january notes

One of the truest winters we’ve had for a while. This month brought deep cold and plenty of snow. In the morning when I arrive at the studio, it’s only about 40 degrees fahrenheit indoors, our building has so little insulation. I reassemble my thoughts after the holiday rush. Take the inventory. Contemplate the months ahead. The last few years have been full to the brim with challenge and uncertainty for those of us who make things by hand on a small scale, and 2025 promises little relief. But I remain so very grateful for my incredible clients, some of whom have been a part of the community surrounding my little studio now for a decade or more. In a time where so many new technologies are influencing our lives in ways we have barely even begun to understand, I also sense a powerful desire to return to the simple things, to reconnect with ourselves, with each other, with the earth. And no matter which innovations turn out to truly benefit us, and which do not, I will remain here, making things by hand. Connecting with the human-scale growers and producers from whom I source my raw materials. Connecting with all of you, who so generously welcome my work into your daily lives. We’ll come through all this together, somehow.

I’ve been catching up on post-holiday restocks for my beloved shop partners, too, including Arctic Tern Books, Take Care, Cultiverre, Atomic Garden, Marigold & Grey, Remedies Parlor, Eldorado General Store & KinKa.

And despite the wild weather, I’ve still been trying to get up to the garden to fully appreciate the quiet energy of the season and to capture any wayward seedpods still lingering on in the native plant beds.

-

reading:

about Rosa Luxemburg’s herbarium & this Lucille Clifton poem

-

listening:

to the viol de gamba (I used to study it!) this album and this one are on repeat

-

above, from top left:

{ one of the first days of the year, with a dusting of snow and a mysterious studio power outage }

{ the first three months of our 2025 tiny city garden postcard calendar }

{ this exquisite vintage piece on the way to a new home, filled with our forest perfume balm }

{ a fresh restock of soap + solidarity, truly so grateful for all your kind support of this effort since last year }

I’ve always wanted to create a narcissus enfleurage from the forced paperwhites that I keep in the studio each winter, but have never quite wanted to pick them to disturb the display. This year, something simply came over me, and I used every single blossom over the course of the several weeks this first batch has been in bloom. I always start more bulbs after the holidays, as well, so I will layer in more scent when those flower, too. I’m already delighted with the results, and scheming on how to grow even more next winter, in the hopes of being able to offer a little of the scented pommade in the shop, as a very special treat.

Tending to my seed collection has also been such a lovely treat on these winter days. I had so many paper bags full of dried seedheads squirrelled away from the autumn, and this month has been the perfect time to sort through everything for the season ahead.

In the meantime, I continue to add plenty of beautiful fresh vintage to the shop, and I’ve been reveling in the sweet blooms of my little calamondin tree, too. Simple things for a quiet moment of the year.

---

To read a poem in January is as lovely as to go for a walk in June.

Jean Paul Friedrich Richter

---

And I’ll leave you with a few photos from another recent visit to the gardens at the Cloisters, just as the pages of the year turned. Ferns, olive trees, citrus and other mediterranean treasures like dittany of crete, bay and rosemary flourish in the enclosed spaces in winter. And the artistry of the espaliered trees in the courtyard was all the easier to appreciate after the leaves had fallen. A truly meditative way to begin a new year.

Take good care,

{ back to all posts }

---

more winter notes