Brimming

The land is brimming with water, life, and possibility.

The desire to grow a better version of ourselves is also rising, as it does each spring.

By this point in the year we’ve gotten a clear look at the one that came before, and aim to traverse what’s left of this one in more evolved ways.

Hope has a hold on us here at the tail end of spring, where resilience and beauty showcase unflappability.

In the spirit of evolution, we put together a short video that encapsulates our month of May, and the thoughts that swirled around at its end.

We hope you enjoy.

Originally published on June 1, 2025

Illuminated

bright, hazy heat

Between the bookends of dawn and dusk, this week offered hours upon hours of bright, hazy heat.

June arrived in the 30s and rapidly rose to the 80s, reminding us that the passage from spring to summer solstice lies within its wings. It’s been a rocky ride towards the transit, but the preciousness of young life around here was buoyed by the much needed shock wave of sun.

The atmosphere has finally shifted, making the realm of realization appear possible.

Seedlings have confidently stretched into sturdiness, and fruits are swelling to safer, more robust shapes. Insects, reptiles and amphibians are rapidly reawakening, and it’s not uncommon to catch a glimpse of a fresh bird species whose flight path has diverted to this swiftly blossoming plane.

Color and contrast pull focus for all.

This stratum of incubation serves so many, but when the peak of a day’s bell curve reaches a murky and stifling 87°, the flanks become the only opportunity for us to properly enjoy the view.

I make my rounds at the first crack of light, before it’s had a chance to burn off the night, or fully set my skin ablaze.

This pocket of ethereal illumination absorbs my attention, but is far too fleeting.

Under the midday furnace, I hunker down inside to peruse the files of what I’ve captured, always eager to try again tomorrow.

The lag time undoubtedly yields fresh discoveries.

Top left, clockwise: *Thimbleberry blossoms, Apples, Red Clover, Yarrow*

Dan is much more willing to move through the thick temperatures, and from our varied vantage points we compare notes on what we’ve found.

The world is loosened by warmth, especially across an overwhelming landscape that is becoming more impossible to visually parse through.

We’ll never catch it all.

Many young fruits are turning red, which we naively forget is a hue that makes them irresistible to birds. But the avian appetite is matched by mammals and bugs alike, as evidenced by divots chomped out of cherries, nibbles taken from the strawberries, and burrows driven into apples and pears.

Greediness, with enough to go around.

Far before daybreak on Friday, Baron and I were groggily traipsing through the damp and dark, as we always do, so that he can do his business, between 4 and 5 am.

While most of the acreage was obscured by atmospheric sludge from an overnight shower, we saw the first flickers of fireflies at the edges of the woods.

Illumination, even in the inkiness of night.

Sunlight will reach its widest wingspan in just 12 days, a culmination of all the light that’s been briskly basking. It may feel like the beginning, but by summer nearly half the path towards completion will already have been traversed.

Actualization of form, from an accumulation of light.

Originally published on June 8, 2025

Eventual Blur

intentional focus

It was a good week for getting lost in the details.

When the big picture of this place begins to feel like a carbon copy, year after year, the search for novel features and perspectives keeps our focus fresh. Finding a new shape, or source of sparkle, becomes a simple moment of solace in a chaotic sea of green.

Zeroing in, to zone out.

Dan has been weaving a lot lately, and his finished pieces challenge me to figure out how to best capture their artistry. Baskets are built on intentional, specific details that organize wild materials into something pristine.

The juxtaposition of this against the jumbled nature of the woods always works.

With the sunrise serving as our guide, and mossy logs as pedestals, the willow glows in photos. In video, though, the light just dances through the weave.

Like the woods, the nursery has become an overwhelming labyrinth of growth. Each visit is a treasure hunt for captivating closeups, which feels like my only hope for conveying the highlight reel obscured within the tangle.

Top left, clockwise: *Apple, Nanking Cherry, Pears, Blueberries*

A myriad of fruits continue to transform radiance into ripeness, and if you were here we’d give you a handful of Goumi to try. Beneath their speckled and slightly astringent skin is sweet, gooey flesh wrapped around a long yellowy seed.

In the wait for more familiar tastes, they’re a reliable source of edible excitement.

Top left, clockwise: *Raspberry, Mulberry, Blueberries, Goumi*

After last week’s post Dan told me he was inspired to find light coming through different forms, which he did across these mushrooms.

It has been such a wet season that fungi are well suited to flourish, so I suspect there’s much more luminescence ahead.

Inside, I’ve been bogged down in the world of details via drawing.

With every assignment I’m reminded how the process begins with a frustrating first draft of microscopic marks, but eventually blurs into a form that finds finesse.

From the tiniest details, a wholeness emerges that makes sense.

In all chaos, this is the hope.

Originally published on June 15, 2025

Coming To

a new season

As I begin writing this, it’s nearly 5 am on the summer solstice, and Baron and I have just finished our first routine of the day.

After breakfast for him and coffee for me, we shuffled out into the grass as frogs bellowed in the pitch dark distance. It was an unusually clear early morning sky, and the greenhouse roof was brilliantly reflecting a thick crescent moon.

*A fresh fawn prancing a little later in the morning*

We exchanged greetings with deer at the edge of the woods, and back at the door I had to fan away moths wanting to follow us inside. This is our daily, drowsy dance.

In 3 days he’ll turn 15, which feels impossible.

In much younger news, we planted the first row of roses here just 6 weeks ago.

There’s been hardly any buds since, but on a particularly steamy day Dan noticed a bloom had burst fully open, as if by magic. If only there was a way to share the scent.

Most days this past week became either too boiling hot, or too drenched by rain to enjoy the latter half of.

Early morning hours are the most precious, where the combination of warmth and wetness from the day before undoubtedly yields a wellspring of new discoveries.

In the field, far beyond the roses, is our food forest, which after 5+ years has hardly begun to resemble an edible woodland.

This year, though, there’s been more action than ever before.

Chestnuts have finally begun to offer frizzy flowers, and the first ever appearance of peaches continues to swell with promising fuzz.

Surrounding everything we grow on purpose out there is a mix of natives and invasives, making the diverse medley appear mostly as a mess of indiscernible green.

At the edge of the food forest is one of our main willow fields, which all but obscures the view of everything happening beyond it.

In less than 100 days (following the harvest), salix has shot up to towering heights.

There are many intentional zones around the acreage, and perhaps we’re overdue for a proper tour of each growing space.

The sweet spot here has always been our perennial nursery, which is close to the house and was the first space we invested energy into cultivating back in 2017.

*In the nursery - Hybrid Asian x European Pear, Red Currants*

It has somewhat outgrown its title as an incubation area, becoming instead a consumable landscape with towering trees and unruly vines.

It’s easy to get lost out there, where handfuls of berries are enjoyed in tandem with keeping our heads on a swivel for swiftly forming hornets nests.

I suppose we can’t blame them for wanting to hunker down in the heart of the action.

As I wrap up this writing, dawn has passed and a new day has arrived. From the crest of the solstice ridge I can see summer’s downward slope stretching to the horizon in both familiar and unforeseeable fashion.

It’s time to enjoy the ride.

Originally published on June 22, 2025

Heat Wave

a week under the dome

It has been yet another extreme week of weather.

Like many, we were parked beneath a hovering heat dome, doing our best not to melt into total malaise. Meanwhile most plants, supported by spring’s incredibly oversaturated water table, were thriving.

The temperature swings and skyrocketing made for some truly atmospheric mornings, which were still tolerable enough for leisurely strolls around the acreage.

In the nursery, lilies arrived at eye level, offering a sugary scent that floats far enough to be enjoyed from nearly 20 feet away. You smell them before you see them.

Flowers are in somewhat short supply around here, with waves of blooms greatly spaced throughout the seasons, so it’s always a joy to have these beauties burst open.

Milkweed has also made its presence known, officially kicking off Monarch Watch. So far, though, only the bees have been taking advantage of the star-shaped sweetness.

Dan is currently wrapping up a few days of teaching at a fiber arts conference in eastern Pennsylvania, so Baron and I have been holding down the fort at home. Berry season is his favorite, and the abundant yields have given him (& me) a bit of a boost.

These dog days of summer landed far too early, but have thankfully tapered off, giving way to milder, more normal days ahead. We hope.

Finally, a little art update — lately I’ve been in the land of value tones via ink.

For nearly a month I’ve been stippling, scumbling, hatching and cross-hatching, with both microns and dip pens. It has been a challenge, and not my favorite medium to tackle, but practice is quickly turning to progress.

My pencil drawing class ended with the challenge of tackling the unbelievably complex strawberry. All I can say is yikes.

Now I’ve got a few weeks to complete my final project, which will be a fairly large rendering of Fireweed, pictured below in our field. Wish me luck.

Field Notes Archive - June 2025