Ups and Downs

Man. Just back among the living after a weekend of being totally bedridden with a hideous head cold. No matter how I cut it, I usually get sick this time of year. Even though I tried to escape this year by sneaking off to Costa Rica for the coldest part of January. No luck. It was so delicious to be at the beach with my family. Time just to read, to eat, to be together without all running in different directions.
I read this and this and loved them both for different reasons (reviews on Goodreads if you should care to hear more).
Now we are back. It snowed 24 inches in the mountains this week and I had a weekend to ruminate on how wonderful it is to feel good (feeling lousy as I did) and recommit to doing basic things to keep myself healthy. Top 3: Drink more water, eat mostly plants, walk and breath and notice when I am doing them both. Other inspirations include the morning green smoothies, blue corn posole, and pearled barley.
I am feeling the ups and downs, as always, but somehow getting older (which I always do in January) is making me feel ever more drawn the place where those two seas meet.

Solstice 2011

It is hard to detect this time of year,
only a faint suggestion finds its way, occasionally to your first cranial nerve and you feel a jolt of pleasure or pain, depending on your inclination.

but it is there.
The midnight blue of Keat’s nightingale, the fountains of cherubs, the night blooming jasmine- the inner garden of longing, turmoil and when tended, forgiveness.

When days are short there is less time for wandering, for admiring the tangle of vines and flowers, for the kind of imagination that is so natural to cats, to lovers, to nursing babes. A slow, languid sort that has no destination.
When it is cold, we ally our corporeal compass homeward, inside, we want fire.

Stack of sticks, whispered prayers , a hope weaned from logic, a sense that if we stay up and watch the sky with each other, the sun will decide again to burn toward us from the just the right distance, like a father who has raised so many children it seems he is doing it without thinking but the truth is this is the ta-da,this loving hand of light, raising us up, each one, each day.

Pre party

Post party

Giving Thanks

Woosh, there goes a month. Thanksgiving was lovely. We did a dry brine turkey- so easy. What was I thinking with the 5 gallon bucket, the heavy brine, the days of prep? It's true, I do love the process of things and sometimes the 20 steps appeal, but this year simple won out.
Then: a couple big snowstorms later, we are in the third week of advent. Big party this weekend and then a home trunk show on Sunday.. posts to follow.
We learned this sweet little song at one of the spiral garden celebrations at school and I have been singing it all week.

White, white the starlight that shines upon the snow.
Green, green the flowering life that waits again to grow.
Red, red the tender heart that guides us as we go,
under the starlight and over the snow.

Preserving

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It occurred to me today after having made apple butter, apple chutney, applesauce and then moving on to concord grape jelly that I am really hooked on this idea of preservation. This desire to capture is what drives me to write, to take photos and to save food for the cold winter. At its best it is an embrace, a remembrance and an honoring but at it's worst it is a grasping, a longing to stay forever lodged in a single perfect moment. It is Keats's line "Or by a cyder-press, with patient look,
Thou watchest the last oozings, hours by hours." The last oozings.
After putting the boys to bed and kissing their peaceful foreheads I came down to clean up the kitchen, put the jars in the cellar and prepare for bed. I was seized with that terrible feeling of wanting things to stay just as they are. Wanting an eternal childhood, wanting ever ripe fruit, wanting things to stay the same.. we all know how that story ends. So for now, the canning is done, the house is quiet and I am remembering the line in Steiner's verse for courage: "It is part of what we must learn in this age, namely to live out of absolute trust without any security of existence."

Apple Valley Road

My parents live on a magical country lane called Apple Valley Road. In old pictures it is a winding dirt path along the river, orchards as far as you can see. Apples everywhere. There are still a lot of heirlooms apples to be had if you have a ladder and a few free hours. We took the boys today and picked three baskets full. They are small fruits- imperfect, a few wormy ones in the bunch- but they have the most wonderful tart crispness and will make for good winter pies and crumbles. Welcome, Fall- nice to see you again.