things i love

A few things I'm loving this week:

This summer array.

peach water and watermelon

Because it's hot here, and this is both cool and delightful.

These scissors hanging in the kitchen.

scissors & kitchen ephemera

And Cody, who sharpened them with his special brought-home-from-work kit after I (unsuccessfully) tried with our knife sharpener.

This sunny yellow.

summer sunflower

Tis the season!

This adventure kit.

adventure kit

And the many yellow jacket stings salved by the clay/plantain powder this week.

These logs.

sawmill logs

Milled by Cody.  (Photographed by him, too.)

Things I love elsewhere:

Making this after the Farmers' Market Saturday.
Fresh summer greetings (via Miss Moss).
Summer treats.
This denim collar is an adult version of my handmade childhood dresses (also via Miss Moss).
Defending creative vision!
Also making pork this weekend.

things i love

This French tumbler.

french tumbler

And the way the early tawny light pours through it on the table my husband made.

These dovetails

address wheel

Because they hold together & house the addresses of the people I love on a spinning wheel.  Yes, Cody made that for me, too.  (I know, y'all, I know.  I'm a lucky lady!)  Having these addresses makes writing letters easier for me (more on that soon).

This counter corner.

counter corner

Cement meets butcher block.

These drooping daisies.

drooping daisies

And how white and yellow and beautiful they were all week long.

This dusty tile.

dusty tile

Because it's covered in sawdust and still sparkles with the beauty of near-completion.

Things I love elsewhere:

This project!  Reminiscent of our life on the farm.  
I'm all about that bass.
Margaret Atwood's work in a capsule.
Wooden paper!

things i love

This milk rice

milk rice, lindsey wayland

because I made it from this recipe and can't believe I just found out about her blog (I also love this one, so did the children).

These hats!

hats on a hike, lindseywayland

My children wear them now, I wore them when I was their age.

This letter-package.


Because it is full of gratitude, calligraphy, poetry, and my very own portrait from Cordella Magazine. Everything that makes my heart sing!  Thank you for sending it to me.

This new-to-me weekender bag.

lindsey wayland cuyana weekender

Because I've been searching for years and finally found it.  Because it's black and gold with a hint of something bright inside.  Because it's made in USA.  Because it's canvas.  Because my golden birthday travel bags match.  Because I immediately unpacked it when I came home from a lovely trip Seattle trip this week.  

What do you love this week?

pairing poetry

This week I've been pairing poetry with downsizing.  

lindseywayland braided poetry


As you may know, I lived in a bus for a couple of years--from the time Willa was a baby until Leroy was a baby.  When Leroy was nine months we moved into a farmhouse in central Washington.  We are moving again (more about that coming soon) and it has me inspired to continue my bus-like modus operandi.  Read: minimalism.  This week I've donated an entire truckload of boxes to the local rummage room.  Phew.  Sweet sweet release.  We didn't have that much stuff, but somehow along the way I began to assume the roles (and the apparatus) of an herbalist, a seamstress, a wool felt extraordinaire, a knitter, a librarian, a painter, a letter-writer, a mail artist & envelope maker, a leather-chair-maker, a type-writer collector, a gardener, a poet, a fashionista (remember when I adopted my minimalist wardrobe?  It was one of the best things I've done, because now I have a uniform and staple items and basic pieces that really fit well together.  It's evolved, of course, and I'm happy to share a little more about that eventually here, but for sake of brevity, suffice it to say I kept all the other pieces and haven't worn them or thought about some of them in, oh, eight years!  And we're not talkin' heirloom sentiments, either here), etc.  Once I realized I'd accumulated so much stuff in order to wear so many hats I immediately knew a purge was underway. 

In order to endure my contributions to the world and place priority upon my concentrated (minimal) endeavors, I am trimming the fat.  I am going deep.  But for now, as I fill boxes for donation and have a seasonal downsize, I'll keep it simple and share a poem I've been enjoying lately with the summer sprinkler tickling my feet and iced anything.

And, so, inspired by minimalistic living, a few very simple poems from Ted Kooser and Jim Harrison's book that reads like a glass of iced tea on a July afternoon.  Do you have a glass of iced tea?  Or lemonade?  

A house will turn itself
to catch a little moonlight
on a bedpost.”


”Let go of the mind, the thousand blue
story fragments we tell ourselves
each day to keep the world underfoot.”


”All I want to be
is a thousand blackbirds
bursting from a tree
seeding the sky.
— Ted Kooser & Jim Harrison


Poems plus postcards equals a true commitment to my kind of contribution (bliss).  Braided Creek, A Conversation in Poetry pairs perfect with the expansive nature of a pare-down.  The snippets are both proverbial and minimal enough for a brief moment that lends itself to thought all day long.  I hope three isn't overwhelming!  Many of their poems have a unique humor that leaves one with smirked lips or blushed cheeks.  I love too, that this book reminds me of my dear friend Michelle, who writes me long, beautiful letters filled with simple and profound postcard-esque proverbs.  

I'll welcome myself back to blogging, now too.  I have some great ideas to share with you, soon.  Meanwhile, I'm going to write a few letters and edit a few poems and I'll be back soon.

*These poems are shared with permission from the publisher, Copper Canyon Press, thank you very much for the work you do and the poems you publish.  
*"Portrait of a Stone" by Andrew Vallee is sitting on the table next to the book.

Thinking a new hashtag may be appropriate, too, here: #pairingpoetry because I'm envisioning a new series.  

Cordella Magazine

A beautiful new online literary journal, Cordella Magazine, edited and written by women published two of my poems for their Issue Three: Woven.  It's beautiful!  I'm downright delighted to be included and love what space they hold in the literary journal world.  Thank you Sarah and Cate! Do check out all the pieces, there are some beautiful poems, photographs, interviews, a fantastic spring recipe, and a number of stunning woven art.  I'm humbled to be amidst such lovely women!

Also, aren't the very personal ink drawings for each bio photo just the sweetest thing?

Sincerely, Lindsey


My paddle plant died last month.It is snowing outside today.  Small flecks of snow drift. I know we are in the dead center of winter. It is a fact that we cycle, that the light waxes and wanes.

My paddle plant may well be the drifts of snow, which are reincarnated stars who died years ago, our ancestors.

Saturday blossom is the same as Saturday compost.

Rest in peace, still.

Evidence Rising

This song came on our radio last week while we danced together, Willa, Leroy, and I.  Nostalgia swept over me. I felt like I used to feel when I was in high school. I made fried chicken and french fries for dinner later that evening which is a classic representation of my adolescence, too.

I wonder if I'm on the verge of a huge breakthrough. (I obviously am!) And, I've been facilitating ceremony: scheme and dream ceremony for first blood, rites of passage, initiation, blossom bloom.  And thinking about poetry therapy.  I find myself yearning to work with youth again.

Writing and writing and writing more.  I've been submitting to literary magazines, too.  Letters sent out, so many letters.  I realize how much I love postal submissions because it combines my great love of poetry and letters.

My angel guides are clear, and I'm inspired.  How do you communicate with the spiritual realm?  Do your guides give you visions?  Do you hear voices?  Does nature guide you?  In your dreams? I've been so guided by words and nature lately.  In fact, I'm endlessly inspired by Mary Oliver, who combines both words and nature.

Evidence for Mary Oliver

There is something about the book you wrote— Evidence— which has me wanting to bury my own evidence and unearth it with concomitant fistfuls. Or, bury it to unearth it. Or, unearth it to bury it.

I have at times wondered if the word evidence, with its e’s strategically placed three well-played chess pieces, has me deeply intrigued. Ground for belief; that which tends to prove or disprove something; proof. Often, by mistake, after a jaunt with the sweet grass and deep summer and the violets, I have placed this book flipped with its words facing up instead of down like the others on my bookshelf. I look back to the bookshelf and notice its blue spine upside down. When I go back to correct it, I nearly always read “Prince Buzzard” again. (The book needs no prod to open to page five.)

Oh, sweet vulture, a monk noble and bald and hungry— your work changes me. You do what others refuse. Your work is ugly and you work still. Your work is beautiful and you work still. Your work is and you work still.

Your work is. You work still.

The only evidence is in my pink fleshy heart— the lighthouse blinking to every ship near, signaling home. And I’m home.