I began expressing my big Cancer emotions through writing at a very young age. For me, the unique act of writing is what allows me to process and evolve fully . Today, my weekly missives follow themes that weave between the literal fields of my work in the Gemmo Forest, our family homestead garden, and the energy field we all experience. My life now follows the rhythm of the land. From spring through fall, I can be found outdoors, hands in the dirt, working alongside her husband, Joachim, to tend our 7,500-square-foot family garden or with local volunteers caring for Gemmo Forest. When the cold sets in and the fields rest, I return indoors, where I rekindle my love of writing by the wood stove, always with my faithful calico, Ruby, curled close by.
Winter's last call
|
Field Notes from Lauren
I began expressing my big Cancer emotions through writing at a very young age. For me, the unique act of writing is what allows me to process and evolve fully . Today, my weekly missives follow themes that weave between the literal fields of my work in the Gemmo Forest, our family homestead garden, and the energy field we all experience. My life now follows the rhythm of the land. From spring through fall, I can be found outdoors, hands in the dirt, working alongside her husband, Joachim, to tend our 7,500-square-foot family garden or with local volunteers caring for Gemmo Forest. When the cold sets in and the fields rest, I return indoors, where I rekindle my love of writing by the wood stove, always with my faithful calico, Ruby, curled close by.
Want to read this email on the web? Click here. The same stream of life that runs through my veins night and day runs through the world and dances in rhythmic measures. ~Rabindranath Tagore Dear Reader Although there are still pockets of snow, the arrival of robins en masse tells me our winter has passed. Mama fox has also been sighted now on a daily basis, darting the edges of the garden fence with her mouth full of some catch to share with her kits. Thursday night, the spring peepers...
Want to read this email on the web? Click here. March, when days are getting long, Let thy growing hours be strong To set right some wintry wrong. ~Caroline May Dear Reader On the first full day of spring, the view out my window reveals scattered remnants of seasons past. Waving in the blustery wind are threads of bean vines still attached to the summer trellis. Towering seed heads of Bee Balm nod, and a patchwork of snow remains. And yet when I slip on my muck boots for a wander, there are...
Want to read this email on the web? Click here. In March the earth remembers its own name. Everywhere the plates of snow are cracking. The rivers begin to sing. - Mary Oliver Dear Reader Let's face it, March is not a month prepared to win any popularity contest. October and May, with their showy leaves and blossoms, certainly have a competitive edge. Even December has its fan club. It’s likely that March might rank ahead of January, but that’s not saying much. To be truthful, the weeks that...