A quick note amidst the dawn of the migration

"Each day is a little life: every waking and rising a little birth, every fresh morning a little youth, every going to rest and sleep a little death." 

- Arthur Schopenhauer, Counsels and Maxims

In our region of the Inland Northwest grows a tree with a secret. Though it masquerades all year as one of the conifers, come October its true deciduous nature is revealed. What looks like an evergreen forest becomes adorned with streaks of gold, and when the sun shines through and you happen to be passing by underneath, it can move you to tears. It is the real golden wood like Tolkien told us about, physical of course, yet creates a feeling beyond physical that is maybe even more palpable, a liminal story-world where conifers turn gold and lose their needles. Majestic and divine and awe-inspiring are all the right words, but they're not enough. Getting to experience it feels like a pure blessing. It is the Western Larch and it enriches our autumn days with its cheery gold paintbrush strokes across the landscape. A harbinger of the seasonal shift from light to dark, and the last bolt of color of the year, its yellowing lets us know that winters snows are right at the doorstep.

That is how the landscape looked when we drove through it waving our good-byes, then flew up over it early one morning when there was barely enough light to see, me with quiet tears moistening my cheeks, and love for a place putting an ache in my chest- surely one of the most interesting and deep relationships of my life.

Now I write from Kentucky, where I was met by the usual illness upon arrival, though fortunately it was short-lived this time as I'm in a healthier state overall this year (and adorned with my BioGeometry ring and pendant!). I'm starting to think that the sickness I experience coming to Kentucky each winter has to do with electrosensitivity. We already know I'm extremely sensitive by nature- my husband lovingly nicknamed me sensi-tiffany several years ago, and his canary, and it's true: if something is damaging, rest assured I will be the first to feel it and respond. While this used to feel like a burden, I now see it as a hidden blessing. And it seems the longer I live in the remote area that I do, the more stark the contrast when I suddenly throw myself back into the electrosmog that engulfs modern civilization. 

Alas! Here I am! In Kentucky, my hometown, visiting loved ones for a few months. 

During the days I'm usually working, studying, walking under the oaks, or helping family, but at night I've structured a lovely evening routine for myself. It involves: a 30-minute sauna session, a cold shower, some stretching, a mug of hot cacao (you can use the code TIFFANY98397 to get 15% off your order) and then hot herbal tea, some reading (right now I'm finishing up Richard Schulze's "There Are No Incurable Diseases" in preparation for a cleanse I plan to do soon), and knitting. This evening routine is balancing, nourishing, and crucial. 

In other good news, I've found a wonderful massage therapist here in my hometown and am enjoying a bi-weekly full-body massage for lymphatic drainage complete with hot stones and cupping. I feel fortunate to have connected with such a skilled masseuse, who is a true artist of her craft, a healer indeed.

Usually I help with an interior design project of some kind while I'm here and this year we've decided it's to turn an old unused bedroom into my mother's office for her Ebay store. I plan to create work stations and systems that will help her streamline some processes and be better organized in general. So I'll probably begin working on that soon.

I'm also hoping to start pulling back the carpet in the "new" addition part of the house that I stay in when I visit, with hopes to see nice hardwood underneath! We shall see. In my mind, I see this room turning into something like this, folky and rustic. But that might be a project for the next visit.

For whatever reason, I've been drawn to fictional literature lately instead of my usual non-fiction in the genres of health and esoteric spiritual topics. Driving back from the park this evening at dusk, I noticed the cold bluish LED lights shining from the windows and it turned my thoughts to older times when lantern light warmed the windows and blessed the village with a coziness. So I thought: to conjure this feeling while I'm here, and during this holiday time especially, I'm going to read some Victorian-era books. I already had Jane Eyre here, so I'll probably begin there (though when it comes to the Bronte sisters, I'm more drawn to Emily, as a person anyway, but who's to say who I'll like most as a writer?). And earlier this evening I was in the basement of the town library printing something very large, and as it printed I poked around and ended up making my way through the first few pages of Charles Dickens' Bleak House and really feeling drawn to his writing style and the voice of that era. So I have a copy of his "Great Expectations" on it's way to me in the mail, too. I wonder if anyone reading this has any Victorian-era book recommendations for me?

A short post this, but it's late and now I'm off to get into the aforementioned evening routine. Wishing anyone reading this health, grace, clarity, and peace of mind. 

x

In Nighthawk just a few weeks ago; sometimes when I'm away, like now, I stop and imagine it just as it might be right this minute... with the lonesome coyote howl, the scuttling sage grouse, the slow underground heartbeat of hibernating creatures, the quiet spacious bigness all around, the air so pregnant with freedom.