puddle jumper

neshaminy creek, rock beach, sweet girl

sweet jane

go ahead, shake your head. if i ever am brave enough to put another smattering of ink on my body, jane austen it is.

london, simple, sweet.

love love love

i am a coward.  i have sweet words and strong words and hard truths. but sometimes, no words.  self preservation. i love you, i love your smell. i admire your resolve and your smile. you scare the shit out of me. i try not to think about you. i would follow you into the dark.

soft shoulder

front yard

spring 2011, before the petals fell... i swear you could hear
the tree sway her hips to drop the petals

may

lilacs

so i have lost my train of thought, i get overwhelmed and bam. nothing. not even bits of striped linen could bring me back. i even lost my garden belly fire. but tonight, i was stomping around the yard in my bare feet, hollering for the pup, and i caught a whiff of that lilac bush. and it was back. thunder road lyrics, about dancing on the porch and running off with my love, second chances, last chances, teenage lust and cold cold lemonade in moonlight. hearing people talking in the distance. deafening crickets. sunburn on my cheeks. my daughter with her hair sticking to the back of neck and a pure shit eattin grin. when i was younger, i had a business. it was called lavender dusted jazz baby, and i made soaps and lotions and i was happy. and i made lilac soap. it was a smell tonight, that brought me back to my creative productive self. before i was who i am now. i went inside, tucked my sweet(whining)growing girl into her bed, and lulled her to sleep with me, droning on and on about how my room smells like beeswax because of the frames that i will be filling with bees in just a week or two are in my room, and how i miss the smell of bread. and how i am forgetting. i talked about the tarts that were coming in the end of summer, from those fig bushes. and how just before she was born, i wandered around my yard eating fresh figs and blueberries from the bush in the evenings. and how on the very day she was born, the cotton in the field went from green to brown, i had felt it was a gift, the keep up my spirits. i chatted about hidden dresses in my closet. and how much i dislike ginger. she was snoring by that point, so i went back downstairs, marched right up to the bush, and tipped my invisible hat at it. so great. so glad no one else was there.

strange..

humble bees

torn out page

following through

today i purchased my bees for the spring and i think my heart is going to explode. i have been meaning to live the life i have in my head, but had forgotten how to in the past of couple of years. for weeks, i couldn't go to sleep, i was thinking about spring. renewal. life. i want to run outside right now and just scream. i want to grab the hand of the next person i see, and tell them that its time to do it. live. its good.. but i wont, for fear that it would scare them, or maybe its more likely that i have done it to them already. i have a problem with that. its winter, and this house is chilly, but i am warm. birdhouses that my grandfather built, going up, committing. fantastic garden with warty melons and peppers. written down and committing. hops. daisies and lavender along the old stone barn wall. heartsong, and committing. cold frames, written down, preparing the barter list for the tools, committing. brown turkey figs,can taste them already, committing. a fruit press, for those pears, committing. sap buckets tacked to trees just to hold flowers and twigs, committing. and a stone patio, in the middle of it all, to take in those sweet summer nights. i am ready. i just took my first step.

*

one year later...

nicky, january 2011: thirty, girl adventuress, mother, bookworm, eventual author, scout, stick hoarder, punctuation enthusiast, vagabond sympathiser, wildcrafter, disturber of the peace; likes banjo ballads, old books, forgiveness, bubble gum, uncommon folk, smell of pipe tobacco and earl grey, semi-colons, wire, cheese, public radio, tin ceilings, words, fairy lights, folk art, baking, forests, setting things on fire, libraries, tom waits, flip flops, contributing, mr. darcy, farmers markets, blank paper, thrift shop clothing, root cellars, the city, the idea of magic, and learning everything about everything. within reason...

i am not

jelly jars

family photo

man

mustard

mayapple and juniper

our new additions.

simple joy

i would still be on my feet

one last bee thought

The relationship between beekeeping and the herb garden is centuries old. Many herbs have a special attraction for bees and, since the insects pollinate the plants, the two work in unison. Lemon balm (its name is derived from the Greek word for “bee”) has long been a neighbor of the bee skep. Early beekeepers rubbed the insides of their skeps with it to attract bees, or mixed balm with honey to line the insides of skeps. Bee balm thyme and borage also attract honeybees.

friendship and spoons

tasha

lovely

french haitian bee skeps

time out

fire

 the goschenhoppen historians gave a lovely candle dipping demonstration this summer.

i am sorry

but i have no words right now.

summer thoughts

fire

Fire-lighting, however simple, is an operation requiring some skill; a fire is readily made by laying a few cinders at the bottom in open order; over this a few pieces of paper, and over that again eight or ten pieces of dry wood; over the wood, a course of moderate-sized pieces of coal, taking care to leave hollow spaces between for air at the centre; and taking care to lay the whole well back in the grate, so that the smoke may go up the chimney, and not into the room. This done, fire the paper with a match from below, and, if properly laid, it will soon burn up; the stream of flame from the wood and paper soon communicating to the coals and cinders, provided there is plenty of air at the centre.

Isabella Beeton, Book of Household Management, 1861

williamsburg

true warmth

no light is lost..

The quality of a candle depended on the fat that was used. The better the quality of the fat, the firmer and less offensive was the candle. New England settlers were fortunate to discover that the waxy berries from the bayberry bush made very pleasant candles. ...Peter Kalm wrote...in 1748...There is a plant here from which they make ...wax...Candles of this do not easily bend, nor melt in summer...nor do they cause any smoke, but yield rather an agreeable smell when they are extinguished."

J and D Volo, Daily Life on the Old Colonial Frontier, 2002

warmth

...

flora

heirloom

heart afire

practically magic

"Sometimes I feel like there’s a hole inside of me, an emptiness that at times seems to burn. I think if you lifted my heart to your ear, you could probably hear the ocean. The moon tonight, there’s a circle around it. Sign of trouble not far behind. I have this dream of being whole. Of not going to sleep each night, wanting. But still sometimes, when the wind is warm or the crickets sing… I dream of a love that even time will lie down and be still for. I just want someone to love me. I want to be seen. I don’t know. Maybe I had my happiness. I don’t want to believe it but, there is no man. Only that moon.”

love love love

    a poor man shames us all...do you like my song? i'll sing it for you.

courting