learning from flowers

literally

The Crocuses have arrived.

They are the first blooms of spring.

I learned this walking an old dog around an old park every day for many years.

Crocuses a few doors drown the street from my place.

You can feel the silent rumble of frost melting from the Earth’s bones beneath the soil.

As I watch, cozy, grey mornings slip into crisp, sunny, waning dusks.

The minutes quietly, relentlessly, peacefully slipping beyond.

The Forsythia outside our kitchen window was the next to flower. The gay, bold, explosion of a rich, yellow egg yoke steeped in sunshine.

I just learned to identify this herald of spring last year and was pleasantly surprised to discover we had one in our very own backyard.

I spent a quiet morning humming to myself, listening to city morning life, and harvesting blossoms. As instructed, I made sure to spread out my haul, so that I wasn’t inhibiting the plant’s ability to thrive, and ensuring that there was plenty of food left over for the pollinators who rely on these early bloomers to relieve them from winter’s austere bounty.

Foraging from our backyard Forsythia. While gingerly picking blossoms I found the body of a dead bee. She probably climbed up into the blossom to sleep somewhere protected from the cold, but when the temperature dropped too low over night, she never woke up.

I made a Forsythia-infused Honey Water that can be added to teas and cocktails, or even reduced for a thicker syrup to drizzle on desserts or pastries.

Magnolia’s blossoms can be used in this way. Infused into syrup. They can also be pickled, but they are summer loves and won’t be here to display their thick, dinner-plate-sized petals for another couple of months yet.

In just the last few days the Cherry Trees have burst from their reaching wintery-brown, naked bodies into the pillowy, soft-pink gowns of oh-so-many blossoms. These are the sweethearts of spring in the northwest. At this very moment, the university campus is turning into a cathedral of white and blushing exuberance that draws even the least botanical students out of their books and into the world for a bit.

Portland has devoted an entire waterfront park to a gauntlet of Cherry Trees that transform the path along the bank into a cinematic backdrop perfect for first dates and picnics with friends. When a breeze comes up off the river, the silent dance of petals floating down from the bows overhead is nothing short of magical.

A pair of Cherry Tree twins stand like too-friendly guardians down the stairwell from my neighbor’s front door.

Why all this talk of flowers, Theora?

As I’ve spent less time learning about manmade things, I’ve found myself learning from nonmade things. Things grown. Things being. Things dying. Things waiting.

The wise, natural cycle of mending and being reborn.
The messy, magically sophisticated organization of Life.
The non-urgency of seasons breathing themselves from one to the other.

While we worry about things we’ve mostly made up in our minds (saying the wrong thing, wearing the right clothes, making money, chasing notoriety…) there is an entire natural World that exists slowly, intelligently, collaboratively all around us. It’s only recently that I’ve learned to get quiet enough, still enough, curious enough to see the colossal library of lessons patiently awaiting my attention.

I’m still savoring Braiding Sweetgrass, one chapter at a time, and what started as a passing thought, has become my next creative venture.

Kimmerer’s storytelling helped me give myself permission to garden once again. I did it passionately in college for a few years but it hurt my heart to leave my gardens behind each time I moved into a new, boisterous, hopefully-cheaper house.

I’m here to be an artist, with Earth as my collaborator.

To have dirt under my nails more days than not.

To give love, attention, time, songs, and secrets to something that gives back all those things in a language I am eager to understand.

“People often ask me what one thing I would recommend to restore relationship between land and people. My answer is almost always, “Plant a garden.” It’s good for the health of the earth and it’s good for the health of people. A garden is a nursery for connection, the soil for cultivation of practical reverence… Something essential happens in a vegetable garden. It’s a place where if you can’t say ‘I love you’ out loud, you can say it in seeds. And the land will reciprocate, in beans.”
- Robin Wall Kimmerer
from Braiding Sweetgrass: Indigenous Wisdom, Scientific Knowledge, and the Teachings of Plants

Invitations:

I am teaching a workshop with a dear friend at Pranify Yoga Studio this Sunday, March 26th from 2:30-4:30.

Whether you’re introverted or extroverted, shy or outgoing, kicking butt at life or navigating an existential crisis, community and belonging are essential to our well-being.

As an adult, making friends is different than when we were younger and for most people it has been harder. Especially after quarantine.

Just like we do our careers, our romantic relationships, or our health… we can invest in making friends as an adult - as the version of you that you are today - in a way that is intentional, fun, adventurous, and most importantly - authentically, relaxedly you.

In this workshop you will:
- map out a compelling vision to guide you towards the spaces and experiences where you’ll find your people
- learn what creates a true sense of belonging
- reframe rejection to build up a compassionate resilience when a connection isn’t the right fit
- walk away with a made-for-you plan of what to do to put yourself in the path of new connections that light you up!
- maybe even make a few new friends that live right here in Seattle ; )

Register Here!

Little Gifts:

1. I first learned about Forsythia syrup from Alexis Nikole Nelson, the Black Forager. Her videos are not only educational but amazing serotonin inducers. I delight in them and love learning amazing plant lore from her.

2. Why am I capitalizing flowers and animals and natural entities? This video explains it best. They are becoming my teachers. Persons and personalities in my life. Beings that give so freely to me - their beauty, their bounty, their company. I am learning how worthy they are of our attention and intention.

3. The birdsong too has changed. Chickadee and Nuthatch and Crow are my most vocal and abundant neighbors. I like the moments when we notice each other. I stop and smile. They peer back gauging me with less delight but no less curiosity. It’s special to share an inconsequential minute with a wild thing. It’s somehow everything important to life all wrapped up in an easy-to-miss

4. “There is not one pink flower, or even fifty pink flowers, but hundreds. Snowflakes, of course, are the ultimate exercise in sheer creative glee. No two alike. This creator looks suspiciously like someone who just might send us support for our creative ventures.” — Julia Cameron

5. This week’s song: