Asher is home sick today, as he was all of last week. He was bored today, of course, so we brought out the wool to make a little sheep in honor of Imbolc. He didn’t want to play with wool, though. He just wanted to be bored.

Everywhere across the nation is buried under snowfall, it seems. But here we’re enjoying warmish days in the low 70s. It may sound lovely, and it is, but we really need more rain. We are hearing that some rain is coming later this week, and frankly I’m praying for a good long winter to ameliorate our drought.

These are just some of the beauties that have arrived lately, and I’m only showing you snowy white flowers today, in honor of this midwinter moment.

I’m embarrassed to realized I haven’t posted here since the Solstice. I’ve been all blocked up with Christmas, unable to write all that I feel I should, and busy with other pressing things. Life is happening. It’s full of mild illnesses, birthday parties, work deadlines, family meals, our new business, basketball games, and other goodnesses. We are following our path, with a modicum of grace and plenty of stumbling. Life is good.

In past years I’ve written more about this pretty little holiday, which most Americans know only as Groundhog Day. For me it is about hearth and home and family, about leaning in and protecting each other, about sheltering and feeding our light so that it glows brightly, even through the storms.

Wool Painting for Imbolc: Last year, Asher got to do some needle-felting in honor of Brigid

Happy Imbolc: This post gives a fair amount of background on the holiday, and how it has many names.

Our Imbolc Celebration: This was a little family ritual we did when the children were smaller.

Imbolc, or Candlemas: Some thoughts about preparing for Candlemas.

Candlemas: We rolled candles this year and discussed how it was the midpoint of winter.

My backyard is full of robins this afternoon. The tulips are coming up. My daffodils are blooming. I guess that’s Imbolc in California.

I’m wondering how others celebrate. I know Eileen and her girls made snow candles today, and that sounds fun. I might just stick a few Four O’Clocks seeds in the ground in a gesture of hope and investment in a bright, colorful spring. However you celebrate, I wish you warmth and fellowship, and a nurturing moment for all those you love.

I wonder if my posts will be more timely next year. It seems I’m forever playing catch-up, but this time I have a really good reason. I’ve been busy enjoying some beautiful holidays with my family, resting, painting, relaxing, eating too much, working just a tad. So here is my tardy account of our Solstice celebration.

We made our traditional giant cookie for dessert. The boys opted for a spiral design with the Reese’s pieces candies this time. I think it looks great.

I found these sunny beauties in my garden.

We had a yummy dinner of chicken chili, cornbread, salad, sliced persimmons. I love those persimmons because when you cut them crosswise you can see the eight seeds arrayed as a sun, one for each sabbat, making a beautiful wheel of the year. It tickles me to pieces. We also enjoyed apple cider with a lemon slice in it, which is divine, don’t ya know.

And I got it in my head to make my furry friend a meat “cake” for his “birthday,” which is really the anniversary of his arrival into our home. Solstice dog got a raw hamburger “cake” frosted with peanut butter and decorated with summer squash shavings. He loved it and it took him a long time to eat it. I love this dog, and I thank my lucky stars every day that he came to live with us.

Our fireplace was out of commission this year for reasons of clutter—ahem—so we made do with this simple feast and some reading aloud. (We’re in the middle of The Subtle Knife, by Philip Pullman.)

I love to mark the winter solstice in this way. It helps me feel the passage of time, and to honor the changes that come with the seasons and that happen within us. It’s a special moment of winter quiet, a pregnant pause before Christmas steals the show (and all our energy). And it’s ours.

I know some families for whom the Solstice is the main winter holiday. Sometimes I wonder what that would be like, but in our family we celebrate them all.

Welcome back, Sun!

This is my garden in summer. These photos were all taken between the very end of May and July 7.

This is, of course, the very best of it. We are having a terrible drought in California, and I’ve been conserving water. I’ve not pictured my yellowed lawn or the roses with burnt petals. I’ve not pictured the patches of bare dirt or my lack of much-needed mulch (where does it go?).  I haven’t pictured how my hydrangeas have 90 percent fewer flowers than usual. Naturally, I don’t photograph the plants that perish. I kill things all the time.

This is the best that I can show in this hot time of year.

But I want to show it because I love it and because I have worked very hard over the last 11 years turning into this third-acre of weeds and potholes into my oasis, my home. This is my English garden, California-style, and infused with all the flare of a Brazilian Carnival that I can muster. This is what my dreams look like at night. A jungle of color. A rush of blossoms. A heaving of growth and urgency. A riot of shapes and textures.

I can’t explain why this garden is important to me, except to say, this is how I surround myself and my family with beauty.

This is how my garden grows.

These little “postcards” from my garden were all shot within the last three or four days. I’ve been showing my garden in person to as many people as possible—to as many kind souls who will take a moment to look—but I also want to capture it here, to remind myself that I make my small square of the planet beautiful. It has come so far. This garden is a huge source of joy and relief in my life. It is source. It feeds me every bit as much as I feed it. More, really.

I could tell a story about ever single plant pictured here, but I know that’s kind of ridiculous. Suffice it to say, I hope you have enjoyed this tiny tour of the late April highlights.

I leave you with this last photo of “peace.”

Cornhusks are a humble but versatile natural material. These protective sheaths from ears of corn, when dried, can be used in many lovely crafts. Here is a way to turn simple, natural cornhusks into flowers fit for decorating your family’s Thanksgiving table, adorning special gifts, or as accents for fall wreaths. If the children in your life need something special to do on Thanksgiving day, this is a fun, inexpensive, and rewarding activity.

Materials

• package of cornhusks from the Mexican food aisle of your grocery store
• 4-inch floral picks with thin wire at one end (floral wire on a spool can be used instead)
• green floral tape
• food dyes (optional)

Cornhusks come out of the package as wrapped triangles that are broad at one end and fairly narrow at the other. For these flowers, you’ll be splitting a large triangular cornhusk into strips of about 1 inch wide at the wide end. These strips will naturally taper to a point at the other end. It’s really not important to be precise in splitting the strips. These will end up being your flower’s petals. Make about five or six strips and then set them aside.

Take a cornhusk triangle and cut the bottom narrow half off so that you have in your hand the widest part. Lay a floral pick in the center with the wire pointing down and laying beside the wooden stem.

Now roll the cornhusk into a tight tube around this floral pick. The top will look something like the above photo.

Pull the free end of the wire up, letting it split the cornhusk in one spot, then wrap it tightly around the rolled husk with the pick inside. This is the finished center of your flower.

Now it’s time to add your petals. Many petal styles look great. One style is to take a strip of cornhusk (about 1 inch wide at its wide end) and fold it very gently over onto itself, making a loop. Hold both ends and place them next to your flower’s center. With one hand holding the flower’s center and the first petal, repeat the folding over of the next petal with your free hand. Add it to the flower. Repeat this until you have three to six petals ringing your flower’s center. Hold all the petals to the flower center with one hand.

Gently stretch the floral tape slightly, and then place the tape’s end on top of your petals where they join the flower’s center (where the base of the flower is). Begin wrapping the tape around and around your flower’s stem by spinning the flower while keeping the tape gently stretched so it sticks nicely to the previous layer of tape. Work the floral tape all the way down the flower’s base and onto the wooden floral pick stem to its very end. You now have one complete flower, something like this one below.

Cornhusk flowers can be made with many variations.

Another way of making flower petals is to unfold a whole cornhusk and cut dags into it every inch or so. Cut the narrow end of the cornhusk off and then wrap these dagged petals around your flower’s center.

You can then gently pull the petals away from the center and curl them slightly with a finger or a pencil after you have them secured with floral tape. This can result in a lovely lily shape.

You can also round the ends of your petals like so. In the photo above, you can see that I split the flower’s center into narrow strips and bent them to achieve a different look for the flower’s stamens.

Some flowers have centers that extend beyond the petals. In some flowers, the opposite is true, and you can trim them to be shorter than the surrounding petals.

Another possibility is to roll a folded cornhusk to make a center like in the photo above. This one looks more like a rose.

Finally, if you’d rather your cornhusk flowers have colors instead of being natural color, that’s easy to achieve by soaking the cornhusks in a bath of water with food dye. Before you begin making flowers, you’ll have to let your dyed cornhusks dry completely, but that should take only a day or so. Food dyes will achieve pastel colors. If you want vibrant colors, you can dye the cornhusks with fabric dyes. Imagine the possibilities!

Here’s my humble cornhusk flower bouquet and table decoration. Will these flowers grace your Thanksgiving table?

We were blessed with wonderful house guests this past weekend—friends who were willing to fall into our family rhythm and enjoy some simple pleasures like home meals and nature walks.

There’s nothing like Sacramento in April.

We were able to show them a bit around our neck of the woods, with Lucas bravely leading the way and showing us what all the Waldorf kids know about this stretch of the American River Parkway—like this awesome rope swing …

… and Grandfather Oak, which is simply enormous.

We marched along the cliffs, watching bathers in the river below. Christyn and I geeked about wildflowers a bit. Lucas showed us all the wild fennel. Asher made sure we were aware of the area the kids call “Coyote Cafe.”

We found the pond and watched some Canada geese. Asher got stuck in some deep sloppy mud and Lucas rescued him. Big brothers are great like that!

On the way back we saw a handsome rattlesnake in our path. It was at least three feet long. Lucas saved us then, too, for he was the one to spot it. We were fortunate our fluffy dog was too ditzy to notice and try to mess with it.

After a superb brunch of Dutch baby (pancakes) with fresh fruit, during which we scientifically compared Brian’s family recipe to one from the Organic Family Cookbook, we lazed about for a while and then drove up the hill to the Horton Iris Farm.

It was really fun to share this place with my boys and my friends. Christyn, Brian, and I share a love of gardening and chatting about plants with them was wonderful. We enjoyed finding some unusual specimens.

I ordered this one for later this year. It’s called “Main Street.” I also ordered one that Lucas really liked, “Persian Berry,” and “Fade to Black,” which was Ian’s pick. I wrote down about a dozen names of irises I loved.

I haven’t been to Horton Iris Farm since last May when I went with my mom. I bought her a yellow iris as a gift.

Anyway, it was a lovely, relaxing weekend and I’m still trying to gear up for all the tasks ahead of me this week. Hope you enjoyed the phone photos. Happy Earth Day, everyone. (We’re going with Earth Week around here.)

Everything is flowering now, it seems, in joyous celebration of the start of spring. How did you celebrate?

My darling husband built me a raised garden bed this past weekend. It’s glorious and 8 ft. by 4 ft. It took a couple of hours to build. I still need more soil to fill it. Seven 2 cubic ft. bags wasn’t enough, but that’s all that would fit in my car. It meant I got to go to my happy place for a brief while, and I refrained from buying much—

Just a tiny six-pack of red snapdragons and one of orange marigolds … you know, for luck.

It’s spring break now and my children have two weeks off school. Today’s project was Clean the Bedroom. (It looks pretty good now.) Yesterday’s projects were more fun:

We dyed Easter eggs, using our hens’ eggs. We started, as you can see, with an assortment of colorful eggs, and only one white one.

It’s good rainbow fun, you know.

Brown eggs and green eggs turn lovely, gentle colors when you dye them.

We also did another springtime project as a surprise for Daddy that I’ll tell you about tomorrow.

I get it now. Although I’ve always loved Easter and the springtime, I think I really get it now. I’ve studied Christianity and the goddesses of world religions and I’ve done my share of pagan festivals. The rites of spring have always been glorious and inspiring.

But I really get it now. The miracle of eggs.

I keep hens, and I currently have 15 beauties in my backyard. They range in age from 5+ to 1 year old. All are mature enough to lay and their eggs are delicious.

In the wintertime, the hens stop laying, or slow down to an unbearable trickle. They slow down so much that it’s frustrating to be feeding them all winter long and getting so little—especially when the chicken run gets cold and sloppy with mud and manure and I have to tromp out there daily to make sure they get fed and watered, and to collect my rare, occasional egg. In the wintertime, I buy eggs at the supermarket and I buy feed for my chickens.

As February arrives, the hens start laying a little more. Some days I get two or three eggs. Some days it’s back to one.

It’s March now. It’s the Spring Equinox and the girls have fully ramped up. In the last 24 hours I’ve collected 15 rainbow-hued eggs. Just in time for Ostara. Just in time for Easter egg rituals and children’s hunts. Just in time for the eggs to take their exalted place in our cultural observances for one day.

So let’s look at that a moment. All winter long, if we were subsistence farmers, we would be eating mostly last year’s food—stored or preserved food. When it comes to protein, that means either a winter slaughter or dehydrated, salted, or frozen protein. What if we, like previous generations, didn’t have freezer technology? That leaves us with the risky expenditure of energy on hunting for fresh meat, dehydrated or salted protein, or the sacrifice of a valuable animal.

But with the coming of the springtime, the eggs return. The flow of fresh, nutritious protein begins again. Bellies get full. Muscles get stronger. People can return to the hard work of living because they’ve got the fuel to do so, and it comes in safety-sealed, perfectly portion-controled little packages— boxes without hinges, key, or lid, yet golden treasure inside is hid.

And so the egg is naturally the symbol of renewal, of hope, of plenty. Chicks hatch from some, and that’s delightful because they are cute and fluffy (and because when they fall asleep they instantly flop over and doze, awkwardly and ridiculously, however and wherever they fall). But really, baby chicks mean more eggs will come.

Eggs aren’t the only symbol of springtime renewal, of course. And we honor them all: workable earth, seeds for planting, tender sprouts, fresh edible greens growing where there had been snow. Flowers mean bees and bees mean fruits. Pregnant livestock give birth. Milk and honey flow.

All of these are longed-for signs that life will continue, that mothers and fathers can feed their babes.

Happy Ostara!

The Leprechaun

In a shady nook one moonlight night,
A leprechaun I spied
In scarlet coat and cap of green,
A cruiskeen by his side.
‘Twas tick, tack, tick, his hammer went,
Upon a weeny shoe,
And I laughed to think of a purse of gold,
But the fairy was laughing too.

With tiptoe step and beating heart,
Quite softly I drew nigh.
There was mischief in his merry face,
A twinkle in his eye;
He hammered and sang with a tiny voice,
And sipped the mountain dew;
Oh! I laughed to think he was caught at last,
But the fairy was laughing too.

As quick as thought I grasped the elf,
“Your fairy purse,” I cried,
“My purse?” said he, ” ’tis in her hand,
That lady by your side.”
I turned to look, the elf was off,
And what was I to do?
Oh! I laughed to think what a fool I’d been,
And the fairy was laughing too.

—Robert Dwyer Joyce

‘Twas a fine sunny day at harvest time when young Seamus O’Donnell, walking along the road, heard a tapping sound.  Peering over the hedge, he saw a tiny man in a little leather apron, mending a little shoe.

“Well, well, well!” said Seamus to himself.  “I truly never expected to meet a leprechaun.  Now that I have, I must not let this chance slip away.  For everyone knows that leprechauns keep a pot of gold hidden nearby.  All I have to do is to find it, and I am set for the rest of my life.”

Greeting the leprechaun politely, Seamus asked about his health.  However, after a few minutes of idle conversation, Seamus became impatient.  He grabbed the leprechaun and demanded to know where the gold was hidden.

“All right!  All right!” cried the little man.  “It is near here.  I’ll show you.”

Together they set off across the fields as Seamus was careful never to take his eyes off the little man who was guiding him.  At last they came to a field of golden ragwort.

The leprechaun pointed to a large plant.

“The gold is under here,” he said.  “All you have to do is to dig down and find it.”

Now Seamus didn’t have anything with him to use for digging, but he was not entirely stupid. He pulled of his red neckerchief and tied it to the plant so that he would recognize it again.

“Promise me,” he said to the leprechaun, “that you will not untie that scarf.”

The little man promised faithfully.

Seamus dropped the leprechaun and ran home as fast as he could to fetch a shovel.  Within five minutes, he was back at the field.  But what a sight met his eyes!  Every single ragwort plant in the whole field — and there were hundreds of them — had a red neckerchief tied around it.

Slowly, young Seamus walked home with his shovel.  He didn’t have his gold.  He didn’t have the leprechaun.

And now, he didn’t even have his neckerchief.

(Traditional Irish Legend)

Today was a busy, busy day, but we still took a little time for leprechaun fun. We made some yummy Sugar Shamrocks, then set out some treats. Our leprechaun party is now all ready for the Wee Folk. We have shamrock cookies, milk, and honey for them. Asher brought some pretty flowers to make it beautiful, and we made a wee banner that says “Welcome.” We’ll see what happens during the night.

Earth’s bounty is always all around us, but it is perhaps even more apparent in the summer, when crops are ripening and plant life flourishes. Wild or cultivated herbs can be useful friends, growing perhaps right outside our kitchen doors. Herbs are commonly used as food, as decorations, as dyes, as flavorings. They also are used the world over to clean and heal.

You can easily make herbal soaps for your family to use and enjoy, right in the comfort of your own kitchen. There are two soap-making techniques. This tutorial teaches you the simpler of the two. Technically, you’re really embellishing this soap, rather than making it from scratch. Because the process is simple, even small children can help to make these beautiful, healing soaps, as long as you carefully monitor them around the stove and hot soap. (Of course you will!)

Calendula (also known as pot marigold) is a common and prolific garden annual that reseeds itself. It is known to have been used as early as Roman times as both a dye and a flavoring. Calendula is known to have antiseptic properties, which make it perfect as a soap additive. Many natural first aid preparations include calendula.

Peppermint grows in many cottage and kitchen gardens. You can use it in teas, desserts, and body care potions, such as lotions, shampoos, balms, and soap. Mint may have a calming and soothing effect for skin irritations, itching and hives. It is believed to have anesthetic and anti-inflammatory properties.

Materials for Making Herbal Soaps

• glycerin soap base (I used a glycerin and olive oil base)
• calendula (pot marigold) and mint herbs from the garden (I used a mix of dried calendula petals and fresh flower heads, and fresh mint leaves)
• stovetop pan, cutting board, knife, ladle
• soap molds (also silicone muffin pans work very well; these come in fun shapes )
• essential oils for fragrance (optional)
• soap colorant (optional)

A word about glycerin soaps: You can buy glycerin at the craft store, along with lots of other fun soap-making and body product supplies (dyes, fragrances, molds, etc.). Using pure glycerin soap in this project will result in soaps with a layered effect, since your herbal additives float to the top of your molds as your soap sets. There’s nothing wrong with this, and the result can be quite beautiful and rustic. Another kind of glycerin soap base that you can buy has olive oil added to it, and a property that keeps any additives in suspension, meaning you won’t get layers and your herbs will stay mixed throughout the soap. This is the look that I was going for with these two batches. You can decide what’s right for you. There is no difference in how you make the soap. Just be sure to read the packaging carefully so you get what you really want.

Begin by gathering your materials. You will need a clean cutting board and a table top to work on.

First, cut your glycerin soap base into small cubes. This makes it easier to melt at low temperatures, and you want to keep the temp quite low when you‘re making soap. You can use a double boiler or just put your glycerin cubes into your pot. (Cleanup is easy with hot water and a scrub brush!) Stir the soap often until all pieces of glycerin are melted.

Meanwhile, chop your mint leaves into very small pieces. You may wish to set aside some of the tiniest leaves to be used as a decoration later on. Of course, this is optional.

If you have lots of soap molds or muffin pans, you might be able to make both types of soap at the same time. Since I had to reuse the molds after the first soaps were fully set, I made two batches—first calendula, then mint—cleaning up in between batches.

Before starting, I saved the dried petals from my calendula flowers for a week or so. For my soap, I also used a few fresh flower heads to maximize its potency as an antiseptic.

Add your petals and flower heads to your melting soap cubes. The heat will begin to cook the flowers.

If you want your calendula soap to have a rich yellow coloring, add a few drops of soap colorant to the pot. You don’t have to do this, and if you cook the petals in the soap a while, it will begin to take on a natural yellow color. At this point, you can also add fragrance, if you wish. I added a few drops of geranium essential oil. Geranium is known to be a comforting scent, and since I envision my children washing their scrapes with my calendula soap, comfort seemed to be just the right feeling to evoke by smell.

If you used fresh flowers, you should fish out the centers now. When you’re satisfied with your soap’s color and fragrance, it’s time to pour it into molds to set. Using a ladle, gently fill each cup to the brim. Keep the mold flat. The soap will begin to cool quickly, but it may take an hour or so for the soap to become very firm to the touch. You can speed the cooling by placing the mold flat in your refrigerator.

When the soap is completely firm and set, gently pop each soap out of the mold. They should separate from the mold’s sides with some gentle twisting and come out cleanly.

My second batch of soap was mint. You’ll repeat all the same steps as with the calendula soap. Begin by cutting soap cubes and then just add the chopped mint in with the glycerin. The longer you allow your mint soap to cook on the stove over low heat, the greener it will become. I added a few drops of eucalyptus and mint essential oils to the warm pot. The smell is calming and relieves stress.

You can add your reserved tiny mint leaves into your mold if you wish. They won’t stay exactly in place when you ladle in your mint soap, but you will be able to see pretty whole leaves in your soaps after they have set.

In this photo, you can see my two different pours. The greener bars were poured from soap that had been on the stove longer. The natural green from the mint leaves colored the soaps. I like them both.

A finished mint soap, with lots of gorgeous herbal goodness visible.

And here’s a darker one. This soap was on the heat longer and became a dark green.

Here is the finished calendula soap, with pretty golden-orange petals showing inside.

Homemade soaps make wonderful gifts for family, friends, and teachers. Consider adding a mint and a calendula soap to your outdoor adventure box or your first aid kit. Use both types to cleanse and to heal.