Spirals, Spirals Anyone?

"Entering/detail" ink drawing

On my list for months was a note to myself... open Etsy shop! So, the past two weeks 

I have been working on that. After a helpful conversation with my parents while in Florida, I found my way around some blocks to getting going. I've listed some spirals, some Nature's Pattern drawings, and a few smaller watercolors. The first few images here are a sampling of what's available. I've added the Etsy Mini feature to the sidebar, down there past the "Gold Afternoon" drawing. The whole thing so far has been a relatively easy process, probably because of my experience with blogger. I had a bit of fun today adding many of your shops and wonderful work to my favorites. I think I'm going to like this!

"Entering"

"Branching Systems"

"Dawn"

A small group gathered for a Spring Equinox fire here at RavenWood. We had to 

clear a bit of snow in the garden and bring the moveable fire pit, but the day turned 

into a sunny, very warm day. Our ritual started with lots of drums rattles and singing, gratitude offerings to the fire, and a long time of silence to sink into the land and

listen. An enthusiastic crowd of chickadees brought song to our quiet time, and a few

far-off ravens reminded me of the dark contained within the light. Something shifted 

in me with the turning of the seasons, and even though we are back to cold and snow 

and icy mornings, a bit more peace has taken root in me. 

Still snowy in the moss garden, but patches of bare, moss bejeweled ground emerge 

at the base of trees and stones warmed from the sun. My constant companions, in 

addition to Pasha cat, is the gang of turkeys. They come daily, and seem less concerned

about my presence, and Pasha runs right by them as they stand, frozen like dark 

stones against the green hemlock boughs. 

I've been wondering about why turkeys have relatively few feathers on their heads. 

They're a bit vulture like. Vultures, however, need that bare head because of the icky

places they regularly put their heads, turkeys though? Scratching around the base of 

the bird feeder isn't that icky... 

Ahhhh, its a few hours later and I'm back to suggest an answer to my own question. I 

was just looking at the turkeys when it occurred to me that they need bare heads for better vision. They do fly for short distances and up into trees at night to sleep, but it 

sure looks like an effort! So since they spend so much time on the ground, they probably

wouldn't fare too well if they had ornamental feathers getting in the way of seeing an approaching predator. That's my thought. Too late at night to research that, but someday. 

      Evidence of turkey journeys around the yard. 

While the turkeys wander about in the snow, Pasha takes his afternoon nap 

in a chair by the wood stove. This is pretty much the scene right now, though in a 

different chair. He seems to have tired himself out watching me load wood into 

the bin, running up and down those trees is truly exhausting!

     The only work I've done recently in the studio was organizing work to list in 

     the shop, but branches and skies have demanded my attention. I wonder at the 

     beautiful colors of late winter evening skies. The few photographs below were 

     taken on a particularly enchanting evening. I could see my grandfather's algae 

     samples in the branching systems and am anxiously awaiting the end of the 

     business list to get back to work. I need large blocks of time and am not one 

     to grab an hour here or there in the studio, but maybe that's something to try. 

The big moon last Saturday night seems an appropriate image

to follow the fading light above. 

Searching for Ground

Traveling to town one day not long ago, 

delicate mists hovering over frozen water 

called to me to pause and dream. Its seems 

there hasn't been much time for dreaming of late, 

and I feel out of sorts. One moment deep and 

sorrowful, the next, feeling a slight glimmer of hope -

my mood brightening or darkening, like the sunshine 

on a day of blowing clouds. 

On my calendar today, I marked the morning with 

DREAMING TIME. Strange, when the gentle flow 

of my days seem more like a staccato dance between

lists and to find my center I must schedule it. Its not 

my way, and its at these times I'm most aware of 

how the life I've crafted is so different from 

cultural norms. 

After my Qigong routine, I sat at my altar, noticing 

 the crow feather shadow dancing on my drum. I wonder

if you notice the bear hiding in the skin? I've never 

photographed this drum before, and as I write, 

I see that the bear is very visible. There is a story 

here, from many moons ago, when I first came to 

this land and found myself surrounded by large and 

friendly bears. I not only met them in the forest, 

but they came to me in dreams and meditations, 

and quite clearly wanted my attention. 

Below, a Zuni White Bear fetish. 

During that time, I had a sound healing practice, 

and needed a new drum. At a sound healing conference, 

I picked up a drum, and was instantly in love. The maker 

told me it was a bear drum, and way out of my price range. 

I played the others, and was much taken with the drum 

above, though not in the "gut" way I had been with the bear 

drum. After a few days of playing it however, I began to see a 

bear-like picture emerge from the skin. So I wonder, do you see it? 

It is just to the right of the feather shadow, and has dark 

eyes. I think of it as a Spirit Bear. Maybe someday, if I'm 

lucky, I'll travel to British Columbia and see one. 

Bears find their way onto my shelves, along with owls, 

trees, cats, a woman with her sacred broom, 

and my Santo from years ago when my father 

had a factory in Puerto Rico. Today, however, 

was a day full of crows. 

This one visited as Pasha and I sat below the big hemlock 

in the moss garden. I in a chair that is accessible without snow

shoes for the first time since late December, and Pasha on bare ground

snoozing in the sun. All day the crows flew by, 

many landing in nearby trees to squawk for a while. 

Pasha has been a happy kitty lately, outside a lot 

enjoying the mossy hillsides where the snow has melted.

Even the snow mountain in front of the studio is 

melting away. I almost lost my boot in the deep 

mud at the edges of the driveway

twice today, a soggy, mucky mess!

A bunch of self-inflicted business deadlines have kept

me out of the studio, but since in this post I seem to be 

telling you new things about myself, I think I'll share 

another thread of my work. I sometimes wonder if 

I scatter my focus with the different kinds of 

work I do, but it has always been this way, so 

I continue. In a way, its all these threads that 

weave together the many stories that live in me. 

Sometimes I must make these drawings - 

a bit more narrative or mythic. 

Here, A Man. 

Here, A Woman with Ravens.

Lately, as I find myself searching for my

ground, these Women Who Live in the Roots

keep appearing to me. They feel like 

important allies right now, 

holding rootedness for me, 

holding spirals: 

the keepers of 

ancient women's 

wisdom. 

Remarkable Trees in the Land of My Ancestors

Many years ago, my father's grandparents lived in 

Florida surrounded by acres of orange trees. I've 

heard stories of that wild land, the various people who 

worked in the orchard, and a brave neighbor who swam in the

 river with the alligators. There was the time that my grandfather

shot a hole in the bottom of the boat because a very large, very 

poisonous water moccasin jumped aboard. He killed the snake, 

but also scared his passenger half to death as he hadn't seen the 

snake come aboard.  

I remember stories of the orchard hands teaching my father to fish 

and tying bacon to his ankles to protect him from chiggers. My 

ancestors hauled water, and lived with the fragrance of 

orange blossoms in the night air. 

Though these stories are a part of my family history, they never 

seemed to take root inside me as something that bound me to my 

great grandparents. I have always lived in the north, comfortable 

and happy away from heat and humidity. 

Last November, my parents moved to the West coast of 

Florida. It surprised me, as I always considered them 

connected to the northlands here. As a family, we spent a 

considerable bit of time in Puerto Rico when I was child, 

as my father had a factory there, so who knows why 

it seemed so surprising that they should feel drawn 

to the tropics once again. 

I flew down to visit them last weekend, in the land of sun and 

alligators. My first sighting of an alligator was at the creek by 

their house. At first I thought a tire was floating in the water, 

until the fish started jumping and the alligators tail - with 

remarkably good tread - sank and re-appeared near the bank. 

If you look closely, you can see the nose sticking 

out of the water to the right. 

We went hiking on a boardwalk through a swamp.

Gray, Spanish Moss hung from the oak branches, 

and the palm leaves created linear light 

patterns that enchanted me. 

I recognized  many forest species, surprised to see

them in such a tropical climate. The old man's beard

below is a familiar forest lichen. 

I leaned in close, marveling in vine lines and leaf textures.  

Eventually, the swamp opened up to a river plateau, 

and we watched vultures soar on the thermals overhead

and egrets forage in the marsh. 

We were gifted by a sundog - a rainbow 

encircling the sun. 

Gnarled live oaks draped in moss

held court in the clearings, and shadows 

danced on palm leaves. In a moment of midnight

magic, I wonder if this palm leaf might turn 

into a peacock?  

One day we visited the Myakka River State Park, the 

largest state park in Florida. We took an airboat tour

and saw herons, egrets, cormorants and many, many

alligators. 

We climbed high into the canopy on this tower, 

walked across a small suspension bridge through the 

foliage, and up higher for the view. 

In the town of Venice, I met remarkable trees, and 

would have spent hours with them, though we were 

just passing through. Below is one of several 

Banyan trees in the center of the boulevard. 

The oaks lining the street also captivated me, wearing 

their Spanish Moss finery and shading the sidewalks. 

All of a sudden, when I viewed the scene below, a 

memory of a painting that hung in my grandparents' house 

came to me. Palm trees, and a man, or men, leaning on a trunk. 

A thread of memory, something familiar though distant, began 

stitching me to this place. These visual stories have been 

with me since I was a small child, though only called up again 

now, as I hear the whispering of the palms in the warm, 

afternoon breeze and smell the grapefruit blossoms 

and jasmine in my parents' garden. My father has come 

full-circle, choosing to return to the land of his youth, and I, 

on a pilgrimage to the land of my ancestors, 

feel connected to stories rooted here that

 I didn't know I had lost.