Cabin Stories

Hamilton Residency 9: Manifesto 2

February 23, 2019

Manifesto woman does not know what to do next. Baffling. Maddening. Humbling. Ego-flattening. Intensely educational. I’ve made at least twenty clear plans for these pieces in the past three months of this residency, and the only one that has lasted the duration is Surrender. I’m thinking this is at the root of what’s happening here. The […]

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Cabin 21: Poets

November 6, 2018

It took this tree about 100 years to grow and I’m burning it, piece by piece, in four months. It was the one mature tree I cut down to make room for this cabin – a twinned birch, now half gone. Every time I put a new log on the fire I’m aware of this […]

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Cabin 20: falling up

October 27, 2018

The lake is gentle again. I’m back home after a week of travel, grateful to be working outside on the upper deck where I can drink in this soft shore-song; I’d expected snow, but it was quiet rain instead, as hushed as I am, in this memory of warmth. I write solstice songs, work out […]

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cabin 19: rhythm on the shore

October 12, 2018

We had a lick of brilliant sunlight early in the week, golden trees against a rich blue sky – a day the fauvists and Tom Thomson would have rejoiced in, had they been here to witness it. Since then the lake is has been relentless, grey and broody with the wind whipping off James Bay […]

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Cabin 18: breathe

October 8, 2018

The sun emerges as I put together the pieces for Wassail!, a Solstice event this December in Owen Sound, Ontario, Canada. My hope is that every one will feel welcome and loved there – it will be a gathering of us around music, respect, laughter and community – just one of many possible sane answers […]

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Cabin 17: trauma and old trees

September 30, 2018

Ah, Dr. Ford, I believe you. In my bones I believe you, and all the other women our age who were used and abused without remorse or acknowledgement. I’m one of them, a few times over. Dr. Christine Blasey Ford, thank you from my heart for speaking your truth; I am humbled. Galvanized, to listen […]

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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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