Three Principles

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Christina M. Burress

NATURE INSPIRED WRITING

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River’s Edge (in 3 parts) - Four miles down river from our home, there is a wooded 1-mile hike called Peninsula Day Use Trail. It’s part of the Tillamook Forest and home to old growth conifers who have survived fires and fierce winter storms. Moss thrives here, adorning the shady sides of trunks and carpeting the understory for fungi and other flora to grow. Deer and elk browse and break low lying branches, leaving a welcome obstacle course for hikers who love to maneuver over roots and fallen limbs.

The trail follows the tongue-shaped piece of land that was formed about 40 million years ago by a flow of basalt around which the Trask river makes three tight turns on her way toward Tillamook Bay and eventually the Pacific Ocean. Beyond the first turn, there is a noticeable debris pile made from upriver remnants from the landscape that has been shaped and reshaped by the wind and rising waters of winter storms. The weak, dying, or decaying trees, bushes, and grasses are unable to keep their grip on the river’s silty edge, and once dislodged, are sent on the ride of their life down swift rapids. Some pieces bob and bounce for miles on their way straight out to sea, while others get caught in the heaps that extend the edges of the river, to create hospitable environments for other life, like fish, waterfowl, and beavers.

I confess, beavers have been on my mind for a while, mainly because they are excellent examples of what it means to be a composite being–in relation, often reliant upon, and beneficial to our surrounding environment. In the year and a half that we’ve lived on the river, I’ve not once seen a beaver or evidence of a beaver, until I spied that debris pile from the trail, and then a few days after that, came upon one who’d been run over, not 20 yards from the river’s edge. What a loss, I whispered to myself, heartbroken because I had an inkling about what sort of impact one animal can have on her surrounding environment, but not really knowing the magnitude of how a creative, problem solving keystone species is a boon to life on earth.

Continued in comments…

River’s Edge (in 3 parts) - Four miles down river from our home, there is a wooded 1-mile hike called Peninsula Day Use Trail. It’s part of the Tillamook Forest and home to old growth conifers who have survived fires and fierce winter storms. Moss thrives here, adorning the shady sides of trunks and carpeting the understory for fungi and other flora to grow. Deer and elk browse and break low lying branches, leaving a welcome obstacle course for hikers who love to maneuver over roots and fallen limbs.

The trail follows the tongue-shaped piece of land that was formed about 40 million years ago by a flow of basalt around which the Trask river makes three tight turns on her way toward Tillamook Bay and eventually the Pacific Ocean. Beyond the first turn, there is a noticeable debris pile made from upriver remnants from the landscape that has been shaped and reshaped by the wind and rising waters of winter storms. The weak, dying, or decaying trees, bushes, and grasses are unable to keep their grip on the river’s silty edge, and once dislodged, are sent on the ride of their life down swift rapids. Some pieces bob and bounce for miles on their way straight out to sea, while others get caught in the heaps that extend the edges of the river, to create hospitable environments for other life, like fish, waterfowl, and beavers.

I confess, beavers have been on my mind for a while, mainly because they are excellent examples of what it means to be a composite being–in relation, often reliant upon, and beneficial to our surrounding environment. In the year and a half that we’ve lived on the river, I’ve not once seen a beaver or evidence of a beaver, until I spied that debris pile from the trail, and then a few days after that, came upon one who’d been run over, not 20 yards from the river’s edge. What a loss, I whispered to myself, heartbroken because I had an inkling about what sort of impact one animal can have on her surrounding environment, but not really knowing the magnitude of how a creative, problem solving keystone species is a boon to life on earth.

Continued in comments…

This nature-inspired course is about writing and so much more. If you feel like you’d like to be part of something positive and nature-related then I welcome you to this creative and supportive space where all are welcome.

If you are starting out or starting over or in the middle of a project that might have more to do with music or painting or spreadsheets or reports, then join me to discover how the appreciation of the elements, more-than-human-world, landscapes, sound, color, texture, and all aspects of the birth and dying transformational process of life is what is needed in these times. Simply said, we will remember that we are nature!

Let this wonderful (if I do say so myself) course bring you joy and an abundance of “food for thought.”

After reading Robin Wall Kimmerer’s “The Serviceberry”, I’m inspired to offer a 50% scholarship for a new student who is wanting to jump in but just can’t swing the price of $185. Or, if you want to do an exchange of some sort (art, instruction, healing, etc.), then send me a DM. I’m open to the generous gift economy if the old $ is not your thing. #nature #gratitude #earth #natureinspired #creativity #creativewriting #love #reciprocity #gifteconomy #reciprocity #serviceberry #remember

This nature-inspired course is about writing and so much more. If you feel like you’d like to be part of something positive and nature-related then I welcome you to this creative and supportive space where all are welcome.

If you are starting out or starting over or in the middle of a project that might have more to do with music or painting or spreadsheets or reports, then join me to discover how the appreciation of the elements, more-than-human-world, landscapes, sound, color, texture, and all aspects of the birth and dying transformational process of life is what is needed in these times. Simply said, we will remember that we are nature!

Let this wonderful (if I do say so myself) course bring you joy and an abundance of “food for thought.”

After reading Robin Wall Kimmerer’s “The Serviceberry”, I’m inspired to offer a 50% scholarship for a new student who is wanting to jump in but just can’t swing the price of $185. Or, if you want to do an exchange of some sort (art, instruction, healing, etc.), then send me a DM. I’m open to the generous gift economy if the old $ is not your thing. #nature #gratitude #earth #natureinspired #creativity #creativewriting #love #reciprocity #gifteconomy #reciprocity #serviceberry #remember

It was 26 degrees and sunny when Pablo (our 10-year-old dog) and I walked to the river this morning. I was bundled head to toe against the cold, crisp air. With each step, I felt the frozen earth under my rubber boots. At the river’s edge, I bent my knees so that I could skim my fingers across her coolness. Hello River, I said, keenly aware that she deserved my respect, even at her gentle flow rate.

It has been fifteen days since our last rain, which means the height and speed of the river has waned. Because of this break in precipitation, the shoreline is exposed again, which means that Pablo and I can walk upriver with ease.

It takes time to know a place. I will need years of noticing weather patterns, shifting colors, migratory visitors, and sun positions, to understand like a local. Years are made up of a string of moments of pause to catch how every living thing expresses themselves in this particular terrain. One must spend time on the land to know and be known.

Pablo hugs the narrow path then stops to sniff, eat grass, and pee. He’s got his system; he knows what he’s doing. When he looks up and turns his head toward a sound, I stop and wait. I watch him and heed his movements. He’s experiencing this space in his way, building a timeline, I suspect, of previous visitors and those just beyond whose scents and sounds are reaching him. His awareness expands well beyond his physical body.

I’m a less experienced tracker, but I notice prints in the sand, like the fisherperson’s boots and the hooves of elk and deer. I hear raven then spy one warming in the sun on the Bigleaf Maple on the opposite bank. Another flies overhead and calls out. We are part of this scene. They notice us, too.

The tall grasses of summer are bent and frozen flat against the ground. The moss covered boulders have a layer of sparkling frost, still very much alive even after so many months under the river’s frigid flow. Those that are still submerged, gurgle and pop. Pablo turns his head to acknowledge them. The river is alive.

Time is a great teacher.
…
To continue reading go to the comments.

#nature #ice #creativewriting #river #time #natureinspired

It was 26 degrees and sunny when Pablo (our 10-year-old dog) and I walked to the river this morning. I was bundled head to toe against the cold, crisp air. With each step, I felt the frozen earth under my rubber boots. At the river’s edge, I bent my knees so that I could skim my fingers across her coolness. Hello River, I said, keenly aware that she deserved my respect, even at her gentle flow rate.

It has been fifteen days since our last rain, which means the height and speed of the river has waned. Because of this break in precipitation, the shoreline is exposed again, which means that Pablo and I can walk upriver with ease.

It takes time to know a place. I will need years of noticing weather patterns, shifting colors, migratory visitors, and sun positions, to understand like a local. Years are made up of a string of moments of pause to catch how every living thing expresses themselves in this particular terrain. One must spend time on the land to know and be known.

Pablo hugs the narrow path then stops to sniff, eat grass, and pee. He’s got his system; he knows what he’s doing. When he looks up and turns his head toward a sound, I stop and wait. I watch him and heed his movements. He’s experiencing this space in his way, building a timeline, I suspect, of previous visitors and those just beyond whose scents and sounds are reaching him. His awareness expands well beyond his physical body.

I’m a less experienced tracker, but I notice prints in the sand, like the fisherperson’s boots and the hooves of elk and deer. I hear raven then spy one warming in the sun on the Bigleaf Maple on the opposite bank. Another flies overhead and calls out. We are part of this scene. They notice us, too.

The tall grasses of summer are bent and frozen flat against the ground. The moss covered boulders have a layer of sparkling frost, still very much alive even after so many months under the river’s frigid flow. Those that are still submerged, gurgle and pop. Pablo turns his head to acknowledge them. The river is alive.

Time is a great teacher.
…
To continue reading go to the comments.

#nature #ice #creativewriting #river #time #natureinspired

✨Winter Solstice✨

In the early morning, right around the time of the solstice (1:20AM PST), a tree fell across the power lines and we lost power for a few hours.

True darkness, without the hum of fridge, freezer, and clocks, is a fertile peace.

Dreamtime in the darkest of places in the darkest time of year on a dark road in the middle of a thick forest along a roaring green river, summons ideas and even voices.

Yesterday, on my walk, I heard kingfisher and crow, saw 3 eagles and lots of leaning trees. I collected fallen evergreens boughs and heard the message “inner and outer” as a recommendation for 2025. When I got home, I put the boughs in a pile with plans to arrange them for a solstice ceremony this morning.

In the night, critters or elk or someone like Wind or Sasquatch, moved them around to cleanse or decode all the different trees gathered in the sacred pile of needles.

Today, in the rain, I brought out the wreath made from spiny reed and added some maple limbs that had been snapped by the browsing elk and one calendula blossom who has survived winter and then some colorful lichen.

I burned white sage and lit a candle, and I made the offering you see, to the arriving light of longer days and the seeds readying in the ground and in our hearts.

Happy Solstice.

✨Winter Solstice✨

In the early morning, right around the time of the solstice (1:20AM PST), a tree fell across the power lines and we lost power for a few hours.

True darkness, without the hum of fridge, freezer, and clocks, is a fertile peace.

Dreamtime in the darkest of places in the darkest time of year on a dark road in the middle of a thick forest along a roaring green river, summons ideas and even voices.

Yesterday, on my walk, I heard kingfisher and crow, saw 3 eagles and lots of leaning trees. I collected fallen evergreens boughs and heard the message “inner and outer” as a recommendation for 2025. When I got home, I put the boughs in a pile with plans to arrange them for a solstice ceremony this morning.

In the night, critters or elk or someone like Wind or Sasquatch, moved them around to cleanse or decode all the different trees gathered in the sacred pile of needles.

Today, in the rain, I brought out the wreath made from spiny reed and added some maple limbs that had been snapped by the browsing elk and one calendula blossom who has survived winter and then some colorful lichen.

I burned white sage and lit a candle, and I made the offering you see, to the arriving light of longer days and the seeds readying in the ground and in our hearts.

Happy Solstice.

I’m excited to announce a new in-person course in Feb. through @hoffmancenterforthearts in Manzanita, OR [link in bio]

This nature-inspired writing series will explore how our ecological self, the part of us who is in a compassionate relationship with other beings in Nature, including mountains, rivers, animals, trees, plants, and fungi, is calling us to return to the Earth as a source of creativity. The invitation is to deepen skills of observation and connection by opening up the senses to all that the natural world is broadcasting. We will hold space for the messages and support each other with deep listening and kind observations, connecting with each other over imagery and the gifts of poetry, prose, and fragmentary writing. All levels of writers and types of genres are welcome. Each workshop can be taken as a standalone or altogether, to build on the interrelated themes.

This workshop is open to 12 participants, and will take place in person in the HCA Main Room.
Registrants for the Series of 3 Workshops will also receive a 1:1 Zoom call with me as a follow up or support for a burgeoning or ongoing project.

Scholarships are available for this workshop series.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨
February 8: Workshop #1 – Remembering our Place in the Biosphere & the Ethnosphere

February 15: Workshop #2 – The Elements & the Imagination

February 22, 2025: Workshop #3 – Rewilding our Language

I’m excited to announce a new in-person course in Feb. through @hoffmancenterforthearts in Manzanita, OR [link in bio]

This nature-inspired writing series will explore how our ecological self, the part of us who is in a compassionate relationship with other beings in Nature, including mountains, rivers, animals, trees, plants, and fungi, is calling us to return to the Earth as a source of creativity. The invitation is to deepen skills of observation and connection by opening up the senses to all that the natural world is broadcasting. We will hold space for the messages and support each other with deep listening and kind observations, connecting with each other over imagery and the gifts of poetry, prose, and fragmentary writing. All levels of writers and types of genres are welcome. Each workshop can be taken as a standalone or altogether, to build on the interrelated themes.

This workshop is open to 12 participants, and will take place in person in the HCA Main Room.
Registrants for the Series of 3 Workshops will also receive a 1:1 Zoom call with me as a follow up or support for a burgeoning or ongoing project.

Scholarships are available for this workshop series.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨
February 8: Workshop #1 – Remembering our Place in the Biosphere & the Ethnosphere

February 15: Workshop #2 – The Elements & the Imagination

February 22, 2025: Workshop #3 – Rewilding our Language

Where I live, on the 45th parallel, tucked in the forest of the coastal range of Oregon (USA), this time of year is dark for a good part of the day. Trees, shrubs, fallen leaves, and the ground, all glisten with moisture. Everything is wet. Moss and lichen thrive as if summer’s light and heat never happened. The river is wider, higher, and faster, receiving all that the saturated terrain cannot reserve, now a rushing uproar of singing white water with the occasional bobbing loose log headed for the ocean.

Frost, wind, lightning and thunder are the leading characters of this season. The formidable elk leave trails of scat and deep, hoof-made holes as they traipse up and down the slopes looking for food like the young growth that some developing trees and bushes are trying to produce out of their otherwise skeletal structures. It’s a matter of survival.

In the darkness, life continues. The rhythm of this season has its own expression.

My habit for this time of year is to reflect on successes, transformations, lost opportunities, and failures. Arguably a helpful exercise from year to year if one is both self-compassionate and honest. Taking the four together gives a holistic view and can be a helpful way to understand the flow of our life. A failure can inspire a transformation and a lost opportunity in one area can open access in another. My mom taught me this way of holding good fortune and difficulty together. I’ve learned from her that small adjustments in perspective make for good practice and inspires life-long perseverance as a way of being in the world.

This year has provided enough challenges to help me live the practice. I am guilty of spending too much energy on worries like the shifting state of politics, global humanitarian crises, increasing natural disasters, and misinformation. Thankfully, I’ve sought out and found voices, mostly historians, naturalists, poets, and philosophers, who make sense of things as they relate to the long scope of history.

See comments for rest of post. #natureinspired #nature #creativity #solstice #winter #darkness #earth #life #gratitude #kindness #rippleeffect

Where I live, on the 45th parallel, tucked in the forest of the coastal range of Oregon (USA), this time of year is dark for a good part of the day. Trees, shrubs, fallen leaves, and the ground, all glisten with moisture. Everything is wet. Moss and lichen thrive as if summer’s light and heat never happened. The river is wider, higher, and faster, receiving all that the saturated terrain cannot reserve, now a rushing uproar of singing white water with the occasional bobbing loose log headed for the ocean.

Frost, wind, lightning and thunder are the leading characters of this season. The formidable elk leave trails of scat and deep, hoof-made holes as they traipse up and down the slopes looking for food like the young growth that some developing trees and bushes are trying to produce out of their otherwise skeletal structures. It’s a matter of survival.

In the darkness, life continues. The rhythm of this season has its own expression.

My habit for this time of year is to reflect on successes, transformations, lost opportunities, and failures. Arguably a helpful exercise from year to year if one is both self-compassionate and honest. Taking the four together gives a holistic view and can be a helpful way to understand the flow of our life. A failure can inspire a transformation and a lost opportunity in one area can open access in another. My mom taught me this way of holding good fortune and difficulty together. I’ve learned from her that small adjustments in perspective make for good practice and inspires life-long perseverance as a way of being in the world.

This year has provided enough challenges to help me live the practice. I am guilty of spending too much energy on worries like the shifting state of politics, global humanitarian crises, increasing natural disasters, and misinformation. Thankfully, I’ve sought out and found voices, mostly historians, naturalists, poets, and philosophers, who make sense of things as they relate to the long scope of history.

See comments for rest of post. #natureinspired #nature #creativity #solstice #winter #darkness #earth #life #gratitude #kindness #rippleeffect

In 1998, this property was cleared of trees to build a house. Thankfully, the builder had the sense to leave some native trees like the Coast Douglas firs. These beauties can grow up to 250 feet and can reach six feet in diameter. They’ve been known to live 500 to 1000 years. Here they stand with Sitka spruce and tower over red alder, hemlock, cedar, and big-leaf maple.

Our tallest Douglas fir (approx. 155 feet) is up by the road where logging trucks barrel down weighted with freshly cut logs. When we first moved in, nearly a year ago, I created an altar at her base because it seemed to me that this was an axis mundi and a threshold to bear witness for all beings moving in and out of the wilderness along this thoroughfare. The altar was made from found and homemade objects: stones, shells, driftwood, fossils, feathers, and woven plant materials. I thought, here is a designated place of healing, may we protect and be protected.

These trees are an important part of their ecological community. The seeds of their cones feed the forest family of small mammals like chipmunk, mouse, shrew, vole, squirrel, and many songbirds. In early spring, before most plants have pushed up from the ground or produced fruit, hungry black bears will strip the bark to eat the soft, energy rich sapwood, feeding on the sugars of the young wood. There are other benefits too, like providing shade, wind break, a safe place to nest, and good nutrition through the mycelial network.

Next to our giant Douglas fir is her fallen relative who spans our property and our neighbors, about 105 feet. I’m not sure of her age but, “an often-cited rule of thumb is that a tree takes as long to decay as it took to grow before it fell.”(1) Fallen trees like this are called nurse logs. While she is still recognizable as her former self as an upright tree, she is also in a magnificent state of decay, covered in moss and a world of green life. A dying tree provides a different type of support for her community.

Continue in comments.

#douglasfir #kittens #nurselog #healing #community #forest

In 1998, this property was cleared of trees to build a house. Thankfully, the builder had the sense to leave some native trees like the Coast Douglas firs. These beauties can grow up to 250 feet and can reach six feet in diameter. They’ve been known to live 500 to 1000 years. Here they stand with Sitka spruce and tower over red alder, hemlock, cedar, and big-leaf maple.

Our tallest Douglas fir (approx. 155 feet) is up by the road where logging trucks barrel down weighted with freshly cut logs. When we first moved in, nearly a year ago, I created an altar at her base because it seemed to me that this was an axis mundi and a threshold to bear witness for all beings moving in and out of the wilderness along this thoroughfare. The altar was made from found and homemade objects: stones, shells, driftwood, fossils, feathers, and woven plant materials. I thought, here is a designated place of healing, may we protect and be protected.

These trees are an important part of their ecological community. The seeds of their cones feed the forest family of small mammals like chipmunk, mouse, shrew, vole, squirrel, and many songbirds. In early spring, before most plants have pushed up from the ground or produced fruit, hungry black bears will strip the bark to eat the soft, energy rich sapwood, feeding on the sugars of the young wood. There are other benefits too, like providing shade, wind break, a safe place to nest, and good nutrition through the mycelial network.

Next to our giant Douglas fir is her fallen relative who spans our property and our neighbors, about 105 feet. I’m not sure of her age but, “an often-cited rule of thumb is that a tree takes as long to decay as it took to grow before it fell.”(1) Fallen trees like this are called nurse logs. While she is still recognizable as her former self as an upright tree, she is also in a magnificent state of decay, covered in moss and a world of green life. A dying tree provides a different type of support for her community.

Continue in comments.

#douglasfir #kittens #nurselog #healing #community #forest

The aim of this course is to uncover a deep source of creativity through a renewed relationship with Nature. Selected readings and guided writing prompts will inspire new writing or offer fresh energy to an ongoing project.

During six, 2-hour live workshop Zoom sessions, I will guide you through mindfulness exercises, visualizations, and writing practices. I believe in providing an encouraging container so that you feel comfortable sharing or simply supporting others. In between sessions, you’ll receive simple nature-focused exercises and further reading to deepen your connection with the living world.

All Levels Welcome!

Format: 6 Virtual 2-hour Zoom classes; Every Tuesday
Dates: Tuesdays from Oct. 8 to Nov. 12

Two Time Offerings:
Class #1: 4 pm (PST) / 7 pm (EST)
Class #2: 7 am (PST) / 10 am (EST) / 15:00 (GMT)

Small Class Size

Price: $185.00 (link in bio)

The course is offered through a partnership with Olympic Mountain EarthWisdom Circle. 10% of your class fee with be donated to @_omec_ .

Questions? Email me at christinamburress@gmail.com
#natureinspiredwriting #creativewriting #nature #naturalworld #writing #earth #cosmos #zoomwritingclass #writingworkshop

The aim of this course is to uncover a deep source of creativity through a renewed relationship with Nature. Selected readings and guided writing prompts will inspire new writing or offer fresh energy to an ongoing project.

During six, 2-hour live workshop Zoom sessions, I will guide you through mindfulness exercises, visualizations, and writing practices. I believe in providing an encouraging container so that you feel comfortable sharing or simply supporting others. In between sessions, you’ll receive simple nature-focused exercises and further reading to deepen your connection with the living world.

All Levels Welcome!

Format: 6 Virtual 2-hour Zoom classes; Every Tuesday
Dates: Tuesdays from Oct. 8 to Nov. 12

Two Time Offerings:
Class #1: 4 pm (PST) / 7 pm (EST)
Class #2: 7 am (PST) / 10 am (EST) / 15:00 (GMT)

Small Class Size

Price: $185.00 (link in bio)

The course is offered through a partnership with Olympic Mountain EarthWisdom Circle. 10% of your class fee with be donated to @_omec_ .

Questions? Email me at christinamburress@gmail.com
#natureinspiredwriting #creativewriting #nature #naturalworld #writing #earth #cosmos #zoomwritingclass #writingworkshop

Dog Wisdom - In July, I started meditating (again). Each morning, weather permitting, I walk the 50 yards from my back door to a small wood platform that rests in a nest of moss, tall sword and lady ferns under a shady canopy of spruce, maple, and cedar. The river is a mere 10-feet away and she sings continuously, often accompanied by wind, jay, sparrow, kingfisher, chickadee, and osprey. It’s blissful.

And yet, each morning, when I sit down on the cushion, I notice how my mind spins, leaps, digs, climbs, obsesses, admonishes, ponders, dreams, fantasizes, complains, whines, grieves, and distracts me between fluttering moments of stillness. The neighbor across the river probably thinks I’m actually meditating the whole time–they couldn’t be more wrong… for now. The reason I’m committing to practicing stillness in nature (meditation or mindfulness) is because I’ve noticed that my refined habit of distracted mind-pinball has led to a life of distracted being, which is an oxymoron by any measure. Not only is it unhealthy and bad for relationships, it affects my creativity.

This morning, Pablo, our 10-year-old rescue, joined me as he’s done on many mornings. Sometimes he’s behind me on the ground, but this morning he stepped up on the platform and found a spot in front of me. Before resting his head, he listened, sniffed, looked around, then seemed to settle into a near sleep. His body language relayed, I’m here with you. My heart filled with gratitude for my four-legged teacher even though my knees felt like popping and my mind practiced its Olympic floor tumbling routine.

Then, for no reason at all, or any I could sense, Pablo sat up and faced me. Sitting like this, heart to heart, and eye to eye was a bit disarming. Usually he does a version of this when he wants to check in with me and usually I give him an exaggerated smile and imagine opening my heart to let him know I’m ok and usually he wags his tail to let me know he’s received my message. So I smiled and opened my heart, but he didn’t look away or wag his tail. In fact, he held his gaze for a long time.

continued in comments

#dog #meditation #peace #awareness #stillness #wisdom

Dog Wisdom - In July, I started meditating (again). Each morning, weather permitting, I walk the 50 yards from my back door to a small wood platform that rests in a nest of moss, tall sword and lady ferns under a shady canopy of spruce, maple, and cedar. The river is a mere 10-feet away and she sings continuously, often accompanied by wind, jay, sparrow, kingfisher, chickadee, and osprey. It’s blissful.

And yet, each morning, when I sit down on the cushion, I notice how my mind spins, leaps, digs, climbs, obsesses, admonishes, ponders, dreams, fantasizes, complains, whines, grieves, and distracts me between fluttering moments of stillness. The neighbor across the river probably thinks I’m actually meditating the whole time–they couldn’t be more wrong… for now. The reason I’m committing to practicing stillness in nature (meditation or mindfulness) is because I’ve noticed that my refined habit of distracted mind-pinball has led to a life of distracted being, which is an oxymoron by any measure. Not only is it unhealthy and bad for relationships, it affects my creativity.

This morning, Pablo, our 10-year-old rescue, joined me as he’s done on many mornings. Sometimes he’s behind me on the ground, but this morning he stepped up on the platform and found a spot in front of me. Before resting his head, he listened, sniffed, looked around, then seemed to settle into a near sleep. His body language relayed, I’m here with you. My heart filled with gratitude for my four-legged teacher even though my knees felt like popping and my mind practiced its Olympic floor tumbling routine.

Then, for no reason at all, or any I could sense, Pablo sat up and faced me. Sitting like this, heart to heart, and eye to eye was a bit disarming. Usually he does a version of this when he wants to check in with me and usually I give him an exaggerated smile and imagine opening my heart to let him know I’m ok and usually he wags his tail to let me know he’s received my message. So I smiled and opened my heart, but he didn’t look away or wag his tail. In fact, he held his gaze for a long time.

continued in comments

#dog #meditation #peace #awareness #stillness #wisdom

The expression, I was today years old when I… could be the subtitle to my life because I’m often just realizing something that others have known for years. It feels like I’m waking up from a multi-decade long coma and learning about all the news that happened while I was gone. Have you felt similarly?

I suppose I could be in distress about it and call the neurologist to find out if my brain is broken, but instead, I’m going to spin the situation into this hypothesis: if what I don’t know is greater than what I do know, I have a greater potential for discovery.

I mention all this as a preface to something that happened in June when I was co-leading a nature immersion retreat in the Hoh Rainforest (Washington, USA). On the Olympic Peninsula, in early summer, darkness doesn’t fall until about 11PM. Dusk takes her time. She lingers like a guest who doesn’t want to leave even after you’ve put the leftover food away and changed into your jammies.

On this particular night it was close to 10PM when I called it quits. All the participants were tucked in their sleeping bags and I was on the way to mine. My teeth were clean, my face was washed, and I was ready for sleep after a long day. A mere fifty yards stood between me and my tent. I slowly made my way along a wooded path in the near dark, until I was brought to a dead stop by the strangest sound. Just overhead I heard something that was cartoonishly mechanical, like a fast dropping object whistling through the air and then pulling up at the last minute. I know what you are thinking and no, it wasn’t a hummingbird.

I looked up to find its source, but all I sensed was airspace. No movement, flashes of light, or glow of eyeball could be detected. My brain sorted through possibilities and it came up with the word, “machine”. I don’t have any direct experience with UFOs, but I was open to it and honestly, pretty excited to join the club. My logical brain stomped on that whimsy and thought “drone”, but there was no hovering camera anywhere in sight.

continued in 2 comments entries...

#natureinspiredwriting #nature #hoh #mystery

The expression, I was today years old when I… could be the subtitle to my life because I’m often just realizing something that others have known for years. It feels like I’m waking up from a multi-decade long coma and learning about all the news that happened while I was gone. Have you felt similarly?

I suppose I could be in distress about it and call the neurologist to find out if my brain is broken, but instead, I’m going to spin the situation into this hypothesis: if what I don’t know is greater than what I do know, I have a greater potential for discovery.

I mention all this as a preface to something that happened in June when I was co-leading a nature immersion retreat in the Hoh Rainforest (Washington, USA). On the Olympic Peninsula, in early summer, darkness doesn’t fall until about 11PM. Dusk takes her time. She lingers like a guest who doesn’t want to leave even after you’ve put the leftover food away and changed into your jammies.

On this particular night it was close to 10PM when I called it quits. All the participants were tucked in their sleeping bags and I was on the way to mine. My teeth were clean, my face was washed, and I was ready for sleep after a long day. A mere fifty yards stood between me and my tent. I slowly made my way along a wooded path in the near dark, until I was brought to a dead stop by the strangest sound. Just overhead I heard something that was cartoonishly mechanical, like a fast dropping object whistling through the air and then pulling up at the last minute. I know what you are thinking and no, it wasn’t a hummingbird.

I looked up to find its source, but all I sensed was airspace. No movement, flashes of light, or glow of eyeball could be detected. My brain sorted through possibilities and it came up with the word, “machine”. I don’t have any direct experience with UFOs, but I was open to it and honestly, pretty excited to join the club. My logical brain stomped on that whimsy and thought “drone”, but there was no hovering camera anywhere in sight.

continued in 2 comments entries...

#natureinspiredwriting #nature #hoh #mystery

The solstice on June 20th, heralds in summer, but I confess, I’m still deep in spring mode. Spring has been a time of discovery, revealing who survived the wet, cold winter and which lucky seeds are strong enough to grow into a new expression of themselves.

Because I am new to this land in Coastal Oregon, it’s been a time of true exploration. Nearly every time I go outside, I meet someone new: wild Nootka rose along the river, red clover on the edge of the grass, and Seep monkeyflower snug in an impressive stand of an unrestrained invasive species called Himalayan balsam.

When I speak words out loud, like here next to the river, I understand that some will float down the river like a leaf and possibly end up in someone’s yard or out in the ocean bouncing on waves, while other words might be carried across the air, like bird song, available to anyone who is listening, like a hiker or an ancient tree.

Words hold meaning and when paired with other words, they can grow or change in their essence. Likewise, words have their own energy, so I am careful what I’m cultivating here, since I sense the more-than-human kin are sensitive to my presence and utterances.

When I casually use the term “invasive”, I sense its negative vibration, so I’m making an effort to rewire my brain and upgrade my vocabulary to be more compassionate when I refer to these hearty plants. Sure, I can call them “non-native” instead, but even that feels unwelcoming in a time when many plants, trees, animals, and humans are on the move escaping heat, drought, insecurity, and violence.

What if kindness started here? Instead of lumping them into the “bad” category, I greeted them with curiosity and respect. Instead of sending the word “invasive” into the face of this plant or the wider environment, I said something to the plant like, “I’m going to remove you this season, Ms./Mr. Balsam, you tall glass of water, so some of these other plants can breathe, root, and reach for the sun for a turn.” And what if I got curious and collected a few seeds for my herbal medicine cabinet (they are a good diuretic) instead of obsessing over total eradication? MORE IN COMMENTS

The solstice on June 20th, heralds in summer, but I confess, I’m still deep in spring mode. Spring has been a time of discovery, revealing who survived the wet, cold winter and which lucky seeds are strong enough to grow into a new expression of themselves.

Because I am new to this land in Coastal Oregon, it’s been a time of true exploration. Nearly every time I go outside, I meet someone new: wild Nootka rose along the river, red clover on the edge of the grass, and Seep monkeyflower snug in an impressive stand of an unrestrained invasive species called Himalayan balsam.

When I speak words out loud, like here next to the river, I understand that some will float down the river like a leaf and possibly end up in someone’s yard or out in the ocean bouncing on waves, while other words might be carried across the air, like bird song, available to anyone who is listening, like a hiker or an ancient tree.

Words hold meaning and when paired with other words, they can grow or change in their essence. Likewise, words have their own energy, so I am careful what I’m cultivating here, since I sense the more-than-human kin are sensitive to my presence and utterances.

When I casually use the term “invasive”, I sense its negative vibration, so I’m making an effort to rewire my brain and upgrade my vocabulary to be more compassionate when I refer to these hearty plants. Sure, I can call them “non-native” instead, but even that feels unwelcoming in a time when many plants, trees, animals, and humans are on the move escaping heat, drought, insecurity, and violence.

What if kindness started here? Instead of lumping them into the “bad” category, I greeted them with curiosity and respect. Instead of sending the word “invasive” into the face of this plant or the wider environment, I said something to the plant like, “I’m going to remove you this season, Ms./Mr. Balsam, you tall glass of water, so some of these other plants can breathe, root, and reach for the sun for a turn.” And what if I got curious and collected a few seeds for my herbal medicine cabinet (they are a good diuretic) instead of obsessing over total eradication? MORE IN COMMENTS

It’s spring in the rainforest which means there are days of sun and clear skies and days of rain. Today it is raining. Oh look, here comes the sun! Like this: vacillating, entrancing, and also deeply nourishing.  Many migrating birds and animals have arrived and they seem undeterred by the fluctuations in temperature and light. Similarly, the plants and trees are on the move, reaching limb and root for space to express themselves as leaf, blossom, and in some cases, sweet fruit. Insects are part of the performance, too, as they hatch, take flight, then soar, dive, or float in their singular style.
 Even the night is more active this time of year. Elusive owls call to each other high up on the slope in a thick of alder and Douglas-fir, coyotes celebrate their prize in their raucous way, frogs perform their best ventriloquist work, and bats dart and swoop in search of in-flight meals.

The land is alive and offering lessons and messages in every moment. A few days ago a wee friend, not even three inches long, showed up here. We first noticed them hanging upside down in the space between the screen and the slider. Our visitor might be a Silver haired bat or California myotis bat, either one is fine with us. We are honored to be considered a resting spot for the time being until we can install a bat box for them to be safe and warm.

Meeting someone new can be mind and heart expanding. If we are willing, the experience can invite curiosity, awe, and a sense of kinship. On the first evening of the bat’s residency, we turned off all the indoor and outdoor lights and then sat on the floor to wait for them to slowly wake with some important gentle wing stretches and personal grooming before they carefully inched their way out of the tight space and flew off into the dark. We oohed and aahed and felt beyond fortunate to observe this magical moment.

As messenger, bat signifies transition, initiation, rebirth, and change. The bat is also a meaningful reminder of how engaging respectfully with our animal family can awaken a feeling of belonging that we can’t get from our technological distractions.

More in comments

It’s spring in the rainforest which means there are days of sun and clear skies and days of rain. Today it is raining. Oh look, here comes the sun! Like this: vacillating, entrancing, and also deeply nourishing.  Many migrating birds and animals have arrived and they seem undeterred by the fluctuations in temperature and light. Similarly, the plants and trees are on the move, reaching limb and root for space to express themselves as leaf, blossom, and in some cases, sweet fruit. Insects are part of the performance, too, as they hatch, take flight, then soar, dive, or float in their singular style.
 Even the night is more active this time of year. Elusive owls call to each other high up on the slope in a thick of alder and Douglas-fir, coyotes celebrate their prize in their raucous way, frogs perform their best ventriloquist work, and bats dart and swoop in search of in-flight meals.

The land is alive and offering lessons and messages in every moment. A few days ago a wee friend, not even three inches long, showed up here. We first noticed them hanging upside down in the space between the screen and the slider. Our visitor might be a Silver haired bat or California myotis bat, either one is fine with us. We are honored to be considered a resting spot for the time being until we can install a bat box for them to be safe and warm.

Meeting someone new can be mind and heart expanding. If we are willing, the experience can invite curiosity, awe, and a sense of kinship. On the first evening of the bat’s residency, we turned off all the indoor and outdoor lights and then sat on the floor to wait for them to slowly wake with some important gentle wing stretches and personal grooming before they carefully inched their way out of the tight space and flew off into the dark. We oohed and aahed and felt beyond fortunate to observe this magical moment.

As messenger, bat signifies transition, initiation, rebirth, and change. The bat is also a meaningful reminder of how engaging respectfully with our animal family can awaken a feeling of belonging that we can’t get from our technological distractions.

More in comments

We moved to this land at the end of October when autumn was in her ultimate performance. Colors changed daily as the chlorophyll in leaves decreased and all shades of green gave way so that yellows, oranges, reds, and browns could prevail. Some trees looked like they were on fire, ablaze with the last memories of summer!

In November, leaves started to fall and by the end of December, after an atmospheric river or two, with its accompanying fierce winds, the ground was thick with downed branches and soggy leaves. Then the darkness of winter arrived and with it, rain, snow, and ice. Sometimes soggy, sometimes frozen, the land lay dormant by responding to the differing temperatures.

Weather, especially the type that happens in the middle of a rainforest, can be dramatic. Most anywhere you stand here, it is likely that you are witness to water’s journey to find her path to the swelling, rushing river.

Even though we are new to this place, the cycle is an ancient one. Nature knows her rhythms. And even if this is a false spring, like locals warn, I still can’t believe the shift in energy. The dark thick clouds are nowhere to be found and the Sun appears like a favorite relative–bright and cheerful–bringing out the best in everyone with her warmth. Sun, and all the birds who’ve returned to feed, are announcing the comeback we call Spring.

And here we are on the eve of the vernal equinox with all the promise of more light and a new season of life in the northern hemisphere. Color, foliage, flowers, and fruit are stored in roots and limbs, waiting for their chance to begin again after an über nutritional rest.

I invite you to celebrate this new season with some sort of intentional action. Take a slow walk in a natural space, prepare your garden, start seeds, or stretch out on the Earth to take part in the rejuvenation that this time of year offers us.

#vernalequinox #spring #equinox #rainforest #winter #autumn #nature #natureinspiredwriting #creativewriting #earth #naturalworld #land #rain #snow #wind #winter #cycles #patterns

We moved to this land at the end of October when autumn was in her ultimate performance. Colors changed daily as the chlorophyll in leaves decreased and all shades of green gave way so that yellows, oranges, reds, and browns could prevail. Some trees looked like they were on fire, ablaze with the last memories of summer!

In November, leaves started to fall and by the end of December, after an atmospheric river or two, with its accompanying fierce winds, the ground was thick with downed branches and soggy leaves. Then the darkness of winter arrived and with it, rain, snow, and ice. Sometimes soggy, sometimes frozen, the land lay dormant by responding to the differing temperatures.

Weather, especially the type that happens in the middle of a rainforest, can be dramatic. Most anywhere you stand here, it is likely that you are witness to water’s journey to find her path to the swelling, rushing river.

Even though we are new to this place, the cycle is an ancient one. Nature knows her rhythms. And even if this is a false spring, like locals warn, I still can’t believe the shift in energy. The dark thick clouds are nowhere to be found and the Sun appears like a favorite relative–bright and cheerful–bringing out the best in everyone with her warmth. Sun, and all the birds who’ve returned to feed, are announcing the comeback we call Spring.

And here we are on the eve of the vernal equinox with all the promise of more light and a new season of life in the northern hemisphere. Color, foliage, flowers, and fruit are stored in roots and limbs, waiting for their chance to begin again after an über nutritional rest.

I invite you to celebrate this new season with some sort of intentional action. Take a slow walk in a natural space, prepare your garden, start seeds, or stretch out on the Earth to take part in the rejuvenation that this time of year offers us.

#vernalequinox #spring #equinox #rainforest #winter #autumn #nature #natureinspiredwriting #creativewriting #earth #naturalworld #land #rain #snow #wind #winter #cycles #patterns

I want to share a bit about the Hoh River Valley and Rainforest Retreats that we are offering this June and September in the Olympic Mountains in Washington State  We’ve designed a week-long retreat where we invite you to open to sacred time and the healing power of Nature.

We will guide you at every step. This life-changing nature immersion and forest bathing experience will undoubtedly open your heart in beautiful ways.

You will have an opportunity to connect to the natural world in a meaningful way. You will meet wise old growth trees, stand along an ancient turquoise glacial river, observe wildlife who call this place home, and sit amongst native rainforest flora.

Getting here will take some effort, but we promise you, it’s all worth it. The small group retreat is intentional and allows us to create meaningful bonds with like hearted people and Nature herself. There will be time to be in dialogue with others, practice deep listening, and be in silence.   Leaving our electronic devices behind means we have time to take gentle hikes, rest near a sacred spring, share stories, nap, observe, journal, create and end our days next to a fire under the vast starlit sky.   If your heart is seeking just this sort of retreat then I invite you to join us. We’d love to share this magical time with you. We are nature. This retreat will help you remember and reconnect.

Link in bio

#forestimmersion #natureretreat #forestretreat #healing #nature #river #forest #spring #trail #oldgrowthforest #campfire #stars #heart #beauty #connect #remember @lori.l.ferry @_omec_

I want to share a bit about the Hoh River Valley and Rainforest Retreats that we are offering this June and September in the Olympic Mountains in Washington State  We’ve designed a week-long retreat where we invite you to open to sacred time and the healing power of Nature.

We will guide you at every step. This life-changing nature immersion and forest bathing experience will undoubtedly open your heart in beautiful ways.

You will have an opportunity to connect to the natural world in a meaningful way. You will meet wise old growth trees, stand along an ancient turquoise glacial river, observe wildlife who call this place home, and sit amongst native rainforest flora.

Getting here will take some effort, but we promise you, it’s all worth it. The small group retreat is intentional and allows us to create meaningful bonds with like hearted people and Nature herself. There will be time to be in dialogue with others, practice deep listening, and be in silence.   Leaving our electronic devices behind means we have time to take gentle hikes, rest near a sacred spring, share stories, nap, observe, journal, create and end our days next to a fire under the vast starlit sky.   If your heart is seeking just this sort of retreat then I invite you to join us. We’d love to share this magical time with you. We are nature. This retreat will help you remember and reconnect.

Link in bio

#forestimmersion #natureretreat #forestretreat #healing #nature #river #forest #spring #trail #oldgrowthforest #campfire #stars #heart #beauty #connect #remember @lori.l.ferry @_omec_

Sparks of creativity can happen in quiet moments of being, in between active stages of doing. The challenge is to make time for it. I know this to be true, and yet, hours, days, and weeks can fly by without stopping to listen and receive. I’ve been busy, I tell myself, knowing full well that “busy” is just one more distraction on a list of many that keeps me from connecting with the natural world and all sentient beings.

So in the coldest part of winter, I placed my meditation cushion in front of the open sliding glass door, lit a candle, and sat. I sat with the patter of rain and the singing wind as she moved through the trees. I sat with the sound of the river rushing along the banks, over boulders and logs on her way to the bay and then the ocean. I sat with the calls of Stellar jay, black-capped chickadee, varied thrush, and junco. I sat with the scent of drenched and muddy earth. I sat with the low clouds and the even lower light.

I let all of it in. Instead of building barriers of protection against cold, wet, and discomfort, I opened to the total experience of the stunning orchestra, then inquired to whomever was listening, what can I offer to this place of beauty?

The answer came swift and clear: bring in the essence of all the places I’ve called home and weave it into an offering for the land.

Over a week, I collected a handful of sword fern and narrow red alder twigs from the property. I had an idea of what I wanted, but no real experience in making it. It helped that I was guided by gratitude and generosity instead of perfectionism. I fashioned a frame out of branches and coir, then I alternated fern and alder and whispered to the piece, I offer the energy and wisdom of all the places that have held and taught me what it means to be Nature. The act of creating–moving my hands across this “document”–allowed me to weave in my memories of mountain, lake, beach, desert, rainforest, glacier and ocean, to present a sort of biography in a language, I hope, the land would understand. I didn’t know for sure.

More below..

Sparks of creativity can happen in quiet moments of being, in between active stages of doing. The challenge is to make time for it. I know this to be true, and yet, hours, days, and weeks can fly by without stopping to listen and receive. I’ve been busy, I tell myself, knowing full well that “busy” is just one more distraction on a list of many that keeps me from connecting with the natural world and all sentient beings.

So in the coldest part of winter, I placed my meditation cushion in front of the open sliding glass door, lit a candle, and sat. I sat with the patter of rain and the singing wind as she moved through the trees. I sat with the sound of the river rushing along the banks, over boulders and logs on her way to the bay and then the ocean. I sat with the calls of Stellar jay, black-capped chickadee, varied thrush, and junco. I sat with the scent of drenched and muddy earth. I sat with the low clouds and the even lower light.

I let all of it in. Instead of building barriers of protection against cold, wet, and discomfort, I opened to the total experience of the stunning orchestra, then inquired to whomever was listening, what can I offer to this place of beauty?

The answer came swift and clear: bring in the essence of all the places I’ve called home and weave it into an offering for the land.

Over a week, I collected a handful of sword fern and narrow red alder twigs from the property. I had an idea of what I wanted, but no real experience in making it. It helped that I was guided by gratitude and generosity instead of perfectionism. I fashioned a frame out of branches and coir, then I alternated fern and alder and whispered to the piece, I offer the energy and wisdom of all the places that have held and taught me what it means to be Nature. The act of creating–moving my hands across this “document”–allowed me to weave in my memories of mountain, lake, beach, desert, rainforest, glacier and ocean, to present a sort of biography in a language, I hope, the land would understand. I didn’t know for sure.

More below..

The aim of this course is to uncover a deep source of creativity through a renewed relationship with Nature. Selected readings and guided writing prompts will inspire new writing or offer fresh energy to an ongoing project.

During six, 2-hour live workshop Zoom sessions, I will guide you through mindfulness exercises, visualizations, and writing practices. I believe in providing an encouraging container so that you feel comfortable sharing or simply supporting others. In between sessions, you’ll receive simple nature-focused exercises and further reading to deepen your connection with the living world.

All Levels Welcome!

Format: 6 Virtual 2-hour Zoom classes; Every Tuesday
Dates: Tuesdays from Feb. 27 to Apr 4

Two Time Offerings:
Class #1: 4 pm (PST) / 7 pm (EST)
Class #2: 7 am (PST) / 10 am (EST) / 15:00 (GMT)

Small Class Size

Price: $185.00 (link in bio)

The course is offered through a partnership with Olympic Mountain EarthWisdom Circle. 10% of your class fee with be donated to OMEC.

Questions? Email me at christinamburress@gmail.com

The aim of this course is to uncover a deep source of creativity through a renewed relationship with Nature. Selected readings and guided writing prompts will inspire new writing or offer fresh energy to an ongoing project.

During six, 2-hour live workshop Zoom sessions, I will guide you through mindfulness exercises, visualizations, and writing practices. I believe in providing an encouraging container so that you feel comfortable sharing or simply supporting others. In between sessions, you’ll receive simple nature-focused exercises and further reading to deepen your connection with the living world.

All Levels Welcome!

Format: 6 Virtual 2-hour Zoom classes; Every Tuesday
Dates: Tuesdays from Feb. 27 to Apr 4

Two Time Offerings:
Class #1: 4 pm (PST) / 7 pm (EST)
Class #2: 7 am (PST) / 10 am (EST) / 15:00 (GMT)

Small Class Size

Price: $185.00 (link in bio)

The course is offered through a partnership with Olympic Mountain EarthWisdom Circle. 10% of your class fee with be donated to OMEC.

Questions? Email me at christinamburress@gmail.com

From our home to the valley, it’s about nine miles along the river until we get to a cross road where we finally get cell service. We’ve named this stretch, and any service-less zone like it, a Corridor of Wonder. All one can do when questions arise between passengers is wonder, discuss, and try to figure things out based on what the collective has read, watched, or been told.

There is time to ponder, guess, and say, I don’t know. The rush to blurt out answers, so inherent to our modern personalities, is a stranger here. In the inexactness of our knowledge, there is acceptance that we don’t have the information right now and we might forget to seek it out later because something else has taken precedence or we’ve simply forgotten. The river teaches us to stay in the flow.

At some point, we silently agree to set queries aside for more important things like sighting the herd of elk in a grove of red alders, catching a glimpse of the lone Texas longhorn standing in the meadow, or spotting the pair of eagles who patiently watch for fish while perched on a bough over the rushing river.

This time of year, the land is saturated and water is on the move headed out to the bay and then the ocean. Waterfalls, creeks, and rivulets dash to the river in what can feel like a stampede of energy. During the cold snap, many of these waterways froze up into crystal-like ice sculptures!

There is also time to imagine all that we can’t see like beaver, nutria, black bear, cougar, and of course, my favorite, Sasquatch.

The Corridor of Wonder is a liminal space of awe. In these corridors we strengthen our skills of conversation, listening, observation, and imagination. It never gets old. The space is constantly changing in color, texture, light, and movement. And we are different with each journey.

Where are your Corridors of Wonder? If steep mountains, long stretches of desert, or vast expanses of ocean haven’t created one for you then why not create your own? Turn off your phone for the same stretch of travel everyday and be open to what happens. I bet you’ll discover something wonderful and awe inspiring about where you live.
#natureinspiredwriting #creativewriting

From our home to the valley, it’s about nine miles along the river until we get to a cross road where we finally get cell service. We’ve named this stretch, and any service-less zone like it, a Corridor of Wonder. All one can do when questions arise between passengers is wonder, discuss, and try to figure things out based on what the collective has read, watched, or been told.

There is time to ponder, guess, and say, I don’t know. The rush to blurt out answers, so inherent to our modern personalities, is a stranger here. In the inexactness of our knowledge, there is acceptance that we don’t have the information right now and we might forget to seek it out later because something else has taken precedence or we’ve simply forgotten. The river teaches us to stay in the flow.

At some point, we silently agree to set queries aside for more important things like sighting the herd of elk in a grove of red alders, catching a glimpse of the lone Texas longhorn standing in the meadow, or spotting the pair of eagles who patiently watch for fish while perched on a bough over the rushing river.

This time of year, the land is saturated and water is on the move headed out to the bay and then the ocean. Waterfalls, creeks, and rivulets dash to the river in what can feel like a stampede of energy. During the cold snap, many of these waterways froze up into crystal-like ice sculptures!

There is also time to imagine all that we can’t see like beaver, nutria, black bear, cougar, and of course, my favorite, Sasquatch.

The Corridor of Wonder is a liminal space of awe. In these corridors we strengthen our skills of conversation, listening, observation, and imagination. It never gets old. The space is constantly changing in color, texture, light, and movement. And we are different with each journey.

Where are your Corridors of Wonder? If steep mountains, long stretches of desert, or vast expanses of ocean haven’t created one for you then why not create your own? Turn off your phone for the same stretch of travel everyday and be open to what happens. I bet you’ll discover something wonderful and awe inspiring about where you live.
#natureinspiredwriting #creativewriting

Here we are again, inching toward the end of another calendar year, a time that invites reflection and dreaming. 🌀

I am deeply grateful for your support and interest in my work this year. I learned a considerable amount about what it means to be a teacher and healer during this time on our planet. 🌎

I met so many generous and like-hearted people who came to create, share, and deepen into their own practices of walking the Earth with love. 💚

I plan to gather all the lessons from 2023 and let them help shape my dreams for 2024. ✨

I hope that we can gather again soon to share our stories. 🍀

With love.

#natureinspiredwriting #nature #earth #creativity #love #naturalworld #creativewriting #writing #planet #gratitude #dreams #generosity #spiral #newyear #makeintentions #dreamyourworldintobeing #forestimmersion #trail #river #shamanicreiki #healing #reiki #visualization #journey

Here we are again, inching toward the end of another calendar year, a time that invites reflection and dreaming. 🌀

I am deeply grateful for your support and interest in my work this year. I learned a considerable amount about what it means to be a teacher and healer during this time on our planet. 🌎

I met so many generous and like-hearted people who came to create, share, and deepen into their own practices of walking the Earth with love. 💚

I plan to gather all the lessons from 2023 and let them help shape my dreams for 2024. ✨

I hope that we can gather again soon to share our stories. 🍀

With love.

#natureinspiredwriting #nature #earth #creativity #love #naturalworld #creativewriting #writing #planet #gratitude #dreams #generosity #spiral #newyear #makeintentions #dreamyourworldintobeing #forestimmersion #trail #river #shamanicreiki #healing #reiki #visualization #journey

I’ve been quiet here and missing the practice of taking time each month to write about my relationship with the natural world. And, I’ve missed you. Even though this isn’t a conversation in the traditional sense, there is some energetic feedback that happens when I send a piece of writing out into the world.

The big news is that my husband and I have moved to a home next to a river in coastal Oregon where salmon spawn, otters play, elk graze, and eagles fly. Douglas fir, Western hemlock, Giant maple, Sitka cedar, and Red alder soak up the rain and grow toward the light in the dense forest. Fungi, lichen, and moss are a few of the innumerable neighbors who call this place home and thrive in the shadows. After living 19 years in the coastal sage scrub of California, there is a whole new world to discover!

We’ve been here just over a month so I’m still orienting to the four directions, the sun and moon rise, the personality of wind and rain, the height and flow of the river, and the shorter days. My intention is to come to know the land in a deeper way so that I can begin to feel at home again.

For me, part of moving to a new place is acknowledging the long history of the surrounding lands and the people who lived and are still living here. The Tillamook, Confederate Tribes of Grand Ronde, Confederate Tribe of Siletz Indians, Cayuse, Umatilla, and Walla Walla, and their living descendants, have fished, hunted, foraged, dwelled, created art, practiced ceremony, and raised their families here, by some records, for 10,000+ years.

I encourage you to take a look at this map to learn about the long history of where you live - https://native-land.ca/ (link in bio) The creators of this site state their mission as - We strive to map Indigenous lands in a way that changes, challenges, and improves the way people see history and the present day. We hope to strengthen the spiritual bonds that people have with the land, its people, and its meaning.

Let me know what you find out.

Then come visit! 💚

#nature #natureinspiredwriting #tillamook #oregon #oregoncoast #traskriver #elk #redalder #douglasfir #fungi #earth #creativewriting #home

I’ve been quiet here and missing the practice of taking time each month to write about my relationship with the natural world. And, I’ve missed you. Even though this isn’t a conversation in the traditional sense, there is some energetic feedback that happens when I send a piece of writing out into the world.

The big news is that my husband and I have moved to a home next to a river in coastal Oregon where salmon spawn, otters play, elk graze, and eagles fly. Douglas fir, Western hemlock, Giant maple, Sitka cedar, and Red alder soak up the rain and grow toward the light in the dense forest. Fungi, lichen, and moss are a few of the innumerable neighbors who call this place home and thrive in the shadows. After living 19 years in the coastal sage scrub of California, there is a whole new world to discover!

We’ve been here just over a month so I’m still orienting to the four directions, the sun and moon rise, the personality of wind and rain, the height and flow of the river, and the shorter days. My intention is to come to know the land in a deeper way so that I can begin to feel at home again.

For me, part of moving to a new place is acknowledging the long history of the surrounding lands and the people who lived and are still living here. The Tillamook, Confederate Tribes of Grand Ronde, Confederate Tribe of Siletz Indians, Cayuse, Umatilla, and Walla Walla, and their living descendants, have fished, hunted, foraged, dwelled, created art, practiced ceremony, and raised their families here, by some records, for 10,000+ years.

I encourage you to take a look at this map to learn about the long history of where you live - https://native-land.ca/ (link in bio) The creators of this site state their mission as - We strive to map Indigenous lands in a way that changes, challenges, and improves the way people see history and the present day. We hope to strengthen the spiritual bonds that people have with the land, its people, and its meaning.

Let me know what you find out.

Then come visit! 💚

#nature #natureinspiredwriting #tillamook #oregon #oregoncoast #traskriver #elk #redalder #douglasfir #fungi #earth #creativewriting #home

In the month of October I embarked on a huge transition to move away from what I’ve known for 19 years. There was uncertainty and fear and also hope. Somehow this simple practice of finding a magnificent wild friend every day, helped me stay grounded. Life is one huge continual transition. We cycle. Birth, death, rebirth. Once we accept this, we can move along and find ways to adapt to change while also staying open to what Beauty persists. If you missed any days check out NATURE Under highlights. #natureinspiredwriting
#earth #nature #delmarcalifornia #traskrivertillamookoregon #insect #amphibian #creativity #garden

In the month of October I embarked on a huge transition to move away from what I’ve known for 19 years. There was uncertainty and fear and also hope. Somehow this simple practice of finding a magnificent wild friend every day, helped me stay grounded. Life is one huge continual transition. We cycle. Birth, death, rebirth. Once we accept this, we can move along and find ways to adapt to change while also staying open to what Beauty persists. If you missed any days check out NATURE Under highlights. #natureinspiredwriting
#earth #nature #delmarcalifornia #traskrivertillamookoregon #insect #amphibian #creativity #garden

In mid-September, I was back in the Hoh Rainforest on the Olympic Peninsula in Washington state, to co-lead a forest immersion retreat with my good friend Lori. I’d been on the road with my husband JD, and our two dogs, for two weeks and 1,500 miles, so it felt good to settle in one place for a bit.

During the retreat, most participants spend the week in a rustic cabin with a proper kitchen and bathroom. Lori and I, plus one participant, decided to camp out on the silt bar along the river. Ideal, right?

Setting up a tent can be an exercise in humiliation, especially if the tent and I have just met. Normally, after a few set-ups and take-downs, I’ve got it dialed and my confidence soars. In this case, I was borrowing a tent from Lori, which put me in unfamiliar territory. How is it that I can be outwitted by nylon, poles, and zippers? The pictograms and sparse instructions that the manufacturer included seemed deliberately confusing. They list four poles of varying lengths and I only have three. Frustrating to say the least.

I’ve always loved the idea of setting up a tripod and camera to catch a time-lapse story of an event. Somehow it reveals the truth of the situation – in this case, that I’d run around the tent 100 times before she found her true form. A time-lapse would have included Lori coming over to offer help, which would have been hilarious to watch, something akin to a silent old-timey film with lots of hand gestures and laughing.

Once up, I appreciate her beauty against the tall willows and alders. I unfurl my sleeping bag and lay it inside. Simple living. I pause and look around and ask myself, How great is this? So great, I answer, too fast, so I pause again to check in with my not-so-tough-girl-self. Am I good? Sleeping in a tent feels vulnerable and hypocritical - a false sense of security and one thin layer away from total immersion.

I go through a mental list, trying to be as honest as possible: tents do keep the elements out, which can be a good thing if the weather calls for rain (it did) but how can a micrometer of nylon protect me from all that I fear is out to get me during the dark hours? My mind calculates…

Cont’d in comments

In mid-September, I was back in the Hoh Rainforest on the Olympic Peninsula in Washington state, to co-lead a forest immersion retreat with my good friend Lori. I’d been on the road with my husband JD, and our two dogs, for two weeks and 1,500 miles, so it felt good to settle in one place for a bit.

During the retreat, most participants spend the week in a rustic cabin with a proper kitchen and bathroom. Lori and I, plus one participant, decided to camp out on the silt bar along the river. Ideal, right?

Setting up a tent can be an exercise in humiliation, especially if the tent and I have just met. Normally, after a few set-ups and take-downs, I’ve got it dialed and my confidence soars. In this case, I was borrowing a tent from Lori, which put me in unfamiliar territory. How is it that I can be outwitted by nylon, poles, and zippers? The pictograms and sparse instructions that the manufacturer included seemed deliberately confusing. They list four poles of varying lengths and I only have three. Frustrating to say the least.

I’ve always loved the idea of setting up a tripod and camera to catch a time-lapse story of an event. Somehow it reveals the truth of the situation – in this case, that I’d run around the tent 100 times before she found her true form. A time-lapse would have included Lori coming over to offer help, which would have been hilarious to watch, something akin to a silent old-timey film with lots of hand gestures and laughing.

Once up, I appreciate her beauty against the tall willows and alders. I unfurl my sleeping bag and lay it inside. Simple living. I pause and look around and ask myself, How great is this? So great, I answer, too fast, so I pause again to check in with my not-so-tough-girl-self. Am I good? Sleeping in a tent feels vulnerable and hypocritical - a false sense of security and one thin layer away from total immersion.

I go through a mental list, trying to be as honest as possible: tents do keep the elements out, which can be a good thing if the weather calls for rain (it did) but how can a micrometer of nylon protect me from all that I fear is out to get me during the dark hours? My mind calculates…

Cont’d in comments

Genius Loci, The Spirit of the Place

It’s been a few years since I heard poet David Whyte speak about ‘genius loci’, but I’ve not forgotten it. Today, on my walk along the bluffs overlooking the beach, a place I love for its unpopulated expansiveness, the phrase bubbled up again, and I knew it was the perfect topic for this month.

‘Genius loci’ means the presiding spirit of a particular place born from its unique features, landforms, or weather. It can also mean to recognize the cycles, relationships, beauty, and mystery of a place. I imagine that the spirit of the place is not limited, but can and does expand in all directions, inviting us to do so too.

It’s been nineteen years since our family moved into this house. The former owners loved the place, you could tell, but they were older and had kept the yard to a manageable level. Even though the stark style didn’t feel right to me, I did appreciate how the wind, sun, moon, and rain did their thing without interference. It was wide open and full of possibilities.

But where to start and how to let the land know we were here to build something together? At some point, I stood outside and asked two questions out loud, “May I know you? May I be known?” Then I spent time with the place and waited because while the land seems fine on her own, she does thrive when we love her. And love can express itself in different ways from attentive tending to keeping a respectful distance. I waited for signs of all types to help me strengthen my intuitive abilities so that I could respond and nurture the place in a good way.

Year after year we added plants and trees and learned how to bring the soil to life from a sandy substance to earthworm rich humus. A lot of things failed, but many blossomed. I dug my hands in the soil, learned the names of plants, pampered seeds, and harvested flowers, fruits, vegetables, and herbs. Birds, insects, lizards, snakes, frogs, skunks, raccoons, and all kinds of wildlife spent time here. We’ve left our mark too. The kids grew up and we grew older. We even buried our four-legged family members under the cedar tree. A lot has lived and died here.

Continues in comments

Genius Loci, The Spirit of the Place

It’s been a few years since I heard poet David Whyte speak about ‘genius loci’, but I’ve not forgotten it. Today, on my walk along the bluffs overlooking the beach, a place I love for its unpopulated expansiveness, the phrase bubbled up again, and I knew it was the perfect topic for this month.

‘Genius loci’ means the presiding spirit of a particular place born from its unique features, landforms, or weather. It can also mean to recognize the cycles, relationships, beauty, and mystery of a place. I imagine that the spirit of the place is not limited, but can and does expand in all directions, inviting us to do so too.

It’s been nineteen years since our family moved into this house. The former owners loved the place, you could tell, but they were older and had kept the yard to a manageable level. Even though the stark style didn’t feel right to me, I did appreciate how the wind, sun, moon, and rain did their thing without interference. It was wide open and full of possibilities.

But where to start and how to let the land know we were here to build something together? At some point, I stood outside and asked two questions out loud, “May I know you? May I be known?” Then I spent time with the place and waited because while the land seems fine on her own, she does thrive when we love her. And love can express itself in different ways from attentive tending to keeping a respectful distance. I waited for signs of all types to help me strengthen my intuitive abilities so that I could respond and nurture the place in a good way.

Year after year we added plants and trees and learned how to bring the soil to life from a sandy substance to earthworm rich humus. A lot of things failed, but many blossomed. I dug my hands in the soil, learned the names of plants, pampered seeds, and harvested flowers, fruits, vegetables, and herbs. Birds, insects, lizards, snakes, frogs, skunks, raccoons, and all kinds of wildlife spent time here. We’ve left our mark too. The kids grew up and we grew older. We even buried our four-legged family members under the cedar tree. A lot has lived and died here.

Continues in comments

Registration open for FA course at UCSD Extended Studies.

As writers, we are the witness and voice of our time, and as such, we are invited to translate what we experience to share and celebrate with the generations to come.

This course invites you to develop your writing while reconnecting with Mother Nature, or as author Bill Plotkin says, "grow deeper into our human nature". We will immerse ourselves in the contemplations of writers who have spent their life close to the heartbeat of Mother Nature. Through the examples of their offerings, your own discoveries in the inner and outer composition of your landscapes, you will shape writing that reveals the joy, and sometimes heartache, of walking this Earth.

Inspiration will come from time in Nature and direct experience with all she offers us. We will reclaim our wild self and play with a variety of forms from poetry to prose to performance.

Link in bio

#natureinspiredwriting #creativewriting #writingcourse #writetogether #naturewriting #nature #earth #inspiration #poetry #prose #naturalworld

Registration open for FA course at UCSD Extended Studies.

As writers, we are the witness and voice of our time, and as such, we are invited to translate what we experience to share and celebrate with the generations to come.

This course invites you to develop your writing while reconnecting with Mother Nature, or as author Bill Plotkin says, "grow deeper into our human nature". We will immerse ourselves in the contemplations of writers who have spent their life close to the heartbeat of Mother Nature. Through the examples of their offerings, your own discoveries in the inner and outer composition of your landscapes, you will shape writing that reveals the joy, and sometimes heartache, of walking this Earth.

Inspiration will come from time in Nature and direct experience with all she offers us. We will reclaim our wild self and play with a variety of forms from poetry to prose to performance.

Link in bio

#natureinspiredwriting #creativewriting #writingcourse #writetogether #naturewriting #nature #earth #inspiration #poetry #prose #naturalworld

🍃 Fall Enrollment Open! 🍃
Join my Nature-Inspired Writing Course ꩜ REMEMBERING OUR PLACE IN THE SACRED CIRCLE OF LIFE ꩜

During six, 2-hour workshop sessions, we will read poetry, prose, and excerpted essays that touch on the magnificence of Mother Earth. There will be time to write together and share what is on our mind.

In between our sessions you are encouraged to venture into the natural world to observe, listen, and be inspired!

All Levels Welcome ⭐️ Sharing is always optional!

Format: 6 Virtual 2-hour Zoom classes; Every Tuesday

Dates: Sept. 19 through Oct. 24
Two Time Offerings:
Class #1: 4 pm (PST) / 7 pm (EST)
Class #2: 7 am (PST) / 10 am (EST) / 15:00 (GMT)
⭐️
Small Class Size

Need more info? Link in bio

🍃 Fall Enrollment Open! 🍃
Join my Nature-Inspired Writing Course ꩜ REMEMBERING OUR PLACE IN THE SACRED CIRCLE OF LIFE ꩜

During six, 2-hour workshop sessions, we will read poetry, prose, and excerpted essays that touch on the magnificence of Mother Earth. There will be time to write together and share what is on our mind.

In between our sessions you are encouraged to venture into the natural world to observe, listen, and be inspired!

All Levels Welcome ⭐️ Sharing is always optional!

Format: 6 Virtual 2-hour Zoom classes; Every Tuesday

Dates: Sept. 19 through Oct. 24
Two Time Offerings:
Class #1: 4 pm (PST) / 7 pm (EST)
Class #2: 7 am (PST) / 10 am (EST) / 15:00 (GMT)
⭐️
Small Class Size

Need more info? Link in bio

Enroll Now: Nature Writing: A Deep Dive

An In-person Nature-Inspired Writing Workshop with San Diego Writers, Ink on Saturday, August 26 - 9 to 12 in San Diego.

Topic - Kincentricity: Animals as Teachers

We will extend our awareness to the animal world while considering how our kinship makes up the constellation of life on Earth. We will consider these questions: Who keeps showing up in my life from the animal world? Do they appear when I need support, a lesson, or a friend? Is there an animal encounter from my past that has left an indelible mark? What animal in particular pulls at my heartstrings and asks for me to represent them through artistic expression? Our writing will be inspired by the work of Anna Breytenbach, Mary Rose O’Rielley, Carl Sandburg, John Muir Laws, and more. There will be time to share ideas and writing in this supportive container. All levels are welcome. You are invited to write in whichever genre calls you.

ENROLL with link in bio

@sdwritersink #natureinspiredwriting #creativewriting #nature #naturalworld #kin #animals #animalkin #belonging #earth #constellation #life

Enroll Now: Nature Writing: A Deep Dive

An In-person Nature-Inspired Writing Workshop with San Diego Writers, Ink on Saturday, August 26 - 9 to 12 in San Diego.

Topic - Kincentricity: Animals as Teachers

We will extend our awareness to the animal world while considering how our kinship makes up the constellation of life on Earth. We will consider these questions: Who keeps showing up in my life from the animal world? Do they appear when I need support, a lesson, or a friend? Is there an animal encounter from my past that has left an indelible mark? What animal in particular pulls at my heartstrings and asks for me to represent them through artistic expression? Our writing will be inspired by the work of Anna Breytenbach, Mary Rose O’Rielley, Carl Sandburg, John Muir Laws, and more. There will be time to share ideas and writing in this supportive container. All levels are welcome. You are invited to write in whichever genre calls you.

ENROLL with link in bio

@sdwritersink #natureinspiredwriting #creativewriting #nature #naturalworld #kin #animals #animalkin #belonging #earth #constellation #life

I’m teaching a Nature Writing workshop this Saturday from 9-12 in San Diego. We will be outside in the shade. In-person! So exciting. Link in bio to register at San Diego Writers, Ink

Here is the description:
Composite Beings: The Elements as Our Guides

We will consider the four elements as a framework for thinking about the borderless nature of awareness and life. When we notice one thing, it is likely that it raises our attention to other things previously unseen. The elements intermix and reflect our dynamic and interrelated nature. Rain works with Wind. Fire can be doused by Rain. Earth sustains us all. We are 70% water; we push and pull air through our lungs, and the fire in our belly helps digest the Earth’s bounty.

We will draw inspiration from authors like #merlinsheldrake and #DavidLukas and #TheodoreSchwenk and #JoannaMacy

#naturewriting #creativewriting #sandiego #writingworkshop #earth #inspiration #nature #outside #compositebeings #elements @sdwritersink

I’m teaching a Nature Writing workshop this Saturday from 9-12 in San Diego. We will be outside in the shade. In-person! So exciting. Link in bio to register at San Diego Writers, Ink

Here is the description:
Composite Beings: The Elements as Our Guides

We will consider the four elements as a framework for thinking about the borderless nature of awareness and life. When we notice one thing, it is likely that it raises our attention to other things previously unseen. The elements intermix and reflect our dynamic and interrelated nature. Rain works with Wind. Fire can be doused by Rain. Earth sustains us all. We are 70% water; we push and pull air through our lungs, and the fire in our belly helps digest the Earth’s bounty.

We will draw inspiration from authors like #merlinsheldrake and #DavidLukas and #TheodoreSchwenk and #JoannaMacy

#naturewriting #creativewriting #sandiego #writingworkshop #earth #inspiration #nature #outside #compositebeings #elements @sdwritersink

The last photo I took of our cat Bo (aka Beau Bo or Bubby) is the one where he’s stretching to meet the new palm, Chamadorea plumosa, a thoughtful gift from my friend Tom who is now taking good care of the piano.

Cats are known for their curiosity, but this felt more like hospitality. Maybe Bo understood that the plant was a bit stressed after having recently moved from a large tropical nursery surrounded by hundreds of other plant friends, protected under a shade cloth, and lovingly tended. I’d like to think that Bo was reassuring the lacy palm that they’d landed in a good spot and would receive just what they needed here, from him and others.

Indoor plants have to adapt in creative ways for their survival. They must adjust to artificial light, unpredictable breezes (one day the window is wide open and the next it isn’t), odd vibrations and sound waves, aromas from the kitchen, odors from cleaning products, and a myriad of other inputs that they mostly avoid if planted deep in the Earth, say on a hillside next to a healthy creek with the perfect dose of natural light, air flow, and connections to all types of life via roots, branches, and tendrils. Maybe indoor plants benefit from more than human caretaking.

Nine years ago, my sister brought Bo to us after he’d shown up at her house uninvited with a broken tail, torn ear, and a wild demeanor. He was hungry and tired of living on the streets and heard from other strays that my sister’s home was a safe haven. At the time, she had too many cats so we were the next in line and happily took him in.

Bo was part Russian Blue and all outdoor cat. He was interminably tired, cuddly with the dogs, and conversational on topics concerning treats and truck maintenance taking place in “his” garage. We called him the foreman and sought his paw of approval when it came to painting, cooking (especially fish), and folding fresh-from-the-dryer laundry. We came to appreciate his direct approach and accepted that as far as cat manners go, he had none and wouldn’t adopt them anytime soon.

CONTINUE BELOW

The last photo I took of our cat Bo (aka Beau Bo or Bubby) is the one where he’s stretching to meet the new palm, Chamadorea plumosa, a thoughtful gift from my friend Tom who is now taking good care of the piano.

Cats are known for their curiosity, but this felt more like hospitality. Maybe Bo understood that the plant was a bit stressed after having recently moved from a large tropical nursery surrounded by hundreds of other plant friends, protected under a shade cloth, and lovingly tended. I’d like to think that Bo was reassuring the lacy palm that they’d landed in a good spot and would receive just what they needed here, from him and others.

Indoor plants have to adapt in creative ways for their survival. They must adjust to artificial light, unpredictable breezes (one day the window is wide open and the next it isn’t), odd vibrations and sound waves, aromas from the kitchen, odors from cleaning products, and a myriad of other inputs that they mostly avoid if planted deep in the Earth, say on a hillside next to a healthy creek with the perfect dose of natural light, air flow, and connections to all types of life via roots, branches, and tendrils. Maybe indoor plants benefit from more than human caretaking.

Nine years ago, my sister brought Bo to us after he’d shown up at her house uninvited with a broken tail, torn ear, and a wild demeanor. He was hungry and tired of living on the streets and heard from other strays that my sister’s home was a safe haven. At the time, she had too many cats so we were the next in line and happily took him in.

Bo was part Russian Blue and all outdoor cat. He was interminably tired, cuddly with the dogs, and conversational on topics concerning treats and truck maintenance taking place in “his” garage. We called him the foreman and sought his paw of approval when it came to painting, cooking (especially fish), and folding fresh-from-the-dryer laundry. We came to appreciate his direct approach and accepted that as far as cat manners go, he had none and wouldn’t adopt them anytime soon.

CONTINUE BELOW

Blessed Milk Thistle!

A few years ago, I grabbed seeds from a wild plant in a nearby canyon because I wanted to grow it for medicine. Thistle is an exuberant self propagator (some say invader) so I had to make a promise that I’d be responsible once it bloomed - to collect all the seeds so that it wouldn't spread and take over the planet.

Last year, I had an offspring plant that didn’t get enough sun so it stayed small, but I was still able to save some seeds. This winter, I planted a few of those seeds and had the most beautiful plant and she became one of my teachers. I watched her grow wide and flat and get nibbled on by snails. I nibbled too, once I removed the thorns. I watched as her stout rosette sent woody prickly flower stems 4 to 6 feet toward the sky. She was one of the first in my garden to bloom, awakening all of us with her purply pink neon personality. I watched her fluffy heads dry out and attract birds who stood on her spines and pecked for seeds, causing some of them to float in the air. Uh oh, I thought, that's too dangerous. Even though I want to share with the birds, I made a promise to keep her from spreading.

So with thick leather gloves and sharp clippers, I trimmed all the flowers and threw them in a bucket to dry. For months, I worked at removing the dark brown seeds so that I could grind them for tea. It wasn’t the most enjoyable activity because it was tedious and ouchy, but I kept at it because I understood that the medicine is in the relationship, something I can’t get when I buy it from even the best herb supplier. Nurturing something from seed to plant to seed is the medicine. So is observing the plant’s growth, using my hands to work with her, and finally drinking the warm tea. My gums, teeth, and tongue tingled with aliveness and when I swallowed the first sip, I felt a magical connection with those who have been working with this plant for 1000s of years, with my garden, and with all the elements. Delicious liquid love that is also anti-inflammatory, antioxidant, cholagogue, galactagogue, hepatic, hepatoprotective

Thank you mama Earth. Thank you Milk Thistle.

#milkthistle #garden #herbalmedicine #plants #medicine

Blessed Milk Thistle!

A few years ago, I grabbed seeds from a wild plant in a nearby canyon because I wanted to grow it for medicine. Thistle is an exuberant self propagator (some say invader) so I had to make a promise that I’d be responsible once it bloomed - to collect all the seeds so that it wouldn't spread and take over the planet.

Last year, I had an offspring plant that didn’t get enough sun so it stayed small, but I was still able to save some seeds. This winter, I planted a few of those seeds and had the most beautiful plant and she became one of my teachers. I watched her grow wide and flat and get nibbled on by snails. I nibbled too, once I removed the thorns. I watched as her stout rosette sent woody prickly flower stems 4 to 6 feet toward the sky. She was one of the first in my garden to bloom, awakening all of us with her purply pink neon personality. I watched her fluffy heads dry out and attract birds who stood on her spines and pecked for seeds, causing some of them to float in the air. Uh oh, I thought, that's too dangerous. Even though I want to share with the birds, I made a promise to keep her from spreading.

So with thick leather gloves and sharp clippers, I trimmed all the flowers and threw them in a bucket to dry. For months, I worked at removing the dark brown seeds so that I could grind them for tea. It wasn’t the most enjoyable activity because it was tedious and ouchy, but I kept at it because I understood that the medicine is in the relationship, something I can’t get when I buy it from even the best herb supplier. Nurturing something from seed to plant to seed is the medicine. So is observing the plant’s growth, using my hands to work with her, and finally drinking the warm tea. My gums, teeth, and tongue tingled with aliveness and when I swallowed the first sip, I felt a magical connection with those who have been working with this plant for 1000s of years, with my garden, and with all the elements. Delicious liquid love that is also anti-inflammatory, antioxidant, cholagogue, galactagogue, hepatic, hepatoprotective

Thank you mama Earth. Thank you Milk Thistle.

#milkthistle #garden #herbalmedicine #plants #medicine

Dear friends, Happy Solstice! I hope you find time today (and everyday) to interact with the natural world. In the quiet moments the land will sing to you, heal your deepest sorrows, and inspire you. Most days, I receive her with a deep inhale and then offer my gratitude with an emptying exhale. Early this morning, I was inspired to slow down and create a simple ceremony with the living beings around me. The poem I offer here is a translation of all that occurred in the making.

Summer Solstice

The dried and braided spiny rush
acts like the frame of a canvas.
This hoop of potential signifies
a new day and another opportunity
to be grateful for my beloved sanctuary.

I look to the garden for inspiration.
Who calls to me to join in this sacred
offering to the elements, ancestors,
plant and animal kin? I ask permission
and a small and colorful crew agrees to
help in the making:

narrow sword fern
golden dew drop
feverfew
calendula

I sit on the Earth and observe. Robins
fight mid-flight and chase each other
across the vegetable beds and into
a hedge of thick honeysuckle vines.
Crow is quiet for once. I am observed in turn. Who sits with me in this circle?

Grandmother white sage
Grandfather Huachuma cactus
yellow daylily
Mexican tarragon

The wet and overcast morning
moves through me like a slow animal and a gentle reminder to honor that which might be hidden in this moment before the sun's intense rays bring us the longest day of light.

#summersolstice #solstice #natureinspiredwriting #creativewriting #sanctuary #sun #plants #trees #tarragon #whitesage #huachuma #daylily #robin #crow #fern #calendula #feverfew #honor #earth #love #poetry #share

Dear friends, Happy Solstice! I hope you find time today (and everyday) to interact with the natural world. In the quiet moments the land will sing to you, heal your deepest sorrows, and inspire you. Most days, I receive her with a deep inhale and then offer my gratitude with an emptying exhale. Early this morning, I was inspired to slow down and create a simple ceremony with the living beings around me. The poem I offer here is a translation of all that occurred in the making.

Summer Solstice

The dried and braided spiny rush
acts like the frame of a canvas.
This hoop of potential signifies
a new day and another opportunity
to be grateful for my beloved sanctuary.

I look to the garden for inspiration.
Who calls to me to join in this sacred
offering to the elements, ancestors,
plant and animal kin? I ask permission
and a small and colorful crew agrees to
help in the making:

narrow sword fern
golden dew drop
feverfew
calendula

I sit on the Earth and observe. Robins
fight mid-flight and chase each other
across the vegetable beds and into
a hedge of thick honeysuckle vines.
Crow is quiet for once. I am observed in turn. Who sits with me in this circle?

Grandmother white sage
Grandfather Huachuma cactus
yellow daylily
Mexican tarragon

The wet and overcast morning
moves through me like a slow animal and a gentle reminder to honor that which might be hidden in this moment before the sun's intense rays bring us the longest day of light.

#summersolstice #solstice #natureinspiredwriting #creativewriting #sanctuary #sun #plants #trees #tarragon #whitesage #huachuma #daylily #robin #crow #fern #calendula #feverfew #honor #earth #love #poetry #share

Come to San Diego and write with me!

I’m offering 3, 3-hour workshops (in-person & outside) through San Diego Writers, Ink.

This series, taken alone or together, is designed to awaken your connection with nature as a source of inspiration, creativity, and belonging. You may purchase one session individually or all three for a discount. All workshops will be held outside, weather permitting. We will meet at Inspirations Gallery and will walk together to an outdoor area to write. Be ready for all weather and bring a hat!

1. Learning How to See: The Practice of Observing
Saturday, June 17

2. Composite Beings: The Elements as Our Guides
Saturday, July 29

3. Kincentricity: Animals as Teachers
Saturday, August 26

Link in bio to learn more and sign up.

📷 @sdwritersink

#natureinspiredwriting #creativewriting #nature #earth #inspiration #creativity #writingworkshop #naturewriting #sandiego

Come to San Diego and write with me!

I’m offering 3, 3-hour workshops (in-person & outside) through San Diego Writers, Ink.

This series, taken alone or together, is designed to awaken your connection with nature as a source of inspiration, creativity, and belonging. You may purchase one session individually or all three for a discount. All workshops will be held outside, weather permitting. We will meet at Inspirations Gallery and will walk together to an outdoor area to write. Be ready for all weather and bring a hat!

1. Learning How to See: The Practice of Observing
Saturday, June 17

2. Composite Beings: The Elements as Our Guides
Saturday, July 29

3. Kincentricity: Animals as Teachers
Saturday, August 26

Link in bio to learn more and sign up.

📷 @sdwritersink

#natureinspiredwriting #creativewriting #nature #earth #inspiration #creativity #writingworkshop #naturewriting #sandiego

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Christina M. Burress

NATURE INSPIRED WRITING

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