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Lupine and I spent yesterday afternoon building th

Lupine and I spent yesterday afternoon building this upcycled mailbox. Our original mailbox post was literally hanging on by a splinter (and had been cracked and compromised for most of a decade), and we'd been dreaming of this one for a while.

As for construction, she and I made it up as we went along! We're both delighted with the results.

And it didn't cost us a cent!
* Mailbox: used the one we already had it
* Wood: from our scrap pile and our original broken mailbox post
* Bike: from our local community free page
* T-posts: on hand
* Misc: scrap wire, screws, & pipe strapping we had in the shop

It felt like equal parts problem-solving, art installation, homeschooling, and play.

And I supposed it was!

Because this is life-learning.
This is empowerment.
This is sustainability.
And holy heck ya'll: this. is. fun.

‘Tis the season!

‘Tis the season!

Many years ago while running errands, I heard a ne

Many years ago while running errands, I heard a newborn start to cry.

The crying went on and then escalated, and the parent did not respond. The crying further escalated into a startle response-punctuated wail. Several of us stood by distraught, not knowing what to do. The baby, just days old, was in a full-throated meltdown in a car seat on the floor.

We stared. We whispered. And I (we?) judged that parent HARD. A new parent myself, my milk let down and I wanted to scream, "PICK UP YOUR BABY!" They never did. The crying went on until finally, they finished up, picked up the car seat, and left the store.

I went home feeling disoriented and shaken not only by what happened, but most of all by my own quick, fierce judgment of another human. That wasn't who I thought I was. I reached out to a friend (a midwife) to process, and when she suggested that postpartum depression could have been at play, my harsh judgment was replaced with a deep well of regret for the lens through which I had viewed them. Postpartum or not, I had been so focused on my own conceptions of the "right" way of moving through the world, that I only saw what they were doing "wrong" and not how I might show them grace or support them on their journey.

I felt a well of compassion rise within me. Because what I judged to be "bad parenting" through my own filters may well have been a parent in crisis and in need of support (surely not my scrutiny). So I committed then to move beyond judgment and, instead, offer my hands and heart in service.

Just a few weeks later, another parent was wrangling a screaming baby at the coop. Instead of judgment, I felt compassion. In a hurry to get home to my own family and the dinner I had to make, I paused, remembering my commitment. I turned to her and offered my arms.

"Can I hold him while you finish up," I asked? No judgment-just service, compassion, and love (what I should have done those weeks before). The mom burst into tears, then gratefully handed me her crying newborn... (continued in the comments)

Body sore, belly full, heart tender. After a rou

Body sore, belly full, heart tender.

After a rough week on my part, we all dug in yesterday on the business of life.

Prepping garden beds, starting seeds, foraging the first nettles of the year, and binging on fresh air and sunshine. And, most important of all, showing up for our kids and each other. And it was just what this heart needed.

Garden, forage, love, replenish. Repeat, repeat, repeat, repeat.

Life is hard work, my friend. It's usually messy, often overwhelming, and nearly always way more than we bargained for or think we can even carry. But day after day we pick it all up and walk a few steps. We can do hard things.

Life isn't always pretty. But it's raw and it's real and it's deep and frankly, it's what we came here for. So despite that rough week–or perhaps because of it–this weekend I'm drinking deep of this messy life in all the ways that I can.

Repeat, repeat, repeat, repeat.

What's filling you up this weekend, friend?

Here’s to sweet, simple birthday celebrations sn

Here’s to sweet, simple birthday celebrations snuggled down here at home. How lucky I am to be able to gather with my partner of 25+ years, my octogenarian parents, and grown/nearly grown kids as I begin my 50th trip around the sun. I truly don’t take any of that for granted.

Here’s to 49 and all the promise that it holds!

(Shoutout to Lupine @lythari_arts and Sage @oakshedironworks for the homemade gifts shown in the first frame, and Sage’s partner B. for the mind-blowingly gorgeous and delicious cheese board—with a little help from @noblerind.)

Cinnamon rolls, sewing, & sunshine (Sunday). Work

Cinnamon rolls, sewing, & sunshine (Sunday).

Working on a linen skirt this weekend with dreams of it landing in the dye pot this summer (once all the dye plants are up and vying for attention). Maybe goldenrod, perhaps birch or alder. More research is in order…

My amateur tip (because I’m no pro!): I’m sewing with 100% cotton thread so I don’t end up with stitches that don’t take up natural pigments (most thread is polyester and not natural dye-friendly), and hoping for the best. You can find natural sewing thread in quilt shops or big box fabric stores with quilting threads. 🧵

(Pattern is the #estuaryskirt by the brilliant Meg @sewliberated. Fabric from @fabricsstorecom, my favorite source for linen.)

I stepped outside my comfort zone last weekend and

I stepped outside my comfort zone last weekend and attended a class at our local folk school. We crafted Scandanavian birch bark boxes (which are harder than they look) using hand tools, bark, leather, and wood.

I was grateful to try my hand at creating a beautiful and useful thing, and delighted to know that's it's something my Norwegian ancestors may have made as well, and used daily.

Thanks to Nicholas for the patient and playful teaching and Driftless Folk School for sharing this functional, historic craft.

Fun aside, of the 5 other students making boxes, one turned out to be a longtime blog reader (from clear across the state). Such an unexpected treat to meet them in person during class! Small world.

(And yes, staying true to character, I 100% was the only person to cut themselves and it was a spectacular, bloody mess.)

@wildroots.handcrafts
@driftlessfolkschoolwi

I stumbled upon a post I wrote two years ago, at t

I stumbled upon a post I wrote two years ago, at the start of the pandemic. I wrote, "While the rest of our culture seems to be screaming, “Do more! Be more! Have something to show for this!” I’m over here honoring the need to simply process it all. Indeed, there is no need for me to have anything to show for this time aside from a heart that is slightly more healed and intact."

And these words ring as true for me today as they did when I wrote them.

There's still so much to process each day–from climate change to war to the day-to-day trials and struggles of our own messy lives. And my silence here is largely because social media feels more and more like noise and less and less like a game I want to play. It feels like a distraction, a sleep walk. And I have no interest in spending my days making sound bite-sized reels of myself (lip syncing, dancing, or otherwise), and more interest in turning quietly inward and charting a meaningful course for the next chapter of life.

What a time we're in, friends.

So I’m still over here mending clothes and tapping maples and waiting expectantly for the first nettle shoots of spring. I’m getting older and watching my children fledge. It’s a trip and a gift and a struggle—all of it. And I don’t really know how to integrate social media into that in a way that feels meaningful, useful, or like anything other than noise.

So what can I offer you but this: tend your hearts, dear one. Put down the 'shoulds' and find what coaxes your heart into a joyful flutter. Seek out meaning and beauty in the ordinary, the worn, the messy, the true. The real world that is your world and your life.

There’s no need to feign perfection for the sake of the algorithm. Because beauty, as it turns out, is in the imperfections. Instead of curating a perfect feed, craft a beautiful, messy life. I love you.

I'm not sure who needs to hear this, but there's j

I'm not sure who needs to hear this, but there's just one space left in the Wild Ireland Herbal Retreat. Is it yours? If you've been thinking about it, now's the time to drop me a message. I'll leave my email address below!

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