Over
time, the ideas in Toby
Hemenway's book Gaia's Garden, 
transformed my thinking, inviting experimentation
with fewer paths, more curves & the
integration of pollinator-
friendly plants.

My family
thinks it's crazy to
redesign the garden every
few years as each one seems pretty
cool, like this rounded mounded central axis
filled with a mix of annual vegetables and perennials.
But for me, these changes reveal how this garden was becoming
more than just a space to grow vegetables. It was
a safe place for me to connect with and
explore the power of the
earth herself, this
thing called
Gaia.

But
that's just
what I did, creating
a circular space aligned with
the quadrants of a compass and based 
on historic herb garden designs.
I didn't know what this
new space would
be like...

Welcome.
When I walk into
our 'new' front yard, it's
like magic. The granite pavers
guide me past the front
door and around
​to the back,

where ​pungent
SummerSweet and cheerful
purple Coneflower (echinacea) beckon.
"Come," they say. "You are
​safe here."

And I am.
Bees frolick and
I feel a warm embrace
not just from the plants, but
from all the people who guided
me to this time and this place. It seems
hard to believe that in the midst
of a global crisis, I have
​found such joy in
​the garden.

Just
three months
ago, Calvin and I sat
in our front 'yard.' Still early
in the COVID crisis, we were eager
to be outside. For me, though, this space
between our house & the road
was not a calming
​place.

In fact,
it was unsettling.
Perhaps it was the abrupt
contrast between the lawn & the
trees or maybe it was the way the lawn
just headed off into our neighbor's
property, carrying my
energy with it --
away.

The more
I walked among this
increasing variety of plants,
the more grounded I felt in every ​way,
not just because a formally neglected place was
getting attention, but because it was
coming to life - the winged
creatures were
showing
​up.

But
even with
this beauty, there
was something missing.
The more time I spent in this
place, the more I realized that it had
​something to do with the
flow of energy.

So,
it was with
great enthusiasm that
during the last week in July, I
carried one hundred pavers from a pallet
at Gardener's Supply in Lebanon, NH
into and out of the car, slowly
laying them into the soil,
and in the process,
transforming
this place.

Our
initial design
did not include edging
material nor did it include this
connection between the front and back
yards. But this mix of stone and
diverse plantings created
an increasingly
​dynamic
space.

At one time or another, Kelsey & Karen worked at Henderson's Garden Center in White River Junction, VT. The Garden Center is run by Sylvia Provost, who always has amazing ideas and plants for any project.

Permaculture Solutions, LLC Karen Ganey shares her creative gifts through consultations, design and installation. 

Gardener's Supply, Lebanon, NH A friendly place to find native trees, shrubs, perennials and vegetable starts.

E.C.Brown's Nursery, Thetford, VT A welcoming place to find native trees, shrubs and perennials. 

Ongoing inspiration from friends at the Hanover Garden Club and colleagues on the Sustaining Landscapes Committee in Hanover. 

This
is perhaps
the 100th shrub
I have planted in our yard
during the past decade, and this
tight tangle of roots gets me every time.
Not all plants are so completely
ensnared, but most ​seem
to be at least this
rootbound.

Sometimes
aggressive action is
necessary because it is
absolutely essential to free the
roots from themselves. If they remain
entangled, the shrub will never
be able to settle into
its new home.

Earlier
today, when
I held this particular
plant and gently worked to
free ​the roots, I thought of how
hard it has been to liberate myself from
the constraints I created as a result
of ​expectations of all kinds,
some from within &
some from
​family.

A plant
will thrive in 
its new home when
its roots are free & it has the
water & nutrients it needs. As I write,
I am increasingly curious about what roots I
may choose to cut so that I can participate fully in
conversations about climate, race & our
nation's structural inequalities
that limit our collective
capacity to
thrive.

At this
point, my walk
had become it's own
kind of Easter Egg Hunt, but
instead of colorful eggs, I  found random
objects, each of which felt like a
sign, because I was on a
search and there
they were.

This pink
ribbon, so bright
on the forest floor, but
there, communicating something
to someone, perhaps even to me -- Beware,
I'm here - Don't trip? But instead, I got tripped up by these
mysterious marks on the trees. Are they part
of some game, or do they have
great significance? 

Maybe
it's just that
simple. I am being
asked to co-exist not just
with my immediate family, but
with the all of it -- the mysteries & the
uncomfortable realities of being
human on a planet that is
struggling to support
us. In the midst
of it all,
I seek meaning
and relevance. It's why I
take photographs. It's why I share
my work and my ideas on this blog. Because
for me, it's spiritual. Just as there is power in the way
compost emerges as nutrient rich soil, there is power in
showing up & trying to make sense of ourselves
and our circumstances, with all our
abundant and colorful
imperfections.

Seeking
something normal,
I collected compost from
Umpleby's Cafe and Bakery in
Hanover and came home to process
it. But when I downloaded the photographs
from what had been glorious Compost
Compositions, I saw that something
had gone terribly wrong
with the exposure.
Why now?

Then there
is gratitude for my
sister-in-law, Katherine,
whose recently released book
of poetry, Voice Message, captures her
profound grief at the loss of her 21 year old
daughter almost a decade ago and the loss of all
that might have been, but can't be because of a single fall
on a single day on a ski hill far away. I can't read
more  than a poem or two a day. It's
just too intense right now
with this virus...

Instead
we are together.
As they mourn the loss
of a graduation or a 20th birthday
with friends I think about all the different
kinds of losses and can, I think, finally comprehend
that grief in all its forms is real, but that
ultimately, some is just so
much more profound
than ​others.

A lost
child can not
be retrieved. So when
my husband told me that babies
& other young people are now dying from
Covid-19, I experienced more grief, but am grateful
for 'Woman's Work,' like tending the garden or sewing cloth
masks that will protect us from ourselves (lest we touch
our faces) and each other, (lest one of us is sick
and coughs). It is strange to protect
ourselves from ourselves. At
this moment, though,
what else is a
mother
to do?

So, I
sew masks
out of repurposed
​boxers and favorite old
floral flannel PJs, which were
buried at the bottom of our rag pile
in that funny drawer beneath our dryer
which we so rarely open, but which
is, at this moment, proving
extremely helpful.

It turns
out that making
masks is harder than I
thought. What I am creating
looks nothing like what I see on all
those YouTube videos. Then I ​remember
that we are in a time of crisis, and I
am doing the best I can with
what I have, where
I am.

The other
day at the landfill,
I had two cameras, so
even though the settings were
off on one, the other was just right.
Using the tools at hand, I was able to capture
the eerily empty six-foot social distancing spaces at
the recycling center. In a time of crisis, I think
it helps to have guidance whether in
the form of a spray-painted
box, or poetry in a book,
written by someone
you love.

It does feel,
though, that mothers
and mother earth have super-
powers in their abilities to hold and
sooth pain &, by doing so, nourish that pain
so that it can transform into whatever
it is meant to become, in all
its tactile, fragile
​beauty. 

#frontstepsproject is on Instagram

@Katasasvari can be found on Instagram & on the web

Voice Message by Katherine Barrett Swett - - Please order through your local independent bookstore. I ordered mine through Still North Books in Hanover, NH

If you can, please support those in your life who needs it...whether it's the person who cares for your loved ones, cares for your home, or cares for you. Venmo and a simple old fashioned check work wonders.

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. 

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.