in process

In the fall time
when the harvest comes
and the air turns cool
And I am left alone

I become both angry and afraid
In demand
Pulled and pushed and prodded and needed

But then a routine emerges
We grow accustomed

And then
I feel powerful
Capable
Independent

sometimes feel s like the end of the world
And sometimes feels all together manageable,

We are such moody creatures
We women,

We bribe and we plead
With ourselves
And these small creatures
Who surround us

We move as if one hand is tied behind our backs
We accomplish
Against all odds.
We feel so very alone.

Its not that we have to make all the hard decisions
Its that all decisions are now hard.

we know enough to allow the struggle

We love our small tyrants

We wait for rain,
For puddles and splashing

Wait for dark
For the moonrise
Which we watch in awe together,
Her love for the moon is something I did not teach
She came to it on her own
Or was born with it perhaps
Innate
As some things are.

We regrow

We harvest
We eat
And dig
And dry
And try to make things last for as long as possible

We bring the colors of the outside in

We peel and plan for next year

We are in a place that is strange
Unfinished,
Because truthfully every place is strange and unfinished

We each feel a full rainbow of emotion
Forgetting in the moment that they are each a gift

Forgetting the feeling of going years without the release of a good solid cry
Without so many portions of a truthful life

And truthfully we cannot be powerfully anything
Without being truthful

Loudly truthful
Irritatingly truthful.

I wonder often why so many others can do it
So much better than me

Forgetting that perception is a liar
Always taking us down impossible paths

But I will try to instead
Declare my truths loudly
And in that declaration
Hope that I am heard

I will remember that
decomposition brings fertility
and so release what is dark and thick
And smells like life

prepare the ground around us
So it is full of richness from
the selves that we let fall away

Rib ring

These bones are a reminder of all the stories our bones carry.

About the strength and structure that make us.
That though they are strong they still sometimes crack under strain or pressure.
It is about a million small moments.
About memory.

A reminder that what is broken can be fused and fixed.

Ribs specifically carry stories.

They protect
But protection is an illusion,

Change will come
It never stops coming
And it will take away things we love,
But it will bring new loves too
New wonders

They look like a cage
But it’s bars
Act instead as cracks
So we can live in both
Shadow and light.
They give us a place to hide
When we want one
But the light stays close
So we don’t have to travel far
When we begin to crave her again.

***
The details:

This ring is comprised of the end of an actual deer rib from a deer that my husband ethically harvested and which fed my family for many months. I cut the rib, used it to make a silicone mold and then made a wax cast of it before casting in sterling silver.

It has been lovingly sanded and polished for a lovely patina and tumbled for strength and shine.

This ring reminds us to honor those who came before, animal and human, and to honor our own strength.

It measures a size 7 on the mandrel and has a thin band hand forged from sterling silver.

Thank you for looking!

solstice notes

How we honor the sun

We make a fire to burn what is no longer needed
We eat berries fed by the sun
Their sweetness is full of the energy of her light
We provide water to what we’ve planted
Which they drink up gradually

She runs through droplets
Falling joyfully into green grass
And marches barefooted through thickets
And under trees

We surrender to the water
Let it wash over skin
Sink in

Float
Listen
And then
Light the fire.

snippets in process

I have never been more aware of my body
Of how I feel in it and who I am in it
And how it makes me what I am
And is so lovely and so capable even in its imperfection
I am more connected to it than ever before
For the good and the bad and the salty
And the sweet
And those times I want to cry but cant
And think of those whose bodies betrayed them
And how we can bathe one another in love
And intention and healing and light
And maybe things will turn out the way we thought they would
And maybe they will turn out so much better than that
But maybe a friend will still die, even though his wife is bringing his son into the world
Maybe she will still leave
And things will break and crack and decay
But from that detritus will rise something else
And we will love each other for as long as humanly [possible
And the earth will love us for long after that.