More times than not, I write on my Instagram. It’s where I share most of my photos and will often write quick blurbs in the description that are much longer than what most people write in theirs, and often I lend far too much meaning to an area most people scroll past. I’ve wanted to retain some of these captions with writing that I enjoyed and felt this is a good area to begin capturing those moments. And so I’ll begin a series, similar to my Wild & Precious Life updates, where every couple of months I’ll share instagram posts where I felt particularly happy with the description here in one post.
Let’s travel back in time and move along steadily to the present, shall we?
You can see their breath. The men, working outside to see the property where we live and pave the road, are donned in sweatshirts and their giant breaths form an almost smoke as they spill forth from their lips. The cars hold a sheen to it, the air cold. Hello, autumn, we see you on each blade of grass and the shimmer of leaves from invisible breeze and your long shadows in early morning. Hello, autumn, we feel you in hot beverages and soft sweaters and crocheted blankets. Hello, autumn, we smell you in spices and dying leaves and woodsmoke from unseen bonfires. Hello, autumn, we hear you in the rustling of the drying weeds, the lone crickets at night, and the gathering of starling and grackles in the early dawn followed by the rush of their wings as they fly to the sky. Hello, autumn. Welcome home.
September 30, 2020
At long last, the rain. And so the rivers sang their praises as they flowed once more, brought back to life with each droplet and remembering what it is to move and churn and sing and yell and live.
🍁
I went out to the river to take photos, soaked through and peeling off my clothing upon returning home to warm myself with hot tea. We drove to the farm with the constant woosh of wipers and the splash of water from tires, and paused here and there to view the foliage and the distant lake. Glorious fall, you always remind me that there is beauty in death, a reminder of the life lived that is worth celebrating.
The birds flit from branch to branch and sing to one another, “hellohellohello, will you gogogo?” The depths of migration are upon us and the birds seem to be filled with that early spring energy as they quickly eat their fill and take to the gray skies whilst the beaver fixes its dam for winter, ensuring its warmth in the cold days ahead.
“Goodbyegoodbyegoodbye,” they sing to their friends as they are lost to the heavy clouds, and I’m left bound to the ground with shawl wrapped tight, looking to the heavens, squinting my eyes as I watch them go.
Green leaves are becoming the minority and the leaves keep dancing their way to the ground or being swept up into a spinning storm. I take such comfort in them and I’m so grateful to live in this colorful land. My anxiety has been atrocious in recent weeks, the worst it has been since I began going to therapy years ago. I’ve been crippled by anxiety attacks and it’s been so, so hard over the last few weeks. But, one thing I’ve noticed is that getting outdoors and walking has been a near instantaneous cure. Nature has always brought me the type of peace some people find in churches, even being able to drive down roads like that shown above helps. I’ll be sad when the trees are bare but then it will be the eager search for snow and the knowledge that nature will still embrace me as it has and calm my quivering anxiety.
Our time with the vibrantly colored leaves is drawing to a close. More trees have become bare, more leaves have littered the forest floor. Walking is not a silent thing, as each footstep brings a crunch underfoot. And I feel the ending of this time in my soul, deep and inherent and urging me forward in our soon to be late fall activities. When there’s less daylight, I find myself attracted to my hobbies that seem to best describe me: crochet, reading, writing. All through the summer I have thought of projects but haven’t had the desire to abandon the sunshine in favor of those crafts. But now my time to fully submit to my muses has come closer and I’m ready to accept them into my home. But first, some preparation, as the late harvest is still providing and seasonal fare is calling. Pumpkin whoopie pies, butternut squash soup, fresh herbed bread, and plenty of cups of tea.
work in late summer and hope for the best. Thus far, I’ve made one blanket and this shawl. 🍁 I began this shawl that I don’t honestly need a few weeks ago and now that it has reached completion with a lot of yarn left, I think I’ll make two and give one to my mother for Christmas. Plus, it’s more reason to sink into the repetitive cozy calmness of each stitch.
Meet Beatrice, our kitchen witch 🧡
My husband surprised me with this sweet little witch as an early anniversary gift. Kitchen witches, little witches who hang in the kitchen and ensure your food tastes good and doesn’t burn, have an argued heritage of either Scandinavian or German. Seeing as I’m both, I see it as just a part of my heritage. And it is. My mother owns multiple little kitchen witches that have stood watch over our meals for years and I realized with some level of horror this year that I didn’t have a kitchen with myself. I searched for a witch for ages, trying to find one that wasn’t too scary nor too cute, one that reminded me of the kitchen witches I grew up seeing. This was it, Beatrice is exactly who I envisioned to bless our meals. She is more of a Norwegian witch in design and I love her to bits. As soon as I was gifted her, I brought her to the kitchen to select her new home and over our table, below our shelf of preserved goods, and in sight of the oven seemed perfect. Welcome to the family, little witch. ✨
When I worked for the federal government, up until I had my son, I did everything in my power to try and promote acceptance and fight for equality. I didn’t do much, admittedly, my power was nonexistent, other than to get our team to use the more inclusive they/them pronouns. When I had begun working for the government under Obama, I was filled with hope and starry eyed. When I left I was depleted. In Ryland’s baby book there is a section to record world information for the year he was born and under president it’s blank with a note “Clinton won the popular vote.” It’s not that Ryland won’t know the history of it all, more that it’s been too painful in the moment to share. I’m slightly hopeful today, cautiously so, and I realize that we have so much more work ahead of us. But boy does it feel satisfying to know that the first President and Vice President Ryland will know of and be able to say the names of are Biden and Harris. (I still love you though, Bernie)
Softly, softly the snowflakes fell and muddy pathways presented themselves as the perfect pathways. Our weather has been unfortunately mild and we haven’t had anything near the amount of snow we had at this point last year, but I hope still for a snowy December and perhaps snowstorms too. While last year there was the excitement of all those firsts with our little one, this year seems even more precious as Ryland is aware of it all and the joy on his face clearly shows his surprise at the newness of winter snows and twinkling lights. And oh the coziness of it all! Warm clothes, soft blankets, tight hugs and all the candlelight. I feel you nearing, sister winter, and welcome you home.
My mind is full of what if’s of the negative variety and feeling quite overwhelmed, I think it’s best to turn inward. There’s chilly mornings under blankets whilst clutching hot mugs of coffee to be had. There’s bright winter sunshine in late afternoon before it slips off to sleep at the ripe hour of four pm and I, like a cat, sitting in the window with eyes closed and face turned toward the light while I can eagerly consume it’s fading warmth. There’s scraps of odds and ends with dreams of becoming something new, something finished, and I am the master of this creation. And always the little wood nymph who holds half my heart and many of my thoughts who would not think twice of disappearing into Narnia, and perhaps there’s a lesson to be learned there of ridding oneself of overthinking and shedding concerns like a too-hot coat. And so I follow the small footprints in the snow and make my way into that wild wood.
Erica Rose Eberhart 
Gorgeous photos
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Thank you so much!
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