A Quiet Start

Winter // Imbolc

Welcome to the new year at Fireside. I’m so grateful you are here.

Last week I posted this, from @laruenoflove, to Instagram:

“The version of you that carried

you through this year,

Somehow, thank her with 

Gratitude before you tell her 

What she can do better in

2024.”

What a lovely place to start. 

I am so very proud of the me that walked, trudged, ran, slithered, slinked, and slept through 2023. She showed me strength I had not yet seen, resilience I hadn’t witnessed before, tenderness that I hadn’t realized existed and a more true, whole version of myself that I’m really quite fond of. 

I learned that in presence I can hold a multitude of truths and emotions at the same time. Where there is grief there is also joy. Where there is destruction there is also beauty. Where there is unknown there is also laughter. Where there is seething pain there is also growth. 

I’ve learned to float on the ocean and be present to the waves. They may thrash me about but I will not drown. My edges are softer as I’ve been shaped and shifted by the pounding water and I’ve come around to be grateful for the sea, no matter the size of the waves. 

At the start of 2023 I tried my hand at manifestation as its hashtag became a roaring trend. Why not try? Why not wish/hope/will into being goodness in my life? I wrote something about how 2023 was going to be the best year yet and then I went on to say specific ways in which it will be great. Friends, 2023 was the hardest year yet. Thinking back to that bold, brave, and naive statement throughout the year,  I would sometimes laugh at her innocence, marvel at her declaration, yearn for her unknowing, and then I would always come back to this question; what makes a year the best one yet? 

If it means ending the year with more resilience then it was the best. If it means I’m more me than I’ve ever been then mission accomplished. If it means loving  and tending to the little Ash inside of me in a way that makes me feel more accepted and enough, then my goodness, it was the best year ever. 

If by proclaiming it to be the best year I intended for that to be free from hardship, pain, and struggle, then this year was a major failure. But I’ve never been why to shy away from hard things as I know that is the very marrow in which depth and soul stretching work lives. 

This year the continual existence of hard things became very apparent to me. It’s perhaps one of the few guarantees we have in this lifetime. My job is not to rush through the hard things to try to reach calmer seas but to stay present to what is. As Kara Lawson, a Duke women's basketball coach says, “It will never get easier. What happens is you learn to handle hard better.” For me part of learning how to handle hard better was; 1. Recognizing that hard is inevitable. It doesn’t necessarily mean I’ve failed or something massively needs to shift. It is what it is; an opportunity, an invitation to dig in and to grow. 2. Even in the midst of the hard times there is joy, beauty, and much to be grateful for. I say that so as not to gloss over the hard but in fact in learning how to stay present in the midst of the suffering I found a spectrum of beauty. In our attempt to categorize and turn everything into a simple declaration; This is good. This is bad. We miss the nuisance, the softness of colors that flourish outside of black and white thinking. 

Walking into 2024 I’m feeling stronger than ever. I mean I sure wouldn’t mind a moment to catch my breath but I know that hard things will come and I will handle them.

Starting Slow

In the Celtic tradition of the Wheel of the Year, here in the northern hemisphere we are in Imbolc. Traditionally it’s a time of reflecting and hibernating, which is ironic considering we now put so much emphasis on January being a great time to start a massive shift in our way of living, set lofty goals, and start new things. Deep within our bodies there is a revolting against such a way of thinking. There’s recent evidence that our ancestors used to hibernate during the cold months in order to survive. I applaud the work of the scientists that found evidence to support that which my body yearns to do; to slink into the couch with tea in hand, watching the winter birds forage for seeds, with a good book in hand, my journal and my latest crochet project nearby. 

Don’t get me wrong, I love any reason to create a fresh start and the first of January does have me thinking about how I want to spend my year but I’ve noticed that as I’ve started to pay more close attention to the world outside my window, I too need a season for my branches to be bare in order for my buds to blossom. My relationship with my own need to be constantly producing has shifted as I’ve learned from the trees, the flowers, the birds, the bugs, and the very wild self that exists within. Rest is not something to earn after you’ve completed everything off of your to-do list, it deserves a spot on that very list. It is what helps us regenerate, stay healthy, active and present. 

In December I read Tricia Hersey’s famed book, Rest is Resistance. 

“You were not just born to center your entire existence on work and labor. You were born to heal, to grow, to be of service to yourself and community, to practice, to experiment, to create, to have space, to dream, and to connect.” 

I recognize my privilege that allows time to rest to come more easily for me than others. Even in that it has taken me years to feel that I earn the space to simply be and there is much more work to do. The natural world has been my greatest teacher in my path to rest. 

In her new book, Slow Seasons, Rosie Steer writes this of Imbolc:

“In the Celtic Wheel of the Year, Imbolc marks the halfway point between the Winter Solstice, Yule, and the Spring Equinox, Ostara. This quiet period should be one of rest and regeneration, not impossible resolutions and self-flagellations. Reflecting compassionately on the past year and quietly planning for what’s to come is a kinder way to start the year.”

Through my own reflections I’ve started the year by gaining clarity on how I want to spend my days. This desire and the reality of bills don’t always mesh well but I’m also learning that when I feel whole and well I’m equipped  to care for others in a way that feels very lovely (ie. not a chore or filled with resentment that can sometimes accompany the tasks I “have to” do). Not always, but often and I count that as a win. 

My current plan is to start each month - or possibly each of the six delineations of the Wheel of the Year, with some focused ideas of how I want to spend my time. I am a serial hobbyist and can languish in “what do I want to do??” for so long that I wind up doing nothing. So now when there’s a moment of quiet I know just which project to reach for. For January my creative focus is centered around crocheting a sweater, practicing botanical sketching, and revitalizing and care for my sourdough starter and a new ginger bug. I’ve created a focus around work, which books I plan to read and my core set of values that I tend to reevaluate every six months or every year. 

If any of what I’ve talked about in this lengthy newsletter rings true then I think you’ll appreciate the resources I’ve collected below. 

To Make:

Ginger Bug:

Winter seems to be the season in which I find the wild in my own home. I do hate being cold and wet and yet I love the gray that blankets these first few months of the year. So I admire the gray from the warmth of my kitchen (except when I bundle up in my new jacket that is basically like wearing a sleeping bag to which my niece said, when she saw me putting it on to wear in public “Wow, you are much braver than me.” and head out for a wintery neighborhood walk). Tending to my ginger bug and my sourdough starter is slowly becoming a bit of a daily ritual, prayer or meditation. I’m notoriously known for ignoring these wild creatures after a time which is why I went looking for my container of googly eyes, thinking that if they look more alive I may perhaps care for them better. 

In any case, a ginger bug is like a sourdough starter but it is used in adding bubbles to beverages to make a more healthful homemade soda. Or so I’m told. My bug is now actively bubbly but I’ve yet to actually make soda. Last year I dabbled a bit in natural soda making but ended up buying a champagne yeast rather than making my own. It worked like a charm and got me all the more curious to head down this bubbly path. 

If you’re curious here are a few resources to explore:

• https://nourishedkitchen.com/ginger-bug/

• How to Make a Ginger Bug for Naturally Fermented Sodas & Ginger Beers - video

• Naturally Fermented Soda

There are many slight variations around the internet but I’m following a basic method a friend shared with me. I’ve added 3 cups of unchlorinated water to a large jar. I let my water sit in a glass jar for a day  to allow the chlorine - if any - to evaporate. You could use spring water, filtered water or boiled water that has cooled completely. To that add 2 tablespoons sugar and 2 tablespoons fresh minced or roughly chopped ginger with the skin still on. Stir well and cover with a piece of cheesecloth. Every day add 1 tablespoon sugar and 1 tablespoon chopped ginger and in about 3 days you will notice bubbles. I particularly enjoy putting the jar up to my ears and listening to the chorus of bubbles.  

Like a sourdough starter, you’ll add a small portion of this “bug” to juice or tea and then let the wildness take over. There’s more to it than that but as I said, I’ve not yet made it to that step so I’ll report back shortly. 

Sourdough Starter

The internet is full of sourdough resources so I won’t say much here but I will say that having the best flour you can afford not only makes the bread significantly better tasting (and better for you and the earth) but for me it also helps me take my job of caretaker of the wild yeast much more seriously. I don’t mean to belittle myself so much about my ability to keep things alive, I mean I do have three teenagers after all - I’ve somehow managed to keep them fed, but perhaps due to the ADHD I get bored quickly and feeding the starter can start to feel like a chore rather than the ritual I long for it to be. So I remove as much resistance as possible. I keep the lovely flours right on the counter and have all my tools nearby. Once I find the googly eyes I’ll pop those on to the jar and give the starter a name. Not sure what that says about me and my brain but I know this will help. 

If I don’t plan to make bread on any particular day I do find it hard to just throw away the spent starter, especially when such lovely flour is being used. This is how my sourdough biscuits came to be (recipe in Rooted Kitchen - out soon!) and I love making sourdough crackers as well. I’ve also found that you can dry your starter by spreading out a super thin layer on parchment and leaving that to dry or use a fan to speed up the process. Then your starter can be stored in the pantry or shared with family and friends. Rehydrate the dried starter with lukewarm water and feed as you would. In a couple of days it will be back up and running. 

For what it’s worth I use the Tartine bread recipe and have for years and years. It also makes the most amazing pizza crust. 

To read:

Currently I have far too many books going, which I try not to do but there are just so many that I am so very excited about. I’m still slowly making my way through Rick Rubin’s, The Creative Act. I read it in small bits almost like a meditation. I’ll keep it on my coffee table and try to reach for it when my brain needs a computer break rather than grabbing for my phone. Sometimes it works. 

“As artists, we aim to live in a way in which we see the extraordinary hidden in the seemingly mundane. Then challenge ourselves to share what we see in a way that allows others a glimpse of this remarkable beauty.”

Rick Rubin, The Creative Act

I’m also slowly reading Elise Loehnen’s bestselling book, On Our Best Behavior and demanding that many in my life read it so we can talk. I’m only about 10% of the way in but judging by the amount of times this book has come up in conversation - by me asserting it into the conversation - this book is already deeply shifting me. Over the last decade I’ve done a lot of work unlearning and learning things taught to me through my religious upbringing and this is deepening that understanding. Even if you weren’t brought up in the church, our christian influenced culture has impacted all of us. 

I’m currently listening to cacophony of bone; The Circle of a year by Kerri Ni Dochartaigh and it’s such a fitting read for the start to the year. It’s inspiring a way of approaching my journaling, which can be so very inconsistent. She writes through the year and some days it’s a stunning essay and some days it’s a sentence or two. I’d love to commit to just writing a sentence or two daily. Just something to help mark the time, to make it linger a bit longer than 24 hours. To make each day feel like there was something there to extract from it even when they can sort of feel a bit mundane. 

Here are a few favorite reads from last year:

The Enchanted Life by Sharon Blackie

The House in the Cerulean Sea by T.J. Klune

The Emotional Lives of Teenagers by Lisa Damour

Remarkably Bright Creatures by Shelby Van Pelt

The Anthropocene Reviewed by John Green

To write:

In light of what I wrote just above, perhaps there are a few of us who would like to keep one another accountable to writing at least one sentence a day. It could be a random thought, a lesson learned, something that happened or a wish for the next day. Anything. A life is made up of days and how you spend those days. I’d like to think that the sentences of those days help to make the time and value of that life lived. Maybe not the value but I do find that even slowing down enough to capture one sentence helps create intention, attention, and gratitude. 

How are you quietly stepping into this year? 

Do you feel the nudge to make big changes this time of year? 

I hope you all are having a wonderful start to the year. It’s going to be a good one, perhaps maybe even the best year yet.