Field Notes Archive - June 2024
From Ground to Gallery
and back again
The very first object Dan ever saw someone weave from willow was a casket.
That discovery happened back in 2018, on YouTube, and was the inspirational genesis for the journey he’s been on ever since. Throughout his exploration of the craft, which has included every aspect from plant to product, the underlying goal has always been to one day be proficient enough to weave a casket entirely from homegrown willow.
Last spring that dream became a reality.
His casket was not created to be used, but it naturally conjures thoughts of death, burial, and the great beyond. It certainly wasn’t made with the intention of being displayed in a gallery (and thus putting Dan in the position of discussing such taboo topics), but that’s exactly what transpired this past weekend.
Friday night marked the opening of the Hereafter exhibition at Contemporary Craft in Pittsburgh. Dan was one of 13 artists whose work is showcased throughout the gallery, and each piece explores themes surrounding death, grief, and loss.
It is an incredible group of work curated in a powerfully immersive way, and includes a wide range of mediums and materials - everything from dryer lint to pottery, jewelry, found objects, and much more.
If you’re in the area you can check it out until August 24th.
After sitting in our shed for nearly a year, it was an overwhelming experience to see the casket in such a polished context. We didn’t know how the curators would ultimately choose to display the work, but the positioning and separation of the pieces made for a striking scene.
from final touches in the shed to an artist talk in the gallery
On Saturday morning we returned for a walk-through of the gallery with 8 of the other artists in the show. Each spoke about their work with vulnerable poignancy through stories that stretched across the spectrum of humorous and heart wrenching.
Dan told his tale of discovering willow basketry by way of the casket, and how his craft has intersected with a lifelong fear of death.
Living on a farm has brought us face to face with the cycles of life and death, which up close lose all edges, and sense of finality.
As Dan spoke about how this perspective has loosened his fears, and how willow so wonderfully showcases the endless shapeshifting of the natural world, the casket beside him felt like the perfect vessel to hold both his growth as a maker, and as a person facing mortality.
Originally published on June 2, 2024
Savoring the Sweet Spots
Jewels are emerging from the jungle the acreage has become, reminding us that Foggy Blossom is as much a fruit farm as it is a basketry business.
Our 14-year-old Border Terrier never forgets this, as he’s developed an annual obsession with Raspberries that has grown into a full blown addiction. He would eat his weight in Ribes if he had his druthers, and lately our days revolve around dispersing a satisfying, yet modest, dose to the insatiable old man.
Our other dog, June, also 14, is similarly enchanted by the bevy of tempting tastes in the nursery, which has me wondering if we’ve stumbled into cultivating some sort of fruit-filled fountain of youth for canines.
In addition to Raspberries, there are Currants, Blackberries, Gooseberries, Apples, Grapes, Elderberries, Thimbleberries, Blueberries, Pears, Goumi and more coming into fleshy focus. Anything still in the blossom stage is perpetually covered in passionate pollen seekers, while our own senses feel a similar magnetic pull.
Even the most chaotic day can be calmed by an immersion into this growing vibrancy.
We’ve already enjoyed a robust harvest of Honeyberries, which were mixed into muffin batter and baked, in an effort to tamp their more sour than sweet flavor (think Blueberries with the tartness turned up to 11).
This challenge is the norm for many of the fruits we grow, given that their flavor profiles, and familiarity, lie just a bit outside the norm. Most of the aforementioned varieties were entirely unknown to us until we grew them.
Nearly every one of these fruits were planted back when we were incubating a plethora of perennial-focused ideas for potential business models throughout 2018 and 2019. Willow had not yet hit center stage (nothing had), and we always joked that we could count on fruits (and nuts) to serve as our retirement plan, sight unseen.
We foresaw our lineup of mysterious, everbearing edibles as the epitome of a long-term investment, and so far the dividends have been delightfully, and lightly, doled out. Throughout the next decade, however, these scant harvests will grow into more mountainous yields, allowing us to share our rare gems with a wider audience.
Today we’re simply at a sweet spot of manageable maturation, where the opportunity to become intimately acquainted with each taste is possible, and a pleasure.
a set of recently woven stake & strand shopping baskets
Our willow basketry pursuits seem to be at a sweet spot too, albeit it a slightly more intense one. The past two years have been spent enduring challenges within the honeymoon phases of cultivating, harvesting, weaving, selling, teaching, and serving as ambassadors for this plant, and artform, we love so much.
Dan has excelled beyond the levels of beginner, novice, and highly competent creator within his craft, but inventive mastery endlessly beckons. I’m still finding my footing here in Field Notes, and working out how to best share our scattered pursuits and stories, with grace, across all platforms.
Together, we’re enjoying this surprising and exciting ride.
Foggy Blossom will likely forever live up to its hazy namesake, rather than find a final form, and we wouldn’t want it any other way. Sweet spots can be cozy, but also plateaus of potential stagnancy. Pigeonholes and niches seem much the same.
So as we continue to chase new ideas and adventures, as is our nature, may we remember to stop and savor every sweetness along the way.
The dogs will remind us.
Originally published on June 9, 2024
Illuminated
and electric
Dan rinsing bundles of willow fresh out of the soaking tank
Summer officially arrives on Thursday, but lately we’ve experienced a more than generous sneak peak of the season throughout extended, and increasingly dynamic, daylight.
Early mornings, however, still embody the softer atmosphere of Spring. I prefer to make my rounds then, capturing images and enjoying the cool air that covers dewy grass on the brink of being emblazoned.
As the sun slowly rises I get to witness the world wake up, and feel the first electrifying illumination of the day. Each dawn reveals new delights.
The first Cecropia Moth appeared amongst the Red Currants last week, treating us to an up close look at its too-fuzzy-to-be-real body.
On the opposite end of the cute spectrum, empty snake skins were found strewn across the lawn, offering haunting mementos of molting endeavors from our rather large reptilian residents.
Elsewhere Blueberries are taking on an increasingly rosy blush, while Raspberries are rapidly moving past ripe and into rotten territory as we struggle to keep up.
On the other side of each day’s dew, Prickly Pear blossoms make the most alarming arrival, appearing with orange opulence in the blink of an eye.
And newly constructed bird nests are finally easy to find, as our presence tends to scare off soon-to-be mothers keeping their eggs warm. We can hardly move through the nursery without being accosted by the Robin who roosted at the gate, despite our insistence to her that we mean no harm.
The largely silent work of Spring is evident everywhere, especially amongst the apples who are bulging beyond the bud stage. This foreshadowing of Fall’s substantial and final forms will become the work of Summer, who seems eager to get down to it.
The Solstice will mark the point of no return as we find ourselves engulfed in the most energetic and illuminated season of the year, but thankfully the early morning hours will continue to serve as liminal moments for curious exploration.
Before the sun comes up, anything is possible.
Originally published on June 16, 2024
Reaching New Heights
In the past week we’ve driven over 2,200 miles, with many more to go until we see Pennsylvania again.
After preparing and soaking thousands of willow rods, packing them with dry ice (and hoping for the best), we embarked on our journey to Anderson Ranch Arts Center with our tools and best intentions in tow.
We arrived, unpacked, and anxiously awaited the arrival of our students, who would be joining us for a week of willow basketry education.
They were all incredible, and brought their best effort to a craft that is anything but easy.
Throughout the week Dan led our group of 9, along with the wonderful help of Anderson Ranch’s wonderful studio coordinator and intern. Their collective energy and enthusiasm ushered everyone through the ups and downs.
Our intention for the workshop was to teach three different basket projects, but the need to pivot arose as we faced the challenges of dry air, time, and altitude (8,200 compared to our 800 at home).
Also, on the second night Dan shared an artist talk, which was perhaps more nerve-wracking than the entire week of teaching.
Despite every hurdle, the outcome in the studio was prolific.
The focus and fortitude was inspiring.
The camaraderie and humor were as abundant as the creativity…
…and even though some projects ended up on the cutting room floor, every attempt was worth it.
As the distance between us, the Ranch, and our wonderful weavers grows, it will be hard to let go of this experience that has us in awe of the spectacular twists and turns our lives have taken, thanks to willow.
On to the next adventure.
Originally published on June 23, 2024
Back Down to Earth
reintegration after the road
We’ve been home for 6 nights after being away for 11, but it feels like it’ll take another 100 to fully recover.
That may be a bit hyperbolic, but after driving 3,000+ miles, and living and teaching at 8,000+ feet in elevation for a week, we are wiped out.
Thankfully the farm fared just fine while we were away (despite enduring the infamous heat dome), and is currently bursting with fruits, sky-high willows, and babies here in the first official week of summer.
The new season arrived while we were in Colorado, which made the fanfare of the solstice somewhat of a blur. Back home we’re slowly finding our groove, and focusing on taking care of our weary bodies throughout these lazy, albeit abundant, days.
Hazelnuts, Raspberries, Blueberries + Baron
Having a perennial-focused operation means that the majority of our field work is done in the spring and fall (plus winter willow harvesting), so summer tends to be one of the more relaxed times of our year.
At this point in our lives and business, it needs to be.
Three days ago, Foggy Blossom Farm turned 6 years old.
Back in 2018 we made it official, paperwork and all, despite having no agricultural wisdom beyond backyard gardening, and very little clarity around exactly where the business would go.
After a brief dalliance with cut flowers and annual vegetables, both of which proved to be too much for two to manage, the story shifted. Perennials gave us the relief of less physical work, plus longterm investments for the future, but they also led to willow, and basketry, which has considerably ramped up the labor we were pivoting away from.
We’re busier than ever, and feeling the effects.
Willow being opened and inspected after 3 days of driving, in the process of being woven, and in final basket form.
Anyone who wants to learn the art of willow basketry is in for an incredible challenge, which becomes apparent as soon as they touch the material.
The first time Dan taught me to weave I broke down in tears, shocked by the difficulty and physical strength required. Rising to the occasion and persevering, however, was a transcendent experience, and every time we see a basket take shape in the hands of a beginner, it is a beautiful sight to behold. Knowing the results could last a lifetime adds an extra, emotional layer that has us hooked.
Cranberries, Grapes, Blueberries, Thimbleberries
It is interesting to think back to 2018 and how we weren’t willing to start annual seedlings from scratch, and begin anew year after year, but we are now willing to push ourselves over the physical, mental and emotional edges to experience teaching willow basketry across the country.
I suppose it wasn’t the labor that was the issue after all, but a lack of resonance and passion. The right path needed to find us, instead of the other way around, and thankfully it did at the perfect time.
Regardless of how busy we get with willow and basketry, all of these precious perennials have not been forgotten. In truth, they don’t need much of our help these days, and we feel like the ones being served. Knowing they’re here sustains us as we come and go is a great and grounding source of levity amidst the chaos.
Here in early summer, though, the horizon looks calm.
