Feathers Rise

No matter how happy it makes me when bloggy friends post about their daily happenings, I sometimes feel a little silly posting about my own. Woman Wed To Beast scratches onto a rotten log with a stick: day 203. Went to the beach AGAIN, wore a yellow skirt. (Looks btw, like the garden post was my 200th-how appropriate.)

Don't get me wrong, I don't think my life is horribly boring. I know it's not, and I certainly don't do things to make it more "blog worthy", but periodically I realise that I do pretty much the same things all the time. I bake bread, I garden, I read, wear prairie dresses and other improbable things, I watch movies, go to dances (from which I rarely take picures), hang out with friends (of whom I rarely take pictures), row in the bay with my honey, I make stuff, take gratuitous pictures of my cat, fawn over other blogs, walk in the woods, pick mushrooms, watch birds, think about feminist things, rock out...

So periodically, when I take yet another picture of what I wear, I wonder what interesting context I could possibly put it in. I wonder how much longer I, or anyone will be entertained by this? Do you really care that this is something I wouldn't normally wear? Two formal things (a yellow pencil skirt, some decidedly preppy mocs) together, mixed with a quite figure hugging style that emphasizes the dreaded belly-zone (I'm being super-ironic and self-referential here;).

Or the fact that once I tossed it together around the awesome 60s floral belt Sadie gave me, I liked it because it reminds me of something a shop-girl in a groovy boutique might have worn in the mid-60s, right before this American culture (and in its wake most other Western cultures) imploded in a rain of flowers and armies demonstrators. That I picture her carrying a copy of Howl And Other Poems in her satchel and that once she actually gets turned on and tuned in she will shed the last remnants of her bourgeois upbringing, drop acid and dance barefoot all night in an Indian kaftan.

Perhaps these descriptions, or the outfits themselves or posting them, seem a little ridiculous, (more than?) a little self-absorbed. These are, after all, only clothes we're talking about.

But what I've discovered is that I care. I really do.

Because as a woman, clothes are something I wear everyday like my armor in a battle to win my own image back from popular culture, back from the over-sexed hysterical hordes and demon-headed hipsters back from "someone else's idea". Because I was brought up by a feminist to believe that personal is the political and frankly, there are very few things more personal than what you wear on your body every day.

And so I am reminded that I keep this log of all of my unhappenings (as well as sometime Happenings. I really don't think my life is that boring at all.), my days of nothing but beach and yellow skirt, because it reminds me that even on those days I'm inspired.

That the world is complex and magical and mysterious and full of connotations and invisible forces of culture and nature and nurture and sisterhood.

That even on the drabbest days I can be creative with as little as a 60s belt, a yellow skirt and a tripod.

That I make my own reality and how drab, or fascinating, it may be.

And most importantly: that little 6os shop girls can fly.

No acid required.

Won't you join her in flight?

Find more artists like Elephant Revival at Myspace Music

Kiss each other clean

Spring is a time for all things new. New life, new dresses, new skirts, new ideas, new music. The world itself seems shinier and newer, even if it's actually just slightly more radioactive and disruptive. Us bears, we awake from hibernation, look around carefully, lumber into the sunlight, prick up our ears and hear new melodies.

The trouble with getting older, is that you are less and less effected by new things; music, art, film (Or music videos!?! I think that last music video I actually loved was like 3 years ago...).

This isn't because you're not interested, though it's true you no longer follow these things as obsessively as you did when you were younger; it's because you already own the greatest albums of the world. No, seriously, there's a time in your life, often in your teens and twenties, when your music taste begins to settle. There are songs, records, that can move the whole world inside you. And after that, after families and remodels and loans and kids and the long nights spent painting the bathroom, you just can't get fired up about the New Album by Some Flannel Clad Hipster. So you go back to the family room, put on some headphones and silently bob your head to There Is A Light And It Never Goes Out. Again.

Which is fine. Because it is the best song in the history of pop music and frankly, it reminds you of a time when you could still go to places where there was music and people who were young and alive. And maybe you lived in London when you were just 22, and listened to it on the top floor front seat of a double decker bus with a boy you thought you loved from one earbud each...(okay, so maybe this is just me;)

But the trouble with this is that you might end like one of those old fogers who believe that nothing worthwhile has happened in the world of music since 1973 (if you have to ask...).

So you reach out and search and listen, for other voices and other rooms (if you have to ask ;).

And maybe the songs and bands and singers you find won't move the sky inside you and send rainbows through your brain, but they might just be perfect for the moment. Like a beautiful spring day who's passing I've documented for your pleasure. (Lots of gratuitous cat-shots follow.) Consider this a springtime mixtape.

Sometimes you get music and then just forget about it (especially if you have emusic), and then when it plays at just the right moment you fall in love with it, like those idiot guys in romantic comedies when they finally realise that the girl of their dreams has been under their noses all along. Shearwater's last album, Rook played a lot at our house, but I wasn't really taken by The Golden Archipelago (in spite its Island theme) until this spring.

For the past few years I've been very taken by music with folky-connotations, new folk, freak folk, just plain old Railroad and Union and Coal-mining songs. I'm one of those obnoxious people who just keep claiming that they like "all kinds of music", but my musical tastes really are pretty varied.

C. likes to complain that my music is too moody, and normally I don't agree, but when you get a birthday package all the way from Turkey you need totally to crank up some cheerier tunes.

Especially when it contains a new Gunne Sack previously seen on a girl you obviously adore, a bear-pendant AND an awesome piece of non-fiction hand-picked for you. Vampire Weekend's eponymous debut is another album that was actually released a while back and pure silliness to boot, but sure fits into twirling in your new dress and doing chores in the sun. Sometimes I like to have a little dance party to its beat all by myself.

It was the perfect day to hang out the season's first laundry beneath the cedar tree. I love the smell of air-dried sheets and clothes. The spring air sticks to you like a perfume. While I'm normally all about reality based blogging, I will admit that I hung the prettiest laundry first. What can I say, it's all staged...

The two Bowerbirds albums probably get the most airtime at our house, we both blast them while we work, burst into sing-alongs to The House Of Diamonds and In Our Talons and dissect the environmental, elemental lyrics (how could we not love a band that states in their website that they're spending their winter building a cabin and chopping wood ;). They are one of the three points where our musical tastes fully converge. The other two are Elephant Revival and Gogol Bordello (The former is playing here next weekend and we just bought tickets to go see the latter in Bham! Wheeeee!). Go figure.

You're witnessing some hideous cat-crime. Kissa decided to make some bedding available for the illicit lolly-gagging in the sun.

I don't know how she feels about the Cure, but I play this tribute album a lot these days. I know it's not entirely new music and even this album is about three years old, but I've only recently rediscovered it and love all the versions of these songs.

I do a lot of my music immersion while I bike up and down this Island, make whole mixes around what routes I plan to take. Sometimes I play the pensive, delicate tunes that C. so dislikes, but more often I like to blast my eardrums with energetic, adrenaline moving music.

The Pains Of Being Pure At Heart, have been a mainstay for a while now when I speed down these hills, and what could be more suiting when the band itself has an unlikely connection to these here Isles; Siri who hails from around here, is the one and only of the band's bassist.

Another recent biking favorite, is also a current New Yorker of a completely different musical persuasion. These spring days, I'm swooning to Justin Townes Earle in the sunlight while I bike to the Dump for some sweet finds.

One album that has not left my ears this season though, as you maybe have guessed from the title, is the new Iron And Wine. While there has been mixed reviews on the different musical turn one Samuel Beam is said to have taken with this, his latest album, I have embraced it whole hearted in these last weeks.

It is so light, melancholy, with bursts of unexpected energy. Perfect soundtrack for the frogs to croon to and the bugs to dance in evening sun.

And for me to walk around, close to home, in my new dress, pondering the mysterious cycles of death and rebirth, of frogs and tadpoles and eggs and birds unfolding right here on my doorstep.

And a tiny part of its sweetness was hearing Darin discuss its merits one night at Heather's house.

Happy Spring My Loves! And do tell: what are you listening to?

There once was a girl who lived in the middle of a big, light forest, on top of a mountain, with her dog and cats and the wild, wild birds....

Since this week is all about what we love here at Bear Matrimony Headquarters, I thought I'd introduce you to someone who we are much in awe of. Some of you know her already, but I think the rest of you should go over and meet her as well.

I will not bore, nor terrify you with things that I did more than a decade ago when I was 20-years old, but let me assure you, they were nowhere near as cool as the life pursuits of Sara the Forestlass.

Already working on her bachelor's degree via the magic of the internet, Sara is not only a wonderful writer, but also a master gardener, a knitter extraordinaire, an expert at animal wifery, an artist, and...did I mention she's a snappy dresser too?

Hecks, yah she is! Not only the owner of several mesmerizing Gunne Sax, Sara has more style in her pinky finger than a lot of girls her age will ever possess. And of course, I love the fact that she wears such amazing dresses on a daily bases. (She's also the inventor of the phrase "gratuitos cat-shot". My hero.)

However, being a country girl like myself, there is nothing impractical about her dress or her attitudes. Sara's all about getting projects done and I'm in awe of the energy that seems to be required for her many pursuits. Oh to be young again!

Raised in the US. Sara now lives on a mountain top in her folk's native Turkey, who's language she's had to learn, and go through much paperwork to acquire her passport. Not to mention culture shock I'm sure. Moving to a whole new country is like starting your life over on an entirely different plain and though Turkey has one foot firmly in Europe, it also has another equally firmly in the Middle East, a Nation rather subtly different from the traditional West.

It's also, from this point of view a faraway nation mailing to where can be precarious and which recently banned the use of blogger (!).

A few grim days after she was no longer able to access her blog, I was happy to discover that Sara had created a new site on wordpress.

Luckily, Sara has befriended the folks at the post office (Then again, how could they not take extra good care of the mail of such a lovely creature.) and actually got the one thing I've ever managed to mail her (more to come-I swear): a dandelion dress she'd been eye-balling on etsy, that I ended up buying and realizing it wasn't quite right-for me ;) And just the other day she purchased this namesake dress from Sadie. I can't wait to see it on her!

If you're ever feeling blue, I heartily recommend a visit to the Forestlass archives. You'll learn resilience, kindness and how to eat crocus bulbs.

As amazing and uplifting as I find her writing and pictures, Sara isn't immune to the ennui that sometimes catches up with all of us. Like many of us at her age, Sara has been faced with some though choices lately, something she bravely posted about just today. Happy, sad, or just plain pensive, Sara's honesty always shines through.

I have all the faith in the world in that she'll find her path, because whenever I read Sara's posts and messages, or check out her beautiful outfits, I can't help but wish I had been this self-possessed at her age, able to determine what I liked, who I wanted to be and to doggedly (this one's for you Sara!) pursue those goals.

It has been a pleasure getting to know this lovely lady over the last year, and I sincerely hope that this is only the beginning of a long and beautiful friendship, connected by the internets and the taproots of forest-dwellers.

I tilled it with my two hands...

First of all: thank you so much for all your comments on those posts written in darker days. It finally feels like the sun has come out, or rather the moon and the sun both. It seems that, at least for our family, the Vernal Equinox marked the beginning of a new, lighter era and hopefully this will be true for all of you and the wider world as well.

In the spirit of spring, renewal and waking from our hibernation, this will be an entirely un-serious week here, filled with things I love and want to share with you.

Starting with...you guessed it: my garden.

I thought that I would share my humble tips to having a garden that gives you food, peace of mind and eases stress, rather than creates it. I just want to dispel any notion that you need some sort of experience, knowledge, or good sense to have a garden patch.

Unfortunately, the rumors are true: organic gardening (Or any kind for that matter, that just happens to be the kind I practice. There are varying degrees of gardening ease, from round-up to bio-dynamic and back again...) takes a lot of time, so much so that some crazy people have come up with the myth of the 20 dollar tomato to measure it (or the even bigger myth of the 64 dollar tomato). Meaning that the time, effort, equipment and care will end up costing you far more than a bag of seed and a few hours of shoveling.

However, if you don't harbor illusions of grandeur, or value your time quite so highly, a home-grown, organic (if you wish), delicious tomato is something anyone can achieve for the low-low prise of...well, best not think about it. After all, you can't put a prise on a delicious, home-grown tomato, people.

Starting a garden can be rather intimidating, simply because it's a place loaded with dreams. Dreams of fruition, of harvest, of beauty. The very human dreams of making orderly rows out of the chaos that is nature left to its own devices. Or, as the case maybe, not. As a novice gardener I don't feel like I'm in a place to offer a lot of advice, but I will offer this: dream big, plant small. The easiest way to end up with a huge, expensive garden is, to quote R. Kelly, believing you can fly. You can't.

Seriously, so often you hear people saying they're going to start their first garden and it's going to be huge and they'll have everything that grows under the sun in it. While I know that there are people (I know some, they are amazing. I worship the ground beneath their feet. There's beets in that ground.) out there who can pull off a huge garden in their first (or second, or third, or fourth) year, my advice is that you plant only the things you really want, and not the seventeen different varieties of corn that looked so cool in the seed catalogue. (Seed catalogues are like porn, people, it's not like that in real life.)

The first question you need to answer when starting your (first, second, or hundredth) garden is: What does your family like to eat? Vegetables? Good. What vegetables (Or fruits. I hear you can grow fruits. What a weird idea.) do you buy most often at the store? Can you grow those?

Don't think about what you should have, think about what you need. That way you don't end up with giant, tasteless zucchinis, because nobody in your circle likes them, or radishes that sit in the bottom of the veggie crisper all summer, because you were planning to use them for that exotic pie that would have impressed everyone if only you'd made it.

Pick like 5 of your favorites, throw in some herbs and add a couple of oddities, like that crazy corn. Just for fun.

Figure out what those plants need. Light, nutrition, pest control? Can you provide that for less than 20 bucks per tomato?

Okay good. Then go ahead and buy some seeds. (Just remember: seed catalogues=garden porn. Don't fall for it. You'll never have a satisfying real garden life.)

As for tools, in my experience, you only need a couple: A shovel, a hoe, a weeding hoe and a hori-knife. What's a hori-knife? Only the most useful garden tool ever. Now go get one.

You'll also need fertilizer. How about getting some chickens? No but seriously, good fertilizer is key. Did you know you can mix your own to suit your soil? Sounds like chemistry, but since I have no math-brain, I like to think of it as cooking. Plants need a meal and since you're their momma, you need to fix it.

Knowing what kind of soil you have is important, but frankly, if you want to start out with some lettuce and spinach and take it from there, there's plenty of time to get to know your soil next year. Most likely you'll figure it out because something you want just won't grow, no matter how much water and yummy fertilizer it gets.

As a final tip I heartily recommend getting a local gardening book. I got this one and it blew my mind. Figure out when the last and first frost are in your area, and what zone you're in. Then start your seed(ling)s as per instructions. Bam! You're now a gardener.

And next year you'll know more. What you did wrong, how much more you want to do, whether that crazy corn can survive in your zone, or just your yard. That's how you get to the perfect garden, the Platonian idea of a garden that you see in front of you when you close your eyes after looking at seed catalogues ("Porn! Porn! Porn"). Like everything in life, you must work towards it, shifting slowly through the earth. Now you can really fly, Little Grasshopper. Be free and garden.

Like people, our gardens too are all individuals, with a distinct look. I may fantasize of a wild riot of colors and plants, aesthetically pleasing, carefully organized around their companions, but right now it's just a bunch of soggy cardboard and piles of plastic pots.

It's everything I ever dreamed of. Speaking of which: dig my technicolor-dream-catcher? I got it in a little town along the Oregon coast. The key is from an estate sale and they crystal bullet by the lovely and amazing Sadie Rose.

On our way back home, we got stuck in a snowstorm in near the border in Oregon and dipped into a little farm store to warm up. The proprietress looked the amethyst bullet carefully over and asked me if I was a Spiritual Warrior. I told her I guess I'd like to think so. Aren't we all Spiritual Warriors on a quest in an increasingly crazy world?

My trusty side-kick is not much of an Animal Helper, when it comes to tilling and planting. She does do the vole patrol, which has been immensely useful. Voles have done me more wrong than slugs.

Speaking of slugs, I've had to kill so so many as I've taken out the cardboard. I once read of a Buddhist monk who said that when slugs came to his garden he just asked them to leave. I hope that in some future life I'll be able to do the same. It's not very likely though at the rate I'm killing slugs. I'll probably be reborn as a slug. The irony.

If I could only be reborn as a catten-tat, that would make me very happy indeed. They get to laze about in the sun, while others work.

Seriously though, gardening is hardly work on a sunny day like this. There is something atavistically pleasing about planting even the tiniest seeds. Like you're suddenly such a provider.

And in the spirit of full disclosure, I must add that I don't always garden in such dainty garb. Some days it just feels right to wear favorite clothes from some of your favorite sisters. The rubber boots are a stalwart though. If you can't abide them you'll be out of luck in the next month.

Beyond seedlings and garden lust, a sure-fire sign of spring is the return of migratory birds. We spotted both hummingbirds and campers today. I hope for their sake this wondrous weather continues.

My (it's not really mine, but we humans are so territorial) plum tree bloomed a little later this year, thank goodness, since last year we didn't get a single plum.

Coming in from the porch where you've had a beer with your sweetheart, to the scent of plum blossoms and cooking some of your own over-wintered greens, now that's plenty to be blissed about. This has been the best day in a long long time. I'm so happy I could share it with you.

How's your world? Please share gardening tips? Happiness?

Love, light, blessings and pale green things,

Milla