belly fire

"...Tasha Tudor has lived in farmhouses in Connecticut, New Hampshire, and Vermont, most of them without electricity or running water.  She has an intense interest in the domestic arts- the way they were done without mechanization.  Her son built her a house thirty years ago that resembles an 1880's farmhouse and is inaccessible by car..."

today, one of my soaps was put into someones treasury list on etsy . i am thrilled and slightly dismayed. since the move, i have not been able to put any energy into thankful sage farm school and the page is looking a bit spare. this afternoon, i found a plate that's tattered but stunning, produced in england in the 1850's. also in my possession, a near dozen of small medicine and tincture bottles to fill with heirloom seeds; daisies, lavender, verbena and something fragrant and horribly invasive, so we all remember to keep fighting. i recently spotted an old cupboard within my meager wallets reach and located and locked into memory a set of four iron chairs that need some lovin. a pair of old round wire glasses and a few small little bits keep catching my eye to go on the figurative shelves of my shop. i am on the prowl for old sap buckets, big kettles to dip candles in, and a couple of sweet pinafores to wear with my boy shoes and my tattered rolled up jeans. i shouldnt publicly lay all of my plans out, but i need to be held accountable, to see it. do you see it? classes given in front of a clay bake oven, loaves of braided breads and pies coming out, and everyone understanding that we all can simplify, find joy in using our hands and being conscious of something thats not our usual constant.. getting a bunch of strong girls together, all with our skirts and bad ass boots, splitting wood, properly. harvesting a strong bounty from your garden and putting it by for the dark cold winter, a sweet summer strawberry on a late january night. some of our mothers knew about this stuff and most of our grandmothers did  this stuff. oh man... i can see it. and it looks good.

moved

its a full moon. i usually have a great romance with the moon, but i cant feel her right now. i feel like i forgot how to write.  i cant find my books on maine, my papers, a phone signal. sigh.

truth

"I never had any other desire so strong, and so like to covetousness, as that one which I have had always, that I might be master at last of a small house and a large Garden." Abraham Cowley, The Garden, 1666

woman

man

golden days..

i am having a hard time finding the christmas spirit. but twinkle lights and the moons help alittle. 

tasha

starling

love

bare feet

Witch-Wife

 

She is neither pink nor pale,

And she never will be all mine;

She learned her hands in a fairy-tale,

And her mouth on a valentine.

She has more hair than she needs;

In the sun ’tis a woe to me!

And her voice is a string of colored beads,

Or steps leading into the sea.

She loves me all that she can,

And her ways to my ways resign;

But she was not made for any man,

And she never will be all mine.

                                   Edna St. Vincent Millay ,1917



pilgrim sweet potatoes



using a camera that the doctor has lent me, i finally caught those eyes.



found

the week thankful and i moved into our house. she called it the beautiful house.

i am thankful. for potato bread and oil in my oil tank, for acorns and dried corn kernels in pockets.  for my pain the ass girl dog named pilgrim, for the color of oatmeal.  for the feeling of walking through the newly cut field and coming up on this home, smoke from the chimney and books filling the windows. all of them.  for my daughter. duh. for all of the great love in my life. for avett brothers on wednesday nights, and iced tea. for my  blue bathtub car. at any point, it all could be gone. i am grateful.

halloween

went around the sweet town again this year. amazing how much i love said town. warm windows, warm porches, community.  it still exists on halloween. once, i told someone about my quest for warmth, i think they got it, i think i felt shame for saying it out loud.  tonight instead of buildng a fire outside and watching the seven sisters, i built a strong fire in the stove, wiped the make up off my growing girl, tucked her in, and made a large batch of soap. hard for my weak arm, fufilling for the heart. im changing my life. tonight we will sleep by the stove, so i can train myself again, to wake up, to fill the stove so we arent cold. i hate it. i love the warmth, i love the smell, i love having to earn it. i just hate waking up.. i cant remember my dreams.

samhain

have a blessed new year.

october

what a weekend. walk, skipping stones, a evening bike ride, dinner with friends, flannel sheets, good dreams, big bacon breakfast with cocoa smiles and coffee laughs, pumpkin patch picking with handsome green pumpkins and fresh cider to put by for summer nights, apples eaten straight from the tree,chestnuts pricking fingers, a child finally feeling safe, ten pounds of pink kaolin clay, baby powder smellin soap, designed by my joy, dog chasing, and windows open. perfect. whoop with joy kind of perfect. lucky girl.

stolen moment

thankful sage farm school

one day, i am going to have a shop. my shop will have antiques from around the world. simple ones. useful ones. it will have honey from my hives. and soaps, made from said honey. candles dipped in pairs in a big cauldron on crisp autumn days, with cider, friends and woodsmoke. it will have walls full of flower pots and plates that i designed. antique silver utensils. piles of handwoven blankets. only the best cookbooks. handmade furniture from local artisans, and old ladderbacks and windsors in various states of decay. pretty chicken feeders next to ticking pillows, next to petticoats, for me and fellow gals taking back our tough lady roles.  heirloom seeds with my name in them, ones that i harvested from an old daisy or potato that just doesn't grow anymore, something i can save for my daughters daughter. i will have classes on the long table that runs down the center of the store, on pickling, on thoughtful gardening, on pies, and community suppers at the end of each season. creaky wood floor, or maybe a painted green mexican tile. orkney chairs and a dressmakers table for the check out area. a book rack with books that i have written, about how we used to live. there, its on paper. i have to do it now.