Bee butt sticking out of a snowdrop blossom.

Bee butts sticking out of flowers give me a lift.

One of the best parts about returning to blogging has been catching up with the blogs I know and love.  I now have a major backlog of goodies to discover, almost like finding out your favorite magazines and seed catalogs, instead of going out of business as you’d gloomily assumed, were getting delivered to the empty mailbox next door to yours for about five weeks.  And there they still sit, in a glorious stack, awaiting your pleasure.

Now, this would never happen here, where our community is so small and tight-knit that we actually know our postman.  (His name is Paul, and he has hair the color of a freshwater pearl, a daydreamer’s gaze, and a mischievous, little-boy smile.  I got really worried about him at one point.  But then I found out he was just having his appendix out and that the surgery went well and that he’d be back on his rounds soon.  When he came back, it was cute because you could tell he was pleased that he’d been missed, but trying to tamp it down so it wasn’t obvious.)

( Hey, would you believe he is coming to the door as I type this?  Wee package for F., that lucky man.  Ooh, and a new seed catalog for me.  Come here, my precious.)

Ahem.

I guess taking an internet sabbatical was the next best thing, since Paul just wasn’t going to manage to screw up that badly.  It’s even better, honestly, than a magazine mix-up would have been since we have cut back to exactly one magazine subscription.  And although that magazine is interesting, it doesn’t come close to the variety you get with blogs.

This week, I came across three wonderful posts in that backlog which all managed to give me that warm, fuzzy feeling.  You know that feeling, like life is really, truly awesome and full of wonder, and it turns out the mystery hasn’t died while it was hidden behind dreary January sky-curtains, and the joy is already here, now and oh, cool, I just walked into a pocket of it again?

Suddenly your head is full of the scent of violets and you realize you just got a hug from the Divine.

Or something like that.  Your mileage may vary.  (That’s the best part about divine hugs.  Each one is unique.)

Anyway, where were we?

Oh, yeah.  I know I can’t be the only one who struggles a bit with the winter blues and could use a little extra delight in early February, so I thought I’d share some link love and offer to give you a lift if you need one.

Well, I suppose I’m more like the passenger sitting in the back seat who taps the driver on the shoulder and says, “Hey, can we pick up my friends, too?”

You should really hop in.

Without further ado:

I’d really love to hear about the kinds of things that give you a lift.  Then the comments section would read a bit like that song from The Sound of Music, a list of a few of our favorite things, with warm fuzzies for all.

Namasté, y’all.

A patch of forest, showing deciduous trees in autumn.

Nature is, above all, profligate.  Don’t believe them when they tell you how economical and thrifty nature is, whose leaves return to the soil.  Wouldn’t it be cheaper to leave them on the tree in the first place?  This deciduous business alone is a radical scheme, the brainchild of a deranged manic-depressive with limitless capital.  Extravagance!  Nature will try anything once.

~Annie Dillard, Pilgrim at Tinker Creek

Just look at this red!

Only pure joy could have created that maple leaf’s color.  I’m convinced of it.

The oak below looks like the sunset nestled inside it during the long, hot evenings in August.  It just happens to be the tree at the crest of the slope, the one which receives the bulk of the last sunbeams as the sun disappears from our little hollow.

Maybe the oak and the sunset became friends this summer.  And I’m sure you all know how we take on the characteristics of our friends, even without meaning to.

Sometimes this is a very good thing.

Finally I’m able to really venture outside and participate again in this great passage the Earth is living.  It feels sacred to me, to be able to get right up close again, to breathe the exhalations of these trees who share this place with me.  It’s a time to easily get lost in wonder at all the color, all the light.

Dramatic change is everywhere you look — and yet it’s all being done with charming subtlety.  Outside my office window, a rich tapestry of ambers, golds, browns, buff, sienna & rust is being stitched, minute by minute, hour by hour.  The artist is taking such loving care with the details.  Not one thread is out of place.

I couldn’t capture the panorama, unfortunately.  It marches all the way down our lane, dipping into the hollow, bordered at the lane’s dead end by a magnificent oak turned to peach and gold, and each of my attempts inevitably revealed some personal detail, either ours or our neighbors’, like a street sign, car tag, mailbox.  You can’t be too careful with that kind of information lately.

But I did manage to get this vignette, a few square feet of the tapestry, situated directly across the road from our recycling bin.

Lovely; isn’t it?

My favorite experience of the autumn so far, though, was climbing the embankment to stand beneath the lovely tree below.  Time stopped as I was enveloped in beauty, peace, and warmth.

These leaves looked more lemon-colored to me than the resulting photos indicate.  Instead, in the shots they came out rather gold, as you can see below.  I suspect I perceived the foliage as brighter than it actually was because my heart, overflowing with joy, was emanating its own kind of light.

Hoping you’ve enjoyed the results of my first photo-shoot after the flu.  I certainly did.

Namasté, y’all.

p.s. Does anyone know the name of that last tree?  I definitely need my own tree identification book.  I’ve returned the one I’d been borrowing from my sister for quite some time (thanks, sis!), and now feel keenly the inadequacy of my arboreal education.  Meanwhile, it seemed a safe bet to turn to all my earth-loving, tree-hugging, nature-writing, and garden-blogging friends.  I’m just betting one of you knows or can put me on the right track!

Dear Blog,

You are one year old today.

I think it is time for me to serve you a miniature devil’s food cake and let you smash your face right into it.  I won’t forget to take pictures, either, to try and embarrass you later on when you are all grown up and dignified.

Yes, I am so very proud of you, and I think you are beautiful, even when you have icing on your chin and in your hair.  You have taught me more than I could ever have imagined.

Thank you.

Daisy.

It’s my blogaversary, y’all!

This time last year, I was nearly having a panic attack over the idea of pressing the “publish” button for the first time.  I had no idea then how everything was going to work out so beautifully.  All I could feel, as I read and re-read and re-re-read my initial post, was that old fear that has kept me from showing my writing to anyone for years and years.  Decades, actually.

Let’s just say I had some unpleasant early experiences with publishing and even showing my work to people who were not careful with my developing artistic soul and who stood to gain some things by stealing or trashing or misinterpreting my work.  Also, I was young, and I didn’t know how to defend myself from such attacks.  Pretty soon, I was prepared to burn my work rather than let another human being read it — and indeed, much of my writing over the years has been burned or shredded or even tossed into the trash compactor.  In one rather memorable instance, I even buried a bit of it under a full moon.

Sometimes you have to go for the grand, symbolic gesture.

Around my birthday last year, F. started suggesting that I start a blog, as a creative outlet.  He saw how much I wrote, starting with three pages of longhand stream-of-consciousness writing every morning, and became frustrated with my unwillingness to ever show him anything.  At least when we were dating he’d had the benefit of my words and stories in e-mails.   Now he was getting bupkiss, and because he is an incredibly wise man, he tried to nudge me out of my stubborn and defiant stance.  As he saw it, I was silencing myself and had to be stopped posthaste.

My first reaction was, “And what exactly is this thing called ‘blog’?”

Seems funny now.

Elephant ears, early morning light.

Once I found out — although I still had no idea, really — I backed away from the idea as far as I could go.  I believe I actually may have said things along the lines of how I never could do that, how it would be painful in the extreme, how I’d never have the courage.  A few weeks later, when F. brought it up again, I told him I flat-out refused to even consider it, that he couldn’t possibly understand, and that he was an insensitive jerk to suggest I expose myself and my words ever again.

It was a terrible moment.  I was being asked to open the door just a little bit again, and I reacted with panic and blind fury.  You know those doors you have in your heart, that sometimes you slam shut, and then they get stuck that way, and then it starts to feel comfortable and safe for them to be shut forever?

Well, maybe you are lucky and you’ve never done anything so silly.  But if you have, you’ll know how brave you have to be to even nudge that door open a quarter of an inch.  Such a small sliver of light comes in, not even wide enough to fit a toe in the gap.  But you can put your eye up to it and see farther than you have in years….

I did do that, one year ago.  Only because during a much calmer conversation in late July, F. assured me that no one would ever read my blog.

Not exactly true, it turns out.

Out of curiosity, I checked this morning, and my words have been read (or at least scanned or glanced at) tens of thousands of times now.

Wow.

And I didn’t once die from the exposure.

On the contrary.  This whole experience has been an incredible, radiant joy.  I have learned so much, about myself, about writing, about creativity and resilience, patience and persistence, about gardens and magic and storytellers all around the world.  I have made friends, laughed and cried with y’all, and been told my words lifted someone’s spirit, brought some small measure of beauty and peace into the world, made things a little brighter, for at least a little while.

And now I have tears in my eyes.  I can’t help it.  The creative journey is an amazing one.

I’ll probably write more about this journey past my huge creative block as I come to understand it more.  But for now, let’s stop all this serious stuff and get back to the happy happy joy joy part.

Aren’t blogaversaries supposed to be about celebration? And presents? Yes!  Never fear, I do have presents for you, who have been such an integral and lovely part of my journey.

First and foremost, you have my thanks.

You also have a chance to win free Beauty in your mailbox.

I haven’t said much about it here, but I now sell prints and canvases, postcards and cards of my work over at RedBubble.  (See the box in the sidebar.)  Yes, it enables me to earn a little money in return for the hours of artmaking I’ve put into this site, and yes, I am so appreciative of those of you who have purchased items from the shop, because our financial situation has not been the easiest row to hoe lately.

But originally, I did it all for the love of paper.  I once ran the Paperie at a famous art supply store, and I believe I might have landed the job when the manager asked why I wanted it exactly, and I clasped my hands together like Anne of Green Gables and waxed poetic about how much I adore good paper, and old-fashioned letter writing, and thank-you notes, and fine stationery.

I might also have mentioned how I have a collection of hundreds of postcards and how good-quality, cold-press watercolor paper makes me swoon.

How amazing is it, to be a stationery addict all your life and then to hold your very own designs in your hands?  It was a moment of awe for me.  I’ll be sending two lucky winners a packet of cards and postcards, hoping you feel at least a touch of that pleasure when you open your mailbox.   To enter your name into the random drawing for these gifts, just leave a comment on this post before midnight Eastern Standard Time (that’s the same as NYC, for those of you overseas) on Sunday, August 15th.

If you tweet or otherwise advertise this giveaway, you have my profound gratitude and the joy and satisfaction of serving as a connection point for potential like-minded spirits.  But I really want every reader to have an equal chance to win, so those actions will only be to your benefit karmically.

Now, even though I wish I could send you all a lovely gift in the mail, unfortunately that cannot happen, especially since I am relearning the joys of extreme thrift lately.

Thrift in spring.

Blooming in spring, the kind of thrift I actually prefer.

But still, I have managed to come up with a little something for everyone.  See that square button in the top of the sidebar labeled Soul Food?

Yes, that’s the one, with the pretty yellow flowers.

If you click it, you’ll find a selection of the best of the best of The Enchanted Earth & Victory Garden Redux (the first incarnation).  For each month, I have selected a post where I thought my words were inspired and shining, deep and rich with meaning.  I give them all to you again, with a full heart.

Namasté, y’all.

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