the winds of may
THE WINDS OF MAY
are soft and restless
in their leafy garments
that rustle and sway
making every moment movement.
-Ursula K. Le Guin
-
A cool and rainy spring so far. Some relief after the drought of last autumn. My attention turns to flowers, distilling more of our rose geraniums and starting a plateful of lilac enfleurage. I sent lots of treats out to our beloved wholesale stockists this month, including Sparrow’s Floral Design, Take Care, Botanic & Luxe and Arctic Tern Books. Grateful to be connected with so many wonderful small businesses through my work.
The garden fills with life and by the middle of the month, there are roses. We make our annual batch of rose wine from their fragrant petals. Everything is a disaster, and we organize to try to fix it. The native plant seeds I saved from last year and sowed in the autumn have germinated. The garden fills up again, with plants, with neighbors.
reading:
Like Two Negative Numbers Multiplied by Rain
Mary Oliver's May
the latest edition of Antennae Magazine
meditations on scent memories of a place, here and here
and a wonderful guide to planting for butterflies & moths in the Northeast
-
listening:
to Ron Carter in honor of his birthday (5/4) and Keith Jarrett in honor of his (5/8),
returning to Steve Reich's Octet while shipping out your orders,
to Iva Bittova's new album and the latest release from Ganavya, too
-
below from top left:
{ spring things from the garden }
{ sending out this charming vintage compact filled with the rains botanical perfume, the perfect choice for a very damp month! }
{ recently in the magic cabinet }
{ a fresh batch of orange blossom butter + my sweet little calamondin tree, laden with fruit! }
above, spring bits around the studio
-
below, a little lilac enfleurage
and making rose petal wine
Wishing you a beautiful spring!
Until next time,
more spring things
Amidst the absolute chaos of our collective lives here in this moment, the garden somehow still emerges. We put up the greenhouse and start our seeds. The spring ephemerals push up through the soil. We ground ourselves in observing these cycles.