by Krista | May 3, 2018 | Autumn
It’s a quiet day at home as Bear and I prepare for our first medieval event of the season. It’s lovely to just potter peacefully along, polishing knives and oiling wooden implements, hanging linen sheets out to dry in the sunshine and collecting dishes and cutlery.
The kitchen smells rather wonderful as sausages fry with onions, carrots dusted with cumin roast in the oven, and lime beer cools on the kitchen table.
In between projects I rest, recovering from a medical situation that resulted in a trip to hospital and a surgical procedure that we hope will resolve an issue that made me ill for the past 5 weeks. I’m thankful for savvy doctors and clear test results and cancellations that allowed me to get the treatment I needed in record time. I’m especially thankful for kind souls who have loved me and helped me through this, and I’m hopeful that rest, and Bear’s continued good care, will have me back in good form soon.
It has been a scary time for me, so I’m really grateful I had good things to look forward to, like our enactors-only medieval weekend where we get to just enjoy medieval life with our medieval mates.
Our Blackwolf members have been lovely, stepping in when I wasn’t well, doing an amazing job getting our trailer loaded and menu planned and wood chopped. I’m so looking forward to four days with them, comfy around the campfire, while our lovely caretakers keep a good watch on our farm and animals.
Today I took time from packing to wood-burn a few things just for me, and each piece makes me so happy. From the short-handled ladle and Scandinavian butter knife to the splendid dagger Bear gave me. It’s nice to make my personal medieval gear extra special.
Soon it will be time to pack up the food, bottle the lime beer, and get the last of our gear loaded into the car, but first, a nap, and pain-killers, then a strong cup of tea.
Wishing you a beautiful and restful weekend with people you love. xo
by Krista | Apr 9, 2018 | Autumn
Since February, we’ve been dealing with a man who is stalking me. We put up No Trespassing signs, installed guard dogs, filed reports with the police, and issued warnings, but nothing has stopped him.
Last week I walked out of our kitchen and there he was, on our doorstep.
Thankfully Bear was home and we did exactly what the police told us to do: I stayed in the house on the phone with the cops, while Bear kept him talking long enough for the police to get here.
We’ve added locks to our gates, another guard dog just for me, and the police have promised to get here immediately should he show up again. I’ve been taking self-defense lessons and I practice scenarios with Bear on What To Do If This Happens Again.
Mostly I’ve been working through fear.
Since I arrived in Australia, our farm has been my safe haven, my oasis, my place of peace and security. He shattered that. And for a while, I couldn’t rest. My body returned to the fight or flight state it had been in for so many years, and only recently healed from. Nightmares came back, and I wasn’t sleeping well, always listening for him so I could protect myself and be safe.
I also wrestled with shame, because Truly Strong Women aren’t supposed to be afraid. They’re supposed to be so strong in themselves that no outside force can disturb their peace.
I’m not sure where this idea comes from, this notion that true strength is not being affected by events and behavior around us, this ludicrous idea that some emotions and reactions are bad and others are good. When emotions are put into Positive and Negative camps, they add twisted things to the mix: an odd sense of security when you’re feeling the positive, and shame when you’re feeling the negative.
Over the weekend I decided I’d had quite enough of shame, so I decided to simply let myself be afraid without judgment or condemnation or attempts to suppress or change.
And I observed something very interesting.
Fear with shame is crippling, isolating, debilitating. It made me want to hide away from the world, stay home with doors locked and window shades pulled, keep myself closed off from anything that could hurt or endanger me.
Fear without shame is clarifying, grounding, empowering. It helped me be real and honest with myself and Bear and the police. “I’m scared and he is scaring me, so what do I do?”
It was so comforting to give myself permission to be scared. It took away the fear of the fear, and allowed me to focus on a plan instead.
I’ve been practicing Causing A Scene with Bear, because that doesn’t come naturally to me. I’m getting quite good at hollering loudly, and giving Bear much amusement in the process.
I talked it all through with the police and I know exactly what to do within the bounds of Australian law, which is quite different from what I grew up with.
And I keep on living beautifully, hand in hand with fear. I was afraid and made rose petal jam. I was afraid and made medieval wool tassels and braided cord. I was afraid and baked Earl Grey cheesecakes and a big pot of Smoked Ham and Potato Soup.
Letting fear hang out with me as long as it needs to has been an amazing thing. I’m still afraid of him. He’s a bastard and a bad man and he does scary things, but I’m not crippled by the fear. I can be afraid of him and still live a beautiful life. I can be afraid to go to town, and still go to town and have a great time. I can be afraid of being alone on the farm, and still be alone on the farm and have a great day. I can be afraid of travelling by myself, and still travel by myself and have a great trip.
Last night I had my first good sleep. No nightmares. No anxiety. No laying awake in the dark thinking of worst case scenarios. I just slept. I’ve had some alone hours on the farm, and they’ve been lovely. Feeding the animals, sighing happily over baby chicks and a newborn lamb, watering the new seedlings that popped up, cuddling my awesome guard pup, Fezzik, who is already protecting me beautifully. And I’ve planned a solitary road trip for myself for later this week. I’m going to the mountains and the ocean and will have a picnic on the beach with a good friend.
The bad man may scare me, but he doesn’t get to steal my life, and that is a wonderful thing. xo
by Krista | Mar 26, 2018 | Autumn
It is quiet and still this afternoon. Fezzik, our new Rottweiler pup, is sleeping on the floor beside me, a pork roast is slow-cooking in the oven, filling the house with wonderful smells, and the cuckoo clock is ticking softly, making everything feel peaceful and steady.
I’m feeling so thankful today after a decidedly rough couple of weeks.
I’ve had a feeling for a while that my body was nearly ready to tackle the next layer of bad stuff from my past. I wasn’t looking forward to it – the darkness is painful and sad and awful – but I was looking forward to the light I knew would come after.
The trigger came the day a friend asked, “Did this happen to you?” That simple question blasted a hole in the dam of that next layer, and memories and flashbacks poured in like a flood. That week was supposed to be spent writing my travel articles early so I wouldn’t be cramming at the end, but instead it was spent processing those memories, grappling with grief and fear and pain, wrestling with the painful truth that no one is all good or all bad.
It would be so much easier to deal with bad guys if they were all bad, but they aren’t. And I think that’s what traps us sometimes, what keeps us in abusive relationships, families, work situations, friendships. I think that’s what makes us feel guilty when we break off contact or limit contact or set boundaries with people. Yes, we tell ourselves, this person makes me afraid, insecure, unworthy of love or kindness or respect, this person physically harms me, emotionally crushes me or spiritually abuses me, BUT sometimes they’re really nice, so we stay, and other people think they’re really nice, so we stay, and we don’t have enough money/support/knowledge to leave, so we stay.
It’s the staying part that crushed me the most this week. How could I not have known that “this” wasn’t OK? How could I have “let” them do this? How could I not have done then what I would do now?
My friend, Alyssa, shared these words, and how I love them:
“Forgive yourself for not knowing what you didn’t know before you learned it.”
There’s life in those words, life and hope and comfort.
So I did the healing work.
I wrote out the truth of what happened, how it affected me, and how it made me feel.
I drew out the truth.
I spoke out the truth.
And I forgave myself for not knowing what I didn’t know before I learned it.
Through it all, I took extra good care of myself, because such things take the stuffings out of us, don’t they? Homemade soup, walks outside, puppy cuddles, hubby cuddles, as much sleep and rest as I could get.
And when all the bad was out, it was time to fill in those spaces with good things, with truth, with connections to good, loving people.
We had our medieval friends over for a sausage-roast over the campfire, fun projects, and, most importantly, good hugs. When you’ve worked through betrayals from the past, it’s deeply healing to connect with the faithful friends.
We went for bike rides and painted on the veranda and bought flowers and seedlings to put in my gardens.
I also started building good, loving connections with my past. Remembering the good things doesn’t blot out the bad things or make them OK, it just reminds me of the good things that shaped me, kept my soul intact, and gave me the courage and strength to survive the bad.
I drew pictures of the things and people and experiences that brought me joy then and bring me joy now: singing around the Christmas tree, camping in the Canadian wilderness, beloved books and old movies, popcorn, cheese and apples every Sunday night, campfires and s’mores, sleigh rides at night over the Alberta prairies, listening to audio books on road trips, playing with legos, canoeing when mist still hung over the lake, watching old Disney movies, reading old books.
These are the things from my past that I cherish, the things I carry with me into the life I have now, a life I’m beyond grateful for.
What are precious things from your past that bring you joy today? xo
by Krista | Mar 17, 2018 | Summer
I am home safe and sound from Tasmania, my head and heart full of stories and experiences to share with you in the months to come. But first I need to finish documenting my heart-strengthening adventures solo camping and solo hiking in the Bunya Mountains.
Thanks to the valiant Old Ladies of Courage who provide beacons of fearlessness for me, my remaining days were ones of peace.
Every morning I would wake well before sunrise, thoroughly rested after sleeping on my teetering pile of mattresses in the cool mountain air. Fortified by hot coffee and fried potatoes and sausage, I spent hours each day hiking the trails in and around Bunya Mountains National Park.
I loved it. All of it. The broad trails spongy from thick layers of fallen leaves, wallabies and bush turkeys scavenging for food in the undergrowth, and, most of all, the trees.
The trees are different here. Ancient. Their roots cavorting and twisting in delightfully eerie patterns that make them seem as if they might go ambling through the forest at night once all the humans are tucked away out of sight.
They make me feel safe and secure, for they’ve stood so long, seen so much, yet just keep standing and growing.
They also comfort me, for they remind me that even though they’re surrounded by other plants and trees, they still have to do their own growing. They have to push up through the rainforest canopy to find life-giving light. They have to send their roots out to nourish themselves. And when they get injured by storms or humans, they have to heal themselves and keep on going, scarred but magnificent.
They remind me that in life we are alone, but not alone. We may be surrounded by life and light, close to others who support, cheer, and encourage us, but we still have to grow and strengthen and heal alone. We have to do the work of thriving, of claiming a spot for ourselves and searching for light and nourishment until we find it.
But we’re luckier than the trees. If we can’t thrive in the spot where we’re planted, if we are withering from abuse, neglect, and lack of nutrients for body and soul, we get to pull ourselves up by the roots and plant ourselves somewhere else. It is hard, and scary as hell, but we can do it.
It did my heart good to see lush life in the rainforest, to see that even with only a few hours of sunlight each day, these plants are verdant and healthy and strong. That is comfort to me. None of us live in everlasting sunlight. We all experience darkness, sometimes horrible darkness that seems to last forever, but there is light, and if we are brave and look hard, we can find enough to keep us going until the darkness lifts.
I’m so thankful for the light-bringers in this world. Those who speak love and comfort and truth, those who say nothing but give amazing hugs, those precious few who reach into our darkness with flickering candles and say, “This way, darling. You’re almost there.”
We need each other. Sometimes we need the light, and sometimes we get to be the light, and sometimes we’re so tired we just sit like fungus on an old log and look odd but interesting.
Today I’m grateful for life, for as long as we’re alive, there’s always hope.
There’s the hope of strong minds and healthy bodies and true friendship and real love and safe homes and enough money and even hope for simple, good things that do nothing but bring us joy.
Today those things include cuddling our new Rottweiler puppy, Fezzik, making medieval shields with Bear for a local school, and getting ready for the arrival of lovely medieval friends tomorrow. I’m sure looking forward to big hugs, good talks, and cooking sausages over the campfire.
What little things are bringing you joy today? xo
by Krista | Mar 4, 2018 | Summer
There’s something both deeply comforting and deeply uncomfortable about being alone for an extended period of time.
It’s uncomfortable because there are no distractions. No one else’s needs or wishes making us feel needed and important. No one else’s conversation or questions to fill the void. There is no nothing to keep us from the things that are in our own hearts and minds.
The comfort doesn’t come until you’ve gone through the discomfort.
And that’s why taking time to be alone is so important to me.
I loved my solo camping trip to the Bunya Mountains. I liked learning how to set up my tent by myself and make sure it didn’t get blown away in the gales that howled through the valley. I liked learning how to work the gas bottle stove, set up my little kitchen area, and make the tent nice and snug with a comfy chair, rug on the floor, and too many mattresses.
And then, when the work was done, I liked sitting quietly with the discomfort of alone-ness.
In such moments, I find it helpful to have a notebook for writing and sketchpad for drawing. I’ve found that when I’m truly alone, truly quiet, a lot of stuff is going to start coming up. And I can stuff it right back down to where it came from, or I can set it free through writing or drawing.
I did a lot of both on that trip. Especially in the quiet of early morning when the rest of the camp site was sound asleep, and it was just me, grazing wallabies, and heavy mist snaking down from the mountains.
I brewed my coffee, wrapped myself in my most cheerful pashmina, and let whatever needed to be addressed, express itself through rambling sentences and colorful sketches.
I wrote and drew my way through friendships and marriage, family and work, fear and finances, courage and hope, gardens and medieval stuff, insecurities and triumphs, secret wishes and fledgling dreams. They all tumbled out, bringing with them healing and understanding and clarity and comfort.
Soon the sun would rise, burning off the mist, illuminating the trees, and setting the wallabies fur aglow.
There’s something so wonderful about morning light. It brings such a clean, fresh hope to the day.
With those first rays, I tucked my notebooks away, made breakfast while baby wallabies came up to watch, then sat back to eat while the bush turkeys and wallabies provided my mealtime entertainment.
After a hearty breakfast, I donned my hiking gear, loaded my backpack, and headed deep into the rainforest for some quality alone time in nature.
I’ll tell you more about that next time.
What do you like to do with your precious alone time? xo
