Pouring from the Pitcher

Wednesday marked the New Moon in Gemini, and with it a solar eclipse. It was a time to say good-bye to what we no longer need, and welcome the positive change we have been resisting. I embraced this moon with open arms. As I continue on the difficult but hugely rewarding path toward Organized Simplicity, I am forced to acknowledge that I have adopted a lifestyle which is no longer serving me. Too many things, too many obligations, too many yeses that should have been nos fill my plate. Slowly, day by day, garbage bag by garbage bag, I am removing each of them. During this process I am reminded of the willow, and intend to stay firmly rooted while allowing the winds of change to bend my branches toward the sun.

As I am forced to acknowledge my overflowing plate, I am also placed face to face with another harsh reality: I am not the only one who is being shortchanged. It is my responsibility (and honor) to position my children for smooth, happy sailing in these tender years. How can their sailing be smooth when their ship is often chaotic, cluttered, rushed, and driven by a sleep-deprived captain?

In the amazing culture study The Continuum Concept, Margaret Mead tells the author of her pitcher-of-milk theory: if you want to teach a child to pour himself a glass of milk, get up, get a pitcher of milk, and pour yourself a glass. If I want my children to sail smoother seas, I must sail smoother seas myself. As I am clearing away the obstacles and moving toward a simpler life, I will remember to fill my own cup, so that it holds plenty for others. My intention for this moon is to pour from the pitcher and fill my own cup.

As a reminder, I am filling up my favorite pitcher with water each morning, infused with something sweet (lime, cucumber, mint, etc.) and placing a small glass next to it. Each time I walk by, I fill my cup. Here's hoping your cup stays full as well. (Not overflowing. Just full.)

Simple Gifts

I have taken a longer break from this space than I had intended. A lack of camera and plate-too-full have made excuses easy, and I have seen the repercussions. This space is much more to me than an exhibitionist outlet or a pretty chronicle: it keeps me accountable to my own laws of nature. In my time away from it, I have seen its true value. And it is good to be back.

Recently, Mama Bird recommended a small, neatly packaged, seemingly innocent book. As I read (read: devour) its pages, nothing independently groundbreaking leaps up from them. But somehow, the path therein seems brilliantly and easily illuminated.

Organized Simplicity is more than a book to me now, it seems to be my mantra. Through the simple, grounding task of revisiting our family's purpose, I have been given a monumental gift. I now have a clear and ever-present filter for my words, actions, deeds, time obligations, and things. If any of the above do not fulfill the highest good of my family's purpose, they are OUT. And it is maybe the most refreshing feeling I've ever had.

I've even been able to use the filter for the book itself. Where the author is able to implement the system in 10 days, I am granting myself a generous six months, thereby removing all pressure and really making it enjoyable. The same principles and priorities are being applied to my body, my health, my parenting, my marriage--and for the first time in a long time, I feel there just might be time enough in my day to thoroughly savor all of these rich blessings on my plate.

It feels nice to be back here. All of these images were taken in my very own front yard. All around me, things feel clean, fresh, and washed brand new.

Beeswax Solstice Candles

Inspired by the beeswax endeavors of Rose and Mama Bird, Big B, little b and I decided to make candles for our family for Christmas this year. We got a gorgeous hunk of sweet smelling wax and wicks from The Night Gardener, scored some little teacups from a thrift store, and set to work on the candles on the Winter Solstice.

Watching the wax melt was strangely gratifying, for all of us.

Big B and little b took turns dipping the wicks into the hot wax and watching them quickly dry.

We then centered the wicks into little metal holders, wrapped the tops around pencils to keep them centered, and poured in the wax.

When we had made enough for our family, we used the rest of the wax to create a special Solstice candle. Big B and little b poured in "snow" and pine and fir needles to capture winter in the wax.

We lit the candle every night from Solstice to Christmas, and said "Happy Birthday Sun!" The kids also reenacted the battle of the Oak King and the Holly King, their favorite Solstice story.

Solstice is a special time in our home, the time we remember a sweet baby joining us beneath the Christmas tree, three years ago. Happy BIRTH day, little b.

Thanksgiving 2010: An Ode to Trees

We tiptoed onto Papa's Grandma's land in the darkness, and were greeted the next morning, the day before Thanksgiving, by this magnificent tree. It was the perfect beginning, the perfect reminder to give thanks for the beauty that surrounds us. We celebrated it by adorning our trusty Vagabond with Andy Goldsworthy-esque devotionals.

Big B, little b and their Georgia kin experienced the joy of jumping into a huge crunchy leaf pile, making leaf angels, and basking in the shade and raining leaves of the changing trees. We read The Giving Tree a lot during the trip, resonating deep in the heart of our eldest, who called his favorite climbing tree "Mama Tree" and talked to her every day.
More tree love: deep into the swampland on a brisk four-wheeler ride, we found this incredible cypress wonderland.

At our family reunion on Saturday, we hosted a children's craft table. I braided raffia throughout the trip in preparation for more leaf crowns. Papa and the boys went on a leaf-hunting expedition and collected the most beautiful fall leaves I've ever seen. The kids were crowned, created leaf rubbings, and wrote their gratitudes on paper leaves.The most beautiful tree I saw over the weekend: the family tree. I am so lucky to have married into this family, and so thankful that my children have this kind of history and sense of home to revisit, connecting them to their roots.

After the reunion, we visited a dear friend's property, one of the most beautiful pieces of land I've ever stepped foot on. She took all of us on a magical four-wheeler ride just as the sun was setting. About twenty minutes into the ride, when all daylight was gone, she asked us to turn off our lights and engines. She told us about the forest fairies that help the trees grow and the flowers bloom. The fairies only come out on chilly nights when all is quiet. She told the children to watch out for them, glowing in the trees. We continued our ride, and sure enough, as we neared the creek, there they were--and our children were mesmerized. I am forever grateful for this sweet woman.

The morning we left, we helped Papa's grandma with another special tree, infusing us with Christmas spirit for the long ride home.

Driving away, we passed the orchard of pecan trees that finds its way into Papa's retirement dreams. Such a sense of peace is found between these branches.

Another Thanksgiving, come and gone. And I have never been more thankful for the gifts of my life than I am at this moment. Hoping you all had a restful holiday filled with pause enough to count your blessings.

Blessing the Mother of the Village

Our dear friend and midwife returned from her Swedish home the last time she was growing a baby, and true to form has done so again, in perfect timing for a mother blessing. Our circle of New Moon mamas would not even be a circle without the birthing home this wise woman created. We owe the congregation of our little village, now with over twenty new children being consciously raised, in large part to her. Naturally, it was an honor place our hands and blessings upon her, full of love enough to carry her back overseas and welcome her third little one.

This blessing incorporated a sweet new element: the Big Sister circle, where the children were wrapped with the same red yarn that ties us all together in birth, in blood, and in love.

Blessings for another sweet birth to our friend,

and gratitude for the village she leaves stateside.

On Camping, and the Regeneration of Cells

For two weekends in a row, our family has camped near bonfires with old friends. How lucky I am to have typed that sentence! Last weekend it was back to The Dome for sweet music and celebration...

...and last night, back to The Ranch, this time for a seventh birthday party.

There was a collective spirit in the air, accented by pumpkins and ghosts...

...and sweet party games that just don't happen enough anymore. Like apple bobbing. Oh, the triumph!

The children, all dirt and grins, communed with nature on every level, ending with a sweet cow-feeding frenzy this morning. Gentle giants, my boys and those beasts, so beautiful.

What really struck a chord with me was the sheer villagery of it all. The eldest of our blessed tribe of babes is now seven. SEVEN. You've likely heard that all of our human cells regenerate every seven years--these incredible little people (over twenty of them!) have been together since zygotehood and are now completely reinvented, regenerated, and renewed, but have imprinted upon them the spirit of community, and always will.

The things that make up our physical bodies morph, change, die and are reborn. But upon strong foundations, new beauty emerges. We are constantly witnessing a steady stream of birth and rebirth with these entities we've been chosen to guide, and it is a mighty force of love, light, and pure, sweet laughter.