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:

• Muddy Boot Dreams:  A real Bambi moment

• Joy Rebel:  love note no. 12 {this one’s for you, Mother Earth}

• Patricia’s Wisdom:  Teaching a Pup to Rain Walk

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.

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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!

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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.

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.

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.

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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As once the winged energy of delight
carried you over childhood’s dark abysses,
now beyond your own life build the great
arch of unimagined bridges.

Wonders happen if we can succeed
in passing through the harshest danger;
but only in a bright and purely granted
achievement can we realize the wonder.

To work with Things in the indescribable
relationship is not too hard for us;
the pattern grows more intricate and subtle,
and being swept along is not enough.

Take your practiced powers and stretch them out
until they span the chasm between two
contradictions…For the god
wants to know himself in you.

-  Rainer Maria Rilke, Once the Winged Energy of Delight

He’s right, you know.  Being swept along is not enough.

This morning, standing barefoot in between the bean rows as the sun crested the treetops in the valley, I sent you all a wave of love.  Did you feel it?  I wonder.

The forest was sparkling with last night’s rain.  Morning glory chalices were spiraling open.  Bumblebees were busy among the basil and mint, just like always.

The tulip poplar released another yellowed leaf, and it fell in slow motion, caressed by unseen air currents.

The moss was so green it would break your heart.

A blue jay had left behind a single feather in the grass.

The wonder of it all filled my every cell until I was vibrating at a frequency of pure joy.  I was sure for a moment that I was going to float up into the dome of the sky and truly become one with all that is.  But I so loved the sensation of my feet in contact with the moist, red Earth, feeling almost as rooted as the nearby pines, that I couldn’t imagine ever willingly leaving that behind me.

For a fraction of a second, I felt torn between them: firm, holy ground; ethereal, grey sky.  And then I just knew.

I am exactly where I am supposed to be.

I even laughed aloud, startling a nearby song sparrow from her perch in the wild rose hedge.  It just seemed so amusing, all of a sudden, that I could have forgotten for even a moment.  All my worries about the future showed themselves to be as insubstantial as smoke.  The only real thing is saying yes to this life, now.

Yes.

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We are together for a very short time, so it makes sense to live in harmony, in unconditional friendship.

~ Bokar Rinpoche

Please consider this my thank you note to all of you, for reading, and commenting, and sending me messages, and telling me your stories, and writing your beautiful blog posts, and just shining and shining and spreading joy out into the world.

It means so much to me, and I don’t tell you often enough how grateful I am.

I’m still amazed that I get to do this, that we are able to share like this, that we’re so privileged to connect with each other across the miles, every day, whenever we find time.  An ocean might separate us… or only the Georgia/South Carolina border.  Whatever separates us from each other, though, is forgotten in this virtual space, where kindred spirits find no barriers.

And I want to extend a special thank you to one of my readers today.

To Lynn, who has a beautiful, optimistic blog definitely worth your click (hint, hint), and who was my first steady commenter.  Oh, I’d had drop-ins before, but no one stuck around — probably because I hadn’t yet figured out that it would be a good idea to respond to those comments or to go visit commenters’ blogs and try to return the love.  I was a wet-behind-the-ears blogger when Lynn started coming to read what I wrote, and she has been such a sunny and loyal and encouraging presence ever since.  She even networked on my behalf before I’d figured out the rudimentary blog etiquette, bringing me to the attention of another blog friend (Talon) who means so much to me now.  It’s hard to imagine my blogging journey without Lynn’s presence.

So, Lynn, thank you, my friend, and namasté.

To all of you who bring your own special something to the conversation here at the blog, I appreciate every single word.

And to all of you who read and look at the photos and continue to come back for more, thank you for being an important part of my journey here.  I don’t ever forget that you are here, following along with me, and your silent presence is a comfort and an encouragement for me.

Every time I sit down to write, you are all with me.  At least, it feels that way.

Namasté, y’all.

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~Walt Whitman

You may have guessed by now that I’m a huge Whitman fan.  His words do get featured pretty regularly in the “Quote of the Week” that appears in the sidebar.

But, as much as I adore morning glories (and especially my heirloom Grandpa Ott Morning Glories, which may well have been in existence during Whitman’s lifetime), I’ll have to disagree with the poet on this one.

Of course, it depends on the book, but…

Walt, come on, couldn’t we just have both?

Sure we could.

In fact, I did it this morning, sitting on the porch steps, alternately engrossed in my beautiful book, and then letting that book slide off into my lap as I got to daydreaming, or watching the bees in the mint patch, or wondering if the next ‘Cherokee Purple’ tomato plans to ripen up anytime soon, or holding my breath and sitting ever so still as the male ruby-throated hummingbird came within eight inches of my face, not certain if I was a huge flower or not — but not willing to pass up a source of nectar this promising without checking it out first.

(Hint:  When you plan to be still in the garden, wear an orange or pink or scarlet shirt.  Sitting in a sunbeam doesn’t hurt your chances for a hummingbird encounter, either.  Sometimes, if you are very fortunate, a butterfly will land on your shoulder, too.)

I guess I’m just that kind of person.  The kind who wants to have her cake and eat it, too.  Shortly after F. and I first met, he accused me of being greedy — but not for money.  The very idea made me laugh — and then laugh some more when I realized how true it was.  I wasn’t used to thinking of the term “greed” apart from the Wall-Street-style connotation, and at first glance it didn’t seem to fit my lifestyle of simple pleasures enjoyed to their fullest.

It is now one of our little jokes, because it’s so true.  Yes, I am greedy for all the joy this world has to offer, whether it’s the sun-drenched or the rain-soaked kind — or any of the million possibilities between them… and the transcendent joy of the shimmering rainbow when they meet.  I am greedy for friendship, for beauty, for laughter, for wonder, for love, for inspiration, for sweetness and spice, for peace, and for connection — with other beings, with Nature, with the Divine.

I’ll take the magic of books, please – and a stained-glass morning glory with a honeybee feasting in its glowing throat.  If it’s not too much to ask.

Wishing you a weekend filled with whatever satisfies you most.

Namasté, y’all.

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