Not Yet Calloused
A dispatch from the tenderness of nearly June.
The upstairs of our current home has a quiet little loft tucked against the window at the top of the hallway that I turned into a play space for the children when we moved in. In the past year they have grown into ages where they prefer to engage with their play in bedrooms or other spaces, so I dusted the corner cobwebs and placed my writing desk in the sunny East window. Last night, after I twilight-tiptoed around the garden, whispering hello to friends both established and seedling, the swollen moon rose over the trees. The breath of sweet clover reminded me what comes next— the month of June.
Spring has been a whirlwind of learning and trying and failing and resting and trying. I’m learning to say yes to spending time, and also earning a living, with work that feels fulfilling and purposeful. Projects that are stretching creative muscles I have been longing to move. And folks, I’ll tell you that I am both tired and nourished in the best ways. Our home garden is filling, the orchard is setting fruit, and the native plants in the prairie are working hard to use what little moisture we’ve had to outstretch the grasses. I am curious to lean into the observations of a potential drought year on this land. Sandy soil is certainly proving to be a test of patience and practice. But despite being not yet calloused, I can feel the slow simmer, the build of Summer, approaching.
June carries a certain joie de vivre that the other summer months do not. Cool early morning dew of remarkability, fresh greetings of extraordinariness practically every day. June is a tuning fork that brings me back into harmony with the Earth. My son is giddy with anticipation of the first strawberries. He laid out his rocks painted like red ripe fruits on the ground around the patch, a practice we know to discourage the birds. The children and I have been offering songs to the land, and I am feeling very grateful to be in community with this place and the gifts we are receiving during these longer days.
My work in the summer months tends to be mostly in isolation and observance of more than human kin, and human connection can feel filling during this time. I often crave gathering in June, and I hope to find balance in this. May the full moon usher you into the familiarities of June, and may you linger in the fertile fragrances hanging on the still cool breezes.
In Belonging,
Holly