Everything,

I thought I knew, 

In fact I did not know. 

And all those things,

I did not know, 

Will show me how to grow.

PART 1: A Solid Green

    June has come ’round with solid green hues on leaves and fewer bird choir members to snack upon the feeders. I wash my hair with lake water of only the best sediment and loam and pause to blow bubbles on the surface. A pileated woodpecker shrieks abruptly greeting the forest morning. His call to the nest reminds me of the noontime sirens forewarning the August tornadoes. Although the pileated’s song is a little more throaty and jagged, it still has the same piercing effect through forest trees as that of the town’s daily heed. And I wonder, is the whole world forewarning me?

PART 2: Lost and Found

    On the last Sunday in May, my mother and I hurriedly gathered all of our belongings and rushed downtown. The sun finally poked through the clouds as if to lay some shine upon the people gathering in the streets. As we drove, we spoke of our plan of action. If either one of us felt uncomfortable, we would leave. If the cops started getting physical with protestors, we would leave. And of course, stick together always. We began our journey towards the city an hour later than the march start time. We knew only of the meeting place and had no idea whether the march would still be occurring. The plan was to take the Locust street exit and follow the police blockades East. We circled around and caught sight of late protestors heading towards the police station. We quickly parked on 6th and walked the rest of the way. 

    The neighborhood was alive. People were joining from every direction with signs held high in gloved hands and shouting “No justice, no peace.” muffled through masked faces. Some were passing out water and juicy clementines. Others were waving from their doorsteps or bumping music wildly from their BLM decorated vehicles. From the moment we started walking, the hairs on my body stood on end, to attention, electrified. There seemed to be an overhanging heaviness amongst the crowd, perhaps some spirits of the past come to bear witness. 

    We gathered with the rest of the group on the intersection of MLK and Locust. There were hundreds of folks listening intently to individuals holding megaphones in the center of the road. I couldn’t help but notice the heavily armed policemen guarding the front steps and rooftop of their station while Milwaukee’s Martin Luther King Library sat silently side by side, closed and dark. A thought flickered in my mind that we could all assemble inside and read, read it all together, but that was for another time. 

    My mother and I chanted and whistled, clapped and howled, but mostly we listened. I wondered occasionally what she was thinking. To have gone through this very protest 50 years prior and now to do it again with her daughter. Of course, she would do it 500 more times with her daughter, with her granddaughter, and with her great-granddaughter, but that notion only goes so far. She taught me to plan and to love but now was the time for physical and monetary support for our black communities. I made a pact with myself then and there that I would do everything in my power to begin again. I would acknowledge everything I claim to be as a white woman in this torn society. Then I would start again as an ally, the one I was born to be. 

PART 3: New Eyes

    If you asked me two weeks ago about my Summer 2020 plans, I would have replied simply reconnecting with myself and with my home, Wisconsin. That meant listening inwards, learning how to be curious, soaking in the waters, practicing more cello, and coming to terms with a major life shift but also recognizing this piecemeal process, one day at a time. 

    Sunday, May 31^st, will now be my response to anyone who asks me about my Summer 2020 plans. Last Sunday ripped off the privilege bandage and revealed all the work undone. I’ve gone through every emotion that all new and old white allies are feeling. The guilt, the shame, the disgust, the anger, the angst, the pain are cracking us wide open and rightfully so. Let us all see my ancestors, the Maryland planters, the Mayflower pilgrims, the New England farmers, the Midwestern businessmen. Let us look closer to see what lives they have claimed and convinced to be less than. Then let us look towards me, a teacher, an artist, a communicator, an organizer. Where has my complacency landed me today? I can say with certainty that I have never claimed to own any individual. I can say with certainty that my choices have not lead to someone’s immediate death. But, I cannot give my title as educator any validity until I take my new path of ally-ship seriously. I will wake up every morning and say, “How can I be the best ally today?” and “What can I learn in order to heal my future from my wretched past?” I will be the sage. I will cleanse and heal. 

PART 4: Born-Again 

    I do not claim to be an intellectual. I do not know that I am touched by something bigger than me or feel any different from the average body breathing on the street. I will never ask anyone to follow me, except maybe my little fox so she does not lose her way. I think, though, that I am ready to rewrite everything I know. The entire concept is breathtaking. I feel like a babe laden with ancestral chains. I see the world opening up and exploding in fireworks of so many hopes and changes and yet, I am still unaware of all that tethers me. 

    I feel magic around me everywhere but cannot seem to harvest it or ingest it so that I may pass it on to the newest generations. I have only just begun to understand connection. I think it may be the answer to everything. Freedom may truly be what connection is at its core. Freedom may be the connection found in communing with history, or with magic, or with children through their eyes. 

    This is where I will begin. 

    What appears “curiouser and curiouser” is the way in which details come to light. Time slows to a heartbeat and keeps around hunger and sun direction. Summer arrives via humidity resting in pools on the floor and in my hair fixing to a frizzy halo atop my head. Lilah basks in the gentle Midwestern sun streaming through the front door, only lifting her head to stalk scurrying chipmunks. Gabe delves deep into maps, and boat books, and fishy guides until the wee hours of the morning and I practice cello. By and by, the bird choir gains a certain sense of familiarity with our house traipsing and coffee grinding. Spring peepers and bluegills eye me in my mustard bikini right before I take the daily plunge into the chilly lake. The waters are dark and deep, sort of an over-steeped English Breakfast brown, and stacked with millions of mosquito larvae squiggling next to shore. The first hair-raising storms of the summer months blow through the forest, testing bird nest structures and chick survival but also turning trees chartreuse overnight. I continue to write letters using coloring book paper and take too many pictures of the male ruby-throated hummingbird, who displays his stunning neck proudly to the female nestled in the pine. Sometimes in the early afternoon he’ll dance for her, swooping in large, quick curves to catch the light. I secretly hope he will always dance for her.

    There are moments when I feel my toes touch ground, when I feel something inside me settle. My natal chart is chalkful of fire signs but privately, I hold fast to my earthy Taurus in Venus. Don’t get me wrong! I love flourishing energy, spontaneous adventures, cooking without a plan, dancing all night, and storytelling with strangers, but I also crave a home. The need for a physical plot with a garden to harvest roils those inner coals hotter every birthday. There is something sacred about a home space; whether it’s an altar of the mind, or four walls and a roof, or both. Since my youngest childhood memories, I have built this altar of the mind. It is tweaked and steadily engrained with each calendar year. I send some delicate thoughts out into the universe hoping someday to be rewarded, and maybe, just maybe, I check Zillow 4 or 5 times a week. 

    In light of all that makes us feel unsettled, we are lucky enough to have 3 very supportive families who are an easy couple hours drive away from our summer landing spot. It is surreal to sit around the table and know that we could easily come back to see a nephew’s swim meet, a mother’s choral performance, a brother’s birthday, or just to plant some Russian sage in our stepmother’s garden. In previous visits home, we would fly or drive 1,000 miles in a flurry of a maximum 5-day stay and feel an extreme pressure to make the best of every ticking second. Now there is a sweet, quiet relief that hangs over each conversation. There is peace that there will be more of everything together. 

    This trek home is one drenched in faith. Not necessarily one of a higher power, but more a faith in the future. My tendency is to lead first with heart intuition and Gabe with realist conclusions. We mostly even each other out beautifully but on occasion, miss one another’s mark completely. In those moments, it is when the most learning occurs. In the past, I have given way to learning more efficient paths for planning and he let go and dreamt with me, but this move home was a journey of the heart. There were many discussions of failure and lost opportunities. There were tearful arguments and overdrawn checking accounts. There were endings left unfinished and hopes shoved by the wayside. Yet, our communities stepped up to pay forward every ounce of love and have continued to check in.

    For now, we will commune with the summer months: deep-fry walleye, suffer from the scourge of mosquitos, read to escape, paddle new waters, snuggle the furbeast, tie flies for big musky dreams, pick off ticks and singe them on the stove, knead biscuit dough 15 times, practice spiccato the way Mendelssohn would have wanted it, greet the hummingbird couple, and cross our fingers and ankles that our faith and hearts know what lies ahead. 

Day 15 arrived and ended with what felt like 2 lifetimes of feelings and 2 seconds of experiences. Yet our short time here has been no less than exciting. There are of course the daily normalities to keep us grounded and the summer to-do list to light a fire under our asses, but that master puppeteer called life has thrown us a “couple-two-tree” curveballs along the way.

Our dog Delilah, or Lilah, or Dings (short for Dingleberry), is a wild mutt mix of primarily Boxer and Beagle with some Shepherd, Chow Chow, and Cattle Dog thrown in somewhere. Lilah can seem akin to the saintly first child but also the devil incarnate according to local rodents. She unfortunately perfected her hunting expertise the last few years and 3 days ago proved that statement. Personally, I have never experienced the defensive insertion of porcupine quills but Delilah’s muzzle sure as hell did. Luckily, Gabe intervened with a few quick and nimble moves and caught Lilah before she went back for more. She ended up with only 3 quills, a relief, and Gabe removed them with little bloodshed. Cross your fingers for no infection! 

With Lilah on high mammal alert, Gabe and I have turned our sights on local bird and plant identification. The cabin’s screened-in porch is surrounded by feeders along the perimeter. The regular visitors include purple finches, gold finches, orioles, downy woodpeckers, chickadees, cowbirds, rose-breasted grosbeaks, nuthatches, swallows, and too-many-to-keep-track-of warblers. Occasionally, we’ll get a fluorescent, ruby-throated hummingbird gracing us with a deep winged buzz swooping in for dainty sips of sugar water. I never knew how much I missed the cackles, hums, singsongs, and trills of my hometown bird choir. The Spring flora of the woods sticks close to the forest floor and cautiously keeps in conversation with the skies above. Ivory white trilium, golden trout lilies, and small purple ground cover makes the ATV trails look like the path to the pearly gates. Who knows what the next few weeks will bring to our feeders and forests? 

Mid May, the bringer of ever-fluctuating weather, gives us glimpses of summer sun but never with any  consistency to claim the seasons have officially changed. Of course Gabe seems to hop on the water no matter the weather. His internal drive for fishing is something I admire and wish I could bottle for myself. Fortunately, Gabe always understands my lacking outsdoorsman knowledge and is a patient and willing teacher. I’ve tagged along on a couple river floats recently in order to gain back my sea legs while also relearning good paddling skills. For our first river trip and my first ever Wisconsin float, we drove a tad Southwest to drop in for a short spree down the Wolf River. Lilah’s porcupine incident began the expedition but since Gabe and I remained relatively unscathed, we pushed on. 

Wisconsin has a way of fooling those who think sunny days automatically mean warm days. A good, steady North wind gust on a bluebird afternoon will send anyone back home if ill-prepared. We layered up in thick flannel and wool Kromers. We packed hearty snacks, a camera, all things dog, and sailed off in search of fish. Deep red lily pads lined the riverbed sprouting just below the surface. Strands of green algae caught in clumps along the pad stems and waved lazily in the current. Small tails of black crappies hid within the thick muck while keeping an eye on the large boat above. The wind died down and the current slowed. Gabe caught a few bass, a small northern pike, and moved what seemed to be a 35+ inch northern right before takeout. If the whole trip was for anything, it was for that child-like glee. 

Besides fishing and touring around Forest and Oneida county, I’ve been busy cooking and baking up a storm. Below are the some of the bomb recipes y’all should give a taste.

FOOD

Rhubarb Honey Shrub: http://nwedible.com/rhubarb-honey-shrub/

Vegetable Soup with Harissa:https://www-wholenourishment-net.cdn.ampproject.org/v/s/www.wholenourishment.net/blog/2015/9/chunky-vegetable-harissa-stew?amp_js_v=a3&amp_gsa=1&format=amp&usqp=mq331AQFKAGwASA%3D#aoh=15893251384404&amp_ct=1589325165839&referrer=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.google.com&amp_tf=From%20%251%24s&ampshare=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.wholenourishment.net%2Fblog%2F2015%2F9%2Fchunky-vegetable-harissa-stew

Homemade Biscuits: recipe found on back of Bob’s Mill all purpose flour

When the weather gets a little more consistent in temp, I’d like to make a new sourdough starter as a commemoration to the beauty I completely annihilated 5 years ago. Here’s the recipe I found that I’d like to take a stab at: https://anoregoncottage.com/grow-keep-use-sourdough-starter/

BOOKS: I’ve also finished listening to The Fifth Sacred Thing by Starhawk. Since completing the book last week, I haven’t stopped thinking about it. Words, characters, and plot events are constantly busting their way into my everyday thought. I really loved everything about this book. In fact, I would go as far as to say I’ve added it to my top 10. Thank you, Todd Bossman Simmons, for that great recommendation. Now I’m onto A Sand County Almanac by Aldo Leopold recommended by Gabe and Little by Edward Carey recommended by Hibs. What are you reading? 

I started working at Wolverine Farm Letterpress Publick House in June of 2019. My good friend Beth hired me just as they happened to be looking for another bartender/barista. She knew I was sorely lacking in summer income and that I could pour a beer while shooting the sh*t with customers pretty good. Originally, working at Wolverine was only supposed to be a summer job but I quickly fell in love. 

The space is a two-story wood and steel building resting between a car mechanic shop and recently built modern apartment complexes. The patio space seats around 20+ with a small green grass patch for outdoor games/Prettiest Chicken Contests, a couple raised beds for tomato plants, and some typical native Colorado landscaping along the sides. Upon entering the front doors, a small two-person table greets you a tiny bouquet of ever-changing dried flowers while a flight of stairs beckons up to the event hall. The downstairs area ushers your eye to the Makers Market, a large white cupboard with unique, homemade goods created by community members on consignment. In the eastern corner of the building stands a beautifully, handcrafted bar overlooking a small kitchen space. The sturdy, long table in the middle and storefront window seats give the impression that you are invited to sit alongside your fellow patrons; a nudge perhaps, to make some friends whilst you rest your weary feet. The back corner of the downstairs hides two large letterpress machines and storage space with things like a button maker, scrap paper, sidewalk chalk, or letterwriting club supplies. If you’re visiting in the late morning, there’s a good chance you’ll see Jes, the resident letterpress extraordinaire and maybe even her angel-baby, Ruth.  

As previously mentioned, I tumbled into the story in June 2019. I’ve known Todd, the owner of Wolverine, since I moved to Fort Collins in 2013. My first barista position was at Cafe Ardour a few blocks from the eventual Wolverine Farm. My boss at Cafe Ardour, Heather, and coworker, Meg, became my instant friends. Meg and Todd are a powerhouse Fort Collins couple known throughout the community and Heather has worked with Todd on various projects and boards throughout the years. Meg, Heather, and Beth (my other boss mentioned previously) are the infamous trifecta. Small town roots run deep in the Fort Collins community. Once you know these three, you know most everyone, or most everyone that matters. I consider myself lucky to have a path that opened up to Cafe Ardour and to each of those women within the first few months of me living in my brand new home 7 years ago. Since then, so many things have changed but I’ve always had these three women to rely on. 

Beth, The Good Witch of Willow Street (as we lovingly refer to her) and I became closer as I picked more shifts up at Wolverine. She ran the resident Wolverine tarot club as well as her side hustle (turned fully fledged bossbabe business), Beldamia candles, all the while managing all us goons and numbers at The Farm. It would be fair to say that Beth was more than Todd’s right-hand gal. She held big ideas in one steady palm and carefully weighed the feasible options in the other. She made things possible, as Libras seem to do. 

Beth’s tarot club was an absolute hit with many community members. Unfortunately, I was never able to attend the group but she privately rekindled my love for magic and the unexplainable. It wasn’t long before I bought myself my first tarot deck and began practicing with her guidance and words of encouragement. It was astounding what opened back up to me within the first couple spreads. It was not necessarily life-changing knowledge or fear-inducing future proclamations but rather another perspective left up to energy, intuition, and fun. The more I dug in the more beautiful knowledge appeared. 

Recently, I’ve developed a sort of moon phase based practice that involves astrology and tarot work on the full and new moons. Planetary movements overlap greatly with those who also study astrology. 

My coworkers, Joe and Ana have both given me excellent resources to begin my study. Ana recommended the book The Creative Tarot: A Modern Guide to an Inspired Life by Jessa Crispin. I use this primarily for my burgeoning work with tarot. So far, I absolutely LOVE this book. She guides you through historical information and her personal opinions, while not burdening her readers with loads of information. The other book I haven’t even cracked open yet is The Astrology of Personality by Dane Rudhyar. This was highly recommended by Joe and will hopefully open some doors for me and my practice with astrology. 

Yesterday, there was a beautiful full moon in Scorpio which led me to try and create my own personal tarot spread. I read a bit about the full moon in Scorpio and combined it with what I already knew about full moon tarot practices in general. Then I found an interesting website that included some interesting info about the Vesak Moon Buddhist celebrations based on Buddha’s path to enlightenment (FULL MOON in Scorpio https://www.mysticmamma.com/astrology-full-moon-in-scorpio-may-7th-2020/). I decided to try and make a cohesive connection between all of these aspects in my spread. 

At first I didn’t really know where to start. I have not studied Buddhism and was not sure how to set up my spread. The more I read, the more I was geared towards choosing 7 card placements. I discovered there are 7 Factors of Awakening in the Buddhist practice: mindfulness, investigation, energy, joy/rapture, relaxation, concentration, equanimity. These would eventually help me to discern my open ended questions for each card.

1. Mindfulness: What can you do to be present in the next 6 months?
2. Investigation: What truths are you seeking?
3. Energy: Where can you give more energy/enthusiasm in your life?
4. Joy: How are you feeding your inner wellspring of joy?
5. Relaxation: What do you need to let go of in order to be present?
6. Concentration: How can you reach your future goals?
7. Equanimity: How will you bring a mental calmness to the eye of the societal storm? 

After creating the spread here is what I drew/my conclusions:

1. 9 of Wands Reversed: find the balance between outside criticism and self-reliance
2. 10 of Wands Reversed: invest in your passion but seek it with pure, grounded intention
3. Page of Cups: inspiration is in your lap, answer the call
4. Knight of Pentacles: you’re in it for the long haul, set achievable goals 
5. 5 of Cups: feelings inadequacy are keeping you from full potential
6. 9 of Swords: separate yourself from emotional battles, make mistakes, find flow
7. Death: bid farewell, start a new chapter, don’t mourn too long

Overall, The 7 Factors of Awakening helped this spread come to life for me. I still have a tendency to flinch at the sight of reversed cards but Ana, Beth, and Jessa Crispin have guided me to the understanding that a reversed card is not necessarily the opposite of an upright card. It feels better to think of it as an imbalance or a call for some inner work to be done.

I am still SO new at this practice that I feel uncomfortable asking others to use it. However, I will insert a picture below of the crazy spread I drew with some colored pencils I had to whittle (how Northwoods of me).  Feel free to give me feedback!!!! 

See you at the New Moon on May 22nd! 

In one afternoon, we traveled from Sturgeon Bay to Green Bay, dropped off all our un-essentials, and scurried up the 3 hours to Gabe’s folks cabin in Wabeno, Wisconsin. I’ve been to this place a handful of times throughout our relationship–high school and beyond. Some absolutely insane times occurred on this 3-acre lot we now get to call home for the summer. Many of you readers have enjoyed the same experiences. The cabin is butt-up against the Nicolet National Forest as well as a private lake stacked with scaly beauts. The gifts are abundant in the form of slow time and migratory birds for our eager eyes.

Seasons show their true colors this side of Highway 10. Yet Forrest County lags behind Southern Wisco by about 30 days. Spring buds differently here. Somewhat how I would guess mountain dwellers experience it. The temp stays just below freezing until the sun hits the open field and then things start to toast. The warming is different from the West as the moisture holds the remainder of last night’s chill about an hour or two more then lifts like a veil at lunchtime time.

Albert and Holly Park bought this property in 2004. They completely flipped the original two car garage into a functional, homey 2 bedroom/1 bath with a storage space, kitchen, living room, and screened-in porch. It’s a combination of modern tech, meets nature finds, meets precious familial artifacts, meets Navajo intricate weavings. The wood-burning stove is always ablaze and the CD collection is also pretty fire.

The lake is 75 yards, give or take, from the backdoor and you better believe Gabe is sitting on a boat as I type with a fly in the water. Within the first two and a half days of being here he’s hooked black crappies, northern pike, and smallmouth bass. The unspoken word around the lake is crappies are an occasional delicacy that may be shared at your table but everything else goes back in the water. And you better believe you’re being watched.

The last couple of days for me have circled around creating some sort of routine. I tend to be one of those that falls short of time when there is plenty. I need a list to keep my mind on track and dreams to keep me even and looking forward. Lately, everything feels like a ceremonial gesture saturated in mystical thinking. It might just be my super sentimentality in full swing or my hyperactive brain waves seeking refuge. Either way the spring peepers awoke just as I blew out my Beldamia candle, signifying a practice session end. Now, there can be calm.

In the wake of our 3rd full day in Sturgeon Bay, Wisconsin everything is starting to surge into full view. It’s a funny feeling, this unclung, driftless, uncertain, spasmodic living. I’m not 100% for it but I’m also not 1% against it. I’ve written one negative nancy journal entry that sent me into a wee bit of a spiral but nothing a good nap couldn’t change.

As 29-year-olds, my husband Gabe and I picked up our entire lives and returned back to our homestate with no jobs, no house, and barely any savings (I can actually see all of your eyes blugging out of their sockets as you read. Believe me, ours are too.). Our moms, Holly and Cynthia, voted to help us a few days before our departure date in order to give us some company, cleaning hands, as well as some much needed (we would later find out) packing space. We split the drive in 2; 8 hours to Lincoln, NE and 10 hours to Sturgeon Bay. Now we self-quarantine and head up to Gabe’s folks cabin, a couple hours due Northwest from Door County.

The original summer plan was for Gabe to set off to a new job/adventure as a fly-fishing guide in Southwestern Alaska for three months while I holed up in the boonies of Pennsylvania as a sort of self-induced cello residency. This was going to be our summer of glory. Both of us working hard towards our goals in the very niche industries we adore. We would reconvene back in Wisconsin at the beginning of September and figure out where we wanted to settle and move forward from there. But with the drop of the a hat (or an epidemic), things changed.

I know in the grand scheme of things, we’ve got it good. Our parents are godsends. Our resumes are pretty stacked and we’ve got something in the bank. But damn, this one helluva way to spend our first year as a married couple. Nevertheless, the coolest part of it all is beginning again. Now it’s not a completely clean slate. We grew up in this great state and still have wonderful connections. Both of our families live here and we’ve got plenty to fill our time. The challenge now becomes bringing what we learned in a very different part of the country and molding it into something that feels authentic and grown.

There are a lot of things we’ve both run away from and partially healed in our almost 7 years in Colorado. Now we have to look closely at what has actually healed and what remains a partially open wound. This first year back is gonna be tough. We’ve dropped ourselves back into a familiar forest but without any compass or clothes to cover our backs.

But we’re here and we’re healthy and that’s all that truly counts.