gathered from down by the water.


Mandalas and Spirals by my wonderful art students.


I love the moon!

I came across this poem by Wendell Berry this morning, quite by accident. I spent yesterday making spirals and mandalas with the lovely students at my children’s school. I have been making spirals and circles from treasures I find down by the water this month. We have been studying the night sky, with particular attention to the moon. We have been surprised by amazing lights in the daytime sky. The Universe seems to be doing a good job of reminding me of the shape of things.

Circles of our Lives

Within the circles of our lives
we dance the circles of the years,
the circles of the seasons
within the circles of the years,
the cycles of the moon
within the circles of the seasons,
the circles of our reasons
within the cycles of the moon.

Again, again we come and go,
changed, changing. Hands
join, unjoin in love and fear,
grief and joy. The circles turn,
each giving into each, into all.

Only music keeps us here,
each by all the others held.
In the hold of hands and eyes
we turn in pairs, that joining
joining each to all again.

And then we turn aside, alone,
out of the sunlight gone

into the darker circles of return.

-Wendell Berry


A Time for Every Purpose

Down by the water.

Thursday before last I carried a projector and a copy of the documentary Rivers and Tides, about the artist Andy Goldsworthy, with me to the school my daughters attend and where I started sharing my art this year (I have not embraced the title of teacher yet). In the afternoon, as some of the children nibbled their lunches, we all gathered in the common room, sat on the floor and watched Mr. Goldsworthy make art with ice and leaves, twigs and flowers, mud and iron ore… This is one of my favorite films about an artist and I was thrilled to share it with my friends and students at the school as part of our art studies together. The practice of looking at the places we live is one that has already been cultivated brilliantly in this community so I wasn’t opening that door but by exposing the children to Goldsworthy’s work, I was hoping to encourage a different, but equally respectful level of interaction with these spaces that might heighten their awareness in new ways but also help them feel more connected to –more awake in our natural world.

The school has been reading Dr. George David Haskell’s wonderful book, The Forest Unseen: A Year’s Watch in Nature  together over the past year. He even came to our school to visit and read to us and walked us to the park near our school where he asked us to listen to the forest with him while we sat together under a beautiful old Blackjack oak tree. He spoke to us about the energy of the sun in everything around us. He talked to us about his studies and his connection to a chosen spot, a square meter in the Shakerag Hollow in Tennessee that he refers to as his mandala, and encouraged us to continue being as attentive and respectful as we have been to the spaces around us. It was such a delight to hear him speak and, for me, offered a sort of affirmation but also inspiration to continue doing what I have been doing here at My Wild Acres and here on this blog– but with a deeper level of commitment.

The students and staff already understand this concept and devote time to studying small, chosen spaces that they call their sit spots, where they observe and draw and write, over the length of a school year, about the changes that occur over the seasons. It is something I do here at home as well and have even started keeping a Calendar of Firsts like the students and teachers do and have revived my practice of keeping phenology wheels to help me catalog seasonal shifts, moon cycles, wildlife sightings etc. I even use social media to help me keep track of things and now photograph and catalog the seasons via twitter and Instagram and Flicker. It’s become an invaluable method for keeping track of what is going on in my beloved woods and makes it simple for me to compare, over time the similarities and differences over the years by comparing dates when birds migrate or when flowers bloom or when snow falls etc. just by looking at my photos and daily captions. I have even started using the Timehop app to send me notices each day, reminding me what I was looking at and studying on the same day over the previous years. It’s been incredible to look at my home in this way. Now this 5 acre stretch of land seems immense to me!  I am starting to see how little I still know about this place–and I ache to know more–to know this space better–but I have to do it slowly and a little bit at a time. So much goes on in each part of this place from the treetops to the creek’s bottom to the dark shady places under the forest canopy and out in the open grassy meadow.There is so much to experience and document and so much I don’t know!! It is easy to miss things because I can only focus on small bits at a time and because of ,y limited knowledge base but through the practices of observation and documentation that I just mentioned, I have been able to notice so many things I’d never noticed before and connect on new levels –and appreciate more greatly the delicacy and richness of life going on all around me.

As an artist, it isn’t enough just to walk through my woods or wade through my creeks in awe and scribble down notes in my calendar and journal, though I certainly do these things. Though I have lived in Alabama my entire life, and these particular woods for the last decade, it is only recently that I have felt compelled to understand these wild places, my home, better –and my ways are usually more artistic than scientific in nature. I am, after all, not a scientist. I am an amateur Naturalist at best, constantly consulting field guides or asking more educated friends to help me label the treasures I encounter because the act of naming the trees and birds and rocks and clouds is something that has only come to me with any conviction over this past decade. I know so little but do have a familiarity with the land around my home and it has encouraged me to understand more. Though Dr. Haskell’s book is about a scientific exploration, his essays are poetic and artful and have inspired me to get to know the spaces around me the best way I know how and the tools I bring to the wild places are an artist’s tools. This is where my love for Andy Goldsworthy’s art comes in. This is what I want to share with my students.Though I am also compelled to research and learn everything I can about the natural spaces, to photograph and draw, touch and smell everything around me in order to properly comprehend and connect, I do not enter the woods at a disconnected observer. I enter knowing that I am a part of this place. I feel a tremendous need to cultivate this awareness each and every day by just being in my woods and meadows and by collecting images, courting and contemplating sensations–and sometimes by making art with the natural materials in this environment so I can know it better.

I have been a fan of Goldsworthy’s art for years and my girls and I have watched this film together several times. Every time, it inspires us to go out into our woods and spend time there with my eyes and hands looking to textures and colors and spaces in new ways — ways that help me connect with my home–my woods and meadows and creeks. It has become an annual winter ritual to pull out this film. The messages about truly being in one’s space and getting to know one’s home by interacting with it creatively, tug at my brain and soul.

I projected the film at home again the weekend before taking it to school to share and was once again inspired to head out to the woods with modified intention. Instead of just photographing the trees and water and grasses and sunrises and sunsets as a disconnected observer, I took a bucket and gathered stones, feathers, bits of lichen that had fallen from the trees, acorn tops, twigs etc. and made a mandala on the forest floor–my own sort of footprint in the woods–but one made from the materials found in this place–and not removed from this place–and then I photographed them before walking away from them allowing the wind and water and wildlife to have them back. When bitterly cold temperatures invaded this winter, I gathered ice and built ice towers and despite the fact that my fingers were hurting and my cheeks were chapped from being slapped by icy wind, I had a marvelous time. I have never paid so much attention to where water settles in this place as I have this winter. The puddles and icicles have educated me about the places water travels and lands on this place, something I thought I had been aware of as I have watched the water on this land as my interests in Permaculture have grown over the years–but obviously didn’t really understand quite so well as when winter slowed the process for me and showed me frozen pools and shards of water all around me. I loved being in the garden and the woods and down by the creek getting to know winter when everyone else was holed up in their warm houses. It has been so quiet and this place where I live showed itself to me in a new light and with the sounds of humans delightfully absent and leaves on the trees missing from the tree tops to muffle and shield, the woods and waters and skies have been full of sights and sounds that I would not have noticed sitting indoors by the fire with a book about nature. It’s been eye opening!

And so, last week, for the first time since watching the film, a small group of students gathered and we made mandalas together from bark and moss and berries and twigs, acorn tops and lichen, seed pods and shells… It was snowing outside and bitterly cold so we made our mandalas indoors while we watched the snow storm (the storm that crippled our city for 3 days) through the windows–but there was something magical about our first experiment. I think we will have many more together in the coming seasons…indoors and out.

Mandala made by students at RMCS today-- just before the snow started and school was closed for the day.

Mandala by students at RMCS, made with treasures found in my woods. They made this after we spent some time listening to Pete Seeger songs. "A time to build up, a time to break down A time to dance, a time to mourn A time to cast away stones, a time to ga

The night before we gathered to make this art together, Pete Seeger passed away. Our school has a rich musical community and knows many Pete Seeger songs so we spent the morning listening to his music and drawing in our sketchbooks on that cold blustery morning. The song that really spoke to me as we prepared for an early departure from school due to the winter storm and the mandalas we created as we waited for parents to arrive for pick up was Turn, Turn, Turn. It seemed so appropriate to me to be making winter mandalas as a winter storm blew in while singing these words in honor of Mr. Seeger’s work and memory. I have this idea that we should make mandalas each season now from the treasures offered to us and at the end of the season, take them back down to the woods–or leave them where we gather and build for nature to take back in the way it sees fit, whether it washes or blows them away…it absorbs them and uses them for some new purpose.



To Everything (Turn, Turn, Turn)
There is a season (Turn, Turn, Turn)
And a time for every purpose, under Heaven

A time to be born, a time to die
A time to plant, a time to reap
A time to kill, a time to heal
A time to laugh, a time to weep

To Everything (Turn, Turn, Turn)
There is a season (Turn, Turn, Turn)
And a time for every purpose, under Heaven

A time to build up, a time to break down
A time to dance, a time to mourn
A time to cast away stones, a time to gather stones together

To Everything (Turn, Turn, Turn)
There is a season (Turn, Turn, Turn)
And a time for every purpose, under Heaven

A time of love, a time of hate
A time of war, a time of peace
A time you may embrace, a time to refrain from embracing

To Everything (Turn, Turn, Turn)
There is a season (Turn, Turn, Turn)
And a time for every purpose, under Heaven

A time to gain, a time to lose
A time to rend, a time to sew
A time to love, a time to hate
A time for peace, I swear it’s not too late


Woodpecker Dream


A dream loop about a riven snag.
An endless stream of woodpeckers,
fluttering like ribbon,
fly out of the split
sounding like rustling leaves.

A cloud of birds.
Glittering dappled light.
A heartbeat thrum.
A messenger tapping out a warning–for whom?
My breath was taken.
I woke.


When the water breaks the land

~And out of nothing, a thing of beauty created.

Despite the crazy cold weather we have been having, I can’t stay indoors. I am drawn to the winter woods. The sounds are so different this time of year. Without the cicadas and tree frogs, katydids and crickets, I can hear the rustling of chipmunks and thrashers in the underbrush and the fluttering of the wings of the birds overhead. I can hear the burbling of the creek and the snapping of twigs. Without the mosquitoes and ticks to worry me, I can sit under trees and poke around under fallen leaves where fungus grows.

At the bottom of the woods, just above the creek, there is a tangle of trees that have fallen or washed up during the horrible flash floods we had last year. I spent yesterday poking around looking at the the trees and the things growing on them. I studied the bark and looked at woodpecker holes. I ran my fingers over lichen and moss and avoided huge fuzzy poison ivy vines that had wound themselves around the trees before they fell. There is something so eerie and unsettling about walking around their horizontal bodies–but it’s also amazing. It’s strange to see the top of a giant tree that towered over me just months ago lying so brittle on the ground. The activity going on around the trees is interesting too. I found holes dug under trees where I assume some animal has made it’s winter habitat or hidden food. I saw a pile of woodpecker feathers where someone had obviously eaten him for dinner recently. While standing in the middle of the tangle of trees, a Red-shouldered Hawk landed on a low branch of a Bald Cypress nearby and watched me and my daughter as we stood still watching him. I wondered if that had been his dinner. I took the feathers and he flew away and then I walked away.

The bitter cold temperatures are due back tomorrow. I was hoping for a bit of snow. If we are going to have to have a real winter down in in Alabama, it would be nice if we could have a snow day. I would love to see this strange dark place all covered in light and white for a while.


A crazy tangle.

walking amongst the fallen




Something New

Observe. Glean. Stitch.

Learning to be still and watch and listen. Learning to rest my hands and brain long enough to see beyond the end of my nose. Learning to hear the voices of others–to see their marks –and faces. Learning to just be and see what bits of life whirl and twirl past and through me. Allowing myself to do less. Allowing time for contemplation, appreciation of clouds and sunlight on my face. Learning to wait — to be patient, to take only what I need. Learning to think carefully about those needs and reaching carefully and thoughtfully toward them. Finding ways to use the small unnoticed bits, the un-treasured and under-appreciated parts of our world– this life and pulling and stitching them together through purposeful and loving activity and turning them into something new. These are my thoughts here at the beginning of a new year.