Imbolc blessings
Round and round, the wheel of the year.
Imbolc was beautiful, and the very first days of February were a happy song sang to fast-approaching Spring, with the buzzing of bees around the scented flowering wattle, and the blooming bulbs, and a single butterfly. The chickens have recently resumed egg laying again. The days stretch a little longer every day. And it is this, all together, that truly sings
”Spring is a coming soon”
With a floral backdrop of early blooming yellow flowers.
How many springs has this place seen, and how many springs have been celebrated - a thought that usually accompanies every turn in seasons.
Now that the risk of frost seems to have passed (do I say this every year only to be surprised by late frost? Probably. Does it stop me? Definitely not) we are slowly, slowly getting ready for Spring planting, and started by sowing new flowers. Calendulas, marigolds, cosmos, amaranth. There is more, and there is more to come too, and it fills me with joy to just start. I am itching to get in the garden this year.
For the first time, we are not using potting soil, and instead compost from our heap, and I’m really curious about that. Feels empowering in a really simple and silly way, and at the same time I’m secretly crossing fingers that I won’t murder my seedlings by raising them in soil that’s too rich. Oh the poor dear things. They’ll be fine *secretly crosses fingers*
We have recently entered a new lockdown, and little one has been home with us for a couple weeks now. It’s been an easy balance, work-family, even though the personal tends to get slumped to the very end of the day (like, reading uninterrupted, or journaling, or listing my knitting projects with a cup of tea by my side, or drawing my tarot cards). I do miss personal time these days, and I know I should try and carve it more often, but guilt creeps in and… Oh well, I’m sure you know what I mean.
That aside, though, I have been what you would say desperate for life to feel normal again. For us all here on the hills to have barter trade afternoons again, and play dates with a group of friends for our little one, and to go easily to town to buy materials/ yarn/ a much needed pair of jeans and visit the museum in the meantime. I also miss the local group of folk music I joined what feels like years ago now (I’m the youngest member, the eldest is in her nineties and there’s equal levels of music and chit chat. It’s so much FUN!). I haven’t been to town in maybe two months now, or maybe more. Of course it’s lovely to be here, and we feel grateful every day for being here, especially in times like these. To have a sense of community, and space, and my online work, and a roof that is finally not leaking. But like everything, balance is key. And while it’s been a rich experience to dig into what it means to be resilient and local, and community.-sufficient and prepared, there’s a sense of discomfort that comes with being stuck there / here. Maybe that’s what at the bottom of it. Joy and grief can coexist.
I worry for the next months’ / years’ scenario, for the single parents, for those who lost their jobs, for the marginalized communities lacking healthcare access, for small businesses and livelihoods, for folks in abusive relationships stuck at home with their aggressors... There is so much grief.
Will Spring lead us to plant new seeds, both figuratively and literally? Can we imagine and co-create a post-covid world where we will care deeply for one another, foster community care, share freely and generously?
I’ve been weaving some of these thoughts into my stitches, and have recently finished a new cardigan, another test knit, this time for my friend Becky. It’s outrageously pink, and outrageously fluffy, but that’s more than alright!
On the second of February, we baked a rosemary oat bannock, following a recipe from the always inspiring Gather Victoria. Night was coming upon us swiftly when it came off the oven, so I didn’t take any decent pictures. But it was perfect, even though it’s not properly documented. We had it outside, with tea, by some candles, as dark clouds gathered above our heads, soon bringing rain after a day of warm sun.
Lastly, it’s been almost a month off social media and I am really enjoying it. I didn’t have any magical spike in creativity, nor epiphany, nor a whole new wellness routine. What I have instead is space. I think I still need more time off it before starting to feel any real effects (asides from having updated the shop and, unlike other updates when everything sells out in 24 hours, not a single item has found a new home this time around!) - I mean real effects, like better focus and more ideas, and feeling that I’m creating for myself and not for others. I am looking forward to that sense of freedom.
Still maturing on the newsletter. I have the concept now, but need a way. Either a proper newsletter platform (although the idea of paying for it when the aim of my newsletter is not to sell anything feels off), or just an ordinary email sent to a bunch of folks in bcc. Thoughts, anyone? Maybe you have an experience to share - LET ME KNOW!
I’ll stop here for now. It’s 10:30 in the night, the woodstove is off by now, and the rain is splattering against the windows and the roof. It’s one of my favorite sounds in the whole world and I will head to bed, to listen to it wrapped in warm covers as I read the last pages of my book.
Thank you all for being here, truly.
Love,
Cat
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