What I’ve gleaned from living 15 years intentionally:

1. Seeds+water=LIFE!

2. Plants don’t necessarily thrive in the ultimate habitat

3. Killing animals is hard for some folks. Gardening is hard for others.  Therefore it seems community is necessary for ultimate happiness.

4. Resistance is futile: suffering is optional.  Let go of consumerist ways or be dragged.

5. Fulfillment lies in caring for the habitat around us, interacting with animals and plants daily, and cultivating the patience, awareness, and physical health to produce ones’ own sustenance.

6. Singing, dancing and other cathartic movement is necessary.

7. Kids love primitive life: explore this more, trust this.

8. Watching several seasons pass before building a home on a piece of land is a spiritual offering of sorts, to learn and notice “the neighbors” and respect microscopic boundaries. Sovereignity is not only craved by humans.

9. Fire is magic.

10. Our feet and hands deserve all the best treatment: start taking as much time to rub your feet as you do taking care of your teeth! And put your hands together to give thanks to them in their own sanctity.

Loving yourself comes first, but its often an obscured part of the growth process. I have found myself as i have loved others: the feeling that was nuturing the wild part of my friends and kin, encouraging the rambling, bushwacking adventures, spontaneous trips, vision quests. As ever, i was being a catalyst for going back to the land. My work as a seer has only just begun: for now I am ready to be seen. My hands demand work as my scholars brain does. There is balance, yet everyone must find their own and master it.

Luke watched his granddaughter with satisfaction. Her skills, especially tending a cooking fire, reminded him of Mothers’ grace and grit. Top notch caregiver of the soil, too. Chip off the old block.

After supper, he joined her as she walked to the river to fetch buckets of water. “This kind of living is hard on a woman.” His concerned blue eyes sparkled as she laughed in response. Her eyes glittered, muscles strained with 8 gallons of water on the yoke.

“Life is hard no matter what, but this life? I wouldn’t trade it for a million dollars.”

Not sensing his pride in her, she feels a pang of disappointment, interpreting his tenderness as dismay. He watches as her tenacity takes him back in time. She turns from the bank of the Asquamchumake River, smiling. He wonders why he ever left the farm.

some musings from coastal Maine:

grey figure twists along the shoreline
Dawn fog following
a strand of cobwebs
Heron flies west at dusk
As we move east
At dead slow
While the tide returns
Heron Neck
backlit by the setting sun
We approach blindly
Craning to glimpse the red Fresnel lens
Nina asks for a knife
She takes mine and cuts a slab of salmon
While the small boat rides the swells
Ev eats one-handed in the bow
The colors, look!
He exclaims,
Could it be any more beautiful?!
Awash in gratitude
I row back to our landing
Steady and open hearted
Long Island lobster boat
Wakes crossing
Bald eagle blessing
Ferry reversing toward mainland
On offering rock
3 osprey glide above
We three peer up in wonder

whalebone rock on the Commons

Bald eagle watches from Oak perched on east bank of the river.

Coyote greets me first

Big guy full of soul, quite close

Eerily so They watch us

informed by the harmony and divine chaos of pack life.

Sage and mugwort smudge offer prayers for all beings.

Later Owl journeys with me 

Up through tall white pine boughs,

Out of atmosphere to

 to Cassiopeia

Whereafter we crash as a meteorite into Earth

Shattering illusions and spiritual materialism.

Mercurial energy seeping in at twilight

The scales balancing as Kali slices through


How reptilian 

to covet the idea of inhabiting a dead planet

While humanity tears at and attempts to wreck 

ones whose lives are honoring Earth.

Caregivers must learn to receive and thus 

Offering an open channel to the bliss of 

generosity from the Universe

Truly opening to and 

embracing Great Mystery.
no more time for processing! Ready?!

Ready to unite Divine feminine


The divine masculine 

Bring abundance to Earth mindfully.

  Honor the egg more than the seeds value to your self.

Hold sacred space for such energy to re-member

Stay present in support 

awareness of guidance cosmically, both mammalian and energy -based.

We are here to facilitate trust and relief, for

Rekindling connection and bonds.

These are times innocent joys are accessible to all if willing to slow down!
Our chances to connect in body are so fleeting and writ of adventure.  Cherish these energetic connections, 

these other wavelengths felt and traversed.

have courage!I
Frog jumps in wet duff

Flurries don’t stop amphibians

At first, just slower.

A holy worker does not only go by blind faith!

White crystal woman, spirits of the North

Guide us to foster community deeply, without judgment.

like witch hazel, bloom despite the snow squalls, 

when no one expects it!I
Grandmother Spider 

Weave us  tight threads of communication and trust!

 She said dont worry 

she is always weaving goodness around us all-

Just hiding sometimes!

She says, stop watching her and Pay Attention.

Tenacious, patient, quick:

Artemis visits to say:

 stop sitting and start stalking your prey

Be the fox. 
Snake folk

Shed skin of the last growth and leave the door open.

Wings dry, butterfly finishes sunning herself

And approaches the edge-

This is growth!

 geese fly after midnight during sleet storms 

and still find their way!

Spirits of the South, guide us with grace!
Crunching autumn leaves underfoot, I make a pilgrimage in early dawn 

To cedar tree

Hugging its red bark 

inhaling strength, health and purity.

So much gratitude for this timeless healer

ancient beauty everlasting

Evergreen seed bearer, infinite growth.

Spirits of the West, Thank you

 for decadence, for

Your reminder to let go of manipulation, to

Recognize true wealth:

Earths undying, unbiased support.

Every breath taken is a vibration 

Humans hesitation is peculiar


Our language is no longer based on communication

Sarcasm has usurped the creative minds of youth

Captive, disconnected

 affected by our ancestors only subconsciously.

Skepticism is due to a luxury of having a different perspective.

Using, abusing, cruising

 through life

Missing it, even.
Crow flies silent


solo, content and focused.

Spirits of the East, reveal to us true efficiency.

Coyote howls, loudly

 unabashedly for its pack

Lonely and needy

unapologetically seeking


answerable to,  and honored to receive answer.

Tonight, I am delighted to be sharing poems from a trip to Penobscot Bay to harvest Rosa rugosa! Every growing season after frost I am a bit sad to be putting Earth to bed – this tradition of oceanside gathering is an indispensable heart medicine!

Shipyard rendezvous

Strolling Penobscot Bay

Windblown dusky mist


Tugboats on the wharf

Seagull eating starfish leg-

Only three left now!


Scarlet glow- October

Crossing east and returning over the bridge,

White feather flowing into harbor

Passagassawaukeag drifter


Beautiful surprise of your voice

sudden deep Timbre vibrating

So close, almost back-to-back

Running into one another.


Cold dawn

Autumnal fog

Evaporating in sunrays

Jubilant morning birdsong interrupted

While a rail-trail walker echoes her loud query

“You know what’s so horrible?!”

A one- sided conversation

Echoes on still estuary.


Spiny sea urchin


Monarch butterfly.

Chestnut dreams

walking a seaswept glade


strawberry blossom at moose point

Watching lobsterman check traps

Cormorants diving in yellow, matted bladderwrack.


Geese skein flying east

Hike through meadow

Ringed with laurel and tall white pines:

second Basket of rosehips.


Timeless gift, cider,

Unforgettable crinkles around steely blue eyes

Mischievous you, asking

“Does it taste fresh?”


nervous, my green sweater flaps in the breeze

Halyards keeping time

Shipyard wondering

Later, nerves soothed

I wish to slip my arm around yours

But stop myself, shy.


                                                 Hawktalk Herb Sanctuary: Temple, Maine
                                                                                                 7 September 2020
    September on a homestead: when empty seed packets sit in depot, for mapping plantings later; cobwebs only just noticed after four months of life outdoors. When rain lacks the element of refreshment and instead, drives one to start a breakfast fire indoors for the first time since June, while the smell of lacto-fermenting foods under the marble countertop is  duly noted, its depth of odors prompting an imminent move to the cool darkness of the root cellar.
    Such is this Labor Day morning, fog drifting, birds coming out of hiding post-storm.
    The buckwheat harvest shall wait, but the disarray of dried herbs on the marble will finally be bottled and labeled, or in the case of the hops and lavender, made into “dreamy pillows”. Plantain seeds needing processed await new packets. Diminutive blood -red rosebuds cast their spell as i lament not picking another round of anise hyssop, and my beloved rocking chair urges me to get my sewing needle and start with the lavender. 
    New England in late summer, when boggy red maples are casting their namesake scarlet on the waters’ edge. Earlier than the others, they remind one to watch the turning, lush yellow leaves of quaking aspens, closely follow the elderberry, the rosehips, listen for the coyotes verve and owls rapport with the bats. And always, autumn signals a human need to watch the stars and gaze with a sense of wonder. Mars is so close to our Moon, I have recently been imbibing in the annual late summer tradition of after-dinner coffee on clear nights- to stay awake and watch Venus rise and tune my kids telescope toward Andromeda. I will always love astronomy, for fostering awe in myself and a sense of gratitude in feeling small.
     Dream big!  Cherish your roots!

    Here’s to the way life should be: celebrating four years of the good life in Maine

    The yurt self destructed in the October winds. I have been struggling since then for a sense of satisfaction or completion. But there is none, and I will continue musing on the Buddhist teaching of “having no perch.”


    Recently, I came to the realization that I must change this site’s name! For the past three summers I have spent growing roots on a mountaintop in Maine. For two summers I have moved stones and done masonry work, cut trees, and raised post and beam.

    The yurt is looking bare these days, save two beds and my sons pile of library books.  The garden surrounds it, while ferns are flourishing underneath the yurt platform.

    Now time is spent preparing for future life in an octagonal cordwood structure. Sixteen feet, not unlike the yurt, but complete with root cellar, entryway and a loft.

    And, the best part? A roof that will likely never blow off.

    After dryland runs, just after dawn, I find myself bowing to a certain dog, whose presence inspired me in that mornings’ run, beginning a flow of postures in reverence of this spirit. This morning, it was Siria, as her earnest workers’ face showed determination, grit and sass married to perfection, mellowed in her five years of age. Aurora, just a pup really, is admiring and emulating Siria, wanting to lead. But Buzz pulls ahead of Siria today while she led; he was in swing and should have been behind her, not pulling ahead. She was slowly choosing her path; he may have resented her cautious cat-like footing, dancing through gnarly roots along a twisted spine of mud ruts. I am never ceasing to be amazed by her awesomeness.

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