hedge stuff - my liminal Medicine

This is Sam. Sam's a cat.

Hail ‘n’ welcome to February, the longest month of the year.

That’s my relationship with this month, and that’s hedge stuff. Given the year-long verve of January, that also flew by in a flash (hedge stuff), I’m wondering how many years February will take before delivering March (also hedge stuff).

The full moon of this day is in Leo, and I pull the IV of swords (hedge stuff), so I’m feeling a bit conflicted and comforted by this (more hedge stuff). As linear time rolls from one month to the next, I engage ritual that gives attention to my personal hedge work, to the liminality of/in life as I perceive it. I conjure my list of cognitive dissonances (as I say) that express the hedge for me; so-called opposites. This monthly observance has been mighty Medicine to me for years, and I draw on the wisdom and warnings that are offered from that work in the hedge.

Today the temps might get up to 21℉ which, given the temps of the past week, might feel like a bit of heatwave (hedge stuff).

I’ll be starting Rose Milkweed (Asclepias incarnata) seeds today, a lovely reminder of how the seasons and “garden” work are not linear as some seem to insist. My experience knows that planting ‘n’ harvesting hold space and place year ‘round. So today I deliver these seeds to a small flat of soil, place the flat in the unheated greenhouse, and fully tuck it in a blanket of snow; below, above, and all around. Over the coming weeks (a month+) these seeds will experience “cold stratification” which the Rose Milkweed require in order to sprout (hedge stuff).

If you live where winter cold ‘n’ snow are happening and have poppy seeds, now is a nice, easy time to “plant” them. I toss them atop the snow where they experience that “cold stratification” that poppies also need, and as the snow thaws those beloved seeds descend toward the earth where they’ll eventually sprout and take root (hedge stuff, again).

Lots of hedge stuff for me today, and with it I recall the closing line of Desiderata, “With all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world. Be cheerful. Strive to be happy.” (hedge stuff, indeed).

Peace.

Change

 

This past week I’ve been sinking into the Medicine (and privilege) of my daily living. Appreciating the small things of home and hearth are Good Medicine for me, especially when occurrences outside my sphere of influence are profuse and expansive, some rooted in recognizable reality, some seemingly performative, some intentional distractions, and some just fucking, horrific mysteries.

I sink, sink, sink into my personal patterns and rituals to regulate my inner life (and nervous system), to ground myself, and to create space to consider life events (mine and… ours) in a way that might offer some sense, some heart, some comfort.

That’s where I’ve been this past week. My pre-dawn ritual of journaling ol’ school with book ‘n’ pens has been extra-heavy in doodling, which is a salve to that regulating I mention in the last paragraph. This morning I penned some words that landed. Know what I mean?

I wrote: it’s hard to jot the words - the feels - sometimes… maybe because - at present - the feels are in constant motion.

This simple realization is ripe with personal perspective that I recognize in the present (for sure), and in the past 10 years or so, and in my youth. Since I was a kid I’ve consistently been willing to learn, re-learn, evolve. I recall my mom saying to me, right around the time I moved from teens to twenties, “You’ve changed.” If memory serves, I responded with something like, “Yes, I’m growing. Isn’t that great?” She was not amused.

There’s this disquieting social norm I’ve heard my whole life; that change is hard. And it’s most often expressed with resentment, anger even. Change can be hard, for sure, but it’s necessary to life. It is life. Right?

I’ve shared a shit-ton of time with and in Nature since childhood. Heck, I’m a Gaia devotee. And one unwavering gem of wisdom that repeats, and repeats, is that change is life. It’s likely why I’ve expressed, for decades, that change is my most constant companion.

So right now, it’s not the whirlwind of change that’s unnerving me, it’s the whirlwind of feelings that aren’t able to land, ground, take root.

It’s unsettling. And while it feels familiar, it feels like new territory for me. I’m changing. I’m growing. Hope you are too.

Peace.

This world

Sharing my daily activities feels so, so frivolous, to say the least. These feelings are pre-existing. I felt them before I conjured my recent attempt to write and share again. I've been feeling them for several years. And these leaden feels sink, sink, sink so deep as I witness these days we share in real time.

Remember to breathe. 

Today, that's all I got.

Peace. 

Time

Today I made time.

Time for a leisurely morning, which is typical.

Time to activate a levain for tomorrow’s dough. Or maybe tonight’s dough.

Time for a meaningful astrological reading with the inspired Lydia.

Time to make the weekly-ish quart of yogurt.

Time to prep a loaf of bread with the remaining batch of this week’s sourdough to bake after lunch. This will be enJOYed for dinner with the split pea soup that’s already made... made with stock from a piece of homemade smoked pancetta that was drying too fast (for reasons that plum evade me). Soup enriched with home-canned pork. Both porky goodnesses from our beloved Farmer Kelley of Howling Flats Farm. Soup that was inspired by a friend’s request, a quart of which will be delivered to him tomorrow.

Time to pull out the seed box.

Time mixed in to tidy here ‘n’ there.

Time to read, time to journal, and - now - time to couch it with some knitting and motion picture bingeing.

This may seem like a lot to some folks, and documenting like this accentuates a perceived grandness, and that can be magical motivation, as well as a pat on the back - the documenting, that is. Try it. *nods* But most of these are routine activities that are second nature to me, so their manifesting is simple, and as leisurely as my morning.

And speaking of time, “new year” blessings to you. As I shared with some folks earlier today… may 2026 overflow with so many blessings for you, for all you love, for all they love, ad infinitum.

Peace.

Good Medicine, Then and Now...

Twenty-four years ago, on this day, I published my first blog entry. At some point along the way I started to publish a daily entry called "What I Made Today." Some days my daily makings were quite grand. Other times I simply made it through the day. This old pattern of daily makings, with the many nuanced variations, continue to this day. I just don't publish them. They're often part of my daily journaling, which is a blend of words and visual expressions (like the one you see here).

This practice offers me a way to record and explore the ordinary and, dare I say, extraordinary aspects of my daily life. It offers a way to flesh out potential meaning and value (or the lack of).

It's Good Medicine.

And I enjoyed sharing that Medicine.

I consider this - the Medicine bit - and wonder why I don't revive the practice of sharing it. I've attempted such revivals, in various forms, yet none have taken root. And again, I wonder why. 

So that's where I am: Wondering. It's a familiar place. Very familiar. It's what I do. I wonder. 

I reflect on this blogiversary day, and the history/Medicine therein. I consider the numerology of the coming year (another familiar/daily practice). I mull over the collective verve of the impending calendar-flip to 2026. I vex at how such sharing might feel in this current world, a world so very different from the one of 24 years ago.

I don't know what this all means. I don't know if any attempts at revival will take root. I don't know much. That's a fact. But I do know when the Big Mystery (as I say) tugs at me, it's good to listen, and best to respond.

We shall see. We shall see...

Peace.

The Hedge of Summer Autumn

 

I've been incubating this summer, in a mostly solitary manner. But today, today...

Autumn arrives this afternoon on the patch of earth to which we steward, tend, and love so deeply. This patch of earth - and every stretch of her - is beloved kin; kin to which I am devoted.

The backyard farming tasks that sustain this patch of earth, and us - all of us - are ramping up now; a ramping up that (historically) continues to accelerate deep into October, winding down in November, and dwindling into the winter months, though never stopping, even after the snow falls .

The last few days of kitchen witchery have been focused on canning soups; “stuffed” cabbage soup, “stuffed” pepper soup, and harvest vegetable soup. Today’s focus will be on the green beans, along with other harvest-to-kitchen-to-pantry efforts. Then there will be time in the gardens where summer squashes await attention, along with eggplant, tomatoes, peppers, tomatillos, broccoli tops, basils, and more. And these harvests will inspire more kitchen magick.

I love every season, especially the one I'm in at the moment I'm in it. Know what I mean? I feel that love beyond my roots this morning. And with this, I feel a part of me stirring, as if awakening from a long, deep, dream-sleep. It feels good and right on this hedge-day that holds summer and autumn together in the heart me, in the heart of this patch of earth, in the heart of life-harvests, in the heart of Gaia, in the heart this world that we share.

Make a moment to pause, breathe, to take in the goodness, the gladness, the gratitude. Take it in. All the way in. Today. And every day.

Peace.

Leaning on Spring's Sill to Summer

This morning marked our first pea harvest. I sat on the deck, in the shade of the red umbrella, shucking these darlings, then blanched them. This beloved ritual yielded two pints for the freezer, plus some extra for nibbling. They’re so good.

This morning also marked the garlic scape harvest. The lesser-ripe, tender scapes went into making Maneuljjong Muchim (Spicy Garlic Scapes), an new annual ritual that started about two years ago when I discovered the recipe. It’s sitting in the fridge to macerate ‘til supper time. This seasonal dish is so freakin’ good, and it’s only here during the garlic scape season. I’ll be savoring it like a delicious madness to hold in my brain and heart ‘til - gods willing - next year this time. And those lesser-ripe scapes will be blended into a simple pesto to preserve them in the fridge for future kitchen witchery. Our annual garlic scape pesto rarely lasts long because we use it in all the things.

Yesterday, I finally got some pinto and red beans canned. This has been on my list since the chilly days of early spring. Eight pints of pinto beans canned with onion, garlic, bay leaf, fresh oregano, and fresh epazote (though one jar is in the fridge, ‘cause it failed to seal)… and nine pints of red beans with bay leaf. This morning I washed the jars, scribbled the labels, and will label them all before setting them on the basement pantry shelves.

These efforts feel good because I’ve been struggling with merging will, motivation, and physical ‘n’ mental energy to get things done. Yet here I am, leaning on spring’s sill, sipping iced tea, gazing into summer that arrives tomorrow evening. I offer big gratitude to the waning vernal season, as it, along with beloved Gaia, supported me gently in getting most every vernal seed and seedling into the earth. And when summer arrives with the solstice, I know I’ll be entering the "official" hurry-up-and-wait-season of daily, yet gentle harvesting, preserving and assorted kitchen witchery. Summer's fire ensures that my will, motivation, and energy meld in that gentle way that early summer dictates; harvests happen on Gaia’s schedule, not mine, so I offer thanks for these recent vernal preparations as I look forward to the season of hurry-up-and-wait.

Peace. 

Beloved Medicine

Yesterday was a hard day. It was a heavy day made of granite formed of all things troublesome. Or so it felt. Mental and emotional energies where in overload as I processed a sadness born the night before. I puttered as I considered so many considerations. I plugged in occasional distractions hoping they'd offer some relief to the tenseness in my chest, maybe unwind the twist in my gut, and offer some comfort to the tenderness of my being. I journaled in word and in art (of course I did). Shoulder rolls and intentional breath work peppered the day. As did tears. An after-dinner gumdrop coaxed me to relax into the evening, and eventually to sleep.

Today's a new beginning and a fresh start. That's what we tell ourselves, right? Yes, indeedy-do. And yet, what's that belly-tug, and those disquieting whispers?

I'm hoping that it's inspiration, be it gestating, forming, or fully formed. That would be swell. Today is a Friday, and for me it is a day for love. Venerdi, dies Veneris, the day of Venus, of Aphrodite. Friday, the day of Freya. The day of The Cure. Love, damnit. And inspiration.

I have a sense that all that sadness and potential grief that I ingested, digested, absorbed, and assimilated since Wednesday is preparing for phase one of elimination today. I hope so. Phase one, because some details of life can be hard to digest in the first swallow. Heck, I've had troubles that have taken me months, years even, to breakdown into meaningful bits that I can sort into the Work bins or Now, Later, and NeverThankYouVeryMuch... and then, move on, at least for today. This current collection of troublesome particles, varied in size, shape, roughness and smoothness, feel like a collection of those longer-term troubles that linger. And linger. They linger because they need the kind of attention that requires re-ingestion, re-digestion and re-absorption, re-assimilation, as well as be subjected to additional rounds of re-elimination. Not to mention potential repeats.

That's where I am. So I'll start my day with collecting all those troublesome bits, placing them in a box made of heart and mind to put on the shelf with other such boxes, to go through on another day (most likely several). Today is for love, and I'll be doing my best to make room for all things love, loving, and lovely, as I do every Friday. Maybe, just maybe, I'll peek into that box in the bright light of day to see if any tender glimmers catch on any of those bits. That could be nice. That could be a sweet and loving inspiration, and a spark that might ignite the magick and Medicine I need today. Tomorrow. And so on.

With that, may whatever troubles you hold be faced with bold candidness, big love, and a well-tuned digestive system that keeps the sustenance you need, and that releases the shit.

And may your never lose your sense of humor, for it is beloved Medicine.

🕊