with cool winds, the transformation of hope

The mornings are finally getting cooler here in western Colorado. The leaves not turning color yet from their greens down low in elevation but higher up, they are starting. I feel more grounded this season than I have felt the past two seasons during this time of year, and yet with the new crisp air comes a feeling of uncertainty. The cool air means fire, firewood, mud and snow and rooting in. Vulnerability. I need to leave the farm where I live in early November, which in some ways is a welcome change as I desire more privacy and room to cook on a fire and tan hides while not being in the middle of the hubbub of a working organic farm’s doings. And yet, it is also nerve-wracking. Where to go? It brings up past loss, of home and commitment, visions and love. I don’t often handle change well and yet, I’ve been nomadic or semi-nomadic for years finding home in different places in different seasons and rituals and different worlds.

The groundedness I have felt comes from staying put in one area for the most part despite wanting to flee the region many times this year, but staying anyway, and building slowly, a web of relationships formed out of the mold of one place, instead of many vastly widespread places, in the tiny micro-interactions that happen when you flow in the same spaces as others day in and out. I didn’t run away, yet, and it paid off. I feel less frantic, heartbroken and overwhelmed by where to call home after for years being torn between ecological and human community on the west coast and the southeast, and then meeting a man I fell in love with who I cared for deeply and could obsess with plants over, finding home in the middle between the coasts in the southern Rockies, and then being pulled from that home on land and in heart and then finding my way back, without him, and our shared love of land, and needing to find it for myself. I’ve slowly built a foundation of knowing what it takes to build safety in place with the people, trails, landscape there- over the time needed to connect. I haven’t had that kind of consistency in a long time. The ‘stability’ I needed for years was ‘time’ to form relationships in a smaller sphere, in the organic process needed, without figuring out constantly where to sleep. Of course the itch to travel, to move and to be in awe, is always there. At any moment I might feel good enough to go again, knowing I can always come back.

Where to feel at home is another matter, where to feel comfortable, and belong and dig in and plant things for long term. But it’s also a farce to buy into the one place and private lot you have to pay off your entire life. You never know what is going to happen, and I’ve had a dilemma in my body for awhile, that if I get too comfortable, feel too safe, too at peace in my body in a situation, that it will be more traumatizing later when it is violently and suddenly pulled, as if the whole thing is an illusion. And it has happened. And will again. And yet, life is change, and flux is the norm, as ecologies are always moving and morphing, so are we, as we are ecology. And so, this will also not last, but I am reminded, to enjoy the small beauties of togetherness when it is happening, and the glee of solitude when it also is a gift.

In the midst of cool airs, September is also a busy time for me. I’m teaching a sheep hide tanning class and ethical sheep processing class at the end of the month, and hey if you’re local (or not local!), there are still spots for this open! You take home your sheepskin you tan with me. We eat the sheep we kill, and also take time to do crafts and process all the parts, to explore what is possible. I’m excited for this, as it is one of my many interests I’ve loved over the years, the alchemy of death. We will be doing this class on my friend’s beautiful property 10 minutes from Orvis Hot Springs in Ridgway, Colorado, so we can take a field trip over there one of the evenings of the class to warm our working bones.

I also just taught Dogbane cordage and vended some of my tried and true herbal medicines at Forest and Field, a skills gathering herbal conference that happened in Hotchkiss, CO last weekend. I didn’t expect over 30 students for each class to be interested in Dogbane, and I met lots of neat folks who I hope take the skill out into their own world. Some of you new subscribers might be folks from the gathering. Hello there! Welcome to this space. I love making cordage and transforming sticks into rope. Another alchemy of magic. Reverse wrap. Take the bundle furthest from you and twist it forward, and then bring it up and over ‘towards’ you to complete the twist. and then the bundles are switched. Keep going. Pinch the twist with your thumb where the tension lies to keep it flowing tight. I sent the remainder of the sticks off with Nikki Hill, my wild-tender friend who carries many bundles of seeds around the west planting them in their appropriate places and who has been on my podcast many times, in hopes she will get obsessed with fiber like me. Some of the medicines I made for the gathering I am going to post live on my website TOMORROW, so look out if you’re been waiting for 2 years for me to do a pop-up apothecary sale there. Think salves, tinctures, elixirs, body butter, tallow soap, small batches.

I am teaching some classes online and in person in October. The in-person bit is going to be a plant walk and herbal medicine making weekend at Wild Cooperative in Crawford, Colorado nearby. I’ve been trying to get out to teach at Ewelina’s place all season, an epicly beautiful tucked away off grid property surrounded by the West Elk Wilderness, with a river running through. I’m excited to do a fall plant walk for local folks who couldn’t take off 4-7 days for my field ecology classes. We haven’t announced it yet but you will be able to see the classes up on Wild Cooperative’s website, here when we do.

I’m hosting Terratalks again, an ecology study group where we explore ideas of human culture in relationship to interpreting ecological literacy, for three sessions in October. This time around (it’s my 3rd time hosting this) we will have some new readings in addition to the old curriculum, to expand our explorations, and there will be opportunities to schedule 1:1 mentorship time with me as this work together relates to your individual endeavors. I pushed back the first date of class to be at the beginning of October, so check out the dates here if you’ve been interested in this and haven’t had the chance to join the group in the past. This group has been really impactful for the folks who have attended before, even Calyx, a past student, has now been on my podcast talking about some of the topics we get into in the group. If you decide to attend, know that it’s best if you attend live and participate in the discussions to get the most out of it and create the culture of the group. This is not me teaching at you as much as me weaving our reflections together with my insights and tools. I ask important questions for you to engage in your own work. We limit this group size, so think hard about whether you will be able to show up!

I teaching a one time class online in early October called Ecology & Somatic Storytelling: Mapping Landscapes with Body Memory, which I am super excited about. In this two hour online class we will explore what it means to remember the ecology of place with stories held in our senses and memories found in bodies. We’ll discuss our experiences of body memory and how this informs our connection to landscapes, landscape awareness and telling stories that connect our inner maps together - our own maps and our shared maps. We’ll talk about sensory experience, share eco-memories, do some journaling together to explore different ways of recording our inner maps and dive into the importance of emotion, sentiment, and storytelling in relation to remembering and connecting to our ecological homes. This has been an important realization this year for me, as I have come to understand better how remembering plants, or ecological awareness skills, often lives in nostalgia, in what something ‘reminds us of’ and how it feels, first, before the information comes in. The joy and the grief, the frustration and the flow. I remember where I was, what it smelled like and the temperature in the air. And you do too, and this is how we learn to connect. I’ve got a slew of sign-ups for this class already and there is space for more if you’re curious about this.

As for temperature in the air, under this grove of Box Elder and Siberian Elm on the patio next to the coffee shop where I currently write, the sun is peaking through. I’m still wearing my carhart jacket, even though it is now 10 am. I remember sitting here last fall when I first got to town and had a coffee date with an old friend from another time and life and community and place who happened to be living here at the time, we overlapped for one month. I had hope at the time, but deep inside, I also thought, maybe there is no hope for loving who and what I love. Maybe there is no hope for the dreams I once had. As a friend dying of cancer once said as she documented her process publicly, ‘hope’ is dangerous. Having hope sets you up for utter devastation. So don’t have hope. We have to give ourselves up to the whims of the universe sometimes, however harsh. Stepping away from hope, and into an entire other universe of possibility is sometimes what we have to do, whether we want to or not.

And so with the cooling air, and the time soon for woodstove fires, and cozy nights, is the transformation of ideas, of hope, of grief, and of expectation. And with that, change is a very slow process.