Wer seines Lebens viele Widersinne
She who reconciles the ill-matched threads
of her life, and weaves them gratefully
into a single cloth—
it’s she who drives the loudmouths from the hall
and clears it for a different celebration
where the one guest is you.
In the softness of evening
it’s you she receives.
You are the partner of her loneliness,
the unspeaking center of her monologues.
With each disclosure you encompass more
and she stretches beyond what limits her,
to hold you.
Rilke’s Book of Hours Translated by Joanna Macy
Sometimes I just wander around in the garden and marvel. And sometimes we bring some of what is outside, inside. And wonder.
Every day, he says,
“I want to make something, Mama.”
as he drags a chair across from the table to the butcher block
stands up tall
next to me,
I’ve been making something
with a little person (or two, or three)
next to me,
for more than 13 years.
it wears me out.
I dream about being alone
But other days I stand in awe
of how this simple act
repeated over and over again,
alchemy in the kitchen,
in the garden,
has shaped their hands,
made my life,
nourished our family.
One of my children doesn’t love to be photographed right now, and I am trying my best to respect that but sometimes I just can’t help myself.
We neglected you a little more than usual this year.
And still, you bless us with omelettes for lunch.
Thank you. So very much.
Last fall I wrote a piece for Wild + Free on fermenting with children. It is one of my favorite articles I did for the magazine because everyone in our family helped with the photos, the recipes, and the fermentation! One year later, everyone is gathered around again, making a new ferment: Giardiniera. Jeffrey’s endless enthusiasm for fermentation experimentation is contagious. I think we are raising a whole brood of wildcraft makers and brewers.
After the Giardiniera project, we made wild grape soda: one of our September traditions and favorite ferments!
hurt by a friend
it follows me around
and I can’t shake it.
I try to take a walk
and I try to write a poem
and I try to have a conversation,
and it goes to sleep with me
and wakes up with me
at the kitchen sink.