March is Green and Misty

The early misty Marchy morning and me.

Oh March!  The past few days have found me feeling very sensitive and heart-achey for no apparent reason, other than the early spring... when I think of how my heart feels, I have the image of dark, damp earth being pushed aside for a fresh bright green shoot reaching for the yellow warmth of the sun.

Early as it seems this year, I welcome Spring. I welcome the open and raw feeling in my heart, as if someone has removed an armor breastplate after a long and exhausting battle.  My ally has been motherwort so far this year.  I need her loving support since just the beauty of the wind on my face can make me tear up with the sheer beauty and enormity of the experience.

I had some spare hours on Saturday morning before the 10am opening of the Woodfin YMCA Winter Market.  Being on the sleepy side of town, the shops were still closed and the roads nearly empty, barring the threads of misty clouds weaving around the trees, snaking up from the creekbeds.

A living rock, soft and green.

My car went past the road for the market and past the town limits just a moment later.  I kept going, until I noticed a fork in the road, pointing out the Blue Ridge Parkway entrance a few miles down the way...so I pointed myself in that direction and onward I went.

The sun was not quite above the mountain range, and so the diffused light through the clouds was pale and wan.  The mist was backlit as it curled around the top branches of the pines and oaks, or spun itself into circles in the little valleys and nooks.  I made my eyes stay to the road until I finally reached the Parkway entrance road and found a small pull-off.

I am a cautious person, and do not often go off on adventures alone.  I fret and worry and fill my time with stress instead of the sought-after peace...but not today.  The pull of the forest was so strong that I could not resist and with cameras in hand, went down the trail that began at the end of the pull off.

Wild Violets and
Mouse-Ear Chickweed

Beauty greeted me..then the symphony of the woods.  There were crackling leaves, dew dripping from the trees, and as the sun began to climb ever higher, a growing chorus of birds.

Everywhere I looked was gray and green.  Grey rocks covered in green mosses and lichens.  Dark earth giving rise to tender, baby leaves of many, many plants.  Grey bark with mossy stripes, and the grey branches tipped with a green haze. the promise of future leaves.

I found a verdant patch of violets breaking the soil around the base of an oak.  Just a few days ago, I ate my first violet of the year...ah...so sweet and fresh!  Perfect heart-shaped leaves for a heart-achey me.  What a delight, and a gift...

I found mouse ear chickweed (growing between the violet leaves) and some other familiar spring friends like wild onions, henbit and uncurling ferns.  While exploring, I came across a mystery plant...the leaves were beautifully spotted with white.  When I touched the leaves I found that they had a slight thickness to them, and they were soft and peach-fuzzy.

With the help of a Plant Identification group on Flickr, I now know it to be Hydrophyllum macrophyllum, large leaf waterleaf.  It will grow lovely, long stemmed flowers in the warmer days to come, and the leaves will be more solidly green.

Hydrophyllum macrophyllum, large leaf waterleaf,
Early Spring Growth (March 2012)

I finished these pictures just as the batteries in my camera died, so made my way back to the car and wound down the curly mountain road.  With the sun rising over my left shoulder, warming my face and head, my heart felt lighter in my chest as the mist lifted from the treetops into the sky.

In a holding pattern...

If you need me, we'll be in a sunbeam.

I've sat down at this blog many times over the past week, intending to write, but no words are forthcoming.  It must be winter, as I am in a holding pattern...

I have cabaret performances and life happening all around me, the holiday rush and the assorted festivities have left me a bit weary and needing restoration.

Fear not, lovies, I shall return again soon to my screen life of Facebook, Twitter, and blogging... but for now, I'm taking a bit of a vacation.

<3 and light, and see you soon!

Amber, Head Pixie

I got a choice.

Mama loved me so much that she told me what was up, straight and clean.

I was just a baby girl child, only three years old when she and my Daddy decided that they couldn't live together anymore, that they fought too much and were just not right for each other. I remember them fighting, but somehow knew it wasn't about me, and let it happen without getting too scared or upset, as I recall, anyways.

So when we moved out of the apartment and me and my mama had a sleepover with Nana, which happened occasionally, it didn't seem too strange.  After a couple of days, though, I noticed things were different right around the same time Mama crouched down and looked me straight in the eyes.  She said that she lived with Nana and Pop now, and that Daddy lived with Memaw and Grandad, and that I was welcome to stay anywhere I wanted to.

This is pretty heavy shit for anyone, but I was three. I took it like a champ. I remember thinking about it for a minute, realizing the gravity but not really comprehending the situation. Little Amber looked her Mama back in the eye and said "I want to live with Daddy and Memaw now, since I've stayed with you and Nana for a couple of days."

My mama never wept, didn't freak out, and just nodded and said, "Ok."  I don't remember feeling her being upset or sad, although I'm sure now she was, somewhat. We went to my Memaw's house and that was that for a couple of years (visiting regularly of course) until Mama got her own place nearby, a block or so away.  I always had my Daddy and Mama nearby me, allowing me to bounce from one to the other on a whim...them and the loving grandparents made me a big safety net of loved ones who I knew cared for me, even though I knew by then that they were humans, with fears, and emotions, just like I was.

My folks were never BIG PARENT people to me, but REAL people.  For that, I value them. For that, and for the choice given to someone who couldn't even tie their own shoes yet, I thank them.  And for never letting me see the true anger they bore each other, I thank them as well.

If you hate your mate, then do so. If you love your child, then do so. And for the love of god/goddess/plants or whatever you pray to and believe is watching you, please do not use them as a pawn in your emotional outbursts. Don't tug them. Remember Solomon, and don't cut them in half. Remember patience, and let them know they are loved by both and don't tear them apart with your anger.

The only times I got really angry at my Daddy is when he said something nasty about my Mama.  I knew well his anger towards her, but that wasn't his place to share it with me.

The only times I mistrusted my family is when they spoke against my Daddy...again, it wasn't their place to tell me "adult" problems...when he was just my Daddy.

I was given a choice that most children are not given. I was given respect, and love, and kept apart from their mutual emotional displays (except that one time, where they nearly broke the fish tank, and I told them off for almost hurting Pierre, ze amazink and also swimmink feesh).

For the love of your children, THINK first, and FEEL on your own. If you can't seperate it, then seperate yourself and seek counseling, or meditate, or whatever makes you calm and rational. REALLY rational, not just pretending to be so.

Your child thinks, more than you think they do.  They know way more than you assume they are aware of.  They realize that you are a person, and they are closer to the source. They know it better than you do, the fact that you are a falliable human, and that one day they will have to grow up to be one, too.  And they will learn their responses from you.

If you fear, so will they.  If you scream, so will they.  If you treat them with disrespect, don't expect them to be around longer than they have to.

It takes two people to make a child, until we learn that cool trick that certain reptiles and amphibians have.  And what is the first big lesson we teach our children?  SHARING.  And if you can't live it, they can't learn it. RESPECT. If they can't see it in the two people they know best, how can they know what it means?

Some of the worst lessons we teach our children are BLAME and FAULT.  Now, these are different than their cousin RESPONSIBILITY...who is a valuable friend.  Blame and fault cause only pain. Responsibility causes awareness of one's ability to affect change on a situation and know that you must assume the consequences of that change.

I made a choice that was the fairest choice a toddler could come up with.  Sharing. Balance. Fairness, Peace, and LOVE.

You are a mirror. What does your child see when they look into you?

That is what they will be.

Copyright Amber Shehan, May 29, 2011 - You may distribute for non-commercial use. For any other inquiries, please contact anchasta@yahoo.com

October marches in...

Photo by Modern Scribe Photography

Cold and windy, dark and ominous, October is marching in, leaving muddy tracks on my carpet to mix with the windblown leaves.

I've been away from this blog and my shop for much of the warm months. I've been delving into gardening, raising chickens, working full time hours outside of the home, drumming, socializing, and altogether being a happy and busy bee.

Now the cold is returning, and bringing with it my nesting instincts. I'm ready to clean and create. So far this fall, I've put away some applesauce and pie filling after picking at Stepp Orchard in Hendersonville, NC. I have one jar of peelings soaking in rum, and another in vodka, for making cordials. I have a jar of spiced vodka infusing in my cupboard as well.

I'm eying the plants outside to prioritize the autumnal harvest...the burdock is dying back and after the first frost, can dig up his root for eating and pickling, oh, and the chicory, too.  The primrose is bright with flowers, and I've been pulling leaves of yarrow for drying.  We have a big jar of dried shitake mushrooms, and I'll soon be getting some pumpkins for carving, roasting seeds, and making pumpkin butter and pies.

We have recently used an extra bit of canvas to create a wind block for the chicken coop. The biddies are all fluffy and feathered out as the days get colder. They are happy, healthy, and producing well! Our first winter in caring for them is coming, and I'm confident we'll all make it through with all of our toes.


Enjoy this crisp season of woodsmoke, chill wind, and rustling leaves. I'll be in better touch with all you folks out there.

Earth in her Self-cleaning Cycle

The moon is waxing, closer now to full...

There are daffodils swaying on the hillside, and lilies of some sort poking their green lances up through the clay...

I woke to a birdcaphony earlier this week, and made a mockingbird mock my whistle three times!

Therefore; tomorrow morning, bright and early, I am going to put dirt into some freecycled plastic pots (Yay!) and start some of the chilly weather plants for our first garden! The seeds were also free, which is wonderful. Free food just waiting for the ideal conditions to manifest, right from the very ground!

Well....maybe from the ground. I'm not sure. You see, I've been trying to figure out why it feels like my yard does not want a garden in it.

I just can't sort it out. There's a couple of very good spots for a garden, full of sun and with light windbreak...but it doesn't feel right. The groundhogs, birds, and rabbits certainly WANT me to have a garden in the yard, but I keep balking at something.

So I've been thinking and walking and looking and listening.  Secret Agent Amber has been put on the task to investigate the local flora and learn the names of new weeds and strange flowers...counting mockingbirds and marking the difference between crows here and crows in the swamp. I've been breathing the air and feeling the vibrations that go down through the clay and bounce from rock to rock. I listened to the space on which I live and hope to grow sustenance, and it said gently, kindly, "No."

So I've looked even closer and I keep finding a problem...as I've mentioned before, our yard is chock full of trash from the previous tenants.  Eric's found a truck bed shell, a chain link fence, a doghouse, and three bicycles in the long dead grass on the edge of our yard, and that's just the BIG stuff.

The worst kind of trash is the bits of rusted metal, broken glass, chips of plastic and even strips of tarps left to rot under just an inch or two of clay. Overall, the yard feels like a beaten creature, cowering and hoping it will be ignored and passed over. This land isn't ready to nurture.

I gaze around at what IS growing, at the weeds: poke that grows with a force to be reckoned with, bittercress making a white haze over the earth from her flowers, clover patches cracking the clay and the biggest dandelions I've ever seen swaying in the March winds.  "Ditch weeds," I think to myself.

All I know about ditch weeds is that they grow where there is cleaning that needs to be done. Filtration systems for the ecosystem, and for our bodies.  For example, Dandelions are liver cleansers, blood strengtheners...what is it finding in this soil that is making them grow to Audrey-like proportions? What is the astringent, nutrient rich bitter Pokeweed pulling from the ground and offering up so that the birds won't eat it's berries? They always ate the poke berries in Virginia...

I think my yard is in the middle of a cleanse.  Let me give you an example of WHY I think and feel this way...

This is the result of my digging around in the picture above. In less than a square foot of clay soil, all of this was at the surface, completely visible to the naked eye. In less than one minute, I had two handfuls of sharp, rusty metal to throw away.

So it's been decided. This yard deserves a break, and while we are still going to keep the poke trimmed back a bit, we are going to allow the earth here to do what it must to clean itself. I'll keep picking and throwing away the mess left by others.

We will use raised beds for our garden this spring, summer, and fall to produce the food that will help to sustain us, and the local ecosystem.  We will know what is in the soil it grows up from, and have more control over growing conditions and predator control.

I'll try to get Sarah to take more pictures tomorrow of the first raised bed and the seedlings that will soon be reaching up towards this lovely Spring sun!

Catfish, this ones' for you.

Paul Russell Canon, aka Catfish, was a really awesome guy. I should know - he is my daddy.  And I'm pretty awesome too! You just can't dispute logic like that.

I mean, just look at us: you can't just win the Buffalo Bill lookalike contest two years in a row without being awesome. TWO YEARS! I suppose it helps if you have a daughter in a bonnet.  Aren't I cute? I still have that bonnet! 

Also, try to carry a rifle into downtown Portsmouth any other day of the week and see what you get! 

So, Catfish was cool.  He was also moody, hilarious, extremely simple, yet frustratingly complex at all the wrong times, and honestly one of the most godawful stubbornest old Aries goats that I've known. To know him was to be affected by him -  Catfish was one of those people who wave their arm and you feel the ripple of the motion through time and space.

He could stop windshields with his bare chest, and did it multiple times, flung from cars drunkenly weaving down dirt roads.  I don't know how many hangovers he conquered, or how many half-siblings I have running around the American south, not to mention Mexico.

A conversation was generally punctuated with "Hey! Look at that sunset!" or "Did you see that tree?" - so much so that for years in my teenage rebellious ire, I refused to see trees and sunsets or cranes flying overhead. He still loved me, and said that my black lipstick made me look like I'd been kissing someone's poopy ass.

Seven years ago, about seven hours earlier, on this very day, my Daddy dropped his body and left to experience a Great New Adventure. Seven years ago, about four, on this very day, I was digging through his empty bedroom still thick with his presence to find his folder of poetry.

Poetry is the biggest gift that Catfish gave to me. Feeding me Ferlinghetti, beat poetry at nine years old, playing word games with me, critiquing my work. Introducing me to Whitman, who I love, and Frost, who I tolerate...teasing me about liking Emily Dickinson and loving it when I started twisting words like wire.

His wishes were that I share his poetry with the world. Most of it was either scrawled in his left-handed cursive that he painstakingly worked to keep legible and attractive, or henpicked on his old typewriter with the "r" key that stuck when used. I translated it to the digital media back in 2003, and it still resides there now. GO. Read, please, and enjoy.

Click this link to see his two portfolios on PostPoems.com

Happy Spring, Daddy. Happy Spring, all of you! Go, and look at the trees and breathe in the air that surrounds you. Embrace the world and it's magnificence in the minutiae.

For So Many

branches bustling

               rustling resplendent

now lie

       dormant

in a february wind.

limbs rub

        numb songs

and groan now      

            waiting

just to mend.

pale winter

          run your course

and end

     let all

the children sing,

this is the day

           the lord

hath made

         behold

Eternal Spring!

paul canon, 91