The Life and Times of the Plume

I HAVE MOVED!!!

2011-11-16T15:23:00.001-07:00

You can now find this blog

HERE!

I HAVE MOVED!!!

2011-11-11T07:51:00.001-07:00

You can now find this blog

HERE!

I HAVE MOVED!!!

2011-11-10T11:29:00.000-07:00

You can now find this blog

HERE!

The Glorious Wind Pinking

2011-10-28T16:38:00.001-06:00

Oh!

Oh what autumnal joy is mine!

Today is the first day in three weeks that we have not had a house guest or two in our home. I loved, very dearly, visiting with our friends but let's be honest, if you've been reading this blog since last December, you'll know that we have had at least two weeks worth of house guests at The Gables every month since last December. Life has been full. The love has been so thick -- thick like Canadian maple syrup.

That said, I am a smidgen tired.

November begins in just a small handful of days and it is the first month since last December that we do not have any friends or family booked for a visit and I cannot wait to fall head over heels into a creative habit again. I love the people who have visited, with all my heart, but quite frankly, they were bad for my work! That's just bare bones honesty for you.

So, since this was my first day (in quite some time) in a quiet and private home, I found myself in a long hot bath this morning with my steaming cup of coffee followed by a breezy bike ride through the autumn wind pinking with a stop at my favorite vintage shop (HELLO YOU WONDERFUL VAIN AND VINTAGE GIRLS) where the ladies and I talked about my new/old beautiful airstream trailer! Hurrah! Also, I found a beautiful blue and gray pleated, mid length wool skirt that will be utterly gorgeous for winter walking with tights and boots. It's so lovely! It's so Sylvia Plath at the country stone cottage. I can't wait to wear it. I had a wonderful batch of sushi for lunch and chatted with a kind fellow from Boise who has a heart for the arts. I peddled around a bit more, coasted across the university campus (and daydreamed about the weaving class I hope to take this spring). I talked to a friend on the phone and we laughed out loud and groaned a bit before exchanging Iloveyous and hanging up.

I listened to this while I pedaled my bike.

I love that low, growly, womanly voice...well, I also don't mind sandpaper kisses...

[ the record version is amazing...go hear it]

Then, oh then, oh then of all thens,

I went to my Ace Hardware store and finally bought

the Swedish wrap I have been coveting there. I know, this all sounds strange...a Swedish wrap at the hardware store?

The Pocatello Ace Hardware is the kind of thing legends are made of. Come visit and I'll show you myself. This particular Swedish wrap is a sensual sort of furry hood that has a scarf attached with pompom ends and it makes me look like a Ukrainian princess in exile in hip deep snow with nothing to eat but cold borscht.

I'll be wearing it obsessively this winter and I'm sure you'll see it in a photograph or two before spring does its springing.

I'm so spoiled,

Spoiled rotten.

But some days, it's a good day to be spoiled rotten.

Some other tidbits you may enjoy:

I finally watched this! I loved it, though it was tremendously sad -- it made me wonder if some people are born melancholy.

It made me hold my favorite melancholy mistress tightly in my heart.

If you're in Pocatello and you haven't been up here yet this fall,

you'd better hurry. The fall colors won't last forever!

I'm going to finish reading this tonight.

I can't believe I'm only one book away from finishing this amazing series -- I feel like the characters in these stories are some of my best friends. I can get like that with books. For example, when Dumbledore died I felt like I had lost my grandfather.

Actually, when Johnny Cash died, I felt like I lost a grandfather.

Perhaps I am one who easily attaches?

Maybe I shouldn't be so quick to love?

Perhaps I allow myself to be too transported by books?

Lastly, this arrived in the mail today. It's tremendously beautiful.

I have been a huge fan of Lana's work for some time now

and finally claimed this rust and gray beauty from her.

It's delicate, robust and generally amazing.

At any rate, this is all to say that I wish you

a merry weekend.

Oh, and Taternator is the cutest quadruped within a thousand mile radius of my home. I'll be sure to give him a smooch for you (he's eating Rhubarb, the cat, right now).

Tater! Stop that!

MERRY FRIDAY!

Be well, brave hearts.

Don't let the man get you down.

Isadora

2011-10-27T09:50:00.002-06:00

I had a tremendously and gloriously happy night last night!

Robert, and our lovely friends who are visiting at the moment, went bird hunting with the dogs over by

Little City of Rocks, here in Idaho.

When they came home, they were dragging a 1964 Airstream Sovereign travel trailer!

AHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!

It's so beautiful!

I'd kiss it but my lips would stick (it's cold here)!

Best of all,

we paid $500 for it which is a shockingly small number!

We've been searching for an Airstream for a few months now. When they come up for sale, they sell quickly and usually go for somewhere between $2500 and $3500 in Utah, Idaho and Montana.

To find this Airstream in such wonderful condition for such a low price felt a bit sinful.

I'm so thankful for it.

Why did we get this hulking pile of travel trailer bliss?

Let me tell you why:

Sometime this summer, RW called me up from the jumper base in Winthrop, Washington and at the same time we both blurted out that we couldn't do summers apart anymore. We've been repeatedly blurting this very thing for a few years now but suddenly the impetus to make a change in our lifestyle materialized and we found ourselves with a plan. The main detail that has prevented me from living in Winthrop these past two summers is the lack of a studio space. After humming and hawing over the phone this summer, we decided that we needed some sort of trailer I could use as a travel work space and after pondering our options we, quite obviously, settled on an Airstream trailer because:

1. They are awesome.

2. They have serious character.

3. There is a subculture of humans that celebrate these trailers and we love being part of such subcultures (we belong to the VW bus subculture as well and it too, is wonderful).

4. And of less importance, but importance nonetheless, Airstreams match our big, hulking silver truck....

This winter, we will entirely gut Isadora (prior-to-renovation-Isadora photos will be coming) and thoroughly renovate her interior into a small studio space for me and a larger living quarters for our little family. I'm excited about it! But I'm even more excited about living in the same place as my husband next summer and being a part of the North Cascades Smokejumper family all fire season long.

After fire season, we will probably find ourselves doing a few extended trips to the deserts of New Mexico, Arizona and Utah where Robert will bird hunt and I will work in my little studio space during the daytime.
We have the hearts of nomads beating here in our chests.
Isadora is going to allow us to explore even more
than we already do. I adore her.

All this is to say, welcome to our family Isadora!

You make me feel like I'm living in a Miranda Lambert song.

We're going to shine you up bright and fix you

up with some tender loving care.

Soon, you'll be like a silver streaming star in the night sky, shivering, glittering and guiding the moon into her place.

Yee haw!

Tater Nation

2011-10-24T09:29:00.005-06:00

Officially, officially.

This is Montana's Honky Tonk Tater Tot.

Also officially, he is a little bit crazier than his sister Plumbelina was and some of us know how darn crazy darlin' Plumbelina could be! This just goes to prove,
he's not a Plum, he's a Tater.
Every moment I spend with him, I see flickers of Plum's spirit and some of her expressions cross his face. It makes me miss her even more but it makes me happy to have a tiny piece of her living on in this pup.

We're very lucky he was available for us to claim.

We love him.

He's healing our sad hearts.

He is tremendously welcome in our little family.

He's going to be a hard working little bird dog

and my best friend.

We call him:

Tater, Tater Nation, Taternator, Little Man Tate and

Smallmungous Smoochie Love Beetle.

He says:

How do you do?

2011-10-22T18:26:00.002-06:00

On this beautiful autumn evening,

I am here.

Yellowstone

2011-10-21T20:09:00.004-06:00

A small cabin on the edge of West Yellowstone.

Funny drinks.

Frosty mornings.

Nights filled with: wolf howl and elk bugle:

laughter and pranks.

Me in bed with the small one in my sleeping bag, curled about my neck or wound in a puppy circle between my knees.

RW restless with his kinky-train-accident-back on a rustic bed frame.

The snores of our friends and family coming from the

bunk beside us or

the next room.

Rosie on the floor by the stove, sleeping in glorious, fire crackling shabbat shalom.

Cooking on a woodstove.

Early mornings.

Blue light.

Log cabin cozy cast iron:

Has anyone seen the oven mitt???

The potatoes are finished!

Can someone deal with the cheddar?

Dinner by candlelight.
Red wine.
The slow hunger of the fire in the stove.

That calm that comes with spaciousness.

Frost on the entire world.

Tall grass.

Golden sunrise.

Don't-lick-the-truck-your-tongue-will-stick!

That broad back,

narrow waist,

swinging rhythm of wood cutting...boys, can I get some kindling?

Nope.

That's not enough.

Boys in trucks and camouflage toting 30-06 rifles headed out for more elk hunting

on the snow laced razorbacks of Idaho

(a kiss good-bye, in the dark):

lodgepole pine,

3000ft vert (x4),

quakies turning orange and yellow under autumn sun,

wolf dens four feet deep in conglomerate rock,

grizzly bears hunkered down on narrow trails

shaking their blocky heads

and unafraid (take a wide path Jimmy, walk fast, don't look back).

Yellowstone National Park

dressed in autumn gold

and the clear, rippling foil of running water in all directions.

The crackling of steam vents, the boiling mud, the turquoise pools of water burgeoning fresh from the earth's crust.

My girlfriends and I cruising through

the space of the park.

Me, squeaking at every bison I saw,

counting the points on the bull elk.

Praying for wolves.

The quiet murmur of Old Faithful--

the stand up column of white wet hot.

The high places.

The closeness of God.

The thoughts I never spoke.

The speaking aloud.

A small and eerie lake formed by earthquake.

A bag of candy.

Two strangers at a trail head with the freshly cut pelt of a yearling wolf -- that coarse hair and intelligent face stone still in the afternoon light.

A little sadness in my soul.

A snowflake on my arm.

A full truck cab

and Honky Tonk Tater Tot

snoozing sweet puppy chocolate velvet the entire way home.

________________

Yup.

That was West Yellowstone!

Fossils

2011-10-17T15:37:00.001-06:00

While in Alaska this summer, my

girlfriend and I went fossil hunting on the coal

cliffs near her home. I happily whacked away at stones with a little hammer and let out a blissful OOHHHhhhHHhhhh

whenever I found a particularly

lovely (and intact) fossil. It was a simply sinful amount of fun.

I brought my favorite fossils home from Alaska and have them displayed on one of the end tables in the living room here at The Gables.

They're magical little ancient things. Aren't they?

I haven't stopped thinking about fossils since I returned from Alaska and have been pondering for a few months now how to make my own versions of fossils with silver, of course.

(Wo)man made fossils!

Can you imagine?

Then! I had a eureka moment and, voila!

[sterling -- Idaho beach stone and Idaho fern]

[sterling & freshwater pearl -- Alaskan beach slate & Idaho fern]

Once I started,

I found I just could not stop!

These beauties are (as usual):

Organic!

Natural.

Textural.

Elegant.

Solid.

Weighty.

They make me happy.

Very happy.

2011-10-16T11:46:00.001-06:00

2011-10-14T14:55:00.004-06:00

Before we all head off to our cocktail parties
and whatnots this Friday afternoon I wanted to

give you all a big yee haw and an interwebular hug! I hope you had a wonderful week. Truly, I do.

Have a tremendous weekend. Make it extraordinary.

Be buoyed up by the delicate and rich details of life.

Read a wonderful book. Write a soulful poem.
Capture an image that makes your heart soar.

Sleep in. Eat delicious, fresh food. Cuddle your cat on the love seat. Kiss your baby boy. Ride a ferris wheel with your true love. Whatever you do, do it with all your heart and be fully present.

Also, if you have a moment, please watch this short TED talk on nurturing creativity.

It is so meaningful to me and puts into dynamic words what my creative effort has become for me

these past two years -- honestly, I'm just showing up as often as I can. I think you'll enjoy it but I think you can also learn from it.

Be well, dear friends.

JAM WINNERS

2011-10-13T16:17:00.001-06:00

Thank you all for the beautiful comments you left on the

fourth annual plum jam giveaway -- it was like reading a sea of snippets of

poetry. I loved everything you had to say!

Quite officially and randomly generatedly (not a real word),

the winners of the jam packages are comment numbers

41, 26, 137, 107 and 18:

If you gave me your email address, I'll

be contacting you about where to mail your package.

If you didn't give me your email address,

I hope you see this announcement and email ME!
thenoisyplume@gmail.com

Thank you all.

You're wonderful.

2011-10-13T14:41:00.002-06:00

Doe in Snow Neck Piece ::: The Quiet Ones Series

[sterling, copper, silk & enamel]

I've been terribly excited about returning to this series with the onset of cooler weather. Actually, I've been thrilled about being able to enamel again, in general. I missed it very much during the summer months when my un-air-conditioned workspace is simply unbearable with the added heat of a kiln. The studio, when I've had moments to work these past couple of weeks, is thrumming with energy, light and that steadiness that comes with hard work.

:::ALSO:::

There's been the adventure of embarking upon a photo project with one of my best friends.

My involvement with the creative team for this incredible e-course [I promise Maddie! I'll have my thoughts and images to you tonight. TONIGHT!].

There is something small and wild taking up a lot of my time...I don't feel ready to share it with you quite yet. But it makes me so happy.

There's a poem I want to write about the wasps that live in my attic -- the words string themselves out in my mind when I'm falling asleep at night.

There's a cup of hot tea nearly every hour, on the hour, to warm my autumn bones.

There's a bit of soul fire to match the red of the scrub maples as they turn.

There are twenty thousand emails for me to answer but I can't sit still long enough to get the work finished.

All of our firefighter friends are done their work for the year and are back in town so there has been the beauteous behooving of scintillating sociality many nights of the week followed by the sudden quiet of all the boys

leaving for their antelope hunt in Wyoming.

I can't stop listening to this.

Very shortly, there will be some girls and I in a forest service cabin just outside of West Yellowstone for a couple of days.

There have also been image submissions at the request of Getty Images (such a wonderful experience). Perhaps, sometime, you might see Plum smiling on a bag of dog food at the grocery store (rest her crazy little darling soul)!

There is a stack of letters from friends that need responses, an extra quilt on the bed and plum jam on toast in the mornings.

Oh! And this book just handed to me by the mailman -- which is so beautiful and haunting!

I have a couple of details to wrap up out in the studio before I make myself lunch. Can you believe I'm still eating from my garden every single day?

Shortly, I'll have: roasted beets with a side of baby carrots, kale, patty pan squash, zucchini and garlic lightly sauteed in butter.

Tra la la!

The Fourth Annual Plum Jam Giveaway

2011-10-10T12:11:00.010-06:00

Good morning sparrows and starshines!

It's my complete and utter delight to announce the fourth annual plum jam give away here at The Noisy Plume. I can't believe I've done this four years in a row now! It's something I look forward to every fall. The truth of the matter is that I simply love being able to give away a little piece of my property here in Idaho. And let's just be bare bones honest for a moment, this is some of the best jam on the planet Earth. I make a big deal about it, true, but whenever people have their first taste, they're eyeballs get big as a bullfrogs and they nod their heads yes and affirm the truth of my bragging.

So.

Without further delay,

here are the details!

________________________

Last year, we did a fantastic golden ticket contest with the plum jam, as you may recall. We sold nearly 100 jars of the stuff over in the Etsy shop -- one lucky person won a pretty little necklace with their jam purchase and it was fun and a wonderful gamble. Sadly, packing and shipping nearly 100 jars of jam nearly killed us and while we'd have loved to do it all again, we are a bit busier than usual this fall, here at The Gables, and a simple blog giveaway will have to suffice. Forgive us for not going above and beyond this year.

As always, I love to give you a quick run down about the plums we use in this jam. Plume Gables boasts a beautiful little, creaky old, 104 year old farm house on an original stone foundation on a piece of property that formerly spanned the entire street. It was originally a fruit orchard! We are the fourth family to ever own and love this property (though the first two families were the first and second generation of the same family). Deeded with the land is a charming set of water rights to one of the spring creeks that flows down off the mountains on the West side of the Portneuf Valley. With this water, we irrigate all of our ancient grapevines, rose gardens and fruit trees. It's a romantic and historical detail about our home since when this little chunk of land was originally homesteaded, the same creek water was used to feed an entire orchard, and more.

We do not spray our fruit trees with any pesticides.

Plums are hand picked when they turn a ripe,

deep purple on the trees.

These beautiful gems are organic as can be,

watered with holy water from a spring that wells up out of the mountains we see from the front windows of our home, and they are filled with the nutrients that only a sun ripened fruit can hold.

We hand pit these plums with old fashioned paring knives,

quarter them and then turn them into jam with the help of a low sugar recipe.

The flavor is unbelievable,

tart and sweet.

The color is like magenta rubies,

as you can see modeled on this delicious little

fluffy, hot-from-the-oven buttermilk biscuit:

I'm giving away five jars of the stuff.

Since I couldn't muster the golden ticket contest this fall, I am including these jars of jam in sweet little packages that will include:

My favorite loose leaf herbal tea.

Hand picked and bound sage bundles, beautiful for sniffing and smudging...

and a few other items that will remain a surprise!

If you'd like to enter your name in this giveaway, please leave me a comment on this post.

Tell me anything you'd like, but I'm especially interested in hearing about how autumn makes you feel and what you love most about it -- if you are in the Southern Hemisphere, tell me about the shifts you're seeing as your world moves into summer!
If you're shy or thin on time, just say hi.

Please leave only ONE COMMENT, if you can.
And please include your email address
so I can contact you
if you should win.

Everyone is welcome and

I will ship internationally.
Contest closes on Wednesday at 10PM, MST.

As always, thank you so much for being part of my world and for being some of the most incredible, kind, supportive, gracious and loving people I've ever brushed up against.

Happy autumn!

Love,

The Plume

2011-10-09T10:13:00.001-06:00

Yesterday was RW's birthday!

Sometime last week I asked him how he'd like to spend his special day -- though I don't know why I ever ask because the answer never changes. We spent the day over in the Little City of Rocks area of Idaho hunting chukar, nibbling on a picnic and exploring the sage laced hills and coulees there. Hunting was a four hour hike up and across the rim rock and volcanic hoodoos of Little City of Rocks (not to be confused with City of Rocks by the folks who like to climb Idaho) at the end of which we were terribly sun beamed and wind blasted -- I felt exhausted. Farley had run at least seven more miles than we hiked and he was exhausted too. We coasted back down onto the Snake River Plain, grabbed some delicious Italian for dinner with a friend in Twin Falls (lasagna is one of RW's other birthday requirements -- he's like Garfield) and eventually we arrived home in Pocatello where we covered the tomatoes with blankets out in the gardens, belly flopped into hot baths and tossed ourselves into our warm bed.

It was such a splendid day.

You know, when you're out strolling across the shifting hands of the seasons there's an extraordinary amount of texture applied to all the senses. Those patches of lichens that are so busily lipping at the surfaces of stones seem

twice as thick and vibrant as they did in the summer months.

The small body of water in the sea of sage glimmers like holy

sapphire! The mountains in the distance, capped white and groaning with imperceptible

shakes and quakes, grind away at the sky and the blue holds the faint pulse of indigo crushed fine in the smooth bowl of the mortar.

It's.

Nearly.

Too.

Much.

For.

Me.

To.

Bear.

I perish. I die in the wonder of creation, time and time again.

I move through it like I belong in it, like a wild horse owns the rock that trims its hooves, like rivers to the seas, like the clouds so designed and destroyed by the lift of the mountains

and the grace of the plains. I move. I belong.

This small body lives to leap up and over stones, scramble through thorny thickets with my heart beat glowing bright in my throat and there on the soft sides of my wrists. Then sifting, sifting like the river water sifts the silt, claiming clarity and purity as it flows. I am lost, divided, made whole again, raked into neat stacks by the tines of the wind and then spread out once more and drifting.

But I digress.

This was all to say, happy birthday Robert.

I loved being out on the land with you yesterday.

The wind burned my cheeks red and coaxed some tired coal in my soul into flame once more.

I hope you had a wonderful day too.

Let's do it again sometime.

:::POST SCRIPTUS:::
I nearly forgot!
Happy Thanksgiving to all my fellow
Canadians! I hope your lives have been
full of family, friends and blessings this weekend
and always.

2011-10-06T13:34:00.000-06:00

We tend to

go straight from summer

into winter. This is the Rocky Mountain way.

Bundle up, snow bunnies!

2011-10-05T20:13:00.002-06:00

Just a quick note to say thank you all for the comments you left on the last post here.

Thank you also to everyone who popped a note in the mail for us or emailed us -- there's no way I can actually answer all of your emails but I wanted you to know that RW and I have read your notes and appreciate your kindness so very much.
Even though she's gone, Plumbelina is still teaching us
so much about love and life. You are too.

Thank you.

One million times over.

Warmly,

Jillian & Robert

(Farley, Penelope, Mister Pinkerton,

Rhubarb Ambrosia Honey Badger and The Hens)

2011-10-03T10:50:00.011-06:00

Plumbelina died.

On Friday, when we were coming back over the mountains from the cattle drive, we stopped at a creek for a while. This lead to that and Plum was nicked by the back tire of our moving truck. Her injuries consisted of a tiny cut on her face and a two inch gash on her foreleg (which wasn't actually bleeding). We hopped in the truck with her laid across my lap and made the rest of the drive down the mountain to get her to the vet. She looked great the entire drive with her head up in the air, looking around, she even seemed to be smiling at me as I stroked her face and held her body close to mine. When we pulled into the parking lot at the vet clinic, her breathing suddenly became labored and her eyes glazed over and rolled back. I struggled to get out of the truck with her in my arms. Robert took her from me and by the time we had her in the clinic on an operating table she had died.

It was so shocking.

We have been so terribly sad.

This has been another lesson in love and loss for me.

For of course, it was better to have known her, loved her and lost her than to never have known her at all.

We took her body up the mountain and blistered our hands digging a deep grave in an aspen stand for her final resting place. Before we covered her in Rocky Mountain soil, I laid a bouquet of wildflowers on her chest. She looked so perfect down there. Snow white and the darkest chocolate brown -- like she was sleeping. I touched her velvet head one last time. It was all so strange. I remember thinking to myself that she was more mine than she was Robert's since he had been away at work for half her life. I remember feeling thick and stupid with loss.

I wonder how long I'll be this sad. The past few days, I've been wandering around the house crying on and off, out in the studio I broke a hammer in half out of anger with myself and annoyance at the circumstances of her death. I guess grief moves in waves. One moment it has me completely submerged and the next I'm breathing sweet air and sunshine and the world around me is sparkling like diamonds.

If I feel this sad about a dog,

will I simply disappear if I lose Robert

or a best friend,

or a parent,

or a sister?

Why does the body feel so heavy

once the spirit has departed?

Is it because we lift the dead

with heavy hearts and lead arms?

Is the soul responsible

for our lightness of spirit,

our lightness of being?

Where does the spirit go?

What does that place actually look like?

We, here in the land of the living, have such a tenuous grip on existence. We hoard it.

We tear it away from each other.

We live fully until we cease to live.

We forget to love what we have sometimes.
What we love can leave, in the blink of an eye.

When something we love dies,

we always realize we loved it more than we knew we did.

The dead sleep, but the living live on.

We live on with the sharp memories of the dead lodged in our throats. Over time, those memories dull and eventually we lay the bluntness of our guilt and sadness to rest and all that is left is a wide field, laced with morning dew and blooming yarrow

and a glad dog with wings on her back running like she knows how to fly.

She cannot be so dead.

She cannot be so dead

when she flickers with such glorious motion

here on the broad plains

of my heart.

__________________________________________

Two days before Plum died, I told Robert that I wanted to take a greater responsibility for her hunting

training which he had almost exclusively been working on. I wanted to master her in the field -- which involves so much more than simply telling a dog where to go. It requires understanding the lay of the land, wind directions, the habits of the bird you're hunting and the ability to read your dog and communicate with it. It's an awesome partnership between human and animal. I had this sudden realization over the summer months that consistently hunting the dogs with my fellow could be a really precious family time for Robert and I.

Two days before she died, she ate one of my Birkenstocks.

What a crying shame.
Writing this made me laugh out loud!

These dogs are so high maintenance, so demanding of your time and effort, an extra portion of their energy and spirit gets in your

soul. When they go, they wreck you a little more than usual,

the quiet and calm left in their wake is disconcerting.

__________________________

On Saturday night, I was thinking about ways I could honor her.

On Sunday morning, I woke up early with Robert we took our remaining German Shorthaired Pointer sharptail grouse hunting in the Arbon Valley. Before we cast that dog off into a field to do his work, I took his face in my hands and I told him:

Today we hunt for Plum.

We hunt for everything she was.

We hunt for the incredible bird dog she was going to be.

We hunt to give her wings, where she is.

We hunt in her memory.

We hunt for the dog who remains.

For the steadiness of Farley's beating heart, flesh and bone.

We hunt to put a bird in your mouth, Farley.

We hunt to watch you do that thing you were born and bred to do.

We hunt for the flicker of white in tall grass, for your bright face and fleet feet in the sage.

We hunt for the joy of being on the land and being in nature.

We hunt for the holiness of putting dinner on our table.

I cried a bit for the joy on his face as we cast him off into the tall grass and sunshine. We balanced our shotguns on our shoulders and walked out.

Our hearts felt lighter than they had in days.

Plumbelina,

You were the very best little girl. You were so happy,

so exuberant, all the time. When you were good, you were an angel. When you were bad, you were terribly rotten. I never touched velvet quite so soft as you. You were crazy and I loved you. Sleep now, best friend. I hold you in my heart always.

Love,

Your Girl

One Thousand Cows

2011-09-30T15:33:00.003-06:00

Sometimes I don't think I can love Idaho more than I do.

Then I go on a cattle drive with, quite literally, one thousand cows and about fifty cowboys and cowgirls keeping those bovine babes on the straight and narrow...

and then I love it a little more than I did before.

Here are some moments I captured this morning:

2011-09-28T18:29:00.005-06:00

Today.

Today I feel:

-thin, but pretty

-loved and cherished

-elegant and long of limb

-intelligent

-ebullient, but soft

-soulful

-thoughtful

-wound loosely around the soft white bark of turning aspens

-like a chorus of cat call, wolf howl and chickadee song

-here but there, there but not

-forgiving and forgiven

-replete with potential but hinging on promises, promises that will be kept, steady with trust

-so sure of the good work that is being done in me

-positively rich, glad despite my poorness, made merrily thankful by my steady income

-one day older than I was yesterday

-bone young, soul ancient

-strong of spirit and shining smile

-that nothing can ever truly be lost

How about you?

2011-09-27T11:29:00.005-06:00

I'm so far from home.

Home is always so near at hand!

Remember when this was green?

While in that wheat field, I gleaned.
One of those gleaned wheat heads was cast this morning and turned into this ring.
The Ruth Ring.
You can see it in the shop now!

2011-09-26T12:56:00.001-06:00

Last night I sat in the banana rocking chair on the edge of a hill in a fragrant Douglas fir stand with a good book and a glass of wine while I watched the sun fall West -- it was pure golden heaven.

The air was crisp.

At 8000 feet, the leaves are spinning their autumnal

tones and I feel perpetually romantic deep down in my soul.

After a merry dinner on the edge of a small blaze

we slept with the side door open on Talulah and sometime in the middle of the night,

I woke up to the sound of some species of beastie sniffing and snuffing about the entrance of our rig. I wasn't afraid because the sniffing and snuffing sounded somewhat delicate and I thought to myself, "It could be nice to have a small silver fox under the blankets with me!"

Later I woke again when a soft rain began to fall all around.

Then, before I knew it, morning had broken

and a new day dawned.

Just another perfect sleepover in Talulah.

We wish you could have come for coffee --

hope your weekend was nifty!

2011-09-23T12:09:00.004-06:00

Indian summer.

I'm breathing deeply.

My soul is continuously taking my body outside,

the indoors aren't expansive enough to hold me.

The final wave of wildflowers is blooming

on the slopes above the house. This is the last gasp of summer.

Robert is coming home tonight.

His fire season is finished. The next six cold months are ours.

Little does he know, he's my eternal summer.

The flowers will quit here,

but something inside of me blooms steadily

when I'm in his presence -- something bursts into color in my heart, always, just for the knowing of him.

Have a good weekend, you.

2011-09-21T16:22:00.000-06:00

The Other One

[Honoring Remains Series:

sterling, pink coral, prehnite, Idaho mule deer antler]

2011-09-20T17:10:00.013-06:00

[Honoring Remains Series: sterling,
Idaho mule deer antler prong and pink coral-- lightness
of soul, breadth of spirit]
_________________________________
I ran last night.

I put huge space between the choppy waters
of life and myself.

I ran a greater distance than I normally run.
Today I can feel it in my legs and my biceps, the pointers have been napping more than usual, I had pasta for lunch -- too hungry to face the day without loading up on carbohydrates.

Last night, I passed through a scrub maple stand (already morphing red in the autumn sunshine)

and caught a glimpse of a mule deer doe and her fawn down the mountainside from me, tawny and long legged, sweeping through the sage and juniper.

Down the trail from there, I saw my cow moose and her calf again.

She was ornery.

I ignored her bluff charge and urged my legs faster.
I killed the hills.
I moved like wind.
The mountain took me on as her own
sweet wild thing.
Living felt better than usual.
Better than good.
All I know is I don't want to miss a single day on the mountain this season. Every day brings new color, new atmosphere. I want to be part of it...the living and the dying.
The growing and the shrinking.
The fade of green into fire.
The light and the dark...
but mostly the light.
Mostly the light.
_________________________________
Something must push us onward,
push us into existence,
push us into brilliant existence
even in the face of trial, persecution and ostracization
(no matter where you are or who you are, it's there in some form).
I'm finding that thing so easily now,
it's like second nature.

2011-09-19T15:25:00.001-06:00

Look at these pods!

Can you believe I picked them here in Idaho?

They look so tropically cosmic.

What's more, each one measures nearly five

inches in length -- they're huge.

I was having a ho-hum day here: woke up and went to make coffee only to see I was out of milk, ran to the store for milk, only to realize I was out of coffee when I arrived home so I had tea, tried to feed the cats but I was out of cat food, ran to the store for cat food (but forgot to get coffee), tried to print shipping labels but ran out of printer ink, ran to the store for printer ink, tried to take my medicine but was out so I ran to the pharmacy for a prescription refill, tried to solder something small but ran out of oxygen, ran to the welding supply for a new tank but forgot my wallet, ran home, ran back to the welding supply for my oxygen tank.....and on and on it goes...

Some days I just can't get anything done

but then I find a bunch of wacko humongous seed pods of enormousness that look like they grew on the planet Venus and everything is awesome.

Nothing is done, but everything is awesome.

That's just the fact of the matter.

2011-09-16T10:28:00.003-06:00

It's a quiet blue morning here, a sure sign of the shift in seasons. This is my favorite sort of morning to photograph tiny, bite-sized portions of life.
Good morning!

I came across this wonderful quote recently:

"Art is the product of the creative process.

It is quantitative. There can be a

little or a lot of art in any work.

A piece is free to be conceptual, narrative, realistic,

abstract, beautiful , ugly, functional, or nonfunctional."

[Michael Boyd]

What do you think of that?

________________________________________

Today I am canning more of the bounty of my garden, popping into my studio to wrangle a few objects, answering as many emails as I can, eating peaches and sipping coffee.

I can't believe it's Friday again.

I have this ominous feeling lately that I'm letting the time of my life slide through my fingers too fast. I turn thirty this year. My heart laments that number, even though it's just a number -- it feels half way to somewhere. I feel swept away by time. Does that ever change?

___________________________

I like the

color of the squash blossoms

in the rain.

I hear the hens cackling.

Love feels so good, feels so much better than anger,
feels so much better than hurt,
feels so much better than anything else.

2011-09-15T23:45:00.005-06:00

We shouldn't be so quick to give up on each other.

Plain old fact:
I'll never give up on you.

Even if you do me wrong.
Even if you crush the bones of my soul.
I won't give up on you!

Not ever.

2011-09-14T10:27:00.001-06:00

Last night I set the alarm for 5AM.

This morning I hopped out of bed, made a thermos of coffee and drove up to Scout Mountain to watch the sunrise at 8000feet. I suppose I wanted to watch, face to face, the birth of a new day -- I wanted to see the dawning of possibility and then feel it actualized throughout the rest of my day.

That first touch of sun on skin is so warm and hopeful. I can feel the bird in my chest crest, fall away, and crest again on some sweet wind of opportunity, some great and blessed tide.

I sometimes imagine the first touch of sun on skin is as warm as holding a newborn child for the first time and since the dawning of a new day is similar in some ways to the courageous push, thrust and physical submission of mothering, I think every new sun, like every fresh child, is born good unto our world.

On days like today I know we're all going to be alright.

There's a strong sense of steadiness and cycles. Laws of physics are applied to human behavior and the turn of the earth -- we all suffer, we all rise and set.

We are all hated and loved.

We are all punished and rewarded.

Life is unfair but life is equal.

We celebrate our victories.

We mourn our failures.

We carry our respective burdens on our backs, in our minds, on the plains of our hearts -- each one of us hurts uniquely. Our individual healing is distinctive. Our wholeness of self is at once crumbling and rebuilding, newly constructed and renovated. This is growth. This is beauty.

This is life and life is good.

2011-09-14T10:03:00.000-06:00

Arpeggio Ring

[sterling & agua nueva]

Available in the shop sometime today.

2011-09-12T15:22:00.003-06:00

This is the second day in a row that Pocatello has been hit by afternoon thunderstorms.

It's so delicious. I hope it rains until the rain turns to snow.

I feel so refreshed by this weather. My skin is drinking

the water straight out of the air like

a sort of artificial-molecular-cellular-respiration.

The storms are breathing life into the marrow of my bones.

I can hear the neighbor's dog out crying on the front porch.

He's afraid of thunder.

What a baby.

2011-09-10T08:28:00.002-06:00

Evening chores are a true delight this season.

There's the hen tending (they like their grapes peeled),

vegetable and fruit harvesting (and some sort of canning most

evenings -- marinara sauce and salsa this week, every night...),

a kitten getting into trouble,

Plum begging for fetch,

Farley on the front porch surveying his territory,

Penelope munching on cherry tomatoes

and that gorgeous golden hour light sashaying its way down through the outstretched limbs of trees.

Summer had wings.

Fall feels auspicious.

2011-09-09T21:51:00.001-06:00

I guess we bought a Dodge 2500 Cummins turbo diesel with off-road racing suspension so we could haul a twenty-eight foot airstream trailer around North America...and so I could race the sunset. While the sun was sinking tonight, I was rumbling up to the top of the West bench in Pocatello and mark my words people, I spared no speed.

Yes.

The sky was fire.

Yes.

I loved The Creator in the face of all that fire and

was not consumed or burned but set aflame with the glory of grace.

Yes.

I fell off the edge of the earth with Idaho as we all spun around

on axis and then dropped into the blue of night.

And it was good.

All the trite junk that can clutter life was stripped away and I was just a girl on the mountainside. All things ridiculous lost their grip on my heart and slowly untied were the tethers wound round my soul.

I could breathe again.

So I breathed deep.

Stretched out.

Called the dogs in to my side.

Sang out loud to spangle the skyline with stars and then remained quiet and silver in the moonlight.

We rise and set. We know order, despite the chaos of our hearts.

There is constant breaking and mending. Fixing and tending.

Such is life.

I like who I am.

I like who I am becoming.

I should watch more sunsets.

So should you.

Something succulent this way comes:

2011-09-08T18:15:00.003-06:00

From the Naturally Occurring Objects Series:

Three solid cast components fabricated into one succulent whole.

For instance:
Take a succulent in sandy soil
shedding vert paddles from a full body,
dropping broken to earth
sections thought to be feckless and wasted,
tarnished and trite.

Likewise:
Break me down.
Divide me into portions.
Cast me out into the wind and dust
hoping I will not know roots again.

And so:
I'll always rise up, in mightier numbers than before.
These things grow wider, the spirit tidier.
Stand and wait with fresh eyes
for something succulent this way comes.

2011-09-06T17:42:00.003-06:00

[sterling (solid cast eucalyptus pod) and akoya pearl]

[Spare Necklace: sterling]

[Spare Necklace: sterling]

It's so quiet here.

The quiet is a sort of pit a pygmy would use to trap a vibrant tiger in some sweaty and tropical place.

I keep falling in -- arse over tea kettle -- into the quiet.

It's beautiful, silent and cool down here.

I can see the jungle above, waving broad and thorny leaves around,

but I'm removed from it

and that feels nice.

Out in the studio, the music played softly today.

I can't stand lyrics right now. The voices and words seem to

add to the noise in my head. I feel hypersensitive, to diction, words....a lack of words....too many words...words words words. It's Bach, Chopin and other musicalities keeping me company as I work.

My soul has felt so spare lately.

If it were a geographical space, it would be a windswept Siberian steppe:

winter grasses tawny and thin, buffeted by icy wind.

If it were a room, there would be white walls, tall windows, and a

humble white bed in the center of the space

dressed in alabaster sheets and quilts.

There is quiet here.

All things seem minimal.

Liminal.

It's coming out in metal forms and for that, I'm grateful.

A Smattering

2011-09-05T15:33:00.005-06:00

The light here this morning was a perfect winter blue.

I woke up three times today!

First at 3AM, I went out into the backyard simply because I wanted to be outside for a moment. The night air was cool, Mister Pinkerton wound himself around my feet, I could smell that the tomatoes were redder than they were the day before.

Again at 5AM I awoke to watch my friends do their final packing

and depart for their far away homes.

Then again at 10AM I woke up officially and laid in bed with a book and the kitten for a good hour or so before proceeding with my traditional ablutions.

With the help of a friend, I finally found and purchased one of these wonderful vintage chairs!

By the way, is there an official name for them?

I call it my throne.

Truthfully, it's dreadfully uncomfortable

to sit in but I like the feeling

of being in it, resting my arms on its scratchy

edges, feeling the high

back rise up and fan out like

a peacock tail while trying to see the world

objectively -- like Deborah did in the days of old.

To my left is one of these frothy little numbers.

I will sip it as I whittle down the unanswered emails and Etsy convos you have been waiting so patiently on for the past few weeks (and months, in some cases). Thanks for letting me take it easy this summer. Keeping this body stress free and letting it create when it needed to create has helped carry my spirits high these past few months and has allowed for some restoration and filling of my creative wells. I am eternally grateful to you for being so understanding when it takes me days or weeks to respond to your wonderful notes.

Actually, on a similar topic that has to do with you, allow me to say that I think of you all the time. I'm continuously thankful for you. I'm blessed to have you in my world, each one of you, whether you've made yourself known to me or not.

Thanks for giving me a reason, beyond myself, to write, photograph and make on a daily basis.

I cherish you

and that's the simple truth.

I hope you are having a splendid day.

Be well, dear friends.

2011-08-31T09:45:00.003-06:00

I have three of my dearest girlfriends coming to visit, all at once, tomorrow afternoon. They'll stay with me until Monday. This morning I am gathering the roses, sweeping the floors, beating the rugs and hanging the laundry out to dry. Steady company here since December of last year has been very good for staying on top of housework! I've been taking it easy lately and my tidying efforts are free of stress and relatively unhurried. There's a sort of gentle, tender lovingness that is being poured into preparing my home for these friends. I find myself putting a little extra elbow grease into cleaning the bathtub and when I snap the wet white towels before hanging them on the line, there's an extra zest to the whip of my wrists -- you see, I'm not cleaning for me, I'm cleaning for them. I want them to feel welcome and to enjoy where they sleep and eat while they're here because all of that is an extension of who Robert and I are as people.

I feel like all the company we've had at The Gables over the past nine months has finally taught me to enjoy preparing my home for friends and family! It's kind of wonderful. Actually, this past year has been a huge lesson in learning to slow down and enjoy all forms of work. I'm getting better at savoring life.

I can't wait to see my friends.

I can't wait for the four of us to be all in one

place for the first time in history.

Come girls, come!

I've prepared for you,

both my home and heart,

the doors are open.

Come in.

2011-08-30T09:34:00.006-06:00

Tudor Ring

[sterling silver]

I've been watching The Tudors.

It's a pretty good show and offers a fascinating look into history, a smattering of scandal and while I've been told I'm a rather naive person (blame it on the late blooming), it's shocking to see that the dark portion of human nature is consistent over recorded history.

There have always been jealous people scrapping with virtuous people and foxy men and women fighting for power: good men and women, bad men and women, people selling sex for position and rank, heart breaking and mending and the handful who are able to think independently (even if it means martyrdom) taking stands for what is right and good. History repeats itself.

When is someone going to come up with something new!???

HA HA!

That said, my favorite thing about The Tudors is when I get a close up glimpse at a fabulous piece of jewelry strung around Anne Boleyn's detestable little neck! Incredible!

Ornate.

_________________________

I was flipping through my jewelry box the other night and I found a vintage pearl and zircon brooch my mum gave me a couple of years ago. I was in the mood for something Tudor-ish out in the studio so I cast the face of the brooch in sterling and then made it into a ring. I'd hate to see it on a Boleyn finger, but it might look magnificent on you! It's heavy and lightly burnished so it merrily shines.

Tudoriffic!

2011-08-29T08:44:00.002-06:00

What a merry glow!

I went to higher country last night to get a deeper, cooler sleep.

The wind and rain shouted their way through the Douglas firs and buffeted Talulah's sides but

she held me tight and cozy, as she always does.

This morning the air is clean and clear.

Clean and clear.

2011-08-28T14:30:00.002-06:00

It's Sunday here.

A day of rest.

Frankly, I've been resting all week long, it's been too hot to work, there is/are:

*the issue of a heat induced eczema flare up on all the fingers of my right hand (keeping me awake at night even though I'm sleeping with ice packs on my hands)

*the fact that by noon every day my studio feels like a furnace (and I'm not a Shadrach, Meshach or an Abednego -- it's scathing and rather killing in there)

*perhaps a sort of creative apathy here has me barely keeping my head above water, I can't even sketch, lifting a pen to write or putting a camera to my face takes so much effort -- I have these spurts of emotional expression dropping into metal but nothing I can sustain...

*a trio of dogs who insist on sleeping directly on top of my feet which is very sweet and snuggly but far too warm

*cold baths, too many to count, in the middle of the afternoon, every day

*long runs in the heat of the day (why do I push and punish myself like that?), dipping my head in the spring creeks along the way, up to six times over the course of nine miles -- I have to run, there are so many things I need to distance myself from right now, the pace creates space...

*a forecast of thunderstorms -- oh I pray, I pray!

*RW over in Oregon leaping out of planes into wildfires -- remote and smokey, drifting about on up-air like a graceful jellyfish

*daydreams of the high country, snow capped Sawtooths, frigid mountain waters

*daydreams, I daydream so much these days, possible realities seem locked up in my mind and heart, I play them over and over, dusty pantomimes in my right brain that hold the promise of sparkle and gleam
*the slow and steady hunt for the perfect, gutted Airstream trailer

__________________________________

I'm ready for winter. If it snowed tomorrow, I could die tragically young and happy.

I think of sitting in snowbanks, cheerfully brushed all over by ice wind and early nightfall.

Doesn't that sound delightful?

Even turning pages of a book takes so much effort.

I feel stifled.

I am stifled.

I yearn for tundra.

Somewhere North of here, the snowshoe hares are thinking of turning white,

a squirrel is prideful about his caches of nutty debris,

a bear is fat on carrion and blueberries.

I'm drowsy with the rouge of heat.

This weather just won't do.

___________________________________

Even in the heat, there is clarity:

I keep realizing, repeatedly, that some things are just plain ridiculous.

There's no point in taking them seriously.

So I don't.

_________________________________________

In the meanwhile, the parlor is the coolest place to be.

Rhubarb is chasing skittering seashells across the floor, the dogs are passed out on

area rugs and the breeze has picked up, billowing the curtains like spinnakers

and I realize the cool is coming

in the rain and lightning, in the turning glances of fall,

in the promise of snow, skis and short days.

~~It's hot.~~

~~But I don't care.~~

~~I'm taking myself running~~

~~just so I can enjoy the freshness of~~

~~a good dunking in a mountain stream.~~
We're in the calm before the storm now with huge dark clouds looming and hinting at wrath above us. Let it rain.
Oh, let it rain.

2011-08-24T16:14:00.006-06:00

So every day

I was surrounded by the beautiful crying forth

of the ideas of God,

one of which was you.

[Mary Oliver]

[sterling & 23 karat gold]

I finally finished this little fellow today!

He's been on my studio bench for weeks now.

This is really, really, just a dear little ring.

The ring band and bird were sculpted and cast separately -- the ring band looks almost like a twig, it's so magnificently irregular and textural. The bird is a fairly sweet and simple form, without being abstracted. Quite nice.

He'll fly his way into the Etsy shop later this evening!

I hope you've all had a wonderful day.

It's time for a lime popsicle break here

and then a long, long run with Farley up on the mountain

before I relax for the evening...I'm thinking

caprese salad, lemonade and a good book out on the front porch.

How about you?

A Short But True Story:

2011-08-22T10:45:00.004-06:00

When he opens up a map

it can be very difficult to get his attention.

So I just jump around and scream:

"Catch me, Robert! Catch me!"

Until he catches me.

[more images here]

2011-08-19T12:19:00.007-06:00

Last night, RW came home for a visit.

It was quite by surprise.

I had been up the mountain running. It was dark when I opened the front gate and walked back into the yard with the pointers.

On the front porch was a quietly burning candle, an incredible and shockingly beautiful handful of osprey feathers,

a delicate little teacup and a perfectly preserved hummingbird.

I was confused for a moment.

Then I realized the gifts were from RW, because only RW could give me gifts as wonderful as these...gifts so elegant, wild, delicate and perfectly meaningful to me in every way.

I ran into the house searching madly for him and found him standing in the kitchen

with his beautiful, crooked smile.

I fell into his arms and cried.

I haven't seen him in a couple of months.

His presence...his presence here...is...

[..............................................]

Have a beautiful weekend, winged ones.

We shall too.

2011-08-18T19:01:00.002-06:00

Hello.

I am Rhubarb Ambrosia Honey Badger

and I now rule Jillian's studio space.

Yes. I have ear whiskers like an old man.

I love slightly warmed saucers of milk and waggling my

sassy little tail around like it's a flaming marshmallow.

Look at me.

I'm like a svelte Lithuanian supermodel.

2011-08-16T19:22:00.000-06:00

Naturally Occurring Objects Series -- Heavy Stamen Tidy Anther

[sterling & aquamarine]

I guess.

I guess I sometimes imagine something

and then I make it real.

2011-08-16T16:05:00.001-06:00

LØV from Vanessa Bruno.

Hit the much bigness button. Please.

Also, THIS.

For lots of pretty holes, scalloped edges and interesting

geometricals!

2011-08-15T12:04:00.002-06:00

[sterling, 23 karat gold & walrus tusk -- cut and polished by me]

2011-08-15T01:58:00.003-06:00

Small Bodies Ring

[A whole lot of sensual sterling, smooth and lightly burnished. Perfect for a woman who claims TOUCH as her primary love language.]

_________________________________________

It's strange.

How I work best is strange.

When I set about making this ring, I didn't think about the design, sketch ideas, or map out a plan.

I didn't make a template of any sort for the face of this ring.

I didn't take measurements.

I simply, and quite randomly, went about constructing.

I sat down at my bench,

reached for a sheet of sterling

and sawed into it

(I know that's a crazy thing to do what with current metal prices, but sometimes I just can't help myself).

I sawed an organic circle sort of shape.

I smoothed the edges and then raised the metal

before sinking it and putting everything together.

I didn't particularly think about the process.

I was fully present for each step of the construction of this piece.

This is my favorite way to work.

I love feeling lost in the moment of my craft, swimmingly at sea with silver.

I prefer a natural dialogue between me and the medium.

I don't like to pry. I like an easy flow.

The rapport is sweet.

The result is even sweeter.

There's some language of balance, some understanding of metal that speaks louder than all,

some dialect of design that conquers my studio space,

and I'm just a mad hatter adrift on whimsy,

a white feather on the wind...

I work it until my eyes like it.

Simply put.

________________________________

It was a good day here.

This morning, I took a moment to lay my burdens down while sipping coffee on the big rock by the peach tree.

The result was a sort of purity and freedom in a creative space I have been avoiding.

In the blue light, in the youth of day, there's so much grace,

I can't help but pray.

__________________________________________

Over the weekend, I came across this wonderful quote.

Do these words resonate with you?

I design jewelry mostly for women. My motto is "from having to being." Women today no longer want jewellery to show what they have, to show their status, but to show who they are, their essence.

[Jutta Munsteiner]

Do tell, what is your essence?

Mine is:

Wheat stalks, canola fields, alpine lake, geranium,

rainbow trout,

wild roses, delphiniums, ginger root, white, caribou tuft, sarsaparilla,

pick-up truck, quarter horse, silk,

antique camera, stained glass, leather bound, river water,

barefoot, goose down, pussy willow,

amethyst, snow,

skinny dipping, long sleeves, Chopin, blue grouse, spruce trees,

roasted beets, licorice, gosling, train tracks, aspen grove,

one room cabin, watercolor, VW bus, cowboy boots, rust...

2011-08-12T23:28:00.002-06:00

I'm just back from the Fort Hall Reservation powwow.

Powwows always make me cry.

I can't help but feel like I'm watching caged things learn to fly again.

They stomp around out there in a glorious swirl of color, texture and flash

and I feel the mustang of my heart rear up and the bison of my soul snort...

They dance like the wind.

I sat on damp grass between drum crews.

I felt the thud, deep in my marrow...over and over again...pushing blood through my body with the power of a freight train.

When the singing started, I think I sprouted wings.

I had to cover my ears or go deaf for the glory of it all.

There were dancers from Saskatchewan,

a drummer beside me from Alberta.

There was a joke about Regina.

I felt like my home was rooted all around me.

I felt ashamed for my blond hair, I wished it raven black.

I wanted to wear something beaded and bold.

My cowboy boots were especially turquoise under the night lights.

A moth tangled itself in my hair.

Sun rise.

Moon shine.

Human flight.

Powwow.

2011-08-11T18:15:00.003-06:00

Have I told you?

Have I told you that after RW and I eloped in Reno, we moved to Alaska to work for a rafting company?

Well, it's true.

I felt right at home there, being a Northerner by birth.

Our one room cabin was small, sweet and shabby -- our outhouse was stalwart and populated with desperate mosquitoes.

In the summer, when we were bored at midnight and still awake beneath a bright sky, we went fishing.

RW taught me to fish on the fly

and the trout were greedy, leaping rainbows under the sun that never sets.

I always forget about how much I belong up North,

until I return,

and it becomes so apparent to me once more

that I feel eternally sad and eternally glad

all at once

in my heart of hearts.

[sweetheart oldtimers]

Alaska was, as always, so right.

So quiet. So still on my soul.

So reflective and so cozy with (such very good) good company (perhaps soul family?), good food and copious cups of tea.

A home away from home (sometimes, I seem to have so many of those...).

I'm glad to be home in Idaho, with my pack, with my ripe and earthy beets roasting in the oven and the West bench gleaming in the sunshine.

Life is so good.
Everything is pretty awesome.

Even when it's crummy, it's good.

What does that even mean?

Well, I think it means, there's this small flame lit in my heart, most permanently, most unwaveringly, and even when the darkness descends there's a light here and the shadows are made merry.

I don't know what to call this light.

Perhaps.

Soul borealis.

Yes.

Soul borealis.

I go North and I miss RW.

RW, come home.

I miss you.

Take me North.

I love you.

Keep your boots together on your landings.

If the flames lick your heels, run fast.

Run to me.

And.

Dear Alaska,

Rise up. Always rise up. Wild and free.

Bright and lonesome.

Starfall and water rush.

Silver salmon and wolf howl.

Green flicker of sky lights and purity of snow.

I love you so.

The Duchess of the Hinterlands

2011-08-10T22:40:00.001-06:00

Hello Chickadees!

I've been away adventuring, but now I'm home.

I hope you're all well.

2011-08-05T09:14:00.004-06:00

She's so photogenic lately.

Happy weekending,
you sweet batch of beets.
xx
___________________________________________________

PS

The most spectacular thing I've seen all week?

Just now, whilst running my ten mile loop on the mountain,
I saw a red tailed hawk flying with an impossibly
large snake in its talons.
It was beautiful, dreadful and wild.
I'm convinced it was a once in a lifetime sighting.

How about you?