4.8.09

I was saved by the fire, it just took a while.

It's funny that every few months Mike and I are mobilized by our brain commanders, simply pushed forward to the next place. So here we go, meandering back up north by way of mountain roads, scoping out land, locations, elevations, waterways, etc etc.

There's a quote from the Secret Teachings of Plants by Thoreau, something like one who simply goes into the woods will never see so much as the one who goes intentionally to see. I'm vibing strongly on those words, feeling especially glad to have come to this place in my life of being able to follow the plants and weeds, to know them at infancy, at middle age, and as they go to seed. I feel very centered and grounded knowing these beings, and it very easily translates in my mind to children, especially as the years pass and the little ones I know and have known grow another year, another year, another year. Time has become a very long-term thing (if anything at all). It's funny to remember so vividly what happened years ago, and it seems to happen more and more as I've become more connected to my surroundings. I can remember all these plants as tiny babies, and here they are so enormous and falling over. Somehow growing the plants causes me to be grown, making me feel so much more capable of relating to others, plant, animal and so many beautiful humans (most every one). My eyes are opened more to the complexity, to the beautifully infinite ways we all inter-act and assist, to the very hallucinogenic property of life in general. My buddy on the couch just now reminded me of something I said about death, roughly that our bodies have many methods of perception, hearing, seeing, touching, etc, and when we die all of those perceivers fall away and return to the earth while our spirit(s) are released from them and are again able to un-realize themselves, to become again what they always are. The land has a way of telling you these things without even needing hallucinogens (though they certainly don't hurt:).

On the agenda for today is rivering at the river, soaking up some sun in the privacy of the mountain stream. Must rack off mead, gather dewberries, tuck up around the cabin, pickle some chard, and delight in the day while the sun is out. We've had visions of fall the last few days with cold-ish nights, moreso than usual, and crispness in the air while the first leaves begin to fall from the maples and all the trees turn yellower and yellower. I feel like we've had maybe 3 weeks of strong summer so far in between all the rain. It's an interesting weather pattern, very moist, very moldy to anything enclosed, very dank. Most of the peaches have brown rot from so much moisture. It's an ideal place for being internal most of the year. I'm not sure I could handle it much into to the winter, when the wind returns.

Well! Time for master chef Mike's banana buckwheat cakes!

and again, as before,
with all my love,
abigail

2 comments:

animasophi said...

We hope to see you and offer you a warm place to winter, our garden will jump for joy:)!
love you

vivir vino veritas said...

hey Abby! so you are in Tennessee enjoying peaches and life in general and in very specific detail. awesome. i be in Massachusettes at present, and the peaches here just got ripe. o are they so good! they are smaller and they taste like they're still alive, unlike the huge sugar bombs from California. don't get me wrong, those taste very sweet too. but these local peaches ain't been gassed or air compressed, just picked and shipped by ferry to the island. yum yum, aliveness. it really is a wonderful and discernible taste.

do you plan to be in NC in October? some friends and i will be roadtripping through and it maybe, and it will be nice to cross paths again whenever that happens. please give Mike the biggest smile ya can and believe it's from me, too. xoxo