Airport Edition

One of these days I'll learn to wear less jewelry when going through security screenings.


That's probably not true.

But what is true is that Seattle knows how to do airports right:
(one) The coffee shops are spaced approximately every 200 feet, offer rice milk, and every single one has a line out the door.
(two) Approximately every 400 feet, there are signs reading "cocktails!" that point to the nearest bar establishment along with the estimated time it will take one to walk there (apparently there are some serious cocktail emergencies here and WHY I ask you does the DMV not follow this model?).


All of this to say I'm heading down to California for a long weekend to meet up with a couple ladies who are just my types.  See you soon birds!
 ~ Umber ~

A Small but Mighty Forest

ReWild-ing Rings
(sterling silver and - left to right - malachite, Kingman turquoise (reserved), chrysocolla with malachite(reserved), and lastly, more malachite (reserved)!)

Birthed during a beautiful talk with a friend about the need to rewild our hearts and souls, how to share a deep love for the earth and her flora and fauna in a way that feels accesible and freeing.  Afterwards, I couldn't help but bring a whole forest into the studio.

I'll be listing these babies in the shop sometime tomorrow; until then inquiries and reserves are welcome!
* * *

On the subject of Migratory Patterns

On the long, 14 hour drive from the wild Northern California coast to the [glorious but unseasonable] golden warmth of Seattle, I had plenty of time for deep thoughts.  There were also a few rousing and crass rounds of "dead or alive" via walkie talkies with BC, but today I'm here to share the physical fruits of those silent and solo thoughts.

I feel as though I've flow north, both literally and figuratively, for a season of life-summer.  The last few years in California felt like a winter of body and soul, a time to pull back, to heal, to rest in the solitude of my little cave, to gestate on thoughts and goals and divine ideas.  

But now?  It's time to gather, time for action, time to rejoin community, time for growing sleek and examining all those ideas in the light of day.

This brings me to think about soul seasons.  Naturally, we all shift through seasons with the earth, but I think the soul runs on a time all its own.  A winter may last three years, skip spring entirely and dive straight into high summer.  We may harvest every good fruit we've produced only to wake the next morning to find the tree of our heart laden and full for the picking again.  Likewise, times may be lean and it's all we can do to wrap up tighter and just stay warm.  This makes a period of hibernation almost mandatory!  How freeing is that!

As I pierced and hand-sawed every single little hoof print, I felt myself migrating.  With every track, striding a bit farther north, into a depth of sun I just now realize I've been missing, hearing the calls and chatter of my tribe.  Of course summer will not last forever, but for right now, I'm ready to embrace it.

Migratory Patterns

earrings ~ sterling silver and copper

rings ~ 100% sterling silver

(heading to the shop momentarily...)

If you feel so bold, I'd love to hear where you are.  Spring?  Autumn?  In a week that had contained them all?  Wherever you are, know that you are exactly where you need to be at this very moment, not too late, not too long, but exactly right.

It's good to be back with you!  

~ Umber ~

Have a gorgeous weekend birds!  May your days be full of brunch dates and soul-fire and spicy autumnal leg wear!

It should be noted that the grass here is relatively spider free.
This is a really huge deal.
Living in the wilds in Northern California we had no shortage of land-space, tangled and native and ungroomed as it were.  With this, apparently, comes gobs and gobs of spiders.  There is a chapter from Annie Dillard in Pilgrim wherein she muses on the numerical breakdown of living organisms in a single square foot of earth below her toes.  I often wryly contemplated this as I stood [still a bit uncomfortably] on a safe thickness of shoe sole and noted the sheer number and variety of the arachnids scurrying about on whatever business a spider happens to have on a Wednesday afternoon at three p.m.  I tell you what, it's not boot shopping.  Which is what I'd be doing if I had eight feet to shod.  And a fresh hole in my favorite pair (promise, this is the last of my boot woes you'll hear about).
Now, here at home in Seattle the turf is a dry, autumnal blend of grasses and deep spongy moss.  I never want to wear shoes again.
~ SIDE NOTE ~ 
Has any one else dressed for work on a late summer day, gathered their lunch and water, popped in the car, drove across town and JUST before stepping out onto the molten pavement realized YOU HAD FORGOTTEN TO WEAR SHOES?   This has happened to me.  Twice.
~ Back to the real thoughts ~
I took the dogs for their run this afternoon, and upon arriving home, couldn't help but lay myself out on that thick pad of greenery below the apple tree.  I thought about that square foot, and I was so flipping proud of Nature.  That the earth, even here surrounded by children in double strollers wielding soggy crackers , construction workers in dirty white shirts, herds of teenagers looking mall-ishly rasta, and even my own mailman Pat*, even here is thick with life.  The land is RICH.  It nearly vibrates with the thunder of my footsteps and the sweet fermentation of rotting apples.  I know if I but dug my fingers into the soil I would find a host of beating, climbing, crunching, rolling little beings.  And while they may be no beauties, just knowing they are there brings a comfort.
It's not enough for me to see pictures of trees, or even to paint them.  It's not enough to say "yes, nature is over there, I'm sure of it." I need it to stain my skin, tangle my hair, co-mingle in my pores, because my own nature is too wild for anything else.
I suppose this is my mission and my wish for this next chapter; to be a little unruly, to flick my tail at the neighbors, to wear lichen and stretch my wings ever wider.

* * *
*  Pat just filled out the "who can receive mail at this address" tag inside our box to say "Clark / Dove"  Can I tell you how much I love this?)

The Seattlite

This morning I took a turn about the property while the skies still dripped and the squirrels tormented the dogs.  I can not even express my gratitude to the powers that be that this odd patch of city-proper property is large enough to warent a turn!  Truly it feels like a mini forest, green and deep, that just happens to be exactly one block from a sweet little coffee shop and a pretty major grocery.  I had only hoped for a compromise this gentle, for a place to live that would feel easy on this wildish soul.
Durring my turn, I also discovered a rather tragic hole in the side of my boots which resulted in a squishy wet sock, but truly just means I need to go boot shopping pronto (I know, serious first world problems... poor me and my boot collection.  p.s. don't judge me).
At night I lay in bed listening to the pull of wind and the slosh of rain for hours.  We've had the bedroom window open, which means the breeze blows in and travels approximately ten inches to my nose, and smells like Jesus on toast.  I don't even know what that means, but it's spicy and damp and green and crisp and I love it.

* * *
Last Saturday when we held a little "come help us unload the moving truck and we'll treat you to lunch and day drinking," a dear friend stood in the center of the living room amid towering piles of boxes, bags, barely enough room to wind a path, and announced that our things already seemed to fit this house.  I have to agree.  It's all coming together surprisingly easily.  A few days ago I repainted the living room from a mustard-ketchup combination (not terrible, but crimson walls just don't feel like me) to a luscious "Retro Avocado" and a color found in the Home Depot "oops" department that looks like the pale greenie-yellow heart center of a white dalhia. 

* * *
I know Seattle has a rap for grey skies and daily drizzles.  I'm here to tell you that while this is true, summers in the Pacific Northwest are a glory to behold.  Right now as I type the sunlight is pouring in the windows, illuminating every nook and cranny.  I don't believe I'll even need to turn on a light when I set to work in the studio today for the first time; have I mentioned that room is more windows than walls?  Big, wide, triple paned original 1920's windows?  It's swoonable.  I think some good work will come out of that space.  

* * *
(from my sketchbook writings, early September 2012)
The light is slanting through the front door windows in a full spectrum on morning chroma.  Dust particles, microscopic detritus, even the inevitable dog hair floating in those beams, they all cause me to stop in my tracks and take in the rising sun.  East.  This is a new beginning, a new turn, a new day, a new chapter and that prismacolored light sums up my feelings about this new house.
Last night in those same beveled panes I studied a magnificent moth illuminated by the porch light.  She caused me to remember BC's words in my moments of angst over the urban life: "It doesn't matter where you are, you'll still find nature, you'll still call it to you."  I can rest easier at night in those words. This plot, this patch of land, a venerable oasis in the city, feels magical.  Like old magic.  The wizened apple tree at the western base of the property, the cedar out front,  the pine to the south; I have no doubt these trees remember when the ridge was a thick expanse of rolling green.  They were young when the foundations of this house were laid, they watched as decades past, homes and families coming and going.  When I put my hands on them, they feel ancient and warm.
I've decided I will love this place.

* * *
I've missed you my friends.
It feels good to be back.

And so the transition comes

It's Time.
To fly the nest.
To stretch new wings.
To step into the unknown with courage.
To trust.

I'm signing off and officially, officially packing up the house.  We've had a wild, nutty, jam-packed week of house guests and friends, cooking and consuming over five dozen homemade falafel (that's the kind of house guests I'm talking about), a week of doctoral appointments and the running of every check-up test I could be squeezed (heehee, pun so intended) in for, and now it's time.  The house is quiet and the skies are grey, and we're noticing all the lasts.
The last time we'll have a leisurely breakfast on this deck overlooking the river.
The last time I'll buy a house plant from the shady corner market (it was an aloe, and yes I bought another plant just this last week).
The last time I'll fire up my torch in this studio, the last painting I'll dance my brushes over here.
The last time I'll take the dogs running on the river trail.
The last time we'll make the 20 minute drive into town for espresso.
The last time we'll live in this house.

Honestly it feels, well, whole.  Bitter-sweet but sweeter with every day.  I feel like I've had more time to say goodbye to this place than perhaps ever before in a move, and thusly I'm more ready than ever to finish those last couple lines, slowly and gratefully, and turn the page to a fresh new chapter.  And this next chapter?  I've got a thousand glittering butterflies beating their wings in my stomach, knowing that what comes next is big, bolder, and exactly where we are suppose to be.

With that,
I'll see you in a couple weeks, once we're settled into our new home, once I've found the mokka espresso pot and the stemless wineglasses, and once the studio is taking new life.
I'll miss you!
But I'll be back!


See you on the north side,
~ Umber ~
* * *

p.s. For those who have written in this past week, know that I'm running dreadfully behind on interwebular correspondance but will do my best to catch up before the move!  If you haven't heard back from me soon, please do resend your note!  It's highly likely I've lost it in the chaos!