still here...

Stitching and finally finishing a project gone dormant feels good.

Tacked onto a base of black linen, it became a book cover for my tarot journal -- now I want to make another one, only with a different card for inspiration. 

This year I have set Mondays aside as a day for watery, intuitive rituals. One thing is a constant -- I first light a candle and meditate and then draw tarot and/or oracle cards for the week ahead, using different decks each month. I definitely have my favorite decks to work with but by rotating them, I get to know all of them better. (I also give myself permission to buy new decks now.) Monday/Moonday is just a good day for me to stretch and learn. Some watery mundane things include watering plants, laundry, soup-making, medicine making, taking a bath -- it all depends on the season.

A new colony of honeybees moved into the tree-house a few months ago. 

                                                                                                                                                                  This bee-house is occupied by a colony led by Queen Heidi II who is the daughter of the first Queen Heidi. I love that the women who raised and sold us the colony had a lineage established to pass along.                           

Another cloth close to being finished. For months, I have been trying to decide whether to chop it in half or not. It seems like it would have more options to be useful if it were smaller.

These are the new girls, Liza and Amber. Liza is a French Cuckoo Marans (with feathers on her feet) and Amber is a Dutch Welsummer. I'm learning that having chickens is not for the weak of heart -- Lilith died one morning in my arms, out of the blue. Then another young pullet named Saphie was sick from the start and died after only a few weeks. I have seen and learned so much in such a short time.

The original Moon sisters -- Margaret Wise Moon, Honey Moon and Cinco Moon. True to form, they are very tough on the new girls, pecking order being so important and all.

On the kitchen table, some new-to-me plants -- Marimo moss balls. They aren't really moss balls, they are actually solid algae balls that live in the bottom of fresh water lakes. The movement of water currents makes them round so I try to help by spinning them around by hand when I think of it. Their water needs to be cold and they need to be kept out of direct sunlight. I squeeze them gently and replace their water every Monday. 

A red sun one afternoon with forest fires to the north and the west of Denver.

Nasturtiums soon to be harvested for the kitchen.

Assorted reading and easy knitting, hexipuffs for the beekeeper quilt. 

A project for autumn -- to partially deconstruct and then reconstruct craft-store brooms and then make my own broom from scratch using the lighter, greenish broom corn, Sorghum bicolor, that I grew last summer. The darker broom corn broom was a gift that will serve as a model of one way to do the stitching. I'm reading about broom folklore and magical uses and like the idea of an ancestral broom for the time when the veil thins next month. 

The garden at the beginning. See the kalette plants grow around Buddha.

Mid-to-late summer -- Buddha's mask. I planted kalettes all over the back yard because the chickens loved them last year and it was so fun to watch them jump to reach the leaves at the top. They are beautiful plants.

Last night when it was nearly dark. Buddha wearing a headdress. 

I hope you are happy in the now moment and also looking forward to good things in your life. I love the feeling of reconnecting after such a long time. 

xo

dyed and dried

Late July. Early August. Something comes over me this time of year and I have a hard time putting that something into words but I want to try. It's the thickness of the air and how it looks and feels green to me now. It's about the pace and intensity of insect sounds and bird songs and kids playing outside at dusk. It's the way my bare feet seem to spring roots that sink into the ground with each step, how I am drawn to lie down on the grass to be pulled oh so close to the mother. And for some reason, I just seem to quit caring about all the things I thought needed doing. Instead, I wander.

The dye and mordant pots have been in use. With a mixture of fibers, the gray results are from red basil aerial parts and the golds/rusts are from dyer's coreopsis aerial parts, with a pup to match. My favorite pieces are the two doilies. This growing season one small bed in the Buddha garden was dedicated to just dye plants and it's done so well. Soon the Japanese indigo will be ready, maybe using some simple shibori.

I stitched a likeness of a tarot card from The Herbal Tarot and decided to pin-storm (pinning up a storm) it to the black linen journal cover as a sort of preview. I like it -- and can use the journal to record tarot/oracle cards and layouts and aha moments that I always think I'll remember forever but never do. The misty star patch is from Spirit Cloth's ThreadCrumbs Shop and the moon was cut from my handwritten Rumi cloth.

The first green pepper from plants grown from seed was eaten. A bowl of bindweed blossoms was picked to dry and burn and a big pot of bindweed vines is on the stove right now making dye.

That's about it. Thanks for visiting and happy weekending.

xo

solitary solstice

I heard the first cricket of the summer on Solstice Eve and she's been chirping ever since. We always wonder if things like this are happening earlier or later than normal so I try to write them down in a little nature daybook -- under June 19 I'll enter "2016: first cricket-song".  Also, the chickadees fledged and amazingly, house wrens took over their house the next day so that'll go in the book too. I'm glad birds can time-share like that.

Starting with lighting a fire for s'mores with my family on Solstice Eve, I've been enjoying simple rituals each day since and will continue through Midsummer's Day. I'm calling these six days Solitary Solstice as I'm circling on my own for the first time in 25 years. If you have ever wanted to create a spirit ritual but felt you needed to be in a group of people or a special place for it to be successful or meaningful, you are mistaken. I am going to be exploring ways to deepen my solitary practice in the days and weeks ahead.

The Green Woman is the connecting energy between plants and humans -- and she is definitely here. Yesterday she called me to the wild(er) side of our back yard, directly to the patches of lemon balm, Melissa officinalis. I sat on the ground, sank into the green, hummed, sang and pinched enough lemon balm tops to fill a quart jar. I filled the jar again with cold water and topped it with cheesecloth and a screw-on metal ring. I placed it on the altar in the Buddha garden to be infused with the energies of both the full sun and the full moon. Lemon balm water melds the elements of moon (water) and sun (fire) to enhance meditation and is one of my favorite summer rites. The Green Woman is a taskmaster -- she also reminded me that the motherwort flowers are ready for tincturing soon. And the perennials in pots on the front porch needed to be given homes immediately, among other things.

Later I remembered my unfinished moon cloth with stones and a lemon balm leaf and began to rework/simplify it. (The Green Woman needed a rest, I know I did.) I'm thinking it might make a nice patch on a pillow cover or a bag.

Today she guided me to the St. Joan's wort, Hypericum perforatum, in the Buddha garden -- a circular area with entrance paths at the four directions and the Buddha altar in the center. After smudging with white sage and rattling to invoke directional spirits, a circle was cast, a candle lit. I sat on the ground by the St. Joan's wort, accepted and absorbed the heat of the day while bees of every size and color worked Joan's starry yellow flowers. It is mighty hot here but the humming of bees soothed me and my own sweat cooled me. Fire being the essence of transformation is often used to purify or let go of things in rituals. Instead I used it to call in change, igniting my desires written on slips of paper, one by one. I sipped the warm lemon balm water, taking in pure green light. Singing softly, I plucked Joan's yellow stars for an oil of magic and healing. The one thing I know for sure is that plants love to be sung to. More about St. Joan's wort here.

There are three more days until Midsummer's Day on June 24 -- each day presents its own opportunity for a bit of growth and magic. Mostly it's spontaneous but one thing is already in the works -- a faery offering on Midsummer's Eve.

Thanks for visiting and Happy Solstice -- I'd love to know about your Solstice traditions.

xx

moon clouds

We've had a heatwave here -- it was in the 70s again yesterday so I watered all the recently-planted trees in our yard. Last night I went outside to walk around and take photos of the night -- the sky was cloudy but the full moon shone brightly through them.  Then during sleeping hours it started snowing and it snowed all day long today -- we have over 19" of snow! Heavy wet snow I might add, I tried to keep the house on the warm side in case the power went out.

The moon cloth I worked on this afternoon reminds me a little of those moon clouds or even a moon halo. It's an older piece that doesn't require anything from me other than a needle and some thread, no decision-making required. Which can be so nice.

Now is the time where the edges of winter and spring (or summer and autumn) overlap. A spring snow clearly fits the description but I'm thinking about what other edges might overlap, both literally and figuratively....

Wishing you a happy spring and may mother moon shine brightly upon you. xx

sewing rituals

I like to create new rituals for myself around the beginning of the year. Mainly for the structure to work within but also for the magic -- because repetition creates a well-worn pathway and good things can happen there. Some years ideas for rituals come fast and furious and it's hard to choose and then sometimes not.

I've used a store-bought white quilt for many years -- in summer it is the only blanket on the bed and in winter a feather comforter goes on top of it. I wash and dry it often and it is literally coming apart, mostly around the edges, and the binding is wearing through too. Fingers and toes get caught in the loose threads. But it's so soft. The last few nights before sleep I've been mending it by stitching along the threadways. Now I'm thinking about using it as a canvas for my 13-moon monthly stitch ritual but a plan hasn't emerged quite yet.*

A daily sewing ritual is in its early stages as well. The idea is to make one circle/square daily and assemble the squares to make a quilt top. I learned about this project from Lyn and the originator of the Quilty 365 year-long project is Audrey of the Quilty Folk blog found here . I'm hoping to use mostly plant-dyed cotton cloth for both the 4 1/2" squares and the 3" moons. Audrey suggests choosing the fabric each day and not ahead of time -- even if you aren't able to do the actual sewing on it, the color choice will be unique for that day. This will be a good use for some of the home-dyed cloth that has accumulated and also a good reason to continue dyeing. I'm not letting the 365 intimidate me too much, just planning to work at my own pace.

I guess I feel like sewing this year. Wishing you the happiest, most magical New Year ever. xx


*Possibly some smaller woven moons like this one that I made a few years ago in a Spiritcloth class.

moonlit

A January moonlit path has been made with glowing fern stitches -- meandering across 54" of linen cloth. Today is a new moon in the sign of Aquarius and I am changing my moon stitch ritual to begin on the new moon rather than the full moon. This way, the journey can flow and grow the entire moon(th) if that's what it takes.

Not sure if I'll stay with the brick & cross stitches up there because they look like ex ex ex ex. It's usually a filler stitch sequence, if I add another row it'll look more like itself. These first steps may take a while to get going.

Window is the prompt for week 6 of the Journal52 Project. My quote is from Rumi's Some Kiss We Want, the same poem I wrote on muslin cloth way back when. I'm using more paint now on these art journal pages and have a little more confidence with layering color and texture. I have lived my whole life until now without ever having experienced the feeling of painting -- not so crazy about my outcomes, but love the actual painting process. A wonderful discovery -- it's another new room in my dream.

A new moon is when to begin anew. To plant seeds and grow things. Both moonlight and sunlight are growing right now and I may have written them before, but I really like these words on Yogi teabag tags, "live light, travel light, spread the light, be the light." I've been saying it to myself a lot lately.

xo

moonday beeing

Today is a waning crescent moonday in Cancer. It's time for my monthly sewing ritual -- each month around the full moon, I begin assembling and stitching a tiny 4" mandala on home-dyed wool. This one is a beige moon on a black background dyed with garden mint and iron water. I didn't label the beige and now I've totally forgotten what plant produced its color. I'm sure I was sure I'd never forget.

The silk organza on the moon is also from the mint and iron water dye-bath. It may or may not be part of the finished moondala.

Even though I've been eyeing it lately, I couldn't bear to cut up the beautiful vintage table linen from Sandi M. quite yet -- monochromatic colors of cloth and stone with a touch of color are a very good vibe now. I'm trying to recreate this peaceful combination throughout the house wherever I can.

The moon's waning phase is always a good time to let go -- to relax and sink back into ourselves. I'm staying close to home, like our honeybees who only venture out when the temperature is above 43 degrees F.

Stitched a couple more lines on we are all here -- I love doing this. See you if the temperature gets above 43.

moonday needle book

My little needle book -- cotton, linen, wool felt, an old button and vintage rickrack trim. Oh, how I loved making it.

Today is a waning moonday in the sign of Cancer. We may feel more sensitive and find ourselves not wanting to leave home now. Instead, we want to nest and cook and feed people. And grow things -- everything from plants to collections.

A change of weather blew in this morning and the temperature has been dropping all day. They say we may even have our first snowfall -- one of these days that forecast will be right.

Wishing you the happiest of weeks.

needle book moonday

It is cold and wet outside on this waxing moonday in Aries. There might even be a little snow tonight -- just when we were starting to believe that autumn would be nothing more than a continuation of late-summer. Only a week ago I picked the last of the green peppers while lots of late-planted dill is still blooming and a big clump of lemon grass awaits its harvest. The bees have been out foraging daily but the time has come to get them ready for winter.

Step-by-step, I'm stitching a Rumi-cloth patch for the front of a needle book. I've never used or even owned a needle book before but think I'm going to like it. Because something or someone steals my needles during the night. The same something or someone that tangles up the garden hose every night all summer long.

Our Aries moon has really great assertive energy for starting new things. The general feeling though is that projects begun during an Aries moon will need long-term planning to see them through to completion -- Aries is so fiery it just fizzles out completely sometimes. 

I like a good strong start, it almost has to be to withstand all the second-guessing I do at the beginning. 

And I'm wishing you a good start to your week, too.