Nature Inspiration

 

via my Instagram account

I enjoy the anonymity of visiting less-traveled public spaces, exploring their nooks and crannies, getting lost in the surreal nature of their very existence. My little girl is often my sidekick on these adventures; occasionally a friend joins in. But the experience, even if my anonymity is no longer viable, is always a soul-stirring moment. I rarely capture the true essence of a scene, but I proved myself wrong with this capture.

Last Night's Sunset

via Instagram

Last night's sunset had re-awoken something in me that was once fleeting, elusive even.  The sky was drenched in golden partial light and pulsed with fluffy rainclouds, a precursor of the day to come.  An expansive view it was as far as I could see.  To the right, the clouds drew out in wispy textures; to the left and above, they were thick and ominous; but right in the middle, where the setting sun found its immediate backdrop, was where the true delight lay as the last glimpses of sunlight diffused brightly into a cool, calm sky as ominous thunderhead-like tufts threatened directly above.  As long as I stared at the sky, not a cloud moved; only the setting sun guided the slow passage of time.  A minute became two became ten or even fifteen.  I do not remember.  But what I do remember is this: the sun set, the clouds eventually dispersed, and the mood lifted--surged and shook until it became whole again.

Inspiration: Spring Greenery

                                                                    via my Pinterest account


Winter isn't over yet, but I've been fawning over spring-green finds on Pinterest.  Images of florals and architecture and nature, especially.  An intoxicating splash of deep green always finds its way into my curated boards.  My most popular board is Romantic Wedding, followed by Write, Write, Write, and Gifts for the Writer (in that order).  It's my hope that my shop-specific boards will become favorites, as well.  Feel free to follow along for visual inspiration, DIY ideas, and new pins (added weekly).

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Have you heard?  This year, I'm donating $1 from every listing purchased to the nationwide food bank charity, Feeding America.  This means your purchase will have a doubly good purpose! #goodsforgood  My 2016 goal is to donate a total of $175.

A donation will be made at the end of each month--with your support, I donated $15 last month.
Read the full details here.

A Rainy Day

It's been a rainy January here.  These photos were taken this month on my smartphone, except for the window shot, which was from my camera.  With this month's steady rain, I've been testing the limits of my smartphone's camera, and have since learned that with it, indoor window shots (of a dark sky and raindrops) always turn out blurry.   

Been trying to not repost my daily Instagram photos here.  It's important to me that content is fresh and kept separate, although subject matter may overlap.  (Twitter, on the other hand, still confuses me--too many options for retweeting.)  Post-rain outdoor photography sessions are this month's muse...

The foggy chill after a heavy rain first pulls me outside, while capturing raindrops on camera (or smartphone) comes in a close second.  Standing, crouching, and shivering to the bone in the post-rain drab awakens my senses to a new world around me.  Five minutes turn in to fifteen, and soon half an hour slips by.  I blink, peering just close enough to see the last drop fall.

Textures

Textures intrigue me, particularly those found in nature.  They enthrall me with their mysterious crevices, their clever nooks and crannies, their minute hiding places for all things unabashedly alive--hidden yet at just the right angle, wide open and visible.  

We took a short trip a few weeks back.  It was on this trip that the textured bark (documented in the image below) caught my eye, beckoned my camera towards it to capture its depth.  It's difficult to tell in this photo, but my camera focused on the framed opening of its rather large crevice: a vast arboreal gateway.

Not quite a squirrel's nest, and not exactly an inconspicuous hiding place, this particular tree's crevice was large enough to stick my arm into.  It is a safe haven, but only for those playing an easy game of hide-and-seek.  By those, I mean squirrels and chipmunks and insects, alike.  Humans are excluded, for the tree's framed opening is delicate, seemingly ready to fall at any inopportune moment.  Excitement plays no part in the maintenance of this textured hideaway.  Instead, this spot is an arm's length of tranquility, as it is a few dozen footsteps away from a lake's edge at the base of a dark, jagged peak whose views from above inspire an electrified air of fear and awe.

Yet this arboreal gateway, this microcosm of tree life, was what captured my attention in the moment.  Neither the bone-chilling wind nor the moody rippling water that skimmed the lake's otherwise taut surface could break my trance-like attention span.  I imagined a microscopic town beyond that entryway of brittle tree bark: a hospitable land chock full of life-giving organisms making their way, around nooks and crannies, through life.

Still Waters

via Pinterest

Sometimes an image visually describes how you are feeling far better than what you can express verbally or what you can write down.  Today is one of those indelibly cerebral days comprised of verbal and written quietude, as well as deliberate creativity, where a picture comforts your mind and puts your heart at ease with its spatial sense of depth and mood--imparts onto you a fortuitous urge to nurture the courage wrought in the stark heat of the holiday season.

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Thank you to POPSUGAR and refresheddesigns for featuring my work!  So honored.

Indian Grinding Rock State Historic Park

Last week, we decided to indulge in our, or should I say my, yearning for an autumn road trip.  Our destination was the Indian Grinding Rock State Historic Park, which is located in the Sierra Nevada foothills.  Called Chaw'se, the indigenous Miwok Indian word for "grinding rock," this small state park preserves the largest collection of bedrock mortars in North America, displaying over 1,000 mortar holes.  Grinding rocks were used by American Indians to grind acorn and seeds into meal for consumption.

The day we visited was cold and rainy--otherwise known as perfect autumn weather.  Golden leaves were plentiful underfoot; a sweet arboreal scent of wet bark, dying fallen leaves, and earthy dirt mixed with the lingering foothill air, which was made salubrious with a slow, steady rain. 

Largest outcropping

Three traditional structures

Nestled among large, spindly oak trees are three-to-four small limestone outcroppings, with an additional outcropping (the largest one) in the middle of it all.  The huge mortar display spans beyond the walking distance between the three traditional structures shown above.  To give you a perspective, the structures, which were built around the 1960s when the historic site became a state park, could easily fit five people inside comfortably standing or sitting.  Interestingly enough, the inside of these traditional structures was completely waterproof beyond the entrance, but then we didn't visit during a torrential downpour.

More quaint and humble than other California State Parks, the Indian Grinding Rock State Historic Park has only two hiking trails, both shorter than a mile long.  The main attraction here is, of course, the grinding rock itself.  A small American Indian museum is also on-site, but was unfortunately closed when we visited.

I could only imagine the everyday significance that this physical location held for Miwoks and perhaps other local Indian tribes.  A communal place to gather, cook, and converse, this site was an everyday cultural hub, at least for the tribe's womenfolk.  Although the place is now quiet and still, there remains a positive, flowing energy about it that unabatedly lingers steady and strong.

Intrigue: Mixed Media Art

Fabric Wall Hanging

Sometimes an image intrigues you, captures you in its uniqueness and depth, in its interplay between rustic and refined, and holds you savagely in its dark arboreal beauty.  Photographer/artist Aga Farrell's mixed media creation above embodies all of this for me with its surreal melancholy interpreted as a melodious ode to nature.  This specific work is a textured visual beauty: a combination of embroidery, a unique photograph taken by her, and earthy fabrics and yarns.  It's intriguing and wildly imaginative with a rush of rustic nostalgia.

Quietly Asunder

Spring Fever

Spring is right around the corner, and I'm finding myself still gravitating towards the autumn we didn't really have last year.  Isn't that strange?  This past week, I re-found the colorful autumn leaves from this past winter, which I've blogged about here.  Those very leaves were placed inside some old hardbacks a few months ago, with the intention of displaying them once they were fully flattened and dried.  Yet, I had nearly forgotten about these natural beauties had it not been for my much belated yearning for autumn--a search for chilly weather and decaying leaves, a search for self within the natural world.

Who knew I was such a fall-leaf hoarder, with five of the aforementioned leaves stuck inside random pages of two vintage books?  (I guess you can say I'm a little scatterbrained right now, experiencing spring fever.)

Now these leaves adorn the corner of a small table that holds our printer--technology and the natural world in one small space: a visual conundrum.  Who knew this could be a subtle contradictory-yet-revelatory act, as in the nature vs. technology divide?  Some assert that the appreciation of nature is degraded by the advancement of technology, while others argue that technology advances our understanding and love of nature.  I agree more with the former rather than the latter because when we are accessing technology, whether it be through cellphones or computers, our attention is fully given to the computer screen and we do not behold the beauty directly in front of our eyes--beauty in its unadulterated, natural form propagated, but not technologically engineered, by man.  My eyes, of course, are immediately drawn to the leaves instead of the printer on the small table.  It seems that my inner and outer worlds collide in my haphazard home decor.

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Happy St. Patrick's Day!

When It Rained

A few short weeks ago, it finally rained.  The heavens let out a long-awaited sigh and heaved its contents onto the ground below.  Prior to this rainstorm, which lasted two entire days, our area had received a measly 2-inches of rain in all of 2013.  A paltry sum, for sure.  Now we are hovering around 5 inches, give or take.  It was not a torrential downpour like it was in neighboring towns and cities, but the rain of a few weeks ago was a sight for sore eyes: a grand, watery display of awesome proportions.

There's something about the crisp, transient quality of clean air after a good autumn rain, especially after a rainstorm that lasted for more than a few hours.  It's soothing and revelatory--the smell of soaked asphalt and rotting leaves and all, revealing the inseparable layers of life underneath, the living within the cracks and the nooks and crannies of street life that peek out only during the rainy season in the form of vibrant green growth.  The best part however, post-rainstorm, are the photos to be taken.

I am a sucker for photographing in natural light the color green and drops of water.  I cannot help it, for it is a nice, temporary departure from the indoor photography of items for sale, a necessary break from the hectic back and forth of the holiday season; it is a measure of sanity.

For me, true vulnerability, human emotion, and spontaneous creativity can only be fully accessed away from the technological advances of humankind, even if only for a little while.  This is why I pay homage to when it rained those few weeks ago.

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This post is for my husband,
who showed me many things
beyond the horizon.

Plant Study

A few weeks ago--or was it last week?--I happened upon my indoor sill plants in glorified light.  Not a glowing, halo-esque type of lighting, but the bright-yet-moody, ambient light that characterizes the time in-between late afternoon and dusk.  It's perhaps an hour at most that the light stays within this range, for it's not the soft drape of morning light, nor is it the harsh tint of the afternoon's.  Clouds were rolling in haphazardly, staggered in their movement, much like a child's first time on the ice: I had but a half hour's time before the clouds overtook the sun completely.

I usually edit my photographs on standard PicMonkey for clarity, color, and brightness.  But today, in this blog post, I wanted to capture the stillness and depth of my original shots--so here they are in their unedited forms.  Not too scary a sight to behold.  However, these images are the first that I've posted on this blog that have not been edited in some way, shape, or form, even if slightly.  Maybe you can tell the difference?

Oregano

Shiso

Arugula Roquette

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Welcome, dear September!

P.S. All Internet connection issues--our outdoor connection wire was cracked, plus our modem was overheated--have been solved.  A new modem and some new holes in the wall later, everything is as good as new.  Thank goodness, I say!

Jug Handle State Natural Reserve - Hike Shortcut Details

Jug Handle State Natural Reserve is located in Mendocino County, on the North Coast area of California.  The natural reserve houses a unique 2.5 mile-long (5-mile round trip) ecological staircase trail composed of five distinct and natural, well-preserved terraces of lush, dense growth.

The California State Parks site, which cites John McKinney's book, gives shortcut directions from the pygmy forest at trail's end back to the trailhead.  However, the directions are unclear--McKinney only says to take the Gibney Fire Road to rejoin the trail.  This blog post will give firsthand instructions from what we experienced. 

Map from the California State Parks site--note the lack of detail

Directions
Three miles south of Fort Bragg, the trail begins off Highway 1 and loops around bluffs overlooking a beach; numbered markers (there was a brochure somewhere with explanations) let you know that you are going the right way.  The trail then leads you under a Highway 1 bridge/overpass and brings you to a well-kept trail where the numbered markers continue through a breathtaking forest.  Elevation gain is a minimal 300 feet, but at points, the trail does have staircases and areas of gentle elevation gain.  At the end of the trail is a pygmy forest, a whimsical-like forest comprised of short-stature plants and trees caused by nutrient-poor, alkaline soil--the forest is one of a handful in the world.

At the trail's end, we decided to take the Gibney Fire Road shortcut suggested on the state parks site.  The result was that we almost got lost if not for a kind local woman (thank you!) who was walking with her children on the road behind us and called out to us to ask if we were looking for the trail back to the beach.  Thanks to her instructions, we successfully rejoined the trail.

Shortcut from Gibney Fire Road

Pygmy Forest walkway

When you reach the outskirts of the pygmy forest (characterized by sandy soil), you will see a straight road that intersects the trail--it goes in a westerly direction to your left--which is the Gibney Fire Road.  Walk past the vertical markers that separate the pygmy forest from the fire road, and you will soon arrive at the pygmy forest walkway.  Follow this loop-around walkway, and you arrive back at the same point, except this time the Gibney Fire Road is now ahead of you.  Heading west/straight, we followed the dirt Gibney Fire Road, which ends at an open gate with a private property sign facing the direction in which we were walking.  (FYI: This is the point where we got lost.) The road beyond the private property gate is a paved two-lane residential road with no obvious Jug Handle SNR signs.

Directions
From the Gibney Fire Road, walk by a few houses on the left.  You will then see a road immediately to the left that is marked "Private Road."  Walk just beyond this road, and you will see a small cut-out trail off to the left in a thicket of trees.  This is the Jug Handle trail.

To rejoin the trail, walk past a narrow wooden trail post with a small square or rectangular-shaped yellow marker on it.  (You will see that this span of trail is not as well kept as the rest of the Jug Handle trail.)  Turn right at the first fork in the road, and then later on make a left.

Gibney Fire Road

You will know that you are on the right path back to your car when you see a #21 numbered marker within five minutes; the numbers get smaller as you continue your trek.  The trail scenery should be familiar as you retrace your steps, such as:

A tall, delicate-looking plant with tiny, bright-red berries

Short staircase

Long Staircase

I hope that this helps those who have gotten lost, such as we have.  

Judging by Trip Advisor reviews, we were not the only ones! 

Of Month Past

In a blink of an eye, there goes July.

These images visually sum up the past month...

Arugula roquette variances 

New hand-stamped book page listings

Forest City, CA ghost town

Wildflowers at the Sierra Buttes trail--
and no, we didn't do this due to my fear of the 20-30mph wind gusts
we experienced at the base of the stairways leading up to the lookout area.
Perhaps next time...

Fog-laden sky with five noticeably different cloud formations...

Nature and creativity--

need I say more?

Plant Variety: Arugula Roquette

Remember my arugula roquette seedlings from this post a month ago?  Well, I've found out why coco coir is a versatile seed-starting medium rather than a good long-term soil substitute.  Due to the porosity of coir, the arugula seedlings sprung forth so many roots that they were literally choking one another out, like a painful survival of the fittest competition.  The end-result battle wounds were wilted, soggy leaves above coir, and inseparable, multilayered roots below.  Action needed to be taken to salvage these once-hardy plants, so I replanted them in three upcycled containers.

Prior to replanting, the resemblance between all three arugula roquette plants (middle planter) was indisputable, as shown in the following image:

So, it was to my surprise that once in their own designated planters, each plant recuperated differently.  As seen below, the one in the milk carton planter (covered with book pages for aesthetic purposes) grew tall and lanky; the arugula in the oatmeal container flourished all stout and wide with warm, forest-green growth; and lastly, the arugula in the can went to seed, both flowering and flower-like. 

And yes, I did use good old organic soil for these planters, for I have learned my lesson.  I've actually converted all my indoor plants to organic soil or a coco coir-organic soil mixture--except for my oregano plants, which currently reside in pure coir.  The oregano may be replanted soon...

A hard-to-grow (for me, at least) shiso seedling is making its new home in the dark green planter that once housed the arugula.  I am looking forward to sharing some photos soon. 

Lately

How have you been lately?  Been outside pretty often since the spring bug hit us with 65-degree weather.  I'm not too hot on spring/summer-like weather, as I am constantly searching for rain, but I love growth, and boy did plants grow this past week.  From shriveled leaves and spindly offshoots shot forth curvaceous, thick foliage: the sun-seeking nooks and crannies especially made for quite a show.  Colors quickly brightened and expanded, reaching for a greater height and depth...

And look, my Thumbelina Leigh Lavender is beginning to bud!

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Sometimes I amaze myself at how frequently I derive pleasure from the natural world, including its stilling wordlessness.  As of late, mere thoughts have collected significance, leaving in its wake a profound impact that had spilled into days and weeks; and now months.  It is this sense of wide-eyed, thought-heavy wonder that I leave you until my next post...

The Gale Winds

A few nights ago, the heavens forcefully spilled forth, opened its mouth and bellowed.  Winds hit up to 50mph, so my husband says, and I heard their fury.  I heard whams and booms and slams; car alarms sounded in a haphazard succession.  The double-paned windows shook with an exasperated rattle, as if they were made of paper and not glass.  I watched slender-bodied trees bend for minutes on end, etching elongated, darkened shadows in the night sky.  When the lights flickered well after midnight, I began to worry--just ever so slightly--for the mad howl of wind coupled with strange, foreign sounds and complete darkness conjured up spooky thoughts; my imagination ran wild.  Under different circumstances, I would have considered the winds a magnificent natural occurrence.  Isn't it funny how loud things that go bump in the night can frighten one so?

As night made way for dusk, as day perilously broke, the winds mellowed into a consistent, strong breeze that lasted the entire day and rushed into the evening.  That morning, I took a quick peek outside, and all seemed normal--not a leaf, branch, or petal was visibly out of place.  Perhaps the newly planted seeds have blown asunder, but even that could not have been fully prevented anyways.

Reflecting back on this experience...I genuinely believe that humans have something to learn from nature, which is that the natural world moves forward.  Broken branch?  It'll be fine.  Gale force winds?  Bring it on.

The Reminder

 It's finally rained.

The continuous drip drop

Makes up for my lack of verboseness;

Fills in the silent in-between spaces.

Spring:
Flowers bloom,

Birds tweet and flutter.
Sunrise and sunset rise and fall like clockwork-- 

Not today nor tomorrow

Will life stand still.

In Budding Anticipation

I much prefer fall, weather-wise, but spring flowers are the cat's meow...

Nothing is really new here, besides that I uprooted my indoor planters, which had, as of last week, consisted of stump-like stems and no growth since a spider mite made a nesting ground of them last fall and I, out of fright, severely cut both down to mere nubs (as documented here).  My indoor planters are now prepped and set to grow Greek oregano (same as last year) and lemon balm (a newbie plant for me) from seed.  Growing plants from seed have been a curious lifelong, albeit non-constant, past-time of mine.  Although my love of plants has waxed and waned throughout the years, I continue to be awestruck with the transition from seed to seedling, from nub to bud.  If you haven't already, feel free to read about my love of growing plants from seed here.  Will talk provide some photos as soon as the seeds sprout (crosses fingers).

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Gearing up for a HUGE Easter SALE--35% off all items starting today through April 1st.  Stop by my shop for the coupon code!