thursday words

This Lenten season I’ve been trying to put my words on paper more often, and have been revisiting some old pieces of poetry to rework them and get my mind working again. This is for my parents.

elk mountain

My father burned 4 trees this season, the winter
unrelenting in its fury. The wood stove seizing any life
left from the logs, forcing heat out of bark and sap,
moisture cracking out of the crevices, echoing
inside the cast iron berth that hulks under
the mantle’s gaze.

You can smell the woodsmoke before you can see
the house. The trees funnel everything- the smoke,
the racket of spring peepers, the light at the end of day.
Sun and moon rise over the same mountain, cyclic,
like life in this hollow. Summers spent tending the earth,
winters spent burning pieces of it- the land keeping us.

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cottage living

IMG_8198-0I woke up to two inches of fresh snow and fog rising off the lake, blending with the mountains and reflecting the morning sun. This weekend was busy and tiring but entirely joy filled. Having a group of kids at camp always lifts my spirits, but this weekend I got to lead the retreat, rather than just be the person at meals. It felt so good to be leading games and songs, watching the kids laugh together and support each other. Spaces like camp are special, important and meaningful & I will never stop believing that.

Today is for rest, after 48 hours of shouting, singing, laughing, skiing and working. The light this morning was stunning and I thought I’d take advantage of it & take a few photos of my little house, and the pieces of it that make it my home.

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This ivy was on the brink of death when I found it outside a cabin this fall. Inside, near my huge picture window, it’s doing much better.

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Ginny bought me these two prints about two years ago, with no knowledge that I’d be moving to Montana in the future. The wood wall hanging is made from trees that grew and were harvested at Mar Lu Ridge, my forever home.

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little comforts.

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plants & mountains, always. (banner by ginny)

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Maybe one day I will make my bed every morning, but that day has not yet come.

I am anxiously awaiting warmer days, when I can eat outside on the porch in the evening, and string my hammock up under the deck. Until then, it’s not a bad spot to watch the snow fall.