A Winter Solstice Sandwich

In my mind, I had romantic visual plans for today. I would walk to the park as the first light of Winter Solstice filtered through the trees. The wreath of pussytoes I had created this ~~spring~~ summer would be displayed on the sparse covering of sparkling snow. From there, an airy breeze would lift the seed puffs and disperse them to become future native seedlings living again within their natural habitat. And I would photograph the experience artfully.

Instead, I have just awoken from a noon day nap. The weather app is still clocking in at a sunny and more reasonable -16ºC. The flu/cold I contracted shortly after last week’s dramatic morning-recess-supervision-during-a-snow-squall, is starting to subside, and the only artful thing I have created today is to make myself a sandwich. The bread was stunning both visually and gastronomically; however, you will have to take my word for it. To photograph it now would be suspect: just a plate of crumbs and one small triangle of spinach (by now even that has disappeared).

I am grateful to have this day stretch out slowly, even in its natural light shortness. My memory is stumbling and it is comforting to have a record of terrestrial activities to ground me in the idea that somewhere in my mind, there is a crumb of creativity ready to spring forth and visually express itself again.

And the wreath? Maybe it will show up here again sometime. But not today. There is too much snow right now to think that seeds would make contact with the ground anyway – perhaps future food for a critter instead?

(I see that now I have the option to improve this post with AI. I did not. The only literary crutch I used was a dictionary and thesaurus.)

Summer indulgences

Before I begin this post, I am aware that I have chosen platforms for digital public consumption that are not/no longer popular. Until I figure out where this site will go, thank you for reading.

One month into summer, and my mindset towards creative productivity has progressed from a rushed box checking activity to small daily instances of exercising curiousity about process and what works and what needs to be fixed to become sustainable. I am appreciative of this gift of time to slow down and indulge in small acts of making with natural materials along with investigating how to build mental and physical resilience to carry me through the harried months ahead.

I had no time to find special grass for the summer solstice crown that Josefin Waltin invited her readers to make, as I was still in the weeds of ending the school year. School ended, June 30th arrived and the Clematis macropetala was beginning its overly enthusiastic, rapid botanical encasement of its disproportionately small trellis. Due to rain, the Antennaria rosea flowers had become a mat of bended boughs over their leaf mat base. Still wanting to be a creative participant to this interesting to me-welcome summer ritual and feeling this needed to be properly created before July, I grabbed some clematis vine, mowed down the pussytoes and began bending, weaving, figuring a summer wreath of native and non-native flora. The result:

Create a basic wreath from clematis vine, weave pussytoe stems into spaces and place on a flat, porous surface to dry.
When it dries, you will have a dandelion-like surprise!

Impatience followed me into my solar dying with solidago experiment. On June 15 (before summer!) I carefully hand selected goldenrod blossoms from the small stand being attentively attended by bees. I grabbed a small hank of what I thought was vintage silk – a gift from my mom’s stash – and dutifully mordanted it with kitchen alum. Solar dyeing enthusiasts suggest placing dye material in a bag for convenience and it all went tidily into a small jar which enjoyed sunshine and heat on our window sill for 13 days (until the impatience kicked in). The result was a pale butter yellow colour which turned into a sturdy yarn for spinning (and which I quickly found out from the texture, was mohair!).

The process of solar dyeing is fun and relatively easy.

Today is the last day of July and I would like to say that my summer thus far has been a buzz of creative activity. Instead, I have spun yarn almost every day and feel like I have come closer to solving some life problems, begun to feel rested and currently have a pot of slug chewed Gaillardia aristata leaves simmering on the stove. (I am hypothesizing an uninteresting green natural dye.) The stems of the blanket flower will be grateful nonetheless to be released from the unusually lush bunch of leaves that has been growing with such an unusually wet summer. I guess it teaches me that when we all have a little more space (indulgent or not), we have the ability to do better.