sparrow grass

My husband has been patiently planting asparagus in our yard for a couple of years now. No harvest yet…but we are hopeful. Although, I think the critters are the ones who are winning. When asparagus first emerges, slim, tender (edible) spears appear. As the spears mature, they become woody at the base while the tips begin to open and develop into airy fern-like foliage. As the asparagus ferns out, female spears produce green berries that eventually turn red. I snatched this waist-high ferned-out asparagus on one of my several walking trails this fall. i should have used it as my christmas tree.

adult asparagus ferns with red berries (Asparagus officinalis)

It’s official

I have officially flipped: I now consistently feel that dried flowers are more beautiful than their peak form. So much structure and detail is revealed once all the fleshiness has evaporated. Yes, the colors fade, but those muted earth tones are more pleasing to me. Instead of calling for my attention like flashing lights on a an emergency vehicle, the softer palette puts color into balance with the other elements of the composition. Everything is in harmony. And I can relax. And enjoy the subject in all its detailed magnificence.

dried gentian flowers (Gentiana lutea)

January in the North

I try to keep STILL seasonal. But, let’s face it, winters here in the North are at a minimum 4 months long. If I truly stuck to only seasonal subjects, you would get a whole lot of images just like this one. By far, the vast majority of subjects I would have to choose from are bare branches. Sure, there are evergreens, pinecones, tree bark, weed stems poking though the snow, and even some colorful fruits and berries still clinging to trees and shrubs. But mostly, if I scan my horizon, I see a tangle of bare branches like these. I could be very happy for a while, say a month or so, studying the shapes, curves, and negative spaces created by all those branches. But, even minimalist me, has a limit to how long these could hold my attention. That is why I stash away a fair amount of dried summer and fall each year. It’s my money in the bank for winter. You can expect a smattering of winter’s sparseness like this one over the next couple months. And a few dried reminders of seasons past when i feel we could all use a little color.

P.S. Have you noticed that I am using capitalization now. After 10 years of using all lower case, I am making a shift back to proper punctuation. The whole reason I started with all lower case, was a simple notion of wanting “i” to be in lower case so the the art was primary, and the ego was secondary. I am not sure anyone picked up on that, and it has become cumbersome to continue the practice. So, going forward, “I” will be at the center of “STILL” as I have always been.

sowing seeds

I have started listening to a podcast that I want to share with you. It’s called Cultivating Place: conversations on natural history & the human impulse to garden. Jennifer Jewel is the host, and she reminds me of Krista Tippett from On Being. I highly recommend it. It turns out, Jennifer just published a book called What We Sow: On the Personal, Ecological, and Cultural Significance of Seeds. I have downloaded it, and am enjoying it so far. Clearly, I have seeds on the brain. Which means you probably do now as well. :-)

tall grass seedheads

Happy New Year

January 1 as the start of a new year is an arbitrary date. it is neither the winter solstice (farthest tilt away from the sun), nor the perihelion (closest approach to the sun). See below for a little history of how our Gregorian calendar became our current standard.**(removed due to length, will re-share tomorrow)

I am not a big new year’s resolution maker. But I am a big believer in sharing our hopes and goals with others as it really does seem to increase the likelihood of their being realized. Other than the obvious hopes of peace, love, health, and happiness for me and all of my charges, my other two goals for 2024 are that both my STILL book, and Steve’s memoir, are both wildly successful. For me, success means simply that my book gets in the hands of as many people as possible. I am very proud of it, and hope it delights whoever reads it. For Steve’s memoir, success to him includes selling lots of books, obviously, but he also hopes it will be well received as a work with some literary merit that might help to establish him as a writer with a national audience. You will be hearing about our respective book launches in the coming months. I’ll try not to overdo it on this platform, as STILL is meant as a place for calm and quiet, and not self promotion. But I hope you will grant me a little leeway this one time. It’s unlikely there will ever be another STILL book, so I will making hay…as they say.

I will still be here every day in 2024! I am very much looking forward to another year with you!

xo, Mary Jo