For almost 
a year, I've been
documenting the Landfill
and have not been surprised by
the tons of waste dumped onto the
ground, creating a mountain
where there had once
been a valley.

A few
minutes later,
when the sun went
behind a cloud, it was not
the play of light, but the play of 
textures and tones that caught my eye,
and the way the color of the ground shifted
from raw black soil to brown shredded bark to a
layer of plastic and then on to the snow-covered hillside.
And here was this massive vehicle whose sole
job is to smash it all up, but which,
in the process, creates these
elegant circles in
the soil.

To manage
our waste, the landfill
crew harnesses a complex mix
of engineering, biology, chemistry and art.
​It's all about containment - How to safely entomb
our garbage so that it stays where we put it,
does not leach toxic runoff or become
a landslide, or explode from
​noxious gases.

For me,
it's not hard to
manage what I know or 
to plan for things I understand. Like
in this discarded tax preparation worksheet
from 1992, I can do whatever calculations I must.
But when confronted with variables I do
not understand that are beyond
my control, I become
a bit befuddled.

While
at The Landfill
last week, though, the
manager indicated that they
were receiving 35% less waste than
just two weeks before. He suggested that it's
like everyone & everything is taking a deep breath and
a giant pause. Maybe, I thought, that is what the earth and each
one of us needs right now...as long as we care for
​each other along the way...because
we are most definitely in
this together...

...pausing
at the landfill
or at home, or wherever
we may be right
​now.

My gratitude
for this pile is deep.
Year after year it transforms
waste into nourishment for gardens
while at the same time inviting me to be
patient, get my hands dirty, and
remember that sometimes
life is really messy.

For me,
It's so much
more than textures
& subtle muted
tones.

It all
seemed 
so funny, how
I packaged them up,
but am waiting two weeks
to send them, for fear I might have
The Virus and might unknowingly mail it to
my sister whose husband has cancer and definitely
can't get this thing. So once again my compost
and all its associated projects invite
patience and humor. This
really is all quite
messy...

...and
beautiful,
because even
though we may be
thousands of miles apart,
we are together, exploring these
funny pieces of paper and
wondering what will
emerge from it
all.

...because 
it is March and
even though it seems dark
and gray and lonely to be stuck at
home, I know that the bulbs will emerge
from the frozen earth & spring will
come, because that's nature's
routine, and I'm good
with that.

PS
It is still
Women's History
Month...so let's support 
each other as much as we can
from afar. For inspiration of all kinds,
check out my friend Jennifer Jewell's Podcast
Cultivating Place - - The January episodes were all
about the therapeutic and spiritual capacities
of our gardens - in all their forms. We
need that now, more
​than ever. 

I love
working with
these strange pieces of
paper. When we have coffee at our
house, which is rare, we use a French Press. So
for me, these are an entirely new material which have, until
recently, just been part of my decomposing compost.
Now, though, with my sister's inspiration,
they have become yet another
invitation to explore
our material
world.

When I 
take them out
of the 5-gallon compost
collection bucket and move them
into the rinsing tub in our sink, these dirty
filters become precious materials
filled with creative
​potential.

All I
want to do
is move in closer to
explore these materials about
which I know so little. Once again, my
compost invites me to consider more than meets
the eye. While I have an idea of what my sister, Sarah C.
Swett, might create out of these filters, their
back story, like so many back
stories, remains a
​mystery.

Clearly,
this narrative
is unfolding as I write,
Sarah's imagination leading her
and my investigations taking me where
they go. But here we are, unfiltered, making it
up along the way. It does seem, however, that ours is
a circular narrative, filled with the ebbs
and flows of our lives and
curiosities.

Sarah
has instinctively
allowed her superpowers
to evolve over the past decades.
It's taken me a bit longer to discover mine,
and to let them flourish. I love that I embroidered my
first stitch at the same time she sent me that coffee filter bracelet.
It was like a subversive invitation to just go for it, whatever
'it' might be. And here we are, more than a year
later, and I've embroidered an entire dress
and she is working on her second
knitted coffee ​filter bag. 

...together

Clothes 
are also something
we wear every day and that can
often make our day. I know that is the case
for me. My black boots give a kick to my step and my
long purple wool cardigan embraces me and gives me confidence.
There is no reason to feel bad about dressing in garments
that make us feel good. Our challenge is learning
how to wear clothes that both feel
great and don't harm
the earth.

And it's more
than the reality that 
I hate waste. In fact, I found
these on a day when I had been
ruthlessly sending all manner of things
to the landfill. At that moment, though, I had
a feeling there was a story embodied
in those bags that I would
​explore someday.

So here I am,
wondering about my
daughter's old socks and my
mother-in-law's fabric remnants.
The thing that's bothering me most is
that they can not be composted because these
colorful textiles are made from or contain synthetic fibers.
As I have recently learned in Rebecca Burgess's
Fibershed, there is more to our clothes
than I ever knew.

It turns out
that I am asking
the same questions of
these scraps that I ask of my
compost. Where you do come from,
how did you grow or how were you made?
Who was responsible for your emergence and
ultimate journey to me? Were those responsible for
you (fabric or fruit) paid a living wage? Was 
the soil from which you grew (veggie or
fiber) rich with compost, or was
it polluted? The Fibershed,
it turns out, is like a 
foodshed or a
watershed.

Walking sustains
​energy, as does witnessing
creative Little Free
​Libraries...

So when not
exploring and playing
with extended family, I made
time to read and sew, taking a media
holiday of sorts. I hadn't planned it this way,
but it turns out I read about another inspiring and game-
changing woman, Rebecca Burgess and the Fibershed Project.
The subtitle "Growing a Movement of Farmers,
Fashion Activists, and Makers for a 
New Textile Economy" 
connects to, well,
​everything.

I became 
entranced by the
colors, shapes and textures 
that emerged. I know. These joggers
are completely absent of
​color.

But the 
shapes and 
textures were so
cool and the feeling of the
wool fabric I used to repair the holes
so soft, I just had to share these 
​images  and this project
​with you.

And,
it turns out,
you can change the
structure of yourself as well.
Or at least, that's what happens to
me when I sit and sew. I hang out with my
dog, who hangs out with me. We ​both breath more
slowly. I have no idea what he thinks about,
but I stay focused on each stitch,
mindfully mending in
​that moment.

But even
as I sew on buttons
and patch holes in joggers,
I'm thinking, always thinking, about
all those big issues out there in the world
for which we want a quick a fix, but which, in my
heart, I know may not be able to be fixed with a single tool
box at a single moment. The problems we face are just too big. But
it helps me to address them when I adopt a mending state of mind. Knowing
we will be in this for a while, I focus on relationships of all kinds and not
worry about perfection by knowing what is good enough
and by making sure I am open to altering my
plans by adding color here
and curves
​there.