When The Noise Stops

 
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A) When I got to the farm today, it was loud. The kind of noise of REALLY BIG equipment. A skid steer, a huge excavator, a pump and generator, a big truck, a concrete mixer truck. And yelling. It was also constant. And I got used to it. For at least two hours. There was some relief when the keys turned off in all the equipment. And a exhale of peace when all the septic crew left. The noise stopped. It wasn't just that things were quiet. Things were different. It wasn't an absence of noise, it was a feeling. A dramatic one. A sweep of relief, but also something to get used to. And that's how it is sometimes. The long rough patch in life, a stressful jaunt over a long period of time. Anxiety that becomes normal in our lives. Stress about money or health. It weighs on us like a million wet blankets, but the weight also starts to feel normal. And then, one day, all that noise goes away. And there is silence to enjoy. It seems quiet at first. Surely peaceful. But it it's not dead silent. Soon your ears pick up the crickets. And the bird call. (Is that an eagle in the distance). Even buzzing. The small hum of the refrigerator. There's been sound there all along, something from nature that the bustle or fighting or stress or worry or tension or trauma has been covering up. But it's gone now. It takes time to adjust, there are different things to listen for now.

Read more HERE, quietly.

10% Less

 
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Two beautiful postcards arrived in the farm mailbox today. One from CS with the beautiful poem Over the Weather by Naomi Shihab Nye. The other from Miss P, with colorful stamps and a passage from A Year of Living Your Yoga: Daily Practices to Shape your Life by Judith Hanson Lasater. These are the first pieces of mail to hit the new floor

So, to practice . . . I am going to bed.

Read it all HERE.

More Goldenrods Hidden In Poems

 
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It's fun to think that a year ago there was very little knowledge of native plants in this brain, and now the farm has a little patch of prairie of its own. (Albeit a patch of prairie that will still take some solid years to resemble a prairie. What are we, what do we call ourself, on our way to becoming? Is it a prairie now? Or can we only call it a prairie when it looks to everyone else like a prairie?) 

A Life

by Michelle Y. Burke

Each afternoon he took his pipe
and led his goats beyond the pasture
to a neighbor’s field behind his farm—
not exactly his but not exactly not.

As the goats clipped the tall grasses,
he sat in the chair he never failed
to bring. Sometimes he read, most often
not. The vetch climbed the goldenrod,

the dandelions turned from gold
to globe, and every day he went,
thinking to himself how good it was
to be almost but not entirely alone.

- - -

See my favorite new native prairie plants HERE.

Stop Being So Precious

 
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It's not so much that you have to stop being so precious. Just stop treating everything like it's so precious and fragile.

Sort of like using the good salt, but more than using - Breaking and busting and not being afraid. Afraid to break, to ruin, to bust open, to let go, to change it. 

Video of today's quote HERE & the full note  & a suggestion to read a very old post from June 16, 2015 HERE (using the good salt, perfection, grace, Mary Oliver & more)

Loony-Goony Dance

 
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My favorite moment of the day was when my folks and I actually walked through the space, and my Mom made hilarious exaggerated pantomime walking motions and commentary throughout the (extremely small space) about how she was going to have to squeeze through every nook and cranny...including actually dancing through the small kitchen as if avoiding the imaginary table and open dishwasher door. She cracks me up.

But, it's true. She did a loony-goony dance across the kitchen floor and we are indeed putting something very silly (and small) in the world. 

Read more HERE.

A Beginning

1. Discover Squeezebox Press thanks to Miss P (Of course, I snooped around and discovered that Emma is delightful  and the story behind her little press is amazing and inspiring.)
2. Admire broadside of "A Beginning" by Carl Adamshick for the poem, the beauty of the print, and the story circling it all (read the fine print!)
3. Joyfully splurge on purchase of print (even though you do not have a house to hang it in yet)
4. & ask permission to use poem as a quote here
5. Receive permission and broadside
6. Collect goldenrod and compassplant and ox eye sunflower to attempt natural dye ...

Read More

Enough

 
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  • Today's quote is from Helen McLaughlin who is simply a lovely person and ALSO a life coach and also writes A KICK ASS NEWSLETTER that focuses on getting shit done. (She's inspirational, I mean it.) Today's quote is from one of her recent newsletters: Developing a bias for action. I am using it here without asking her first permission first. (Helen, I hope it's okay to use this quote.) 

Read the full missive HERE.

Breaking Circles

 
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"The life of man is a self-evolving circle, which, from a ring imperceptibly small, rushes on all sides outwards to new and larger circles, and that without end. The extent to which this generation of circles, wheel without wheel, will go, depends on the force or truth of the individual soul. For it is the inert effort of each thought, having formed itself into a circular wave of circumstance, --as, for instance, an empire, rules of an art, a local usage, a religious rite, -- to heap itself on that ridge, and to solidify and hem in the life. But if the soul is quick and strong, it bursts over that boundary on all sides, and expands another orbit on the great deep, which also runs up into a high wave, with attempt again to stop and to bind. But the heart refuses to be imprisoned; in its first and narrowest pulses, it already tends outward with a vast force, and to immense and innumerable expansions."

Break it. Wide. Open.

Read it all HERE.

And Let Others Do For You

 
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Giant ragweed, some common ragweed, smartweed, lambs quarter (I know! Edible!), tiny bits of wild mustard close to the ground now that the weather is cooling off, eastern black nightshade, horseweed, prickly lettuce, burdock, one curly dock plant, a few thistle, and what I can't really identify in its dead and dried state but I am guessing is hedge mustard (Sisymbrium officinale) which is the new bane of my existence.

Yes, you heard right, I drive my farm weeds to the city --- and I am going to pay $7.50 to take them to the green waste dump site BECAUSE THAT'S HOW I'M FEELING RIGHT NOW.

It'll all make sense if you read the original HERE.