by Krista | Nov 14, 2017 | Spring
“We do not believe in ourselves until someone reveals that deep inside us
something is valuable,
worth listening to,
worthy of our trust,
sacred to our touch.
Once we believe in ourselves we can risk curiosity, wonder, spontaneous delight
or any experience that reveals the human spirit.”
E.E. Cummings
I spent much of my life in a wonky religious world where we weren’t supposed to choose friends who made us feel good about ourselves, who supported our dreams and believed the best of us, who loved us no matter what.
No, we were told to choose friends who would sharpen us, refine us, and chisel away at our rough spots to make us better.
You know what kind of person does those things? Mean ones. Cruel ones. Harsh, manipulative, controlling ones who like nothing better than to cut you down, crush your spirit, and make you believe to the core of your being that you are worthless, evil, and worthy of hell and damnation.
They are not friends. They are enemies. Enemies of all that is good and right and joyous and creative and beautiful.
They are the enemies of our souls.
When I moved to Australia, I didn’t know how to choose friends. I simply latched on to whoever showed me the least bit of kindness. It wasn’t a very good plan, and I made some colossally bad judgments in the whole friendship thing. Thankfully, I didn’t stay there, but I had to go through a time of intense loneliness while I sorted through the friendship lies I’d believed my whole life, and figured out what truth to replace them with.
All that sorting came down to one thing: healthy friendship is only possible when it comes from a place of self-worth and self-acceptance. If we don’t love and value ourselves, there’s no way we can love and value others, no way we can build friendships that are equal, supportive, caring, and honest.
As I healed and nourished my own soul, I found kindred spirits coming into my life. I began to feel safe and secure in my own skin, so I could risk reaching out to others, knowing that even if it didn’t work out, I’d be OK.
I was able to set boundaries with the dreadful people, and let go of those who wanted to fix, change, and mold me. That freed me up to open my heart to the lovely ones, the treasured ones who love, celebrate, and support, who apologize when they stuff up and forgive me when I do, who genuinely care about the little nothings that make up most of our lives.
Friendship, for the sheer delight of it. Such a beautiful thing still amazes me.
Investing in the relationships that bring me joy, has helped me invest in other good things too.
I no longer ask, “What should I do?”
Instead I ask, “What brings me joy? What delights me? What thrills my heart?”
I started small, doing one thing each day that made me smile.
It was so lovely that I kept adding more, asking myself, “What can I do today for the sheer delight of it?”
- Pull out a packet of markers and a notepad and draw pictures.
- Walk in the bush and take photos of every wildflower I see.
- Garden in the rain and get thoroughly drenched.
That question morphed into this one, “What can I do today to make ‘this’ more delightful?”
‘This’ could be exercise, writing work, chores around the house or farm, art projects, laundry, etc.
- Today I had to crack open dried radish seed pods and save the seeds for planting, so I used pretty plates and bowls instead of utilitarian ones, then brought all my stuff onto the back veranda and sat out there chatting with Bear while he painted and I podded.
- I had heaps of articles to write, so I lit candles and made hot chocolate and felt cozy as can be.
- I had laundry to do, so I put on old episodes of Hercule Poirot, made tea, and before I knew it the laundry was done, and Poirot’s little grey cells had won the day yet again.
Living, for the sheer delight of it. How precious that is to me.
One of the things that delights me is foraging for edible plants and foods in our meadows and bush. Whether it’s picking buckets full of wild bush lemons or gathering armloads of plantain leaves, it always gives me a thrill to use what’s growing around us to make delicious food.
A few days ago I’d gone for a walk in the bush, and on my way back spotted a huge patch of white clover growing in one of the paddocks. Usually we have goats in there who snaffle up every last bit of clover, not leaving me a single flower to dry for tea. But this spring we have them in a different paddock, so I got my very first clover harvest in Australia.
I pulled on my boots, put on my hat, and out I went into the glorious late afternoon sunshine to pick white clover.
I loved being out there, sunshine warming my bones, cool wind sweeping over the lush stretches of clover, making the blossoms dance.
I grew up using red clover, making a strong tea to help ease cramping, but white clover is useful too. In Turkey they used tea from the flowers to treat pain from rheumatism and arthritis, and the North American Indians made tea from the leaves to lower fevers and ease the symptoms of colds and coughs.
As I meandered through the paddock, pulling off fragrant blossoms and smelling them happily, it didn’t take long to get a bowl full of white clover.
Even after I was done harvesting, I lingered awhile, basking in the light and warmth, smiling at how it reminded me of summer in British Columbia, where I grew up.
It only took a few days for the white clover flowers to dry, and tomorrow I’ll put them in an air-tight container to keep them fresh until we’re ready to make white clover tea.
What are some things that you like to do for the sheer delight of it? xo
by Krista | Nov 6, 2017 | Spring
The sun has set, and cool breezes are billowing gently through the open windows into the kitchen.
After resting awhile, the goats are up and around again, nosing about for a few last minute chews of grass before bedding down for the night. Our resident green frog, who lives in the old-fashioned pump on the veranda, is croaking loudly. This usually means rain is on the way, and I hope he’s right.
The two ganders continue their patrol of Mother Goose who is nestled on a clutch of 8 eggs nearby. They don’t let anyone near her unless distracted by a handful of grain or pellets. It’s a good thing foxes don’t hand out pellets.
We had gorgeous rain last night, and even a bit of hail – though not enough to cause damage. It rained again this morning, lovely, misty rain, as if the clouds were squirting us with spray bottles. The air is so fresh and cool now, and the earth smells deliciously green and loamy.
We had a good weekend pottering on the farm and meeting up with medieval friends to make plans for the new season that’s coming up just around the corner. It was so lovely to see them and remember all the things that make medieval life so special to us: campfire cooking, using all our beloved medieval gear, and, most of all, the people, laughing and talking for hours around the fire over cups of mead and spiced wine.
Yesterday, our Canadian friends, Sallie and Marshal, spent the day with us. It’s always so grand to see them, to have them understand every word that comes out of my mouth and let Bear be the baffled one for once when we talk about butter tarts, poutine, and this strange holiday called Canadian Thanksgiving.
We had the jolliest day, Marshal and Bear clambering up trees like monkeys to hang new bee boxes in the hopes of catching swarms, me and Sallie cozied away in my granny flat cave, talking a mile a minute over wine glasses full of iced elderberry tea.
They brought us a load of sand for my gardens and other projects, and they filled the back of their pickup with rocks that shimmy their way up from the bowels of the earth to cover our farm and make digging holes a real delight.
Sallie and I harvested armloads of pink and white yarrow, then sat on the shady back veranda for ages, filling bowls with tiny blooms and feathery leaves while we chatted and listened to the guys make plans to get or build a still so we can brew spirit and make our own herbal tinctures for healing and fruity liqueurs for sheer pleasure.
After cold drinks and lunch of homemade bread rolls filled with our very own molasses cured smoked ham, we went out again, moving trailers, loading stuff for the dump, and shifting the smoker to a better spot. It’s so great to have friends come and help us do the things that we can do by ourselves, but are so much easier with assistance.
It was a great day. We were all tuckered out by the end, but it was that good kind of tired that comes from working together on good things.
After they left, a fierce storm blew in, knocking out our power and sending down a torrent of rain and hail. Bear and I cuddled on the veranda and watched them fall. It was cozy and companionable out there, smelling the rain-washed air, watching our paddocks soak up the water, enjoying the novelty of not having to do anything or be anywhere.
I’ve been thinking a lot about life lately, about the choices I make that contribute to how I experience life on a day to day basis.
Last time I wrote about vulnerability and change, and the things I’m doing to cultivate and nurture both of those things in my life. But those practices for me are much more than just enabling healing work in my heart, they’re leading me to what I cherish: life in myself, life with my loves, life in my interactions with the world. Life, not death. Life, not numbing. Life, not disassociating or escape or denial. Life.
And I chuckled to myself about how those things that lead to life are so individual. The things that lead to life for me would be sheer torture to many of my closest friends. Gardening? Heaven forbid. Writing? Not a chance. Art? Are you kidding me? They have other things that lead them to places of thriving and connection, and I love that. We get to pursue those things that lead to life for us, just us, and that looks beautifully different for everyone.
Today I hiked through our bush, one of the life-giving things for me, and marveled at shimmering buttercups, wallabies bounding just ahead of me, and horses meandering through the trees to come and say hello.
After I got home, I changed and went out to my gardens, picking nasturtiums, silverbeet, lettuce, red carrots, and fresh basil to make a salad for lunch with a luscious, garlicky dressing, and nabbed two small artichokes to steam and eat with cold mayonnaise.
After lunch I worked with Bear for hours on a medieval project, then put the sheep and goats away, patted the dog, and went to the granny flat to doodle.
They’re such little things, walks, picking vegetables, working with my hubby, scribbling on a notepad, but they are life to me, and I treasure them.
What are some things that are life-giving to you? xo
by Krista | Nov 3, 2017 | Spring
Healing can be downright sneaky, for it not only mends us, it changes us. As wounds are scrubbed clean and heal, old fears dissipate, and crippling shame heads for the hills, we are left different. The old places don’t fit anymore. The old work, the old ways of relating to others, of relating to ourselves, they all change.
I’ve been so focused on healing that I was unprepared for the massive changes that would take place as I healed. I thought healing would mean security, steadiness, strength, and it does, in myself. But the other places, and my relationship to them, become shaky.
I wondered why I no longer fit in the vocation I’d been in for years, why my old ways of doing business and managing the farm and being married and being a friend and dealing with myself just felt wrong and wretchedly uncomfortable. Nothing felt right.
I had a choice to make. I could either go back to the old ways to keep those old places steady and familiar, or I could celebrate my healing, dig deep for renewed courage, and forge new pathways in how I interact with myself and the world.
So that’s what I’ve been doing the last few weeks, one hand holding tight to Vulnerability, the other clinging to Courage.
I started with a lot of letting go. Letting go of a steady paycheck and knowing how I was going to pay bills and put food on the table, letting go of an image I had of myself and my place in the world, letting go of relationships as they were, so I could invest in them and make them as beautiful as possible.
It’s been terrifying. It was way easier to start a new life in Australia than to start a new life with myself.
It’s also been the most wonderful thing I’ve ever embarked on.
I’m sitting here now, at my little yellow desk in the granny flat, teary and smiling, so overwhelmingly grateful for all the events and people and choices that have led to this place and this time.
I mostly don’t know what the hell I’m doing, truly, but I’ve never felt so secure and so safe. I think that’s mostly due to knowing that I’m now 100% on my side. Whatever it takes, I’m here for me for the long haul. To heal, grow, learn, and thrive, to do the things that help me be my very best, healthy, strong, loving, and loved self.
I’ve slowed way down, only taking steps forward when I know it’s right for me. I’ve put new habits into practice which give me daily strength, courage, and understanding, as well as continued healing.
Some of the things I’m doing:
- Every morning I go down to the granny flat and do Stream of Consciousness writing. All that means is, I sit down with a notepad, and write whatever comes into my head for three full pages, then stop. That’s all. It does wonders for taking all the tangled, crazy thoughts, smoothing them out, and giving me a calm brain to start the day.
- Every morning I read good things. This month it’s: “A Little Bird Told Me” by the Brave Girls Club, “The Gifts of Imperfection” by Brené Brown, and “The Artist’s Way” by Julia Cameron. Wherever they take me, and they always take me somewhere, I go there, and stay there, facing what needs to be faced with love and patience and compassion.
- Every day I draw something. I have a notepad and a pack of markers and I just draw something, anything, whatever is in my head. I draw because I’m TERRIBLE at it. 🙂 And that helps me let go and just do it. Just doodle and sketch and get my feelings out into pictures. Lately they’ve been the pictures I drew as a child: house in the woods, house in the Alps, oddly shaped flowers, wonky looking mountains. I haven’t thought of those pictures in years, but drawing them again connected me with Small Girl me, and it’s been lovely to remember her wild imagination and adventurous spirit. My friend, Jane, encouraged me to draw from the present as well, to make that connection between Young Me and Now Me. I started that today, drawing our campfire and trees in the backyard. I show my pictures to Bear every day, which, I must say, takes great courage on my part since he’s a fantastic artist and can draw, paint, sculpt, you name it. But he’s been awesome, cheering me on, finding beauty and meaning in my scribbles, and even taking me out for lunch to celebrate my first drawing.
- Every day I do something physical outside. It’s usually three things: work in my garden, hike in our bush, and go for a bike ride with Bear. I love them so much, being out in the wind and sunshine and sometimes rain, though my pelvis is shrieking at me for the whole bike-riding thing. Whoever invented the non-pillowed bicycle seat was a sadist. 😉
Those four things are so little and simple, but they’re doing wonders in me, giving me the wisdom, strength, and courage I need to build a new space for myself in the world. I’m living from a place of strength and self-worth these days, and what a difference it makes.
I’m still a writer, still a photographer, still an artist and farmer, but I’m doing these things differently now. I’m only working with people I trust and enjoy, and who trust and enjoy me. I don’t let myself get bullied anymore, or let my work go unpaid or unvalued. I’m building slowly, one client here, another there, adding in projects that are good and fulfilling and allow me to tell stories that matter to me. I’m poor as the proverbial churchmouse while I build this new business of mine, but I am content and grateful and at peace. I’d so much rather be poor and working with good people than where I was before.
I’m loving my marriage and relationships so much more now. It’s astounding to me how much nicer it is to love and be loved when you believe you’re worthy of being loved, when you’re content in and of yourself. Nearly every weekend we’ve had friends come to visit, and my heart is full just thinking about our campfire chats and treks through the bush and watching the sunset with a glass of wine glowing in the firelight. We’re building a good life here, and all those years of wrestling with the past so I could heal have truly been worth it.
Today is quiet and still, hardly a breath of wind. I did my morning bush hike and watered the gardens, planted elderberry bushes, yellow French beans, and sugar snap peas. Soon I’ll find my big straw hat and go out again to harvest pineapple sage to dry on the veranda where Bear is busy hammering and sand-papering and painting his beautiful medieval chair.
Tomorrow we go to a medieval meeting to make plans for our medieval village at Abbey Medieval Festival next year, and on Sunday dear Canadian friends are coming over for fun projects and a whole lot of visiting by the campfire. It’s going to be good.
What are you looking forward to this weekend? xo
by Krista | Oct 25, 2017 | Summer
It’s a writerly day for me as I type up my weekly blog post for Harrow and Finch, a press release for a new client in California, and my weekly column on country living for the Warwick Daily News.
I like these days when I get to sequester myself in the granny flat, a cup of elderberry tea to my left, and one of coffee to my right, and the cheeriest hand-crocheted afghan I found at a thrift store keeping me toasty warm.
Bear is busy working on his medieval high-backed chair, popping in for a chat now and then to make sure I don’t disappear into a whirlwind of words and images.
On writing days, I make sure that I sprinkle other activities in between projects so I’m not sitting for hours on end. Sometimes I go watch chickens for a while, or pull weeds in the garden, or hurriedly plant a few more seeds.
Yesterday I went for a ramble through our orchards, delighted to find our apple, peach, and plum trees covered in tiny, delicate blossoms.
There’s something about apple blossoms that gives me a thrill every time I see them.
In Autumn we planted a few old world variety apples from France and England, and their blossoms look so different than the original apples we bought. They’re voluptuous and full, and look more like roses before they unfurl into the familiar apple blossom shape.
The citrus trees are flowering too, and smell positively glorious, though the lemonades and blood oranges already have tiny globe fruits hidden among the leaves.
The grape vines are covered with baby grape clusters, and give me hope that perhaps this year we’ll get to make wine, juice, and raisins.
Most of the plums flowered weeks ago, but this fellow is late to the party. He got badly damaged in hail storms last year, but a severe pruning gave him a fresh start, and I think he’s looking rather dashing covered with ethereal blossoms in palest pink.
I’m so thankful that most of our fruit trees survived the horrendous summer storms of last year. We lost about a dozen, but one day soon we’ll replace them with new varieties, perhaps some cherries and more figs, or maybe hazelnuts, chestnuts, walnuts, and almonds.
It’s time to close my computer for a bit, and go out to the garden to plant the long lost seeds I found while cleaning out the granny flat last week. I’ve got Bulgarian Leeks and red and purple carrots, white Celeriac and yellow pear tomatoes, magenta silverbeet and a whole lot of cucumbers for pickling. Can’t wait to start harvesting all this goodness in a few months.
What helps you refocus on work when you’ve been sitting too long? xo
by Krista | Oct 23, 2017 | Spring
Thunder is rumbling and rain falling gently, making our farm feel like a cozy island.
I’m down in my granny flat office, snug under a fuzzy red blanket, listening to the goats rattle around under the house as they stay nice and dry out of the rain.
It’s been quite a week for me, and I’m so thankful for this day of rain-drenched peace and solitude to reflect and remember and celebrate.
Last week was rough. The #MeToo conversations triggered a reaction to things I thought I’d already worked through. Molestation, assaults, abuse – I thought I’d plumbed the depths of those experiences and healed from them, but there was an aspect I hadn’t addressed yet.
Me.
It’s strange and deeply sad to me that when we’re violated or abused by others, we still manage to blame ourselves, believing that if only we’d been strong enough, brave enough, wise enough, those people wouldn’t have harmed us.
That blame breaks the innate trust we have with ourselves, and leaves us open to manipulation and abuse by unscrupulous people who will prey on that brokenness.
Over the past week I’ve been healing that relationship with myself.
I revisited those times of abuse and forgave myself for not being able to keep me safe and protected, for disconnecting and numbing in order to get through it, for not knowing how to heal and thrive.
I wrote and spoke to myself about what it really felt like. How scared I was, how I believed no one could ever love me after those things, how I couldn’t trust anyone because I couldn’t trust myself.
And I praised that younger self for being so brave and strong and resilient.
It was an exhausting week, but a beautiful one. With each memory revisited, those broken places were healed and strengthened, and I felt myself come back to life in ways I didn’t even realize had gone dormant.
I was able to ask for help and comfort without feeling shame.
I was able to care for myself without false guilt or anxiety, because I’m worth caring for.
And I was able to look to the future with courage, because I don’t feel alone anymore. Whatever happens, I have me.
I’ve mended and rebuilt relationships with others, but now I’m doing it with myself. It’s rather strange and rather lovely, and I’m so thankful to be here mending and building instead of breaking.
For many years I’ve had a hard time answering the question: “What do you want?” It’s a difficult thing to know when you’re disconnected from yourself. This week has brought beautiful clarity. I can answer that question now, with ease and assurance, and it’s quite a thrill for me.
Knowing what I need and what I want is also rather strange and rather lovely, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything.
Seven years ago, Bear said I could have the granny flat as my spot, to do with as I wished. Several times I cleaned it out and set it up, but I didn’t know what to do with it, so it became a storage shed instead.
Healing my relationship with myself changed that. I know what I want to do with it now. I had such fun opening the door this weekend and starting the process of making it mine, truly mine.
“A nice little cave” is how Bear described it when he came in, and it made me smile because that’s exactly how it feels to me too. I’ve been sorting and organizing, throwing out so much stuff that simply isn’t me anymore. I’ve got a lot to do, but already there’s so much happiness in here, pictures that inspire me, books that delight me, quirky little bits and pieces that make my heart grin.
It’s amazing what can happen in a life with a bit of truth and a whole lot of tenderness. xo
