Her house is made of stone and earth. One room. It is not decorated. It is shelter.
She is not building anything. She does. Every day. But the doing also undoes, of its own accord. So it's becoming, then, dis~integrating. A constant motion. Back ~ Forth. Back~forth.
can’t get enough of this photo..what is she gathering ? I love her face.
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She’s holding a short hand scythe in her right hand, very sharp by the look of the cut stems in the right foreground. The branches could be willow withies by the way the long leaves are hanging wilted. A basket maker? Her hands say yes.
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When I look at her face, I know I’m looking into the face of my grandmother. Might not be blood relative, but she is surely a grandmother of the heart… and I wish someday that she wanders out of my woods carrying her scythe and a bundle of sticks for making whatever she is making.
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thanks, deb, I kind of wondered if it was willow..I’m so interested in trying to do this with my creek willow. A long time ago I found (library) a very old book on English basket making. I copied so many pages out of it..thought the librarian was going to fall over when she figured out what I owed her for the copies…but it’s a treasure..must locate that stash. Don’t you just want to be following her…learning from her ? I think Grace is going to do it !! I’ve just been out on our hwy. cutting cattails for decoration and then into the papermaking pot so I’m really relating to this “gatherer”. Thanks again, Deb
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i love her eyes.
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maybe.
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Watch for her
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Every day fuel and food and sleep. Everyday morning and evening. Every day the land and the critters. Everyday everything necessary. Every day a blessing and a curse, and always knowing, loving and knowing and going on everyday this way.
I love her, and I love you too.
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knowing, loving, knowing and going. Us. we do.
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windthread 
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