by Krista | Mar 13, 2023 | Autumn
Shortly after Bear died I found an article that said the opposite of a trigger is a glimmer.
Whereas triggers set in motion trauma responses such as fear, pain, anxiety, and panic, glimmers prompt feelings of wonder, connectedness, peace, and joy. The article went on to explain that while triggers are unpredictable, generally hitting us out of nowhere and sending us reeling, glimmers are something we can actively look for, collect, and treasure.
Those words were a light in my darkness, reminding me that although I had no control over the devastation I was experiencing, the pain ripping through me, or the triggers that seemed to be everywhere, I could control what I looked for in the world.
When I wake to an empty bed, I can cry, yes, of course, any time, but I can also notice the rising sun turning the branches of our favourite tree to gold and hear the call of the magpies that Bear said would always be a reminder that he loves me and is with me.
When I have to go into yet another government office with my sheaf of paperwork and tell them my husband is dead, I can cry, yes, of course, any time, I can shake and want to bolt for the parking lot, but I can also notice the cute baby grinning at me from his pram and breathe a quiet thanks in my heart for the kind receptionist who gives me a hug and makes the process as smooth as possible.
When something breaks on the farm and I don’t know how to fix it, I can feel overwhelmed and alone and wish with all my heart for Bear’s clever brain and innate ability to fix anything, but I can also shout hooray when I find a YouTube tutorial that actually works or say thank you to one of Bear’s amazing friends who are always willing to talk me through how to use a chainsaw safely, how to repair a busted irrigation pipe, and what parts I need to keep the lawnmower running.
Some glimmers are easy to find because they come right to me – cuddles from dear friends visiting, finding an old love letter from Bear, the wagging tails of four dogs and eight puppies overjoyed to see me.
But others must be purposely hunted for, especially in dark moments or dark days when life feels bleak and meaningless and I can’t rummage up hope no matter how hard I try. In those times I picture myself putting on a pith helmet like explorers of old, squaring my shoulders, and hoping against hope that I will find something to light my next step.
And some days, we need our loves to help us. This past week as I faced a particularly difficult situation and all hope seemed truly lost, beautiful friends stepped in and hugged me tight, validated the awfulness of the situation, then helped me look for the glimmers I needed to renew my strength for the battle to come. How I love them for that.
Good and bad, light and darkness, easy and hard. Life continues to be a baffling blend of all those things and we need each other to make it through. Sometimes we’re the needy ones, sometimes the needed, and both are good. xo
by Krista | May 6, 2022 | Autumn
I spent the first 36 years of my life in a culture that regarded females as belonging to someone else from cradle to grave.
From the time a girl was born, she belonged to her father. He decided what she wore, how she behaved, and who she spent time with. He dictated her goals, responsibilities, and dreams. Everything she was and did was a reflection on him. She either honoured him or shamed him. There was no middle ground.
She was her father’s servant, housekeeper, nanny for the other siblings, cook, hostess, the works. She was Wife Part Two minus the sex. If she was lucky. If she was unlucky, she was also raped, molested, or sexualised in some perverse way.
If she had brothers, they were also given authority over her as second fathers, keeping watch when the father wasn’t there, and reporting back to the father on any infractions so she could be disciplined and retrained. This authority and control over a girl or woman were also extended to other males including, but not limited to, grandfathers, pastors, and church leaders.
This didn’t change until the father found the right man to transfer ownership of his daughter to. Then she was given to a husband and the rituals continued. She belonged to him.
At no time, in that world, does a girl or woman belong to herself. Not her mind, not her body, not her heart, not her vagina or her uterus. None of her. She is placed on a pedestal, a lump of clay to be moulded according to the wishes of whoever happens to own her at the time. Her value rests in her submission and obedience and intact hymen until she is handed over to the one man who is allowed to break that hymen and take ownership of her.
She must provide willing sex on demand.
She must get pregnant and give birth regardless of whether that has a detrimental effect on her health and wellbeing. If she loses her life in the process, so be it.
She must obey.
And through it all she must smile and convey joy, for to do anything less is to dishonour her father, her husband, her God. In that culture, there is nothing worse than shaming a male.
Even in this abusive culture, there were decent men who tried to value, respect, and love their daughters, wives, sisters, and mothers within those hellish parameters. Although I honour their efforts and am grateful for the light they shone in my darkness, this does not make the culture OK.
It is evil. Inhuman. Abusive, horrific, and utterly deplorable.
Girls belong to themselves. No one else.
Women belong to themselves. No one else.
I belong to myself. No one else. My body, my mind, my vagina, my uterus, my choices, my beliefs, they are all mine, and mine alone.
I remember the day I learned that I belong to me. My therapist and I had been talking when all of a sudden I said, “Do you mean I belong to me? My mind belongs to me? My body belongs to ME???” She stared at me in shock, trying to grasp that this was new information to me.
But it was. Mind-blowing, gut-wrenching, life-giving truth. I was 38 years old.
I returned to our farm in a daze. I sat in Bear’s big, green armchair for the next three days, basking in the utter wonder of belonging to myself. I felt safe and secure for the first time in my life, and that is when true healing began.
I will never return to the lies of my past. Never.
My body is mine. My mind is mine. My heart is mine.
Never again will someone decide for me what to think, believe, or be. Not a deity, not a church, not a government, not a father, husband, brother, or friend.
I belong to me, forever and always. And I trust me implicitly.
by Krista | May 1, 2022 | Autumn
“Autumn carries more gold in its pocket than all the other seasons.”
J. Bishop
The sun is down and the temperature is dropping quickly so I’ve tucked a blanket around my legs to keep me warm as I write.
It’s quiet on the farm tonight. The rain has stopped, the wind has stilled, and the only sound is a gentle tap-tap and occasional peep from the guinea fowl keets in their box in the kitchen. I had to move them into a taller, non-jump-out-able box this week after one made a daring escape and found himself trapped behind a bookshelf. I managed to retrieve the trickster with a prodigiously long set of barbecue tongs, and he’s now back safe and sound with his mates.
It’s well and truly autumn now and the vineyards, orchards, and gardens of the region are in that lovely stage of decline where everything is nodding off before winter, but not quite asleep.
There are still gorgeous flowers blooming amongst rusted petals, curling leaves, and papery husks, and I’ve been taking every possible opportunity to write garden-based stories for the newspaper so I can wander at my leisure through russet and gold beauty.
This week I got to amble through the gardens of the Hokstead Plantation just before they tore out the last of the summer plantings. They were busy finishing up a stunning bouquet of native flowers and greenery, so they let me stroll about to my heart’s content.
It was dark, drizzly, and cool, my favourite kind of autumn weather, and I loved the sculptural beauty of plants losing their leaves and petals and the amazing transition of colours from vibrant pink, red, and yellow to softly burnished rose, burgundy, and bronze.
I explored the nursery, trailing my fingers over the smooth leaves of lemon myrtle, sighing happily at the vibrant puffs of fairy floss flowers high up in the treetops, smiling at the occasional lush blooms putting on one final burst of beauty before the frost arrives.
Autumn gardens always make me feel peaceful because the work is coming to an end and things are ready to be buried under thick layers of compost and mulch and sleep soundly through the winter.
They remind me that not every season is for productivity, some are for sleep, quietness, getting fed, nourished, and rested.
Dear old autumn. I needed that reminder.
This weekend has been a cosy one of good projects balanced with rest, books, art, and reflection.
I made three jars of pear ginger jam and a big pot of ham lentil soup and organised my seeds and art supplies.
I scrubbed floors, installed a new toilet seat, and read “Nicholas St North and the Battle of the Nightmare King” and Darra Goldstein’s Scandinavian cookbook, “Fire + Ice”.
I wood-burned nine wooden spoons, coloured a picture of mushrooms, and bought myself a set of screwdrivers for my toolbox.
As I enter a new week, I look forward to embracing the slower, more peaceful days of autumn, making the most of every opportunity to get outside and bask in the wonders of this most glorious season.
“Climb the mountains and get their good tidings.
Nature’s peace will flow into you as sunshine flows into trees.
The winds will blow their own freshness into you,
and the storms their energy,
while cares will drop away from you like the leaves of Autumn.”
John Muir
by Krista | Apr 25, 2022 | Autumn
It’s dark and quiet this morning, a cold autumn wind whistling through the trees and making me thankful for afghans and blankets and a second cup of hot coffee.
The last few months have been intense, a hurtling sort of time when you just need to hang on for dear life and push through until you can find breathing space again. A time where self-care is essential to make it to the end of each day when you can finally collapse into bed, sleep like the dead, and wake up in the wee hours to start fresh.
Yes, it’s been hard, painful, and scary, but also rich and meaningful and laced with connections with incredible people who make me stop and smile and feel like there is much reason for hope.
It’s been a time of personal hibernation for me, pulling back from much to make sure I can handle the vital without crumpling.
And now I’m catching my breath as we move into a new season without floods and catastrophic storms and cancer concerns and huge work commitments and debilitating injuries and broken water pipes and dead appliances and the innumerable other things that have had us shaking our heads and wondering, what next?!
This week I get to wash laundry in a washing machine instead of by hand, fill animal troughs with a hose instead of hauling buckets, hear properly with both ears, and take time to actually plan my next steps instead of lurching from one bonkers situation to another.
I am grateful.
Grateful for baby guinea fowl in the warm kitchen, bottles of pear ginger jam on the window sill, and new asparagus shooting up in the gardens. For cuddly dogs, full rainwater tanks, and our first harvest of pomegranates. Aren’t they beautiful?
The newspaper I work for is closing this week and, even though we all know it’s the right thing and the right time, we’re rather sad. We’ve loved working together, loved sharing the stories of our amazing community, and we’re going to miss it and each other very much.
I’m not sure what my next steps are, but, as we write stories for our last issue on Friday and pack up the newsroom and meet together for final drinks, I’m quietly excited about the future.
In the meantime, I plan to rest, potter in my gardens, work on farm projects with Bear, and trust that my next steps will be good ones. xo
by Krista | May 11, 2021 | Autumn
It’s autumn here in Australia, resplendent with foggy, chilly mornings and lusciously golden days of sunshine and blue skies. It is hands down, my favourite time of year.
My gardens are full of herbs for me to harvest, dry, and store for making all sorts of good things to keep us healthy, cheered, and comforted through the frigid months of winter. This week I’m harvesting roses, lemongrass, lemon balm, lemon verbena, lemon thyme, rosemary, rosellas, lemon myrtle, cinnamon myrtle, anise myrtle, stinging nettles, burdock root, motherwort, wormwood, mugwort, spearmint, dandelion root, peppermint, elderflower, and elderberries. Soon our little house will be filled with a dizzying array of scents as the dehydrator works overtime drying everything for storage. Over the next few months, they’ll be turned into teas, tisanes, infusions, and decoctions. What’s the difference, you may ask? I’m so glad you did!
What’s the difference between teas, tisanes, infusions, and decoctions?
Tea
Tea is made from the leaves of the Camellia Sinensis plant. Black tea, oolong, white tea, and green tea all come from this plant and are uniquely processed to give them their distinctive flavour, fragrance, and colour. Tea is also any kind of tea blend that includes tea leaves such as Earl Grey, which is black tea with bergamot or Chai, which adds all sorts of warming spices to a tea base.
Tisane
Tisane (pronounced tea-zahn) is made from herbs and does not contain any tea leaves. This includes single herbs like chamomile or peppermint and blends that mix an assortment of leaves, flowers, barks, roots, fruits, seeds, and spices. If you make a chai with a rooibos base, it becomes a tisane instead of a tea. Tisanes always make me think of Hercule Poirot, who drank them to stimulate his little grey cells.
Infusions and Decoctions
Infusions and Decoctions are simply different words for soaking plant material in hot water to leach out the flavour, colour, and properties.
Infusions are generally made by pouring just-boiled water over soft plant material such as leaves and flowers, while Decoctions are made by simmering hard plant material such as bark, roots, and woody stems in water.
Infusions are best for leaves and flowers because you don’t want to stew them and end up with nasty flavour and fragrance. Decoctions are best for bark and roots because you need that intense heat and long cooking time to remove the goodness from the plant and get it into the water so you can drink it.
Infusions generally take 5-10 minutes for a tisane. I usually add a heaping tbsp of dried herbs to a mug, cover with one cup of just-boiled water, cover with a saucer and leave to steep 5-10 minutes. Then I strain it, sweeten it with honey or maple syrup, and sip happily. However, if I’m using the herbs medicinally, I’ll add 1-2 cups of dried or fresh herbs to a jar, pour in just-boiled water to the brim, cover, then let sit on the counter overnight. This produces a potent brew that can be used to treat symptoms or as a tonic to support good health.
Decoctions take longer. A good rule of thumb is 1-2 tsp of dried or fresh root, bark, or woody stem to 1 cup water. Bring the mixture to a boil, reduce heat, cover, and simmer gently for 15-20 minutes. Leave to cool. Strain, sweeten with honey or maple syrup, and drink.
Elderflower Yarrow Tisane
One of my favourite tisanes for winter is made with elderflower, yarrow, peppermint, rosehips, rose petals, hibiscus, and calendula. Not only is it delicious, but it does wonders in combating cold and flu symptoms and really helps clear blocked sinuses so I can breathe and sleep well.
Ingredients:
1/2 cup dried elderflowers
2 Tbsp dried hibiscus flowers
1/4 cup dried yarrow
1/4 cup dried peppermint leaves
2 Tbsp dried rosehips
2 Tbsp dried rose petals
2 Tbsp dried calendula flowers
Directions:
Mix all ingredients together well and store in an airtight glass jar, such as a mason jar, out of direct sunlight.
When ready to drink, scoop 1 heaped teaspoon in a tea strainer and place in a heatproof mug or cup. Pour over just-boiled water, cover, and leave to steep 5 minutes. Sweeten with maple syrup, honey, or sugar.
Chai Decoction & Infusion
My favourite winter tea is chai. It’s so creamy and spicy and is unique because it’s both a decoction and an infusion. I love simmering whole or ground spices on my stove as the winter sunshine floods the kitchen. The fragrance is so comforting and the steam so warming that the whole brewing process makes me feel happy and cosy.
Ingredients:
2 cups whole milk
1 cinnamon stick
10 cardamom pods (or 1 tsp cardamom seeds)
1 Tbsp dried ginger root
5 Tasmanian Mountain pepper berries (or black peppercorns)
1/2 star anise
2 clove buds
1 tsp fennel seeds
maple syrup or brown sugar to taste
10 tsp black tea leaves (or rooibos, if you want a tisane)
2 cups just-boiled water
Directions:
- Place milk, all spices, and sweetener in a large, heavy-bottomed saucepan over medium-high heat. Bring to boil, reduce heat, cover, and simmer for 5-10 minutes. (Watch carefully because the milk will boil over if you’re not careful.)
- While the milk mixture is simmering, place tea leaves in a small saucepan, cover with just-boiled water and leave to steep 5 minutes. Strain and throw tea leaves on the compost heap or in the trash.
- When the milk mixture is done, strain and return to pot. Add tea and stir together. Taste for sweetness and serve immediately or let cool to room temperature then bottle and store in the fridge to serve as iced chai.
If you would love to learn how to make your own tisanes and teas and other delectable and nourishing remedies, I am teaching three workshops on 5 June, 12 June, and 4 September. You’ll learn all about choosing the best herbs for you, great tips for blending and storage, and creative ways to use your concoctions in your cooking or home apothecary. I’d love to see you there.
What are your favourite beverages during cold months? xo
by Krista | May 5, 2021 | Autumn
When my middle brother Evan killed himself in February, my life changed forever. The loss of a sibling is always devastating, but there’s a special kind of pain when that loss is due to suicide. There are no answers that can assuage such grief, no explanations, no reasons, it must simply be felt, honoured, and endured.
Some of the grief can be shared, but most of it can only be borne privately, quietly.
I went to the mountains with my grief, alone in a wonky tent as rain poured and winds howled. It felt like the sky itself was grieving with me. I hiked for hours each day, getting drenched to the skin as I trudged and slipped my way down muddy trails through the rainforest, letting the storms camouflage my grief from the occasional passing hiker as I sobbed and hiked and talked to Evan. I cried until I couldn’t cry anymore, and then I laughed, knowing how Evan would shake his head at me and chuckle and say, “Girl, you’re crazy, but I love you.”
I talked to him as I hiked along swollen streams, clambered gingerly over moss-slick logs and boulders, and emerged from dense rainforest to breathtaking views of the plains far below. I pointed out amazing mushrooms and gorgeous lizards and the tiniest of wildflowers and grinned to myself at how exasperated he would’ve been at me stopping every few feet to take pictures of red berries and dripping ferns and incredible fungi.
I linked arms with grief and didn’t let go, didn’t turn away, didn’t worry one bit what anyone thought of the red-eyed woman camping alone in a tent nearly flattened by storms. I wrote my grief, drew my loss, trekked my pain, and each night, slept like a rock. Each morning I woke up feeling stronger, braver, more connected to the world. And when my final day in the mountains dawned, I was ready to go home to my Bear, our animals, our farm, our life.
I don’t know why Evan killed himself. I never will. But, as I hiked mile after mile, I came to peace with that. I don’t need to know. I can trust, accept, and respect his choice in spite of the horrendous pain it inflicted on those who love him. For him, it was the best possible choice, and I will honour it.
I will also wake up every day and make my best possible choices. I will choose life and choose love. I will embrace all avenues of healing possible and strengthen relationships with people who see me, know me, and love me faithfully. I will keep creating, keep building, keep loving, and keep looking for ways to grow, learn, explore, and delight.
And I’ll keep going back to the mountains to restore my soul, body, and spirit. xo
