queen of swords

With spring in full force, I've either been researching or experiencing spring tonics nearly every day. By definition, a tonic is simply something that restores or refreshes one's being...a tonic could affect someone on mental, physical or spiritual levels and by various means. Activities, exercises, nourishment, art forms and even ritual practices could all be subtle magical tonics.

I think I have the nose of a dog. Inhaling spring blossom fragrance daily is a favorite restorative of mine and there are many items on that menu -- apple trees, plum trees; golden currants, lilacs, sand cherries, grape hyacinth and Oregon grape holly bushes for starters. The beautiful iris was accidentally snapped off a few days ago and is developing her fragrance even without sunlight and birdsong.

I've begun a sort of art journal practice in a new handmade journal -- the first section of the book is dedicated to the Queen of Swords with a focus on the element of air and its corresponding attributes. It begins with the language of name and place...thinking about where I come from brought both people and sweet memories back to life. I loved doing this.

Every spring I look forward to collecting and cooking wild weeds from right outside the back door...tonic foods. My weedy stalwarts are always steamed nettles with onion and garlic, nettle pesto and dandelion Italiano on toasted sour dough bread.

I yearn to connect to the ways of my grandmothers, I tell myself that surely they cooked these same greens in the spring. The bowl of nettles is placed on my grandmother's table, now my dining table. She lived and died many years before I was born. When I feel sad that I have nothing to know or remember her by other than a few old photos, I remind myself that she rested her hands on this very table, maybe even in the exact same places that I rest mine.

A tiny prayer flag became a book mark on the full moon -- the chain-stitched spiral symbolizes air and wind.

 

We removed two dead trees this past week -- a pear tree and a juniper tree, both from which I kept mementos. The little bundle is a tiny pear twig tied together with some nearby plants. From the juniper trunk, Jan sawed me a small section revealing rings and colors and fragrance that surprised and delighted us. I'm finding that saving and holding natural objects like these as sacred is one way for me to express gratitude, no matter what the season.

The Queen of Swords has clear, piercing vision which the likeness of Frida Kahlo epitomizes for me on the bit of collage (the back of a greeting card). The handmade journal to the right, which I adore, was made by Kate Jackson.

In case you're wondering, the Queen of Spades is the equivalent of the Queen of Swords.

I'm ending this post with yet another photo of our many-years-old bee house holding a brand new colony of Italian honeybees. This house was vacant all last summer due to colony failure and I am so happy to have a full house again. At present, we have one wild bee colony in a tree trunk to the west and the new bees live on the east side of our back yard. At last it feels like things are back to normal around here.

My spring tonic practices have felt short-lived, almost elusive -- there is still so much I want to read and make and think about. But as we approach the threshold of summer, it will soon be time to begin focusing on the element of fire and the Queen of Wands. I am excited to see how they will show up in my life.

Late spring/early summer blessings of nettles and iris to you. xx

happy tears onions

I've been stitching a little sunrise/sunset cloth -- the sun is berry-dyed silk, the river is Japanese indigo-dyed silk, the pink sky is a cotton square cut from one of my baby dresses...from when I was a baby. The mountains are calendar cloth. I don't feel like it's done yet but I'm taking a break. Funny how we can spend hours and hours on such tiny little things.

I got this wreath from Target because I thought it would match the curtains in the living room. And it does.

A year of brewing is long enough, don't you think? I think it was prettier in the jar than out of the jar.

The middle plant in the largest pot is a henna plant. It has grown so well and is about three or four feet tall. It will overwinter inside, hopefully I can keep it alive. The top right plant is patchouli and the bottom left is curry. There's also one small carob tree and a spicy scented geranium in the mix.

Here is the goji berry bush for which I still need to find a permanent home before winter. I find that fresh goji berries are not very tasty although the birds like them -- they are much better dried.

This is a deep sea flower dice bag on which mistakes were made but I'm not going to tink it.

Lots of onions overwintered from 2016's garden producing big, beautiful flower heads this past summer and some decent size onions as well. 

I read that at one time in ancient Lemuria, onions made people cry tears of joy, that there was no need to be sad for the world. As civilization evolved, onions took on a different purpose, that of helping people to cry out the sadness that blocked joy -- and in turn their hearts would soften and they could experience greater clarity. I know how good it feels to experience tears of joy but don't think it's ever happened from peeling onions. Maybe I can change that.

I labeled the seeds Happy Tears Onion.

She's going to get a new outfit soon, probably a skirt and maybe a few accessories.

 

An October moon cloth that I stitched a few years ago as part of a moon & stitch ritual. 

Tonight Talula and I will go out for our nightly stroll, first the front yard, then the back. We'll see the full moon, listen for night sounds and make absolutely sure there are no rabbits around. Then we'll come inside to hang the moon cloth and light a candle. And I'll wish for times of joy. 

xx

letting go

I like to collect leaves and feathers and other windfall when I walk the dogs. Sometimes I arrange the items on an old chalkboard. I think everything looks good on that chalkboard, it's like candlelight for people. 

The large catalpa leaf was soft and supple as cloth so I had to see how it would hold up to stitching. I had been thinking about the ritual of leaves letting go and falling from their branches this time of year, slowly building a thick layer on the ground to blanket the earth, tucking in everything that needs to be kept warm through the winter. I loved slowly drawing the needle and thread through the leaf cloth imagining, wishing really, that I could make us a blanket out of leaves. And then after that small success, I sewed a running stitch on the already-dried smaller leaf...and that worked too. 

October's calendar moon cloth is from a past full moon sewing ritual here and the leafy knitted bookmark pattern is here.

Our family was together on the full moon to celebrate our version of the Mexican Day of the Dead, Dia de los Muertos, a time of honor and remembrance. Our altar is set up with candles, strings of lights, and mementos and photos of ancestors and beloveds who have passed. We craft/play/visit/watch football in the afternoon and have a candlelight dinner when dark falls. There is always the same chocolate cake for dessert, a favorite of our little boy, Corty, who passed when he was seven. And we always share memories of loved ones and pass photos around. Lastly, we write something to let go of, something no longer needed in our lives, onto flash paper and then light it, one by one, throwing it up and watching it go poof and disappear as it falls.

Honoring, remembering and letting go, but mostly it's just about being together.

sunflowers morning, noon & night

 

I'm so grateful for sunflowers. They sway and turn, look up, bow down and everything in between. They are hosts to a myriad of insects and soon squirrels, birds and maybe people will come visiting for their share as well. They cleanse the soil of radioactivity and are said to be guardian spirits. I don't doubt for a second their divine essence.

Yesterday I collected flowers to make dye bundles.

Blue and purples to the left, dyers coreopsis and eucalyptus in the middle and portulaca to the right.

Red, gold and pink zinnias with purple basil and blue and purple pansies with blue larkspur.

From left to right the fibers are wool, cotton that was soaked in milk, more wool (a deconstructed jacket sleeve) and silk (a deconstructed blouse collar). This is my first dye project of the summer but I have intentions to do more.

 I learned a new way to cut up watermelon. Less work and more fun to eat.

The beets are sweet and abundant this year, I wish I could say the same of the tomatoes but it's tricky like that here in Colorado.

I'm working on reducing the amount of garden waste we send off to the landfill. This is a permaculture technique called chop & drop and it's done exactly like it sounds. You chop what's no longer wanted or needed at the base, then chop it up a little more, then lay it right back on the ground. Leave the plant's roots intact so that it can either regenerate or decay in the soil. Comfrey is a marvelous soil nutrient and we can't possibly use all its leaves in salve or tea.

Some older chop & drop, mostly burdock leaves and stalks -- if I had extra compost or some dried leaves, I'd cover it to help it break down faster and also make it look nicer. But the decaying look is definitely growing on me. I chopped & dropped for several hours over the last few days -- everything from small weeds to tree trimmings. It only makes sense when you think about it, to give back to Mother Earth that which she produced. 

I'm seeing red. The madder patch, Rubia tinctoria, started from seed  three years old, is old enough for some of the roots to be harvested this fall. Madder is a cheerful plant, the greenest of green leaves, tiny blossoms with berry-like seed capsules. It can spread and climb but mine has mounded upon itself to look like a shrub.

Still stitching one little plant-dyed moon square at a time -- part of the Quilty 365 project here.

Larkspur seeds collected and ready to be packaged or sprinkled around -- I'm thinking of doing a little guerrilla seed-sowing at the park where I walk the dogs. The city seems to have forgotten about one particular xeriscaped stretch of which half has died off over the last ten years. Today I noticed that hollyhocks have naturalized themselves and maybe next summer there will be larkspur as well. It should be okay since larkspur is a Colorado wildflower.

This is my full moon sewing project for this year. Each full moon of the year so far, cloth has been chosen and cut with stitching time fit in here and there. Loving it but applique-stitching these big moons by hand takes hours and hours.

She's bowing down, her head is heavy. Some days this is exactly how I feel especially when I'm out working in the heat of the day. It has been a hot, hot summer with little to no rain.

The waxing moon lights up the night clouds.

A battery-run votive candle is tucked inside the white vintage three-tier macrame hanger I found on etsy. It came from France and was only around $50 which seemed like an unbelievable bargain at the time, I don't know.

At night this beautiful sunflower still glows, I think the variety is even named Evening Star. Which it is.

Sunflower blessings to you!  xx

bringing in the may

It's been snowing and/or raining here the past three or four days, I've lost track. Corty's tulips are still standing strong, they close up tightly against the weather. I'm learning that tulips have quite the personality too...the way they flop around when placed in a vase...like they just can't hold still.

The cold frame in the garden is plumb full so some things had to be brought inside -- the mini greenhouses winter-sown with lupine, Mexican primrose and California poppies worked out pretty well considering I've done basically nothing since the day they were planted. I will definitely do it again next winter.

Presenting #4 of the indigo-dyed napkins -- they were quite stained in their previous life. 

A-Maying rituals -- hanging the calendar moon cloth.

And stitching a hawthorn tree drawn onto linen with the magic pen -- the linen has been basted onto a lighter cotton cloth and the blossoms will be pink because that was the color of our first hawthorn tree blossoms.

P.S. Did you know that the white May flower often referred to on Beltane (May Day) is the hawthorn blossom?

Another ritual is bringing in the May with a bouquet of honeysuckle branches.

Lastly, I'm sending you a joyful May with this lovely song. xo