every morning after i do yoga in the arbor i pick an apple or two from the orchard and walk up the hill to the tower where i slice them and eat them with peanut butter. i have nothing to complain about............ but sometimes i still do.
if you check this thing with any regularity you know some stuff about my life and my days, the people i love, the food i cook, the dogs i meet. there is much that i don't censor. and more that i do. sometimes people give me topics to write about, or make requests, sometimes i write things for people in my life on my own volition, mostly i write silly shit and try to be funny. occasionally i have something to say. today i've been thinking.
so this is a blog right? it's on the freakin world wide web. yet it never ever fails to shock and fluster me when someone tells me they've been reading it. it never fails to surprise me when i try to tell someone something in conversation and they already know it from reading my blog. it's like as soon as i post it i forget completely that it's now up for review, interpretation, and analysis. i do this, i share this, without ever even thinking about the viewing of it. i just put it out there and put it out of mind.
how could i not think about it? well... i'm not really that self-aware i guess. i feel like too much self-awareness would kill this thing. it's meant to be free, honest, fun and.... just...me. it is my record of time passing. i don't like to think about any audience. i never want to know just how many hits i get.... but lately i have been thinking about the potential consequences of what i post more and more. it's tripping me the fuck out.
this project started out as something fun to do - a challenge to myself to get myself shooting more. as it grew it quickly morphed into an obsession; at least one photo everyday. then expanded into a more perfect form of expression, with the writing and all... now my unvoiced ambitions for it, although vague, are getting loftier. i really wanna see where this little project can go. where i can go. i am curious to see what happens as i continue to travel, continue to document, continue to make friends and pick up homes, and families and readers.... how many ways can one person move through the world? how many people can be affected by it? by each other? how connected are we?
how connected are we?
it is a question that thrills me, and scares me, because i am starting to see how connected i am in ways that i was completely unaware of. even simply through the feedback i receive from this project i am starting to see the tiniest bit of what connectivity there is, or could be. what it all means matters less to me. what will happen is a complete unknown... but i hope you are a part of it.
and i love you. xo
p.s. i realize that this post is self-indulgent, self-aware, and self-important. i'm imperfect. i can only hope to continue being painfully honest about shit and hoping that it turns on more people than it turns off.
you know you're in the hills when saturday night entertainment consists of a structure fire, a truck fire, and then a brush fire. when everyone brings their kids to watch and the firemen hand out beers.
(no one was harmed in the burning of this trailer.)
i have to pinch myself about 100 times a day these days because here at new home number seven everything is like a cartoon fairytale. every morning after drinking coffee in the early, easy, autumn light we walk up the beautiful trail, past the beautiful arbor and the beautiful coy pond, through the beautiful woods to the beautiful tower. here we stay, ensconced like crazy princesses, spinning straw into gold. everything here is beautiful......
today charlie and i went adventuring. we took eli. it was pretty fun. we didn't find any chaneterelles, however we did find a pumpkins spider, two weird fuzzy rollypolly's, lots of not good mushrooms, some huckleberry's, some blackberry's, some good apples, some not so great apples, a pond, many good trees, traces of elk and also deer, relics of an ancient forest, a melted wasps nest, an elk skull, bear hair, bay leaves and a blue jay feather.
"...the farm is at the end of the road, the top of the hill, the farthest you can go. it consists of a beautiful little house under a tree; down a rolling lawn littered with apple and pear trees sits a chicken coup, and nestled in the woods at the edge of it all is the sewing cabin, where devin has his music and dead bugs. where we sleep in a dirty cozy nest in the loft. where poetry is written on the fridge in magnets and the outdoor shower lives next to the new clothesline.
the views are spectacular, the trees are immense, the light is amazing....."