Beloved friends,
Today I was getting the aromatics together for a big pot of beans and noticed that I was peeling several tiny cloves of garlic which together were the size of an average clove. I pondered a moment and realized that I was taking the time to do this, and do it tenderly, rather than judging the wee cloves as too small to be worth the effort, because this garlic had been grown by my neighbor Anne. Anne sent me home with big stalks of garlic and sun-warm sugar snap peas when I brought her homemade bone broth during an illness a few months ago. This morning as I peeled the little cloves I realized that the oregano piled on the cutting board was also not from the store – it was my own first crop grown from plants Anne offered to our Buy Nothing group when she was thinning her garden beds in the springtime. The bay leaves? One day I biked to town and as I almost got to the Food Co-op, I passed a box with branches sticking out. On the side it said CULINARY BAY HELP YOURSELF; clearly someone had pruned a tree and set this out to share. I found myself musing about how the nature of these things made them precious: they were caring gifts, I knew and therefore valued the labor which created them, and they spoke to me of the interdependence of living, laboring and loving. It made me all the more excited to read Robin Wall Kimmerer's new book The Serviceberry: Abundance and Reciprocity in the Natural World, which I ordered from my local bookstore this week. How tickled I was to have to order it; it's sold out between print runs, and I am glad to see this success.
My oystershell path, photo above, is dear in ways like my food: a labor of love, evidence of care. It began when our longtime SF house family visited last Christmas. We drove an hour south to Hama Hama's farmstand on the Hood Canal for oysters, then brought them home to shuck and share around the kitchen table. I tucked the shells into the freezer afterward, and again when we feasted with other guests later that winter. Come spring I boiled the shells, crushed them with a hammer, and laid them on the little deerpath through our front grove that I've widened. We walk it in ritual and love, bringing the bird feeder out in the morning and in at night. When we had oysters at Moran's The Weir, a 300 year old business in Galway, Ireland, my mother-in-love asked if I'd take some shells home to add to the path. When James and I had baked oysters at a fancy restaurant in San Francisco those shells, too, got tucked away for home. With time the path grows, and it says: cherish as much as you can.
Hama Hama has a bumper crop this autumn so they had a sale for Thanksgiving – but only for delivery orders! (They will ship oysters to you, too!) A box of oysters was dropped at our door last Wednesday, and we began the holiday weekend with a feast of them. Later I boiled the shells, sat myself down on the concrete pad in front of the workshop to hammer them into bits, and two more feet were added to the path. I hope you visit someday, friend, so that you can see for yourself how the shell shines in the moonlight against the fir needles gently decaying into duff and soil.
All of these things say to me that we are connected – with one another, with the life of the Earth. All of this is life, dancing, as we once again near the smallest light and biggest dark of the year in the Northern Hemisphere. This long dark is such a comfort to me after the bustle of summer: nesting and resting. I hope that you, too, are able to find in this season the places where you are connected to people and to the life of the Earth in ritual, cherishing, and celebration. May it nourish your heart.
In times of struggle, a technique that is often suggested is Zooming In, Zooming Out. Hurting about the world? Zoom in, cherishing the beauty of the world, the pleasure of making things by hand, the glint of the last of afternoon's last light glinting on the throat of the hummingbird who just now paused to look at me through the parlor window. Zoom out, lying back to watch the night sky or feeling into the loving wishes held for you by all of your ancestors. All of this is the life of the universe, dancing. I'm glad to be dancing with you, dear.
Resources
The Joy of Creation
I love the paper stars hung for celebration in Mexico, so imagine my heart's delight when I learned you can make them with paper bags and glue! It's quite simple, and some folks like to cut them so they look more like snowflakes. If you give this a try, send me photos! I'd love to see.
Zooming In and Out: Election Humor Version
This Onion coverage of the election process takes Zoom In, Zoom Out to hysterical levels. 3:10, hang in for the whole thing for full lols!
The Cosmic Dance
It can be soothing to feel the Earth against your back, to watch the dance of the stars, to know that you belong to this and that people have watched the sky with awe and wonder for as long as there have been people. The Geminid meteor shower lasts until late December and will be peaking next week on December 13-14. There is a lovely display of planets throughout the month, too, and the folks at Earthsky list the month's highlights day by day in that link.
Community Reading: The Leaf and the Cloud
Perhaps you know of my love for Mary Oliver's book-length poem The Leaf and the Cloud? I would not wish to choose a favorite book, but this is certainly among the most dear. I was raving to dear Sarah Itani about it during a 1:1 session for my most recent course and we've decided to read it aloud together. You're invited to join us! One evening: December 16, 5:30-7pm Pacific Time. The poem takes about an hour to read, then we'll discuss. The usual Zoom link if you know it; drop me a line if you need it! You are welcome to join as a reader or a listener. This gathering is a gift; no charge.
Special thanks to Jessie, who is leading a reading of Rebecca Solnit's Hope in the Dark inspired by the powerful times we've shared in my Reading Circles. (I'll be holding a reading of the same book in the new year.) Jessie called her gathering a Community Reading and I think it's a truer name – a collective rather than a closed. Thanks to her for permission to share this name. It's a joy to grow with you!
Remember Yoga?
Saturday's The Soft Animal hybrid yoga sessions are back! 9:15-10:45am Pacific time, starting December 14. Especially excited for solstice practice on 12/21! We'll be resting on December 28, resuming January 4. This is a slow, sweet, rolling-around kind of practice with self-massage. For a stronger practice you might look into my Morning Series, 7-8:15 Pacific Mon/Wed. Saturdays are drop-in, Mornings are by subscription.
My Very Small Neighbor
Zooming in: oh, this Pacific Banana Slug! We met them today while walking to the mailbox and yes, we helped them across the road after making this portrait. The beauty of the world is such a gift and comfort.
