Archive for ‘Uncategorized’

March 10, 2011

Seven days before we go. Do I pack things now, or the day before? What can I do now to prepare? I’ve got things in piles now, and it is not an attractive sight. I’ve been experiencing a cycle of excitement, jitteriness, and anxiousness. Fear pops up every once and again, but I think I have it somewhat under control. This is the biggest adventure of my life. One day I’m here, the next day I’ll be across the country. This will be the test for the dreamer inside me.

My car is a compact car, not the best choice for a cross-country trip. I’m trying to logically plan the packing. Not working so well.

What else do I need if I have my best friend and love next to me?

February 28, 2011

So I wait…

“so I wait for you like a lonely house

till you will see me again and live in me.

Till then my windows ache.”


Sometimes I feel like things are stumbling around things that should go so smooth. I feel clueless. Restless. And even though I leave in a few weeks, it has no solace. I’m scared to be alone.



February 26, 2011

Red Clay Halo


I adore this in its simplicity. This makes me want to pick my mandolin up right now and pick away.

February 8, 2011

Pablo Neruda

And because love battles
not only in its burning agricultures
but also in the mouth of men and women,
I will finish off by taking the path away
to those who between my chest and your fragrance
want to interpose their obscure plant.

About me, nothing worse
they will tell you, my love,
than what I told you.

I lived in the prairies
before I got to know you
and I did not wait love but I was
laying in wait for and I jumped on the rose.

What more can they tell you?
I am neither good nor bad but a man,
and they will then associate the danger
of my life, which you know
and which with your passion you shared.

And good, this danger
is danger of love, of complete love
for all life,
for all lives,
and if this love brings us
the death and the prisons,
I am sure that your big eyes,
as when I kiss them,
will then close with pride,
into double pride, love,
with your pride and my pride.

But to my ears they will come before
to wear down the tour
of the sweet and hard love which binds us,
and they will say: “The one
you love,
is not a woman for you,
Why do you love her? I think
you could find one more beautiful,
more serious, more deep,
more other, you understand me, look how she’s light,
and what a head she has,
and look at how she dresses,
and etcetera and etcetera”.

And I in these lines say:
Like this I want you, love,
love, Like this I love you,
as you dress
and how your hair lifts up
and how your mouth smiles,
light as the water
of the spring upon the pure stones,
Like this I love you, beloved.

To bread I do not ask to teach me
but only not to lack during every day of life.
I don’t know anything about light, from where
it comes nor where it goes,
I only want the light to light up,
I do not ask to the night
I wait for it and it envelops me,
And so you, bread and light
And shadow are.

You came to my life
with what you were bringing,
of light and bread and shadow I expected you,
and Like this I need you,
Like this I love you,
and to those who want to hear tomorrow
that which I will not tell them, let them read it here,
and let them back off today because it is early
for these arguments.

Tomorrow we will only give them
a leaf of the tree of our love, a leaf
which will fall on the earth
like if it had been made by our lips
like a kiss which falls
from our invincible heights
to show the fire and the tenderness
of a true love.


So beautiful.

November 12, 2010

Ooh and we went to Maine in the fall…

November 12, 2010

Getting by

You have got to be kidding me.


I may be a little obsessed, but I like to plan. I just need enough to pay a small amount of bills. I wish I was 18, fresh, and know what I know now. So spare me the trade off and give me just enough to get by.


That’s all anyone wants anyways…enough to get by.

September 14, 2010


Blogs are hard to keep up with. Especially since if you are really planning on something to happen, and it doesn’t- the blog will only remind me of what didn’t and was supposed to happen. All day I make excuses to everyone, the last place I should make excuses is here.

Land, chickens, freedom.

August 20, 2010


I love Zooey Deschanel.

I loved making this for the boy. Beginnings of a care package: blueberry granola.

AND- I love finding new blogs to inspire my recent cravings of farm:

August 4, 2010

Mint Blue and August Peach

My productivity levels are up and down. With that said, I still feel like I’ve gotten a lot done! I still need to find an apartment, a job, and figure out how to move.

Don’t you just want to sit on it?

June 16, 2010

Feminism, Jam, and Mary Isabel.

there are things in my life, trivial and yet still so important to me, that have a complete connect with my grandmother. I’ve realized over the years that i didn’t know as much as I would have liked.  Raised on a farm, daughter of a preacher, worker on a nursery, and mother of a baptist family- and a woman I looked up to like something fierce.  Along with the influence of my grandmother- there was something that really bothered me- men. Men are paid better, portrayed in media differently, and most of in society are revered as something “better”. This anger and bitterness would fill me with hatred of men.

My father has always been an honest man, and I think I get so angry because there aren’t many men like my father.

So I go through phases. Today I shall be an artist. Yesterday I was a fashion designer- sewing through all the patterns I could find. Years ago I was a chef. And today, I think I will be a farmer. There is nothing wrong with any of these careers, but I feel like I struggle through all of them because of my sex. ” You? Farm?” Hah.

Your mother was a farmer, a fashion designer, an artist. She was the soft when you needed it and the strong when you were sure you’d fall.

I remember the day my grandmother made home-made strawberry jam. We picked the berries all morning, let the sunlight come through the kitchen window, and then she showed me how to make jam.

I don’t remember how to make jam.

What I do remember is thinking: I need to remember this. And I don’t.

Everyday I wish my grandmother lived  closer to me.  That she was here to guide me, and to be my mediator in the things I’ve wanted to do. I hope she is up there, sitting, knowing that I think of her everyday. I will make jam, Mary Isabel. And every batch will be for you.