Never Measure Anything If You Can Help It

It's true. If you were to make a recipe of my life, it would consist of those eight words.

Herbapalooza!! - an Herbal Evenings Party in PA (photo by Scott P Yates)

I say that because the lovely Danica Zirkle (above, in green hat), recently asked me to share a few "recipes" from a recent Herbal Evenings Party with her friends - so here they are! Happy holidays, D - MUAH!!

I put "recipes" in quotes for a few reasons. First, the whole point of playing with herbs is to PLAY with them, and for these simple and safe blends, the only way you can do it wrong is by worrying that you're doing it wrong.

Second, I don't like following directions, so I see no reason to make them up for anyone else. One of my favorite pastimes is reading cookbooks and how-to books, but I don't view them as rules so much as success stories. So while I do take careful notes of my experiments and custom blends, I rarely follow them to a T - and neither should you! Having said that, essential oils are very concentrated, and a little goes a long way, especially when using them on skin.

Beloveds, life is open to interpretation. These are notes, and you're welcome to change them or follow them as you see fit. If you have questions, feel free to call me at (802) 578-7931. I'm happy to help!

Facial Scrubs and Masques

Tips: Facial masques should always be applied to damp, freshly washed (and/or scrubbed) skin, and followed by the moisturizer or toner of your choice.

Basic Recipe
1 part organic powdered milk
2 parts oatmeal
1 part ground dried herbs (lavender, calendula, chamomile, rose, catnip, raspberry leaf, etc.)
essential oils of lavender, carrot seed, atlas cedar and/or chamomile

Directions:

In a clean coffee grinder, blend oatmeal until it becomes a coarse powder.
Blend large herbs separately, checking every few seconds to make sure they're not too fine - a few pulses should do it. If using chamomile, you may have to remove stems.
Mix dry ingredients and add essential oils a few drops at a time until you reach the desired scent, stirring frequently. Add sparingly.
Store in a small jar, tin, or baggie - if using essential oils, they will lose their scent more quickly if stored in plastic.

To Apply:
Mix one tablespoon dry ingredients with enough liquid to form a paste (see variations by skin type, below). For a scrub, rub gently into face and rinse. For a masque, let paste thicken for 1 minute, spread thinly onto face, let dry, and rinse.

Optional Exfoliating Additions for Scrubs:
ground almonds (don't grind them too fine, or you'll end up with almond butter!)
ground sunflower seeds (ditto)
cornmeal

Variations by Skin Type
For dry/aging skin: Apply with cream or milk. Don't use dried peppermint.
For oily skin: Add 1 part brewer’s yeast and/or 1 or 2 drops tea-tree oil. Apply with witch hazel, rosewater, or milk.
For sensitive skin: Apply with rosewater, water, or chamomile tea. Do not use cornmeal or peppermint leaf. Test on inner arm before using on face.

Again, have fun, let me know how they turn out, and consider treating yourself and your friends to a personalized class or Herbal Evenings Party - you'll love what you learn!

News and Notes from New England!

Welcome back!

Since blogs (like plants) do require occasional tending, I figured I'd drag myself inside long enough to post a few quick updates:

First and foremost, Blackbird's Daughter will be winging her way back to Vermont for the summer, and bringing with her more herbs and fun than you can say "yum!" to. 
In between farm-work and woods walks, I'll be mixing up batch after batch of sensuous beauty products, decadent teas and treats, and natural medicines - and spreading the seeds of health and joy with everyone who wants to get their hands dirty and their noses happy!

From Green Kids' Parties to "Make-Your-Own" Herbal Evenings to "Kitchen Witch 101" classes and custom consultations, Blackbird's Daughter has the perfect way to add some herbal love to your life. As always, special requests, custom blends, new customers, and curious friends are most welcome, so send an email to blackbirdsdaughter@gmail.com and we'll mix up some herbal magic!

Also, I've got a giant order of deliciously inspiring ingredients on the way from Mountain Rose Herb Company, including a variety of exotic clays, essential oils, soothing plant-butters, and nourishing herbs, so if you've been wondering "When is she going to update the products pages?", the answer is "As soon as I get my paws in those boxes!!" (I'm so excited, I feel like a kid at Christmas!)

The arrival of wisteria days and tree frog nights here in New England signals the start of summer, and with it, the end of another beautiful spring-season. For me, Spring is the time to wake up, stretch, and look around with wonder at the cascade of surrounding miracles - and then start dreaming out loud about how to play with them. It's also the time of year when everything seems to happen at a fast-forward pace; nature and life-in-general making up for all those dark and dormant months by packing in more growth and adventure and work than seems possible.
Some personal highlights from the past month include restoring the family Peace Garden in New Hampshire, digging quahogs in Maine (and turning them into "chowdah"), and sleeping out under the stars in the Hudson River Valley - and that doesn't even include returning from Mexico!

Can one tiny season possibly hold anything else? I don't think so, so although summer doesn't "officially" start until mid-June, I'm officially bidding a loving adios to the season of Birth and New Beginnings...

...and extending a gleeful welcome to the season of Growth and Hard Play! Looking forward to sharing the green love,

 Blackbird's Daughter

PS- Wondering where all of these happy greenwitch photos are coming from? They're all courtesy of Mr. Scott P. Yates over at I SPY Creations; thanks Scott!

Archways, Art & Echoes of Escher

Today's random photo comes courtesy of recent Central American explorations... enjoy!

Aaaaand, we're back!

...And utterly grateful to be here.

After almost 2 months, 2 countries, poverty and decadence, ghettos and jungles, close encounters, sticky situations, spiritual epiphanies, flayed-open
fears, the kindness of strangers, homemade ice cream, illegal taxis, thirty foot cacti, moonlit skinny dipping, sweat lodges, street food, sick dogs, scorpions, Cuban cigars, fresh papayas, salsa dancing, emotional revelations, flirtations, prayers, songs, the hard-earned bones of a long-awaited book manuscript, and more blisters than I thought possible, I'm back in New England.

Tanned. Bruised. Pummeled. And finally -thankfully- humbly... whole.

I have apologies to make.

For the times I've looked down on simple pleasures I didn't understand, or let my fears trump my love. For the many times I thought love meant holding others to my standards, or holding myself back. For trying to do too much, too hard, because I was scared that the things I knew I could do would never be enough.

For assuming that anybody else's Path would look like mine, just because they happened to overlap.

I had my ass and my heart handed to me on this trip, and one of the things I learned was how much joy there is in appreciating other people's pleasures. So go out there and do all those things that make you happy, and know that if I didn't get it before, if I rolled my eyes or lost my patience or had some snarky reason why I wasn't going to join in...

...there's a good chance I still won't understand. But I'll do my best to love that it brings you joy.

There's more to follow, as I sort through laundry, memories, and the random odds & ends of the past two months' adventures. And of course, now I've got the next stage of my journey to plan. Feel free to come along on as much of it as it serves us to share; it's gonna be a doozy...

Top Five Best Kept Secrets About Tulum, Mexico (On the Cheap)

Here´s a sample article I wrote for an online travel mag. Enjoy!
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If you´re contemplating a visit to Tulum, Mexico, no doubt you´ve found your way to the many travel sites designed to lure you towards the perfect beaches, Mayan ruins, and underground cave-diving expeditions that await the adventurous, off-the-beaten-Cancun-path traveler - for a price, of course. Before you change those hard-earned US dollars into soon-to-be-spent pesos, however, here´s a list of ways to enjoy Tulum on the cheap, designed to keep you -and your wallet- full, happy, and ready to toast "¡Viva la Mexico!" over your next 2-for-1 margarita.
1) Eat local and you´ll eat well. Expect to pay steep American prices on the beach, slightly less outrageous ones on the main drag, and next to nothing at either end of town, where you can find good tamales and tacos for less than one US dollar, and fresh fruit popsicles for even less. Speaking of fruit, don´t overlook the fruiterias, or fruit markets, either, where a couple of bucks can keep you hydrated and in taste-bud heaven for days. As for las bebidas, keep an eye out for billboards offering drink specials - you´ll find plenty of half-price Margaritas and Cuba Libres (rum and coke with lime) all along the main street.
2) Bargains abound (but you wouldn´t know it from the price tags). As a tourist town, Tulum is priced accordingly, but fear not - with the right expression of indifference and "un poquito Español", a handmade hammock marked for eleven hundred pesos in the morning can easily be gotten for four fifty right at the end of the day. Though prices at the grocery stores and restaurants are fixed, everything else is fair game for a haggle - including taxis, if you catch them anywhere other than the main street. (Hint: plan on souvenir shopping on Sunday, when all the other shops are closed and the few open vendors are looking to make a sale).
3) Mayab, the locals´ bus. If you want a cheep ride from Tulum to Cobá, Playa del Carmen, or even Cancun, Mayab bus line is the way to go. A 250 peso taxi ride from downtown to Cobá will cost you twenty-two pesos on Mayab; even less if you catch it from the grocery store at the end of town. Another common option is hitchhiking; locals do it all the time, follow suit at your own risk.
4) The ruins are overrated (and other tourism sacrilege). While beautiful, the Mayan ruins at Tulum are overcrowded and disappointingly cordoned-off. For a more authentic, adventurous look at the architecture of the ancient Mayans, take the bus to Cobá, where you can rent bicycles and ride among the jungle ruins, stopping to climb a pyramid or wander through an ancient ball court at your leisure.
5) No guide, no problem. Between the locals, the international tourists, and the large number of expats who call Tulum "home", the town is filled with friendly, helpful people who are happy to point you toward good deals and fun adventures. And whether you´re traveling by yourself or with a group, a smile and an invitation to share a drink are all you need to find good company for any number of day trips, nighttime dancing, and future adventures - wherever your wanderlust takes you.

¡Viva la Mexico!

Heya, gentle readers! This post (brief as it is) is coming to you live from a hole-in-the-wall internet cafe in Tulum, Mexico, where I´ve been busy diving in underwater caves (called cenotes), eating tamales from street vendors, climbing ancient Mayan ruins, snorkling with sea turtles and baracuda, salsa dancing until four in the morning (and drinking waaaaaaaaaaaaay too much tequila in the process - no mas!), getting far more tanned than any gringa has a right to become (and yes, my cautious familia, I promise I´ve been wearing more sunscreen than clothes, though that´s not hard to do when you live in a sand-floored cabana on the beach)!

A few travel notes from my journal:

Judy Collins´Amazing Grace piping out from the Los Arrecifes cantina to the accompanioment of waves and full moon, ¨coming in at #57 this week¨from an old Top Whatever countdown list - way better than the almost constant tinned music that they usually play. Paradise paved, certainly, but not completely lost.

The bicycle pushcart from the bakery that a teenage boy drives around town selling sweet buns from and honking his horn as he passes.

Opening coconuts filched from the trees surrounding Los Arricefes with a machete every morning, squeezing in fresh limes, and drinking straight from the shell.

Skinnydipping at sunrise.

The ghost crabs that scramble up through the sand and out across the ground in search or whatever food scraps they can find, leaving their cuneiform trails through the dunes and across the floor of my cabana.

The gecko that squeeks at me from the thatched roof every night.

Almost climbing coconut trees, but chickening out every time at about 5 feet.

Papayas with lime at every breakfast since arriving in Mexico.

Swimming in the aqua waters off the Cancun coast with Matthew, and carrying him around on my shoulders. His urchin look - red crocks, long shorts, blue and white striped shirt, topped with too-long red hair and his uncle´s "Fifel the Mouse" hat atop a grinning, pointy-chinned kid face.

Feeling beautiful. Long shorts, ranchera hat, sarong, or (most often) nothing but a bikini, hibiscus blossom, and cowrie shell earrings. Barefoot. Tangled hair, curved tummy, and still-young everything else. Mexico makes me feel beautiful.

Alright, amigas y amigos, enough posting from Paradise. I have an evening to attend to.

Living In Season (also, some nifty news & NOFA notes)...

...all brought to you by your favorite vagabond herbalist, who finally got some business cards printed up, just in time for this year's Northeastern Organic Farming Association winter conference. Also handy as I travel down to Mexico this Friday.

Did I say Mexico? I meant Mexico. Viva la aventura!

Let's do a little backup, catch up, "what the heck has Blackbird's Daughter been doing for the past month and a half, 'cause it sure as shooting wasn't running a blog" Q&A, shall we?

The quick answer is that Blackbird's Daughter has been trusting in the slow, dark, incubatory energy of the post-Yule, pre-Imbolc season, that's what.

The longer answer is that I've also been working incredibly hard to envision and craft what the next growing-cycle of my life will look like, while also striving to stay grounded and present in the here-and-now.

The tricky part of this late-Winter, early-Spring time (and yes, according to the Euro-pagan -for lack of a better phrase- calendar, it is now early Spring!) is that there's not a whole lot you can actually do, other than wait to see how all those bulb crops come up, tighten your belt, plan out your new plantings, and enjoy the quiet of the woods. Sure there's lots of stuff like missing buttons and old mail and the back of the refrigerator to attend to, and that's all fine and good and necessary, but it doesn't have the same feel of easy production as, say, a few months from now, when you won't be able to set foot outside without walking over parties of tender, delicious little baby dandelions and plantains and other weedy delectables, all popping their nutritious and impossibly green little selves out of the ground and shaking their little baby groove things in the wet and warming air. I don't even know what to call them, they're so many and cute and everywhere, like a blanket of tiny green rainbow gatherings with miniature drum circles and euphoric ant dancers all over the place. Those ecstatic, brave little plant-friends aren't just adornment for the lush and muddy soil, they are a full-on, plan-ahead, bring-the-kids Event; a not-to-be-missed Happening unto themselves.

But of course, that time is not this time, and this time is, by most accounts, pretty darn stark. Money's tight. The apples are wrinkled. There are only so many root vegetables you can cook in so many ways before you find yourself re-rummaging through the back-of-the-cupboard international cookbook pile, desperate for any legume-based culinary inspiration, and even those $5.99 boxes of insipid, pinkish strawberries start to look like a possibility.

Luckily for us, it's not actually that long a season. I know, I know, I can feel readers' polar-fleece-lined indignation from here, but bear with me on this one:
I'm not saying that almost six months of cold isn't a long time - I'm saying that it isn't just one extended limbo of non-growth and desolation. What we think of as "Winter" is actually comprised of multiple seasons: Winter (from November 1 through January 31), and Spring (Feb. 1 through April 30). This doesn't show up on the current American (political) calendar, but then neither does Presidents' Day on mine, so I guess we're even. (For the full and righteous eco-faith shebang, you gotta git on over to the Mystic's Wheel of the Year - go on, git!)
The way I've taken to viewing the year means that while lots of folks are bemoaning a dull and dreary landscape, I'm taking emotional refuge in a richly diverse series of gloriously minute shifts and soul-expanding beauty. Look at it this way:
When the year ends at Samhain (October 31), we have three months to reflect on and cast off the old patterns of the previous year before Spring is born at Imbolc (Feb. 1). Now that Spring is here and the castings of the previous year have fully sunk into the earth to fertilize the new one, we can look forward to the growth that is quickly working its hidden magic beneath the soil. The past few months have been a time to let go and relax into the greater cycle, acknowledging that we've accomplished all we could with last year. It's done. Let it go. It's time to allow ourselves to have faith in what's new.In the counseling world, this would be considered the Season of Closure, followed by the Season of New Beginnings. (Mumma, I'm giving this one to you- the "Mental Health Wheel of the Year" - see bottom of post.)

There's powerful medicine in this particular season of darkness, but if we're not used to living cyclically, it can be a time of great depression and emotional difficulty. We can remedy that by 1) accepting the Truth that nature, the planet, and our bodies are telling us, and 2) letting go of the rigid expectation that we strive for chronic consistency. This (often self-imposed) drive for uniformity & peak performance is akin to planting a tree and then expecting it to take root, acclimate to its new surroundings and climate, bud, blossom, bear fruit, produce sap, store nutrients for later, use those nutrients, photosynthesize, grow a healthyMycorrhizal network, interact with said network, grow taller, insulate itself from cold, feed millions of critters (both minuscule and large) etc etc etc....all at the same time. We wouldn't expect that of our plant allies, so why on Earth do we expect it of ourselves?
This sort of seasonal disconnect isn't just unrealistic on a personal level, it's incredibly unhealthy systemically, culturally, and planetarily, and it's a recipe for exhaustion, burn-out, illness, and a whole host of other unnecessaries.

So while it's true that I've been staying busy bopping up and down New England, selling my car, reconnecting with my amazing and talented sister-goddess (you can find her amidst the vanilla-scented cloud over at Life Is Short. East Dessert First.), planning for a spur-of-the-moment trip down South to explore the Curanderismo (herbal medicine) of Mexico, attending the NOFA Winter Conference, and planting seeds of possibility for this summer, I've been consciously working at respecting the fact that this particular liminal time in my life is both necessary and healthy. And you know what?

It's working.

I've been in Vermont for eight years now, and the longer I stay, the shorter the winter feels, and it's got nothing to do with global warming. It's the fact that I quit my jobs and got out of my car.

Seriously.
Here's what my old Winter schedule used to look like:
-Get up in the dark.
-Drive down gray city roads lined with gray, exhaust-covered snow to my gray and green place of employment.
-Stay inside for the entire time it was light out, with occasional breaks to accompany students somewhere or dash across the parking lot for a pre-meeting cup of coffee.
-Drive the same gray route home in the deepening dusk.
-Repeat.

Here's a sample of what it looks like now:
-Get up when I want.
-Work for someone else when I want.
-Work for myself when I want.
-Go outside when I want.
-Travel when I want.
-Repeat (when I want).

This new schedule leaves me very broke, extremely open to possibilities, intensely aware of my choices & challenges, and pretty darn happy. It forces me to be consciously vulnerable. It lets me be stressed out in way that I have control over changing. It teaches me to breathe.

And for the first time since I was a kid, it gives me the opportunity to really live with and in my surroundings, experiencing the climate and ecosystems the way we used to, from our feet on up.

On that note, I'd like to offer a huge thanks to NOFA and all the amazing agriculturally-minded folks that attended this year's Winter Conference.
Thanks for bringing the median age of farmers down for the first time in over 40 years. Thank you for revitalizing our soil and keeping our food chain real, healthy, and local. Thanks for taking on the absolutely critical role as the next generation of farmers, growers, bee-keepers, and more. Thanks for following your passion.

I guess the long answer to the question that started this all - What have I been doing? - is simply that. Following my passion. It's all I know how to do. But I do it well.

The Mental Health Wheel of the Year

In which Seasonal Affective Disorder is not an illness, but a positive sign of unconscious connection to our animal, place-based Selfhood; a "sane response to an insane world"; a 'symptom' of deeply-rooted wellness and an opportunity to grow and live in synchronicity and ease with Nature.

Samhain Season – active (act of) change making

Winter Solstice – closure

Imbolc Season– planning and readiness, new beginnings

Spring Equinox – new changes, skill growth, reflection on new needs

Beltane – big new change/awareness of possibilities/fertility of choice

Summer Solstice – maintenance/balance

Lammas – harvesting new changes

Autumn Equinox –reflection, readiness for change

For those who don't know, my mom is a pretty amazing holistic mental health counselor. She founded a practice called Liminal Therapy, where she references things like the hero's journey and helps her clients change "I should really..." to "I could really...". Here's a quote from her:

“Liminality”
Refers to the middle stage of change, the threshold between what was, and what is yet to be.
It is when we are forced by circumstance or choice to leave what is familiar; to journey into a place of uncertainty. It is a normal part of being human.

So inspiring! Anyway, I bet she does amazing stuff with this one :)

A Prayer for a Stranger

The travels are by no means over, but as of about 12:30 last night, I'm finally back in sunny, snowy New Hampshire, enjoying a cozy, cuddly Christmas with family. We're all about to gather up for what my mom has dubbed the "Chanukah for Christmas" dinner, and I'm feeling pretty euphoric about the whole thing, especially seeing my grandparents - there's a sort of mental "happy puppy wiggle" going on in my head right now.

Much love to all the fellow travelers, hosts, and dear sweet people I've met along the way - thank you for your hospitality, warmth, generosity, and spirit.

Also, I'm sending out a special prayer out to a street kid named Sean who I met in New Orleans. I have no way of thanking him or his family, but if you don't mind, I'd like to invite you to send a minute of warm wishes out to kind-hearted and down-on-his-luck young man who took me in and under his wing, despite having so very little to call his own.
I didn't blog about it, but I spent a homeless night in the Big Easy, and it actually was easy due to Sean's hospitality. When my lodging plans fell through, he took me under his wing and gave me a guided tour of the side of the city I wanted to know but would never have gotten to see withouut his protection. Gritty, archetypally roiling, and Dickensian in the way I imagine most cities' underbellies are, the streets of the French Quarter are an intense place; a purgatory of dark magic and old energy - and kind-hearted dancers in the dark.

A Prayer for Sean

Sean, I hope that you're ok this Christmas season. More than ok, I pray that you are safe and reunited with your family. I pray that you're warm. I pray that you have enough to eat. I pray that you're healthy. I pray that you have a new guitar, and that you're playing it for your little girl, and it brings you both joy. May you find happiness. May you find sobriety. From one traveler to another, I wish you a way in from the many cold winds of your life; a pathway out of the purgatory you've been traveling through and into a place of peace. Thank you for befriending a stranger on a rainy night. May the Universe hold you sacred and loved, and surround you with people who treat you kindly and love you for your inner Godlight. Wherever you wander, wherever you are, may your feet find the path that leads you Home.

Citizen of the Planet

Alanis Morissette has an amazing song called "Citizen of the Planet" that's been resonating with me ever since a new and dear friend had me listen to it about eight states ago. One of the lines talks about-
-you know what? I'm not gonna do it justice. Here, you listen and tell me what you think.

......................................................
Citizen of the Planet
I start up in the North, I grow from special seed
I sprinkle in with sensibility
From French and Hungarian snow
I linger in the sprouting until my engine’s full

Then I move across the sea
To European bliss, to language of poets
As I cut the cord of home, I kiss my mother’s mother
Look to the horizon

Wide eyed, new ground
Humbled by my new surroundings

I am a citizen of the planet
My president is Kwan Yin
My frontier is on an airplane
My prisons: homes for rehabilitating

Then I fly back to my nest,
I fly back with my nuclear
But everything is different
So I wait

My yearn for home is broadened,
Patriotism expanded by callings from beyond
So I pack my things, nothing precious
All things sacred

I am a citizen of the planet
My laws are all of attraction
My punishments are consequences
Separating from source the original sin

I am a citizen of the planet
Democracy’s kids are sovereign
Where the teachers are the sages
And pedestals fill with every parent

And so the next few years are blurry,
The next decade’s a flurry of smells and tastes unknown
Threads sewn straight through this fabric
Through fields of every color, one culture to another

And I come alive and I get giddy
And I am taken and globally naturalized

I am a citizen of the planet
From simple roots through high vision
I am guarded by the angels
My body guides the direction I go in

I am a citizen of the planet
My favorite pastime edge stretching
Besotten with human condition
These ideals are borne from my deepest within

......................................................

...and they are.

Backstory, Bounty, and Blessings from the Universe (sometimes painful, always good)

A great big "Thank You!" to whoever slipped fifty dollars into my coat pocket at some point between Georgia and Mississippi. Seriously? Seriously. I'm tickled and humbled and totally grateful.

Everyone keeps saying these adventures of mine will make a great book, but I'm pretty sure the above example and the following Cliff's Notes version sum it all up:

I travel. I give away herbs. I open my heart, strangers open their homes, and miracles occur. Together, we turn Enough into Plenty.

How far-out awesome is that?

................................................

Of course, that's not the full story.

A year ago I told my students I was leaving.

I didn't tell them how sick I'd gotten; how my adrenals were shot and my heart was heavy and I could barely make it to 2:15 before collapsing at my desk. I didn't tell them what I couldn't yet tell myself; that my six-year relationship was also reaching its desperate, terrifying, life-altering end, and with it, all the dreams and stability my partner and I had worked so hard to craft. I didn't tell them how hard I was trying to hold things together, or how scared I was of not knowing what would come next, or how I was so busy vacillating between euphoric and desolate, I couldn't tell if my inner self was singing, screaming, or just plain numb.

Instead, I told them how much I loved them, that I was looking forward to traveling and cooking and learning about plants, and I hoped someday they'd do the same.

I had no idea that three months later, I'd find myself on the other side of the world, prostrate and sobbing before the Goddess of Compassion. Or that three months after that, I'd move to a tiny, one-room cabin at the edge of the woods, throw myself into a new job, and leave three months after that, so I could spend the next three working my way from Pennsylvania to Mississippi, cooking breakfasts for strangers out of my car and dispensing tinctures and chocolates, bath salts and teas, from the depths of an ever-rotating reserve.

A season of death. A season of germination. A season of growth. A season of change.

Once again, we've come full circle, and I find myself marveling at the painful, wounded, necessary place I was in back then, and how little it resembles the (sometimes) painful, (mostly) healthy, and completely necessary place I've arrived at now.

Then again, a year ago, I still thought the right combination of willpower, stick-to-itivness, and emotional duct tape could keep the swiftly severing threads of my chosen life-rope from snapping apart. A year ago, I had no idea that in the end I'd find the strength to saw through them myself, choosing to lay the clean-cut ends down with love and reverence, rather than tear myself ragged in a futile tug-of-war against the inevitable.

I remember driving through the frozen streets of Burlington, singing and re-singing the same two lines of a song I've yet to complete:

I had nothing left to cling to
once my bridges were all burned
I felt ashes slip through my fingers
each a lesson that I'd learned.

................................................

Change can be a scary thing. Sometimes it manifests as a choice, and other times, it leaves us gasping and flailing, scrambling to stay upright in a newly-overturned world. Whether we're responding or reacting, anticipating or recovering, it's all part of the Journey. No one's immune. No one's exempt.

And no one's alone.

Namaste,

Blackbird's Daughter

PS- Funny how the other definition of change - the leftover bits of riches that most of us have scattered through our pockets and cars, the dull and shiny pieces we pool together when we're desperate and worried that we don't have enough - means pretty much the exact same thing.

Beauty in my Mailbox

Today my friend Dave sent me a link to this article by Maira Kalman.
I love farmers. And I love writers. And since I was busy celebrating Thanksgiving with the Hare Krishnas and my wonderful host family down here in Mississippi (which I also loved), I figured I'd take a moment today to send out my gratitude to you all as well.
Thanks for reading, and for your warm emails and funny comments and for generally letting me know that what I do is interesting and of value in the world.
Thank you for being the kind of people I miss, the kind of people I can tell stories about, the kind of people that make me simultaneously want to stay -stay and hug your children, pick your plants, craft beautiful homes and meals and medicines and memories together- and go, so that I can learn enough, gain enough experience and common sense and direction to do so.
Much joy to you all - joy and thanksgiving!

Song in Progress (somewhere in Mississippi)

Think Joni Mitchell meets Ani Difranco.

It feels so good
To get my feet back under me on the ground
Now I'm traveling down, down, down
Down South again, don't know when I'll be back home
Back up North, back where I belong
Where I belong (repeat 3x)
And it's been so long since I felt the cold
And I love this car but it's getting old
Love this trip and I love the fun
Taking joy in the setting sun
Take my pleasure in the rising tides
Change of the moon, thought of your eyes
Yeah, I'm twice burned with half a plan
But I got enough food and I need no man
Need no man (repeat 3x)
I do what I can
To be happy without the things I don't need
Letting go of guilt and greed
And those moments of fear that I ride so hard
Shake 'em off shake 'em down open the door and get back in my car
Back in the car (repeat 3x)
The sky's gotten dark
But I've still got a ways to go
Signs flash on a river of road
It's a rare night that I feel this incomplete
With only me in the driver's seat
In the driver's seat (repeat 3x)
The road is sweet
And tough but there're tricks I know
And I want things fast but I'll take 'em slow
Still I want roots and I want them now
Miss the dirt and I miss that town
Don't know if it's where I belong
But I've got time and I've got this song
I've got this song (repeat 4x)
Yeah I take my pleasure in the setting sun
Spinning wheels and what I've begun.

Goodbye Vermont!

In my case Pilgrim's Progress consisted in my having to climb down a thousand ladders until I could reach out my hand to the little clod of earth that I am.

Follow that will and that way which experience confirms to be your own.

-Carl G. Jung

So it's Monday morning, here in the luscious green mountains, and I'm [insert tongue firmly into cheek] About to Embark on An Epic Adventure. I've been planning this for months, in a haphazard, practical dreaming sort of way, and when people ask me why - why do I want to leave all of this comfort behind to sleep on the ground and eat weeds for four months? - I have my standard pat answers as to why. "I'll never be more free than I am now," I tell them, or "I want to explore the landscape before it all looks the same." Really, I'm not sure what I'll find, or why it really is time to go. I just know that it is.

And since there's no point in resisting walking one's path, as chock-a-block full of learnable moments and blessedly, painfully, beautifully Real experiences as it's bound to be - for if there's one thing I've learned from studying all those myths and archetypes, it's this - I might as well go and live out my story, as best as I'm able.

All of which leads me to the present moment, typing these last few words and watching as the sweetest eight-year-old in the world attempts to cure her hiccups by pinching her nose and holding her breath. She's all bright sparrow-eyes and white blond chaos and soft, glowing skin in the morning lamp-light.

"I can hold my breath for twenty seconds," she informs me. There's a pause. "Twenty-two!" Another pause, and then,"Twenty-nine -pant, pant- that's almost thirty." Higher and higher and higher.

...If you'll excuse me, I have some children to snuggle before going outside to pour champagne on my front fender and sallying forth into the brightening day. Adventures ho!