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WELCOME

I raise food and good ancestors - on land and in community - at the base of Oregon's Santiam Foothills. Wherever you are in the world at this moment, I'm glad your here. Maybe you'd like to take off your shoes or have a cup of tea; pause for a moment to breathe and notice the colors around you. This is a space where I reflect and welcome you to reflect. May that be a blessing to us both, and to everyone we touch.

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What Flavor is Your Water?

This creature and her little sister had so much fun identifying and picking wild field mint the other day to make flavored water! Apart...

Thank You, Wild Rose

Thank you, wild rose, for loving us so well that we might love ourselves and each other just the same. These wild rose cupcakes and more...

Duckling/Duck - Boy/Man

Five ago, my son ordered six ducklings from a catalog with hopes of starting a flock for eggs and meat. Ducks are well suited to our wet...

Altered Shapes & Permission to Suck (part 3 of TBD)

This is part 3 of as yet to be determined how many in a series about living off the grid while living on the grid. Today, I invite you to...

Seeing in the Dark (part 2 of TBD)

All day yesterday I was waiting for a moment in which to record this message. When I finally had a moment, the power was out! This is...

The Big G Grid and the little g grid (part 1 of TBD)

Part one of as yet to be determined how many in a series talking about living off the grid while living on the grid. This one’s about the...

Sneak Peak! Blog Series Forthcoming

Let’s talk about living off the grid when living on the grid...

Firewood

We stacked a cord of wood in silence yesterday. There are no shortcuts when it comes to stacking wood. Or most other chores. Or anything...

Goods from the Woods

To order, email me or text 541-974-2363. You’re welcome to call too but I don’t have much cell reception out here so please leave a...

A Message from the Hag at Winter’s End

Baring my teeth, I hiss at you and implore you to listen to me. Listen to me now, NOW, before the maiden returns! I am the hag....

Stan’s Birthday Chocolate Cake

Stan was my grandpa. He and my oldest child only met a couple of times, but my son, being fascinated with history, has learned everything...

Self-Care Altars

This is a picture of one of my self-care altars. An online discussion about reconciling the need for prescription meds and the desire to...

Gran’s Buttermilk Biscuits

Couldn’t count how many times I’ve made Gran’s buttermilk biscuits but somehow this is the first time I’ve made B&G, despite it being one...

Washing Dishes

“When is life ever going to get easier?” I wrote her back: “When the dishes are done?”

Starting Over

Sourdough, besides being a vehicle for butter, is another way to become part of a PLACE; a way to eat my way into belonging

The Hawthorne is Blooming

Today is the first day of summer according to the calendar I follow...

Holy Days

We had a a bonfire today at nature playschool. That word used to mean a "bone fire". Bones and fire. My daughters and I are made of such...

Chicha de Manzana and the Revolution of Place

I went to Chile at 20-years-old, an undergrad from a better-but-not-the-best State University. I’d taken Spanish classes since 6th grade...

Pickles

Sometimes something has to basically rot - but in a special and intentional way - to become something else.

Names

I changed my name this fall. There is a cast iron skillet involved.

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Nestled at the base of Oregon's Santiam Foothills

541-974-2363

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