Have you ever felt a little dismayed, confused or troubled by the fact you don’t seem to fit into a tidy box? That’s me, mostly, most of the time. Just when I think I’ve got it figured, something comes prancing across the scene and I am entranced. All I want to do is incorporate that shiny, bit of sparkle into my life somehow. Or, there are sides of me that don’t neatly align, they are contradictory, overlapping with conflicting ideas, controversy or friction. Some of these contradictions I’ve had since I was a child. The earliest memories I can muster up are coloured with horses and those who ride them, especially gritty characters with a bit of fray, or worn patches. ….Read More
Hey all! I’m super excited to let you all know we’ll be having a house concert here January 18, 2019. Zachary and I instamet via my other Instagram account this past fall. Turns out he’s pretty good friends with our neighbours on the other side of the creek. We’re pretty happy to have some live music going on here in the depths of winter. The dark creeps out past the corners of the house during January…Read More
Hanging from hooks. Sitting on the floor. Baskets have a purpose. Their form states function. And the appearance of a form circles back on the idea of function. Our baskets have two sturdy leather handles, made for slinging over a hook. Shaker pegs work best. Cotton canvas creates the body, a functional material that is hefty and not scared of work.Read More
Standing in the barn, looking out at the field, my arm pulled straight by my hand hooked under the pommel of my roping saddle. Geese fly, strung long against the grey blue clouds hanging heavy in the north. The sun sneaks out and warms my arm. The ground shakes beneath my feet as grain trucks rush by, fighting back the rain with their urgency.
It is all clarity.Read More
Small kindnesses live here.
Today, I am, with my sister and good friends, giving a concert for a dying woman. A woman who, barely knowing me, offered me one of the kindest gestures I’ve ever received. We will, with some of her best friends and neighbours gather in the palliative unit, sing old-timey gospel songs, a Marty Robbins tune or two and some we’ve written, inspired by people in our town and family. Songs with dialogues about living close to the ground, watching…Read More
….And so it is, as the people begin to look out on the horizon, they notice activity there on that line but are not quite able to make out what is happening. They might be able to see something is afoot, by the dust billows behind tractors dragging seventy foot cultivators or by the infrequent person traversing hard scrabble hilltops or rich, loamy flats. But the character….Read More
My gran was not given to poetry. I think there were things at certain times of her life that squeezed it out and she was too busy doing the doing. I don't know that she ever would have got into the swing of things, appreciating lines and words, moseying around the confluences of sound and idea. But she did have a way with a phrase. Simple, pointed, got the message across, right away. She was not a woman of subtleties. Except for this one time.Read More