this then is life,
here is what has come to the surface
after so many throes and convulsions
how curious! how real!
underfoot the divine soil,
overhead the sun

Walt Whitman

i have judy martin to thank for this ever so apt quote. my north country living has morphed and i’m living closer to town, but still out, up in elevation some and south of the county seat. i moved amidst huge misunderstanding, many extended deadlines, high tension, chaos and, i’ll admit, despair, finding that i couldn’t live well with my beloved in a small house was earth shattering, not understanding the who we are ourselves and how we need space and quiet in order to be ourselves and content admittedly wasn’t according to plan. but what has happened instead is that i have a sweet house by a sweet river, close to town but rural, and now that i’ve exorcized the former owner’s negative presence this place is relaxing into my life. so if the date above doesn’t change, it’s now the 17th.

amazing how things can go so wrong and then right themselves. this happened, i am witness, this month, to me.

my land includes the foundation on the right, and the water to the center of the river, if one can '“own” a river or the land for that matter. three acres here, along a feisty and changeable river, aptly named little.

there are strange things about this house, hot water heat pings and bangs and gurgles. my new appliances are not the coolest, but they match this old fashioned farmhouse.

first snowfall of any account on a sugar maple

a neighbor who is also an old friend came by with a loaf of delicious bread, and a some blackberry jelly, and a welcome greeting, and another new neighbor came by offering to plow me out, making my life so much easier.

each night before i climb in bed i open my window and listen to the river sing, soon i will fall asleep to the tune of this place. for now, though, i’m thinking about bones, how they hold me together, how they hold so much together, how the heron skull and that deer pelvis both tell me something, talking of place.

i’ve long wanted to purchase a copy of claire van vliet’s edition of bone songs, and throwing caution to the wind I bought the small book. then found a copy of claire’s book in the vellum and case paper slip case in australia and purchased it. it’s substantial and a book absolutely certain of itself. as she often does, claire invented the structure for the book, poems and drawings, and oh, my…it’s a perfect book.

on my makeshift kitchen table are two found bones, one from hereabouts, a deer pelvis, and one from colorado, an elk vertebra. these to have me thinking about the conversations they have. i’ve even thought about covering them in ochre slurry, instead i’m writing poems and making gesture drawings. they, in turn, keep the noise down when i’m here doing work for my online slu book arts class and encourage me: memento mori.

the former owner had this place for a year before she had a chimney fire and then left. she wasn’t suited, she put in gigantic dark ceiling fans, lowered ceilings, painted most of the house a cold (fortunately pale) steely blue before she packed up and left. the old owners had a love for this place; see this little upstairs detailing where the two sections of the house meet in an ell? it’s not fancy, but it’s done with care. and there’s even a knotty pine den.

artifacts found by melissa when she brought the furniture

i was given a retired couch and chair for the living room, and am still trying to purchase shelves and get the in-house studio in order. and looking for a kitchen table…all of the stuff sold when i moved has to be replaced, which is annoying. i haven’t found some things, the toaster, breadboard, wooden spoons, salt and pepper mills. but it’s coming together. and i can sleep on my uncomfortable new mattress,

after moving, when i was full of despair, i cut off the nasty ends of my hair, and all that was there was a tiny bundle about four inches long. everytime i cut my own hair, though, it makes me happy. with the time and space (and a bunch of work to finish) it feels like it can be done. escaping to maine for the holidays with my daughter and returning to find that all was lightening and changing was more than relief. it’s a chance to make things good. so this is my job for the new year, making things good, remaking relationship, refinishing the things in the house that were done without care, finishing the workshop, opening up this home to be like the place it once was. and me, i’m trying to find out how to make work here in a place that feels like it wants me, i’ve had several opportunities, some grant money, teaching and exhibiting on the horizon. my heart is full of gratitude and joy has returned, ever so tentatively, but for sure. thank you for coming by to visit. I may have more to say, poems have begun to sing in my skull once again. it feels lighter and more real. may you keep safe and healthy. (and no politics here tonight? HURRAH! the times they are a changing.)