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
by Krista | Feb 27, 2018 | Summer
“You gain strength, courage and confidence
by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face.
You are able to say to yourself,
‘I have lived through this horror.
I can take the next thing that comes along.’
You must do the thing you think you cannot do.”
Eleanor Roosevelt
I love these words so much. “…look fear in the face.” They give me focus, help me know what to do when the fear comes. Instead of hiding or pretending, I can calmly stop, look it in the face, let the feelings surge, and when they settle, decide what to do next.
My friend Jane, from creating-sparks, describes this moment as, “The deep assurance that no matter what happens, we (our souls, our inner person) are OK, we will be OK.”
Rooted in that deep assurance, we can then move past fear, and do the hard things and the good things and the scary things and the wonderful things.
I thought through fear a lot on my solo camping trip this month. I looked it in the face as I hiked through the woods, identified where it was coming from, and found the truth I needed to replace that fear with love.
I’ve found those looking-fear-in-the-face moments are not solitary events. For me, they’re daily, often small moments, that can grow mighty big mighty fast if I don’t stop and look.
Fear of financial difficulty, fear of loneliness, fear of looking foolish, fear of failing, fear of not understanding, fear of being misunderstood, fear of not being loved. All those little fears that can unsettle us if we don’t take a moment to look them in the face, sit quietly with them until they lose their power, and then start walking again.
It made me smile to think about how hiking is simply choosing to take one more step. One more step around this boulder, over this log, across this stream, and before long I’m discovering beautiful places and experiences that I never would have without taking one more step.
I loved exploring Crows Nest National Park. Even though it’s less than a couple of hours from the farm, I’d never been there before, and had no idea what to expect.
The early parts of the trail weren’t too exciting, just broad, dusty trails meandering through airy forest, with lots of tiny wildflowers underfoot, and wee finches flitting from bush to bush.
Then I took a side track, and discovered a beautiful area of serene pools and sandy banks, tumbling boulders and thickly forested hills.
It was so peaceful there, only the gentlest trickling of water and the wind sighing through the trees.
The sun was hot, warming the vegetation so I was surrounded by smells of pine and eucalyptus and unknown foliage.
I loved clambering along the banks, always keeping a weather eye open for snakes, basking in the soul-nourishing stillness and sultry summer heat.
I walked slowly, stopping to take pictures of the fingernail size flowers underfoot in brilliant blues, purples, and oranges.
I lingered as long as I could, soaking up beauty and stillness, but at last the lengthening shadows reminded me that there were more steps to take, a mountain to climb, a campsite to set up. So I trekked back to my car, stopped to chat with one of the Old Ladies of Courage, and headed for the Bunya Mountains.
I was ready for my next step.
by Krista | Feb 16, 2018 | Spring
Last week I went on my first solo camping trip.
For months I squirreled away a few dollars here, a few more there, scouring thrift stores and sale bins to get a tent, backpack, gas bottles for cooking, all the little bits and pieces needed to make a home away from home in the rainforest.
I worked long hours getting all my writing and photography assignments done ahead of time, spent hours outside making sure all the plants were well-watered and mulched, stocked up on animal feed, and secured my campsite.
Bear made me hardcore tent pegs that would keep me securely tethered in any sort of gale, gave me solar lights to place at the tent entrance so I would always have a beacon to home, and armed me with knives and a walking/beat-off-wild-beasts-and-bad-guys stick to make me feel safe and protected.
I was feeling brave and adventurous, nary a trace of fear, until a misguided soul decided it would be an excellent idea to tell me the gory details of rape/torture/murder-in-national-park stories they’d heard. Thanks for that. So, in spite of those niggling fear-based stories in the back of my mind, I loaded my little car to the gills, kissed Bear good-bye, and set off for adventure.
The fear hit me like a tidal wave at my first stop, Ravensbourne National Park. I swallowed it down, determined to enjoy the spectacular view, gloriously cool winds, and stunning wildflowers that tumbled through the meadow and over fence posts.
Then a car pulled up, and out came two old ladies, grinning from ear to ear as they strolled up to me and started chatting. They were out for adventure too, just the two of them, and when I told them what I was doing, their faces lit up like Christmas trees. “Oh! How wonderful! We’re SO proud of you! That’s fantastic! You’re going to have such an amazing time.”
Their support and belief in me sent those silly fears hurtling away. We cheered each other on, bid farewell as if we were old friends, and I went on my first solo hike down a steep, winding path into the rainforest. I loved it. Streaks of sunlight shimmering down through gaps in the canopy, glistening on lush ferns and verdant palms. I hiked as far as my courage would allow, spoke aloud, “I’m safe! I’m loved!” until I believed it, and finished my hike filled with pride that fear had lost the battle.
My next stop was Crow’s Nest National Park, and again, the fear came like a wave. But I got out, grabbed my camera and water bottle, and headed out onto the trail, only to run into another old lady. She was all alone too, wandering the trails with her trusty camera, having a marvellous time scouting for birds and getting close-ups of tree bark and teensy wildflowers. I smiled so big, and felt a big whoosh of courage and excitement fill my soul. Off I went, discovering water pools and waterfalls, amazing rock formations, and the prettiest little birds flitting along beside me on the trail. I got back to my car after stopping to chat with my hero old lady, filled with pride yet again that fear had not won.
I made it up to the Bunya Mountains, set up camp, and slept like a log. No fear, no nightmares, not even a tremor when wallabies snuffled around my tent in the dark nibbling grass.
The next morning, I headed out for my first big solo hike – 14 km through rainforest, meadow, and up and down innumerable mountain trails.
It was stunningly beautiful with great swathes of ferns, massive vines twisting up into the treetops, and wallabies bounding off into the undergrowth. I hiked and hiked, stopping to take pictures of fallen bunya nuts and colourful fungi, heading deeper and deeper into the mountains.
About half an hour in, the fear started up again. Thanks in no small part to not meeting a single soul on the trail and the appearance of birds whose calls literally sound like the scream of a newborn baby. There’s nothing quite so creepy as hiking alone through the forest with random baby cries echoing out of the bushes.
The fear burbled up, but I pressed on, speaking truth aloud, patting my trusty weapons for reassurance, and plotting out how I’d defend myself if a bad guy really did jump out of the bushes to drag me off to his evil lair. And suddenly, I was angry.
Angry that this beautiful moment was scarred by fear. Angry that bad guys weren’t afraid at all. They just merrily went along creating fear, pain, and mayhem, while us good guys have to plan defensive manoeuvres just to go for a walk in the woods. I was angry that to do something I loved, I had to plan for the possibility of evil. It didn’t seem fair.
Then I was angry at all males. (Sorry, good males) Angry that if a guy wants to go camping by himself, travel by himself, hike by himself, he literally just goes. He’s not worried about getting raped, murdered, assaulted, or harassed. He’s not worried about wearing the right thing so he won’t be blamed for any bad thing that might happen. He’s not worried about telling people what he’s up to, for fear that some creep will track him down and harm him. He just does it.
Fear. Anger. They took turns bursting to the surface, while I kept trying to yank my thoughts back to, “Oh look! Pretty flower!”
And then I rounded a bend and saw her. Another old lady. This one was at least 80-years-old. She wore pink and white striped socks, a jaunty hat, and wore a massive camera around her neck. She didn’t have knives or a knobbly walking stick that could double as a club, she didn’t have defensive manoeuvres worked out in her head just in case I was a bad guy instead of me, and there was no way she could outrun anyone. No, she was happily and peacefully doing what she loved. That’s it.
I stopped and we chatted about birds and the forest, and as we bid each other good day and I headed back down the trail, I started to cry, for I finally understood these amazing, brave, wonderful old ladies.
They lived in love, not fear.
They didn’t hike alone because they were strong enough to take on any bad guys they might encounter, they hiked alone because they loved it.
They didn’t hike alone because they were swift enough to run away from any bad thing that might happen, they hiked alone because they loved it.
They didn’t hike alone because they’d worked out every possible bad situation and had a plan to deal with it, they hiked alone because they loved it.
In that moment, my fear and anger disappeared. It was like someone had scrubbed me clean of all those awful feelings and thrown away the scouring pad.
For the next 5 days, I had no fear. Not one smidgen. I hiked all over that park by myself, slept in a tent by myself, cooked meals, watched the sunrise and sunset, and created art and read books under the trees all by myself. I chatted with men and women alike as I met them on the trail, I gave directions to German tourists, and listened to the cute elderly couple camping next to me sing Beatles songs in perfect harmony.
By the time my friend Sallie arrived to hang out with me for the last couple of days, I felt like a new woman, a strong and fearless and filled-to-bursting-with-love-for-life woman. I will treasure those days forever.
In the days to come I’ll take you along on some of my adventures, but I couldn’t begin a record of this trip without paying homage to the beautiful old ladies who were lights of courage to me along the way. May we all be those lights to each other, spreading courage, hope, and support like fabulous, cheerful lighthouses wherever we go. xo
by Krista | Jan 30, 2018 | Summer
Bear and I are celebrating this week. Cheering and smiling because I haven’t had nightmares in nearly two months, and I haven’t had to take pain killers since before Christmas.
They may seem like very small things to some, but to us, they are huge, and most worthy of celebrating.
Healing work is lifelong work. I’ll be learning and growing and messing up and trying again and figuring things out and finding peace and facing obstacles and happy dancing for the rest of my life. I’ve learned that it’s vital for me to celebrate milestones along the way, to cheer inwardly or outwardly when old habits and fears lose their grip, and new practices and courage take their place.
I love going to sleep now. There’s no fear, no anxiety, and dreamland is a peaceful and happy place full of weird and wonderful dreams, but no scary, traumatic ones. What a gift.
I’m so thankful for the wise, healing women who have helped me get to this place: Bernie, Lizzie, and Jane. They are such treasures, luminous in their kindness and wisdom and ability to guide their clients to the tools that enable healing. I am forever grateful for them and the time they’ve invested in my life. XO
Last week was crazy busy with 26 articles due, pigs to be butchered, and drought-parched gardens to keep alive. It’s all good work, but Whoa Nelly, I haven’t been so glad to see Friday night in a long time.
We had a lusciously relaxing weekend of sleeping in, naps, early nights, reading good books, creating art, and visiting with friends under the shade of our sprawling gum trees. By the time Sunday rolled around I was feeling almost human again, and got that familiar urge to make things. So I did.
Making things brings me so much pleasure. I find it thoroughly relaxing and inspiring, and just thinking about a new project, no matter how small, gives me a little thrill of excitement.
This week I made a big pot of French-ish Onion Soup. There’s something soothing about slow-cooking onions until they’re meltingly soft and caramelized, then simmering them with beef stock, a splash of Worcestershire sauce, a good whack of black pepper. Poured over grated Jarlsberg, it makes a thoroughly satisfying meal on a breezy summer evening.
I made a new batch of apple cider vinegar, loving the scent of freshly chopped apples, and a small batch of cinnamon toothpaste. It is soothing to sore gums and healing to the mouth, and, in spite of its chocolate brown color, actually makes teeth nice and bright.
I also made a basil lemon balm infusion. Sweetened with honey and poured over ice, it is a calming and refreshing drink during the hottest part of the day.
I made a Fresh Fig Clafouti with some of the lovely figs we picked last week, and it was divine. In winter it’s nice served hot, but in summer I serve it cold in thick wedges, and it is wonderfully cooling and delicious.
Next time I’ll tell you all about our latest butchering project, and how to make homemade ham, pancetta, bacon, and Spanish dried ham. Mmm. 🙂
Now I need to head outside and water my gardens, plant the gorgeous celery my friend Shirley grew for me, and get some beetroot seeds in so we have a good crop ready for Autumn.
What little projects bring you joy? xo
Cinnamon Toothpaste (from The Home Apothecary)
1 Tbsp baking soda
1 tsp ground cinnamon
Distilled water
Directions:
- Stir together baking soda and cinnamon, add enough water to make paste. Use as toothpaste.
Basil Lemon Balm Infusion
1 bunch fresh basil leaves
1 bunch fresh lemon balm leaves
just boiled water
honey to taste
- Place herbs in heatproof container. Pour enough just-boiled water to cover by 1 inch. Leave to steep 5-10 minutes.
- Remove herbs, sweeten with honey, and serve warm or over ice.
by Krista | Jan 16, 2018 | Summer
The geese are splashing about in the water trough, splattering my kitchen window and having a marvelous time. Down in the shed I hear the whirring of the buffing machine as Bear works on my helmet, modifying it to be a medieval Kipchak one. It’s looking so good and I can’t wait to wear it.
It’s wonderfully fresh and cool this morning, with good, strong breezes that send our windmill whirling, filling up our tanks so we have plenty of water for animals, gardens, and orchards. We just finished breaky – toasted triple cream brie and strawberry jam sandwiches – and finally got to taste-test the cherry port and peach sherry brews we made last week. They are delicious!! Fruity and fragrant but not too sweet. We strained and bottled them all and now have lusciously boozy fruit to spoon over vanilla ice cream in the days to come.
Last week was a rough one as I dealt with viral conjunctivitis in both eyes, and a venomous insect bite that made my right foot swollen, fiery, and painful. There’s nothing like not being able to see or walk properly to slow life down and give me treasured time to rest. So I did. Naps and snoozes, audio books and time to simply lay there and think. It was just what I needed to help me refocus for 2018, and clarify what I want to do and learn and experience this year. As my eyes cleared up, I got back to my writing and my art, jotting down lists and ideas, sketching out plans for gardens and projects. Sometimes I think that half the fun of things is the planning and anticipation.
By the weekend I was feeling almost human again, so Bear and I got in the car and drove to visit our friends, Doug and Avis, and pick up a load of hay. I swap hay for weeding, which is such a great trade. I get hay to mulch our gardens and orchards, and I get to spend hours chatting with Avis while we yank weeds and chop unruly grasses that try to sneak in.
Doug and Avis never let us go home empty handed, and this time was no different. They gave us a whole box of pickling onions, massive bulbs of Russian garlic, beetroots, cucumbers, and zucchini. Avis and I scoured the tangle of bean vines and emerged with a bucket of tender green beans. Such wonderful gifts.
My favourite part was heading into their fig orchard and picking one perfectly ripe fig after another. They’re so beautiful and fragrant and I’m excited to make Chia Seed Fig Jam, Roasted Figs with Mascarpone, and Fig Frangipane Tart. Mmm, mmm.
Sunday we got to drive over the mountains and spend the day at the Brisbane River with a bunch of our Viking friends. It was a hot but gorgeous day and we had such a great time swapping stories, reminiscing, and sharing plans for the new medieval season. The food was amazing, roasted sausages and all sorts of delicious cold salads, and it was such a great way to kick off the 2018 medieval season.
On the way home we stopped at a roadside market having a super deal on gorgeous cherries and super sweet watermelon. We stocked up and have been treasuring every delicious bite.
Yesterday was my day off, and it arrived with a break in the heatwave that’s been knocking us flat. It was sheer bliss to wake up to cold air blowing in the windows, and I celebrated with a mug of hot chocolate while I kept warm under a quilt.
I spent some very happy hours in the gardens, pulling out old plants and giving the others a good soaking. I found all sorts of self-seeded plants – borage and feverfew, tomatoes and hollyhocks – and I’m excited to see them flourish.
Today is a Use Up All The Harvest day, grating zucchini and freezing it to add to soups in Autumn, thinly slicing cucumbers for Scandinavian-style pickles, roasting beetroot and sweet potatoes, frying up leeks and freezing them to add to eggs, fried potatoes, and salads.
I’m so thankful for all this bounty, such good things to nourish and fortify us for the work we have to do.
What are your favourite summer fruits and vegetables? xo
