Colors. Textures. Shapes. Invitations to pay attention. Gorgeous Garbage. Mixed up and mingled. Curious about time & the need to document how I use it...Fear emerges: Will we have the time we need? Thoughts shift. If my daily calendar is empty, did I exist? If we live without record, do we exist? Or, is there something more powerful I don't yet understand that connects us to the spirit of things & not things themselves? Trump's election sparked my initial focus on compost. Since then, the pile has shifted from metaphor for America (a diverse soup), to an invitation to explore my relationship to just about everything and everyone...including myself. So I've been hanging out with tea-cups submerged in ponds and feeling the power of moss while in prayer. I wonder: Will I take this invitation to change, to emerge from this time with renewed interest in what's possible? Or will I hold on to what I know & to what feels safe because I am afraid? For me,
it's a choice, & fear is not an option.
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A dress worn to a party in 1984, re-imagined & transformed, becoming muse & metaphor in 2019. With text from Walt Whitman's poem, This Compost & embroidered ferns traced from actual ferns in my garden, it took over a year, for the dress and the woman to emerge - smiling. Always smiling. "I am terrified at the earth," but I drink my demitasse and smile. Really? Is that all? What an incongruous sham! But am I allowed to show fear or anger? Do I even know what these emotions feel like? And if I can't show them when no one is looking, will I ever be able to be real? I've buried them for so long, always hiding behind that smile. Don't get me wrong. I've only recently understood how beautiful it is. But just as the demitasse is a curious distraction, so is a smile a fabulous cover. It
was only after these exploratory photo shoots in Maine that I started to go deeper. If I am going to re-imagine my relationship to everything and everyone, including myself, I'll need to accept that it won't always be pretty. It's the light... ...and the shapes. It's the mesmerizing interplay of water & wind... ...and the ongoing invitation to get lost in the moment while falling in love with the wonder of it all. Sometimes I have to get lost in order to find what I need. How
are you getting lost these days? It's true! If you plant it, they will come. At first, back in 2010, I loved straight lines & beds high enough to deter our new puppy. All I wanted was to grow lots of food as efficiently as possible. By 2013, the compost had moved out; Three layers were too hot & dry; And a new north-south alignment just felt better. 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. By 2018, cucumbers emerged from beneath pole beans, borage invited pollinators, and there was hardly a need to water, as the composted and well-shaded soil sustained itself throughout the summer. I had finally created my own 'Gaia's Garden' paradise. So it seems strange that I would take it apart & essentially start over. 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... ...until I planted the echinacea and finally understood that gardening is not about how many peas I harvest. For me, it's about how I can heal myself so that together my garden and I can help heal the earth. Summer ReadingIn addition to re-reading Gaia's Garden, these others books have also captivated and inspired me this summer. It feels as if the earth is in all of our hands right now. Digging deeper is the only way to go.
Drew, Sarah Gaia Codex Hemenway, Toby Gaia's Garden Jewell, Jennifer The Earth in Her Hands Kincaid, Jamaica My Garden (Book): Penniman, Leah Farming While Black 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. But with my son ready to help, we gave new form to this part of our yard. By mid June there was a layer of healthy soil & mulch. By mid July, I had planted the hillside with a cool mix of native plants, including Gro-low Sumac and Joe Pye Weed. In the process, I co-opted some more of the lawn, which really is just a nasty water hog that has no nutritional value. 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. From prior experiments, I realized that it was all about edging and the clear definition of boundaries. The bricks that had been in the front of the original bed for decades were not strong enough to contain the power of what this part of our land was becoming. 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. Power emerges when when there are natural connections among people, plants & place. Earlier today, I could almost hear the conversation between the two varieties of SummerSweet, one in the front and the other along the north side of the house. It was as if Karen who introduced me to "Ruby Spice" in 2016 was actually talking with Kelsey, who, working off what we already had, integrated "Hummingbird" into the front design in 2018. Together, in 2020 they provide a mid-summer banquet. I love how these various groundcovers, shrubs and trees embody the positive spirits of the many plants people throughout the Upper Valley who nurtured them so that someone like me could come along and use them to create a garden. And now that garden comforts and inspires because of how a few small stones in various shapes and sizes can contain a mix of plants while also enabling life-giving energy to flow. Local ResourcesAt 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. Once I hit 50, though, my confidence with clippers increased significantly in the garden and in my life. Experience showed me that it really is OK to cut free some (but not all) roots in order for a plant, or for me, to grow. 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. Who knows
what beauty will emerge from this call to dig even deeper? Last week, I'd had enough. While attempting to make masks, my sewing machine jammed, a sure sign that it was time to stop, and when I tried to stitch the outline of a photograph of myself onto that silk dress I've been working on for a year, it was a mess. I was done. We'd been home together for almost a month and I was frazzled. So first I took myself for a walk and called my sister. Then, when I got home, I made pizza, got out some wine and shared my exhaustion. "What can we do?" my son asked. How cool is that? We then created a plan for who would cook which night; We talked about Mom's limits... and there are many. And, by the end of the meal we got it - We are definitely in this whole weird Covid-19 thing together. Even so, I still felt untethered on Easter, so went for another walk, but longer this time, and wondered if I would experience any signs to guide me, this being a mystical time and all...and sure enough... First, there was this VW hubcap just sitting on the railing. VW - Volkswagon - A car for People. OK. Got it. One reason this crisis is so hard to manage is that it impacts all of us, but some more than others. Actively helping those in need doesn't feel like enough. There it is, that nasty need to do more, always do more. Next, this rusted handrail, unloved and imperfect, but still able to provide support. To me its textures and shadows are captivating and reassuring. Perhaps this time is forcing me to confront my own perfect imperfections and celebrate this undeniable fact that I can't not see beauty even in worn out things. And then there was this green sandbag with its mate up the hill -- one a snake, the other a donut. They clearly serve a purpose, having something to do with water management, but there in the woods, coming up from the Connecticut River, they seemed so strange. The first bright green on this early spring day. 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? The more strange markings I witnessed, the more amused I became. Here I was hoping for 'a sign' and I got way more than I bargained for. Is it true that Signs, of the mystical kind with a capital "S," are only as meaningful as we make them? Signs appear because we look for them when we need them. In this case, it seems, all these colorful signs were merely there to remind me that I am in control of how I interpret not just these markings, but this crazy time as well. And then, when I emerged from the woods and was on my way home, this green doggy poop bag was swinging in the wind on these bright red twigs. Really? Clearly this is a sign that sometimes there are just weird things blowing in the wind. 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. All in a day's work with my Womanswork Gloves. Still March, and there I was, out pruning and clipping and clearing. I did, indeed, feel like a strong woman building a gentle world and this oregano shoot a gift from the powers at be. A moment of gratitude, when minutes earlier I'd been grieving the latest reports on Coronavirus cases spreading around New York, moving north toward Boston, slowly making its way toward us. 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? Was it me? What happened to my trusted Fuji camera that it also messed up the images I captured at The Lebanon Landfill earlier on that same day. What's going on, I wonder, profound grief emerging not just at these 'lost' images, but at so much right now, for so many people in so many places. 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... ...and my own two children at home, both approaching twenty-one, but not there yet. We are not meant to be together right now. They are supposed to be with their own friends, like Rachel was all those years ago. 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. So while I grieve for the loss of images from the landfill that I will never see, I am grateful not just for those that were on my other camera, but for the knowledge that I can always go back another day and the crew will be there making more mountains out of our trash. It will be different, but the same. 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. And while I sit and sew, I think about Katherine transforming her grief into poetry. While I can never know what she has experienced, I embrace this time with my children and the chance to channel my current angst. Who knew old cotton rags would offer this opportunity at this particular moment? 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. So here I stand in my new office space, created yesterday so that our basement can be a hospital if & when we need one... And here beside me stands my lady of perpetual transformation. #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. Welcome to the first day of Spring. We woke to a light dusting of snow and are a bit disappointed by yet another cloudy day. But it is, after all, March in New Hampshire and we are experiencing a global pandemic. So the fact that The Green is empty and stores are closed is real. So too is compost. The narcissus may be done, but they are still making lemon curd at Umpleby's and we are still eating bananas. In the midst of disappointed teenagers at home, I return, as always, to the colors, shapes & textures of my compost pile. 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. As if by magic, though, creativity emerges over and over again out of the apparent mess. It should be no surprise to you, then, that I have more photographs of coffee filters. Who knows how long the supply will last, but they are such a simple way for me to connect with my sister, Sarah Swett, who keeps making things out of these funny pieces of paper. And in the process, I pay closer attention to what was once just another part of the waste I collected each week from Umpleby's Bakery & Cafe in Hanover, NH. Coffee filters, it turns out are beautiful. For me, It's so much more than textures & subtle muted tones. It's all about how these filters seemed to talk to me earlier today, and made me laugh as I folded them & prepared to mail them to my sister in Idaho. 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. So after I finish this blog post, I will go upstairs to cut our daily grapefruit - one for each member of the family every day for as long as supplies last. During times of stress and uncertainty, I like routines. I like this habit of culling & cleaning coffee filters to send to my sister. I like making something healthy for our family on a regular basis. And I like making sure we laugh about the fact it's a Thursday & my kids are eating breakfast at 2 pm just when I'm having my mid afternoon snack. It's all part of a new routine and I'm OK with all of that... ...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. So here they are. More coffee filters. In the raw, straight from the pile and into the bucket. Salvaged once again. I wonder if the original cup of coffee or frothy cappuccino was as compelling to look at and as sumptuous to smell as these filters getting their first rinse? 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. These coffee filters are soft between my fingers when I pull them out of the tub and hang them up to dry. Once on the rack, all I notice is the play of light on their textured fiber. 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. Stay tuned for more...
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Evelyn R. Swett
reframing the narrative in community and with myself, finding transformation and joy in the mess of it all Let's ReFrame!
is a somewhat regular 'viewsletter' that hopefully inspires joy & transformation. It will include links to recent blog posts & updates about my work. Oh, and I promise I won't share your information (that would be so uncool) and I don't actually do promotions, but that text is required. Archives
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