Forested Foraging For Fir Florets

Yesterday when the weather broke free of the fog belt,
and the robins tweedled proudly in the front yard,
and the sunshine demanded shorts,
I took my pup and left for the forest, laden with a small bag of tricks and a heart full of Spring.

I collected the first tips from the fir trees, crunching on them as we walked.  They taste like a sort of citrus that remains undefined, crossed with the scent of Christmas morning in the snow, with a resinous bite that sparks the palate.  This morning a mound of tips is drying neatly in a high kitchen cupboard, destine for tea,* even though the thought of their brightness keeps bringing my fingers back to snagging needles and popping them in my mouth.

Several years back, when I began hiking in earnest, I fell in love with the realization that the forests are made of FOOD.  I decided I needed to know what was edible just in the incase a Lost situation happened in the backwoods of Washington state, wherein fresh mangos were not available, but instead, we needed to survive on salmon berries and wild carrots.  [I want to be the one who knows.  This is also why I carry a rather large pocket knife while hiking.  Should Lost happen, and suddenly polar bears and smoke monsters come streaming out of the forest, I want to feel good about my survival rate.]  I'm thinking about taking a foraging class here in the wilds of Northern California, learning how to take the native growth of this lush coast and turn them into something truly gourmet.  In the meantime, I'm lusting over this book in a big way.

I have a feeling these fir tips will end up in more than just tea, in more than just me.  That brilliant chartreuse teases the artist with a come-hither wink.

Answering the call,
~ Umber

*I will tell you true:

The amount of eye rolling and loud snorts happening in this house, by my BC, in regards to this subject, has reached epic proportions.  He's such a good sport, putting up with rock piles on windowsills, new houseplants mysteriously showing up almost weekly, Mumford and Sons on repeat blaring from the studio for hours on end, kale showing up at nearly every meal and the general half-cocked spastic spontaneity that happens regularly around these parts.  But this morning when he opened the kitchen cupboards and found my display of bright green tips, well, let's just call it epic.  I think I amuse the man.  I just like to call it "keeping things fresh."

A serious case of the warm-fuzzies...

... is exactly what's happening in my belly right now.

I may have said it before, but I mean it more and more every time I utter it:

Thank You.

You mean the world to me.

I appreciate you from the unruly hairs on your head to the very tips of your toes, and am constantly awed by your support and belief.  I just sent off our donation to Doctors Without Borders and my heart is, quite literally, brimming with joy.  Thank you.  I'm full inside and bubbling over.

In love,

~ Umber

Loving Kindness

I do not often discuss matters of current news, foreign affairs or domestic politics publicly, here on my blog.  This place is my little haven and there are millions of other places to read up on the world's turns.

But something about the recent earthquake and subsequent tsunamis in Japan have stuck to my skin in a way that compels me.  Private gestures seemed somehow short, so I spent a deal of time mulling over how to give, and give publicly.

I spent much time thinking, breathing, wishing quiet prayers of loving kindness upon those who need it so desperately right now.  And in that spirit I sketched, then cut, then tooled, then painted, then punched, then stitched and finally photographed these pieces.

Loving Kindness
1.  Because the world needs more of it.
2.  Because acts of kindness, motivated by love, carried out with a pure spirit never go unnoticed.
3.  Because I'm enamored with the idea of a key fob acting as a tiny prayer flag; every time it flips through the air sending small blessings across the globe.
4.  Because I love a physical reminder to pray, a solid prompt to be carried every where, every day.
5.  Because you and I, he and she, and ALL of them deserve it.

There are five key fobs, each sporting a slightly different color-way, each sporting an individual sprinkling of cherry blossoms, headed to the shop momentarily.  I will be donating fifty-percent of the price to Doctors Without Borders** so that you and I can BOTH physically and monetarily send our love and our kindness.

Thank you my friends, for hearing me out and your prayers on wings!
~ Umber

** Doctors Without Borders is an amazing program, doing good across this earth.  The donation from the sale of these key fobs will be an open donation (not necessarily specific to Japan) so that the money can be used immediately and where the need is greatest.

Irony

Irony...

Thy name is Sancho.

Soulful Armor and a Cuff of Hareish Proportions

A broad slice of soulful armor.
A supple weight against the chest.
A reminder of balance between that which we put on and that which we shed.

I've been a bit obsessed lately with this idea.  The thought that sometimes, letting go is the only way to move forward.  That our bodies are so wise, that the release of what is no longer necessary doubles as our best line of defense.  And perhaps most importantly, that we may gift the dust of our bodies back to the earth, not in death but in life.  That the soil of our hearts will grow richer through the detritus of our experience.  That when we open our clenched fingers and let the wind roll over our palms we do not lose anything at all.  Suddenly our breath comes freer and our hearts beat stronger.
* * * * *

A Jackrabbit Totem Cameo Cuff.

For one who has looked deep into the eyes of the wild things and found something that resonates right to their core.
A reminder to leap with faith when the time is now, to trust our own hearing, that clear voice of intuition, to understand both stillness and speed as virtue.

Happy Friday all you rockers and rockettes!
I don't know if I've ever mentioned it, but I really love my work.  It seems every time I swipe the last stroke of paint, I'm hit with a sudden desire to keep it ALL for myself.  I think it is a mark of good work, of steady intent, of honest belief in what one does.

I wrote for an hour this morning over strawberries and granola, filling pages in my sketchbook (side note: I write in pencil in my sketchbook/journals.  Almost exclusively.  The slight smear of graphite from my left hand and markings on aged pages delight me to no end).  But I don't think I'm done, because words keep pouring from my chest today.
So here's the plan:
Bundle up.
Pull on the Wellies.
Run pup in the park while getting soaked because I do not own an umbrella.
Head to Ramone's coffee shop.
Order a café au lait (and just perhaps an almond croissant).
Write, then write some more.

What are you up to?


~ P.S. Both pieces available in the shop momentarily ~