in all truth.
i didn't want to get into the garden today.
life's had me stretched thread-bare.
and i didn't feel like tending anything.

but my thoughts drifted.
to little roots growing bound in sprouting containers.
and seedlings.
yellowing.
drooping.
out-growing their space.

and then i thought of salads.
fresh.
lush.
garden salads.
and salsa.
and steamed collards.
and the smell of fresh onion.

and out i went.
rolled sleeves.
and worn gloves.
to the sleeping garden.

and as things usually go.
once i was out there.
i was alive.

falling familiar.
into the groove of soil tilling.
and row plotting.

i settled all my seedlings.
and started fast.
on the dandelion harvest.
collecting just enough blooms.
to start infusing dandelion oil.

i found.
long fallen and forgotten.
an old knot.
from my uncles cherry tree.

and inspiration struck hard.

i saw that knot.
sanded smooth.
beeswaxed.
and laden with figs and cheeses.

a new woodworking project.
developing.
in the seconds.
as they passed.

and then the southern wind.
brought wafts of lilac bliss.
from the bush in the corner yard.

i ran.
barefoot.
to its branches.
and snipped an armful of blooms.
for the kitchen.


***

from my reluctance.
birthed forth.
and afternoon.
saturated.
with deep.
cleansing.
fresh air breaths.
and wild doses.
of percolating.
inspiration.

i wrapped a scarf around my neck.
this afternoon.
and took a quick jaunt.
to midtown.

popping into my favorite shop.
to stock up on basil soaps.
and frida kahlo candles.

before visiting the bakery.
for twine-wrapped mozzarella sandwiches.
and kombucha.

i came home.
and sat at the picnic table.
nibbling on lunch.
and savoring a kingsolver novel.

**

a chill is in the air today.
but i'm alright with that.

i feel like the earth.
is back where it should be.

waiting for the warmth.

go west.

the sun warms my shoulders.
through a thin white sweater.

kombucha chills in the refrigerator.
while succulent and guadalupe.
rest in the comfort of shadows.

*

the breeze blows west.
bidding me.

come.
come.

oasis.
waiting.

the warmth of sun and tea.

savoring every.
delicate.
meaningful word.
and image.
in this georgia o'keeffe book.

i sift through it.
sitting in a beam of sun.
on the back porch.
soaking in the warmth.
of the sky.
and the loose-leaf earl gray.
in my desert mug.

**

the chives have sprouted.

i'm standing.
at the edge of another harvest.

fri. sat. sun.

fri. sat. sun::



detroit art.

earthworks community garden.

thrifted van morrison vinyl.

hot crop transplants.

salad-- direct from the garden:
(with homemade poppy seed dressing, goat cheese,
and bagel top w/fresh dill butter)

& a flat-out fabulous read.




sweet .
weekend .
redemption.

:: bread & syrup

my dapples in sunflower seed soda bread.

and dandelion syrup.


both incredibly delicious.




i suggest preparing a batch of the syrup
before dandelion season is past us.

:: the detroit zoo

spent saturday at the detroit zoo.

it rained.

but no worries.

a lovely afternoon was still had by all.

:: without facebook.

i did something dramatic.

sort of.

i deleted facebook.

and while that should have been no big deal.

it was.


calls and e-mails poured in from everyone i knew.


where was my facebook?

did i block everyone?

deleted?!

why did i do it?


and my answer was simple.

because i lived 22 years without it.

and i was ready to live without it again.


i thought at first that it would be hard.

but in actuality-- it's been quite the opposite.


i've found myself genuinely enjoying the smaller things::


like lying there and really, really listening

to the passion and love in johnny & june's voices on vinyl.


or taking the time to read a great book--

one that makes me yearn for a life far, far off the grid.


or diving deep into fabulous cookbooks--

and taking note of the beautiful way the late afternoon light plays off their bindings.


it's been refreshing in other ways too.


when i had breakfast with my friend the other day--

things had happened in her week that i didn't know about.

i hadn't seen any status updates--

so we had so so much to discuss.


and my other friend--

she's pregnant.

so i've missed a few weeks of "bump" pictures.

and what a joy it was to see her in all her beautiful glory for the first time in awhile.


and then i have another friend.

whom i rarely see.

that i panicked over for a split second after i deleted my account.

how would i communicate with her?

facebook was our connection.

and so--

to ease my mind--

i called her.

and we actually talked.

and it was way better than facebook could ever be.




in the teeny-tiniest of ways.

a life without facebook

makes me feel

alive.

:: fri. sat. sun.

a peek into my weekend.



not pictured:

a trip to whole foods.
taco cookluck.
homemade mango-infused iced black tea.
a saturday night filled with the weeks podcasts.
a sunday afternoon with my nephew.
cookbook perusing & this american life.


the best kind of weekend.

:: golden light

the earth is telling us something.

between the quakes.
and tsunamis.
and fires.
and tornadoes.

our planet is announcing that it's fed up with it's abuse.

i'd been feeling unsettled.

the weather was so unseasonably cold here.
the skies an ever-evolving shade of gray.
the barely budded trees appeared stunned.
the grass maintained its post-winter yellow hue.
snow accumulated the week i had slotted to plant my seedlings.

i had a moment of panic.

had we done it?

was this the year that the weather & seasons changed forever?

had mother earth reached her threshold?

would i ever see the sun again?


and then it stormed last night.
winds and rains of typhoon-esque proportions.
the mitten catching the teeny-tiny tail end
of the storms ravaging the south.

and in the morning.
there was sun.

and i arrived home to a street sprinkled with flower petals.
blown about from the neighbors tree.
my block looked like a giant wedding aisle.
the storm acting as the ever-enthusiastic flower girl.

and the sky was blue.
and the flowers pink.
and the grass green.
and the sun shone it's golden light as far as i could see.

and i sighed.
and i breathed deep.

for all we've done--
the earth still graces us with spring.

i am forever thankful.

:: raw kale salad

{via 101 cookbooks}

heidi swanson is a genius.
her blog is pure bliss.
and her books hold a very special place on my shelf.

so it came as no surprise when i happened upon
this fabulous raw kale salad recipe
in her blog archives.


it's a cinch to throw together.
and--might i say--
it tastes incredible.


the perfect spring-y dish.

red garden boots were donned.

the sun made an extended appearance.

the ground was warm and pliable.

each little transplant nestled safely into its bed.

a fresh layer of mulch was applied to the walkway.

and the strawberry plant.

the green yard hose came back to life.

seedlings and seeds, alike, drank deep of the cool water.


there is something so beautiful about the garden.



{cool crops/seeds: kale, cabbage, romaine, leafy green, cabbage, collards, carrots, radishes, spinach, snap peas, strawberries, potatoes}

:: how does your garden grow...

{via}




it's finally upon me.

today.

THE day.


planting day.


dusting off hibernating garden tools.

uprooting little seedlings.

transforming dormant beds.

my soil-stained hands will tell you all about it soon.



thankful for a peek of sun this afternoon.

:: happy feet

i took the plunge.

i went barefoot!

brand new birthday vibrams.

free feet!

:: spring reads

the books keeping me busy this spring.



what are you reading?

::: the glorious return.

it's officially spring.

and for that i breathe a deep sigh of relief.



in my backyard.

in the world around my home.

the earth is trying to soak it all in.

and come back to life.

::: oh mr. sun, sun.....mr. golden sun.

enjoying a GORGEOUS day with:


near 60 degree temps. (waa-hoo!)


laced up running shoes.


new lululemon attire.


homemade orange marmalade.


a garden-- thawing & ready for tending.


and


my new garmin 305.




spring love.