Archive for the 'This is where we live.' Category

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Shaking up our World

I think the entire house is in a state of upheaval right now, the good kind of upheaval where everything is called into question and made to justify itself.  You – shelf over there – are you adequately serving us right now? Oh, don’t avert your eyes from me, collection of hardcover-books-waiting-to-be-turned-into-blank-books.  We both know your number has been up
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I want a hippopotamus for Christmas.

So many titles would fit today’s post.  Seems the one with the catchiest tune won out in this case, but any number of contenders were possible. Like “Grandma’s got a brand new bag.”  Grandma Moses, that is, who I just discovered for myself at the tail end of last year’s festivities.  Love her. I also considered calling this post “Court
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Planting Turtles

Captain Daddio and Errol planted some turtles this weekend.  So they told us with undisguised glee as Isadora and I returned from our booth at the Farmer’s Market.  “Planted turtles?” we asked with furrowed brow, unable to process the information until Errol handed over the ping pong-like flexible white sphere.  A turtle egg.  Turns out Daddio uncovered a clutch of
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The Final Installment

Lest you get the impression that it’s all grey and gloom here, I’d like to offer up this last installment of landscape photos.  The rising sun lent this ethereal rosy cast to everything within its grasp one morning last week.  Enjoy!

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Winter is having a crisis of identity.

Yesterday: drip. Today: bluster. Drip. Bluster. Yesterday demanded that we manufacture our own light with fire, tea, and knitting. Today requires that we manufacture our own warmth.  I might try fire, tea, and knitting for that, too. Yesterday required a lengthy search for firewood deep within the tarped pile, where the rain had not yet completely penetrated. Today I shall
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Postcards from Silverland

Winter’s Eve casts the most lovely of all seasonal light, I think.  The familiar, once painted with freshfallen snow, becomes daguerreotype snapshots of this place from another time. I spent the early part of this morning completely sidetracked on a search for Grandma Moses-like barkcloth panels, an intense wanting sparked (I sheepishly admit) by Alicia’s pillow.  I had a strange
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Pasture reclamation

Three… two… one… blast off! The purging power of fire has reduced a mountain of junk wood to ash.  Never fear – I didn’t want to waste a single useful piece either.  I spent hours one day sorting out the useful bits from the soft, punky, crumbling-in-place bits and set those aside before the flames hit.  What I wouldn’t give
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The Studio is complete.

And it is glorious. It was a major undertaking, one that required a long, contemplative absence from this space.  I’m sorry to have kept you hanging, but it had to be done. It was a clearing out. An upheaval of the status quo. A reimagining of the function of the space.  A letting go of so, so much –  ideas
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That’s more like it.

Finally the snow has arrived.  Finally.   Its absence was palpable and dingy and altogether un-Christmas-like. The hush that’s descended with the velvet snow will be present in this space also, right on through to the start of the new year.  The computer’s off for a tune-up, the holidays are here, and there’s much wonderment and merry-making to behold.  I thank
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In which deeply-buried genetic predispositions came to the surface

A little after 8:00 am yesterday morning, I glanced out the window, sweeping the area quickly as I’ve grown accustomed to doing and spotted something different.  I almost peed my pants when I realized that a generously-endowed buck was laying in the lane between our chick house and fire pit.  Holy shit. Now, I don’t hunt.  Never have; have no
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