Imbolc \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 Bloodroot Moon<\/p>\n
Snow came in the night. \u00a0Maybe 2 inches. \u00a0Freshened up the landscape, pushed back the melting time. \u00a0Last year today it was 73, ruining my vision of the north, turning it into a slushy Indiana\/Ohio\/Illinois. \u00a0Climate change stealing my home. \u00a0It disoriented me, made me feel like a stranger in a strange, yet strangely familiar, land. \u00a0Now. \u00a030 degrees. \u00a08 inches of snow. \u00a0Home again.<\/p>\n
A book on my shelf, important to me: \u00a0Becoming Native to This Place. \u00a0The idea so powerful. \u00a0One so necessary for this nature starved moment, as the pace of the city as refuge lopes toward its own four minute mile. \u00a0Cities are energy, buzz, imagination criss-crossing, humans indulging, amplifying, renewing humanness but. \u00a0But.<\/p>\n
All good. \u00a0Yes. \u00a0Yet.<\/p>\n
That stream you used to walk along. \u00a0The meadow where the deer stood. \u00a0You remember. \u00a0The night the snow came down and you put on your snowshoes and you walked out the backdoor into the woods and walked quietly among the trees, listening to the great horned owl and the wind. \u00a0The great dog bounding behind you in the snow, standing on your snowshoes, making you fall over and laugh. \u00a0Remember that?<\/p>\n
There was, too, that New Year’s Day. \u00a0Early morning with the temperature in the 20s below zero and another dog, the feral one, black and sleek, slung low to the ground, went with you on the frozen lake, investigating the ice-fishing shacks, all alone, everyone still in bed from the party the night before but you two walked, just you two and the cold.<\/p>\n
Before I go, I also have to mention those potatoes. \u00a0The first year. \u00a0Reaching underneath the earth, scrabbling around with gloved fingers. \u00a0Finding a lump. \u00a0There. \u00a0Another. \u00a0And another. \u00a0And another. \u00a0The taste. \u00a0Straight from the soil. \u00a0With leeks and garlic. \u00a0Tomatoes, too, and beets. \u00a0Red fingers. \u00a0The collard greens. \u00a0Biscuits spread with honey from the hive.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Imbolc \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 Bloodroot Moon Snow came in the night. \u00a0Maybe 2 inches. \u00a0Freshened up the landscape, pushed back the melting time. \u00a0Last year … Continue reading Yet.<\/span>