Art

Cabin 16: inter-species kin

September 26, 2018

A lovely, gracious wind-down to the green-breathing season this year. I divide my time this week between a lovely old farmhouse where an ancient cat needs my care, and the well-come cabin in the woods, surrounded by my new inter-species kin. Each time I return to the lakeside I’m amazed at how the place is […]

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Cabin 15: A shedding

September 16, 2018

The bowl is close to full with impressions, gathered from this place through me. Loon songs, shore waves and tree frogs singing in alternate – major second, minor third, major fifth, unison. Owl, just after twilight. Snarls of nocturnal hunters as they chase then meet their kill – the unforgettable, intense charge of those screaming […]

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Cabin 14: September

September 12, 2018

I swim in the rain. The lake is now well beyond bracing, but not yet head-achingly cold. It occurs to me as I go in for the third time that this is perhaps what the crows had been trying to tell me, HEY! Time to think about Packing Up! COLD COMES! What I didn’t hear […]

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Cabin 13: Up before the Crows

September 10, 2018

Here among the trees it’s difficult to differentiate between strength and power. But this is a good place to observe from: my human experience of both. In people terms, it’s easier to see: that man has great power but uses up the strength of those around him and wields it abusively; this woman is strong […]

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Cabin 12: inside an Art Project

September 5, 2018

Thanks James, for coaxing this out of me. I heard a rumour you’d moved,  he said. How are you doing? A year ago I read Rebecca Solnit’s A Field Guide to Getting Lost, in which she suggests that artists find places where no one has been, and then find a way to take us there (Scientists do […]

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Cabin 11: The Guest House

September 2, 2018

Perhaps a little space for an outdoor kitchen might be good? A place to hang my lantern so I can read. Shelves that make a little more sense. Some clearer idea of protocol, i.e., dishes, garbage, drinking water, coffee and how/when to prepare for dark. A good friend these past forty years comes from afar […]

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Cabin 10: inspiration

August 31, 2018

If the mycorrizhae can do it, so can I. If I can do it, so can we. White filaments just under the surface of a healthy forest floor that connect plant roots to nutrients, and also to one another.  Like the internet, but infinitely more healthy. We do the same thing, we humans, with music. […]

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Cabin 9: around the dented corner

August 28, 2018

For those of you who have endured the mess described in the past few posts, I salute you. It’s not easy to travel with someone who finds herself on a foggy path of confusion and vulnerability, and stay with it. My pain is no more or less important than anyone’s; we all deal with terrible […]

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Cabin 8: Response-able

August 27, 2018

All’s well that ends well A comforting thought which all too often loses its deeper reference point when used, finger-waggingly, as an I told you so. All situations, human and otherwise, are complex and so fundamentally unknowable. Platitudes and clichés can function as important touchstones that evoke deeper wisdom.  They can also be poorly applied, like […]

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Cabin stories 7: Resistance

August 25, 2018

“What you resist will persist” This was scrawled and partially obscured at the top of a dry-erase board, in a kitchen briefly visited. One of the most popular clichés of our time, it’s a fine example of backyard philosophy. Not subtle, but pithy. Useful, in a pinch. If you write it down in your kitchen, […]

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Cabin stories 6: learning human

August 22, 2018

There is not a tree here the species books would call perfect. They are bent and twisted, storm-broken and shallow-rooted. They share a mere skiff of soil, what sunlight they can reach and make the best of what they have. Ironwood, cedar, birch are the oldest. Sapling maple and ash have found space too, and […]

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Cabin Stories 5: death and life

August 17, 2018

In right now there is reverence deep prayer, an endless, thunder-throated, steady dripping Love. The shore waves sing a slow ballad in 7/8 time. Good deaths are soft. A miraculous easing of release. A shedding a moulting a fall, then surrender to moss and insect to beautiful, fragrant rot: With my body I nourish thee. […]

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