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.

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.