beautiful sustainability by design

Maybe it’s the weather. In Maine, if you don’t like the weather, give it a bit and it’s bound to change. You can never really count on it to be consistent with what you think it “should” be. With sweltering 90 degree temperatures only a few days ago, it felt good to have a fire in the wood stove over the course of the following cooler mornings and evenings when the weather changed. My wool sweaters never really get stored away. Still, I enjoy those perfect summer days we eventually get our fair share of and the kind that make people flee their more southern homes and flock to Vacationland.

It’s been a mixed bag. And so is my life right now.

Seems the Maine weather and my life are more often in transition these days than ever really hitting and sustaining any one thing. I understand that change is the only permanent thing, but I used to feel more anchored than I do now. I used to have an idea of where I was headed, even if I ended up taking a turn along the way. I had direction. Not so these days… well, not consistently anyway.

I’m as fickle as the weather.

I guess this is normal after big life changes as divorce, being laid off from work, losing parents, moving (more than once), reaching mid-life – all of which have happened for me one by one in just a matter of a few years. Like a foundation being dismantled, stone by stone. Recently, I had help clearing out my barn and it was surprisingly easy letting go of what was stored there. None of it made sense to me anymore. I’m not the same person living the life that these things were a part of. Nor do I want to take them with me, wherever I am headed. More dismantling, more space revealed. More to go in the coming days.

My work path is where I’ve experienced some fits and starts lately. I’ve had to patch together work as my marriage and the economy fell apart simultaneously in order to support myself. Having multiple streams of income is what most Mainers do even in the best of times in order to make a living here. Unfortunately, my once specific career path doesn’t exactly exist in rural Maine.

I started blogging over a year ago to explore the possibility of doing work for myself in some way over the internet. It makes good sense for me in so many ways. And yet I move in one direction and it doesn’t feel quite right. I move in another and more of the same. With Whole Living Style, I feel really confident. I’m very intent that WLS be strongly rooted in reality and not a fabricated view of a wished for life. Yet not having such strong roots yet (or again) myself, it’s sometimes difficult to define and direct this too.

It seems that the best thing I can be doing right now is to clear the space for new things to hatch. And not feel pressured to know exactly what it’s all going to look like. I’m so used to thinking in visual terms. However, there are a few things that have become very clear to me so far:

I want roots. I want to really settle into a place. I’m aware that perhaps this may not be where I currently am. But I know I want that sense of being intimate and engaged with a place and its people. And I want to feel rooted in a way that I feel free at the same time. Free to travel and explore on many levels. Like the way a tree holds tight to the earth so that it can move freely in the wind without falling over. I want to feel a sense of place. I want to feel home.

I want to be part of a family. I’m aware that this may not be a family in the traditional sense as I have known it. But I know I want that feeling of belonging and connection, of being loved and supported unconditionally. And as importantly and most necessarily, loving and supporting back. And yet, feeling a sense of independence. True loving does that.

I want to create. I’m aware that this could come in many different forms. So much deconstructing and detangling has been going on lately. I know I want to be living a more creative life.

Perhaps having direction for me now is not about specific destinations or things – wheres or whats. Maybe it’s more about how I want to feel wherever I am. This, I suppose, opens up a plethora of possibilities, many of which I might never have imagined if I were fixed on specific outcomes.

Still, I’m not entirely comfortable without a map in this new land. But I’m learning.

This summer I’m going to camp. I’m teaching for 8 weeks at an overnight camp not far from home. I’ll be teaching B&W Film Photography and Darkroom and Japanese Shibori Dyeing with Indigo. I won’t be staying overnight but will get the camp experience nonetheless. I’ll also use this summer to shepherd Whole Living Style and nurture it as it grows. And I’ll continue making space in my house, barn and garden for whatever comes next. Guess I’m ready to make room for commitment in my life again.

Come fall, I want to know more of what’s inside these eggs.

But for now, I’ll give them a warm and safe place to continue to incubate.

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The long Winter in Maine is followed by what often seems like an even longer Spring. This year is no exception. In fact, it feels like the slowest of all.

Glacial.

And I like it.

Yes. That’s right. I like it.

Even loving it.

Even as my friends in warmer climes have long been enjoying their own explosion of green and riot of color. Even through the weeks of rain and fog and with an extended forecast of more of the same. Even with still having to set fires in the wood stove and wearing sweaters every day. With flip flops and red toenails.

It’s Slow Spring.

It started with subtle patches of green in the warmer pockets on its quest to envelope the entire landscape.

Slowly. Intently. Rhythmically.

Deliciously.

Plenty of opportunities to engage.

To enjoy the entire process.

Feel it. Breathe it.

Deeply. Fully.

Sweet birdsong.

Early rising.

Breathing in moist flowery fragrances.

Peeling off layers to get to skin.

And within time there seems to be more green than brown.

The pace continues to sustain itself.

Blooming. Then retreating…

Happily repeating again and again.

Letting go of what’s been told it should be.

Using it as an energy source, not a drain.

Deepening relationships.

Uncoiling in the wet and the warming.

Enjoying what it is right now.

Every sensation along the way.

With the process being the prize, not pushing to the finale.

Ignite.

And in the end it’s all about “fully tasting the tomato”.

Oh. Yes.

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The mornings here in Maine are coming earlier and earlier each day. By mid-summer, the sky will begin growing light before 4am. And yet, at this point we still have remnants of Winter’s snow in the woods and Spring teases us with small and gentle signs. Knowing that friends in warmer climes are enjoying a full-on Spring now makes the early stages here even harder to bear. Yet I know, as the season progresses, things accelerate so quickly that any lagging behind is soon overcome and it’s almost too hard to keep up.

I guess you could say I am following in the footsteps of the seasons myself. Winter brought a sense for needing to turn inward, rest, and renew. I hibernated and reflected. I am now restored. I’m waking up along with the pace of Spring in Maine, slowly seeing the revealing signs of the work that has been going on underneath the cover of Winter. And soon, I’ll be jamming along as it all reaches full growth.

It only seems fitting that today – Earth Day – and the beginning of Easter weekend, I share with you the new direction for what I’m doing here. New name! New address! New look! All driven by becoming clearer about where I’m headed and what I want to share with all of you. Of course, it’s a work in progress but I think it’s moving in the right direction.

I realized there had been two very distinct themes running through my life from very early years. I was involved in the environmental movement when Earth Day first came about back in the 1970′s. I went away to college to earn a degree in Environmental Studies and had ideas of becoming a Forest Ranger. At some point a shift happened and I ended up with a degree in Graphic Design/Illustration and Photography. Over the years there has been a reoccurring tug of war between my love for the natural world and my love for the world of style. And the two never seemed to find too much common ground. I often found myself sacrificing one for the other, over and over.

It was this winter when something softened and became ripe… the time must be right to bring the two together. Thus, whole living style was born. I intend to prepare for you a guide of sorts… stories, insights, teachings… for the pursuit of the “good life” where aesthetics and sensitivity to the quality of things coexists naturally and beautifully alongside living with a high regard and respect for the environment. I hope to show you that these two ideals can play together nicely and forge a strong alliance.

I’ll be using my Maine location as a backdrop but will venture out into the bigger wider world to bring you even more of the good life that is happening out there, perhaps in the most unexpected places too. I don’t believe that living well is necessarily location dependent. You’ll find it all here on the blog, but there is another format beginning to sprout that I’ll unearth when it’s ready to harvest!

So, I’m lining up all sorts of subjects that intersect style with sustainability in all aspects of life. What sort of things would you like to see and read about here? I’d love to hear what you might find interesting and helpful. Please feel free to make suggestions now… and of course at any time. I hope we will also create a community that can spread the word that we all can practice a beautiful, satisfying, and sustainable way of living that supports our planet and insures we have a future here.

This is going to be fun – I’m thrilled to be back!

(The mood board and images here were created during the “Blogging Your Way” e-course that I took part in over at Holly Becker’s decor8 blog. It was a fantastic experience learning from Holly and also Leslie from a creative mint – I highly suggest if you ever get the chance to take part, don’t hesitate. It was a great catalyst during the process I went through this winter. Also, Holly has just had a big beautiful book published, Decorate, that is not only a visual feast but is proving to be one of the best tools I’ve come across for creating real living spaces.)

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(yawn and stretch…)

Hello there. Welcome to my new blog home. Isn’t it lovely? So many things are sprouting and taking root… I’ll be sharing them soon.

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I welcome and relish the enveloping darkness this time of year. I know… I’m one of few that do. The northern winter is my favorite season.

Going inward. Slowing down. Exploring the mystery.

This time marks a turning point for me. I put the year behind me and begin the preparation for the new one. The process begins with a time of quiet.

Rest. Renewal. Hibernation.

You may have noticed that the blog has been quiet and still, much like the natural world around us right now. It too needing a bit of a break.

Review. Repose. Introspection.

To add to the mystery of this night, not only is the Moon full but there’s also a total lunar eclipse. With this year’s longest night upon us we lose our bright beacon in the night sky as the the full Moon passes almost dead-center through Earth’s shadow.

Here in Maine, a dull amber light plays across the landscape instead of “giving the luster of mid-day to objects below”. That is if the skies were clear. But a snowstorm is building off the coast. Perhaps the clouds will part for a momentary glimpse at the astral attraction.

The last coincidence of the winter solstice and a total lunar eclipse was December 21, 1638. The next one isn’t until December 21, 2094. I don’t expect to be around for that one. So this one is pretty special… perhaps even auspicious.

I’m at a crossroads in my life and in my work. I see this as a poignant time for me. So the rest, repose, reflection, and renewal that begins this process is more important than ever.

I need to honor it. Make time for it. Dive deep into it.

So the darkness may envelope my work here… the light may shine less brightly just for a bit. Like my garden, it might look asleep and quiet but there are things going on below the surface that are making preparation for the next growing season. I’ll be excited to show you the fruits of my labors.

May you find the courage to embrace the quiet and dark this longest winter’s night and to go inward in search of the light that burns eternally inside. Scoop it up and enjoy the blessings that radiate from it.

Move slowly. Breathe deeply. Love.

I’ll see you back here when the light returns.

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Turning my head as I hear the bird sing in the tree, I pause before laying the next piece of wood on the pile. The sun is low in the sky, casting its last rays on the hills across the way. The early dusk creeps over the landscape.

It’s almost done… my firewood is in for this year.

There is a Zen saying…

“Before enlightenment: chop wood, carry water.

After enlightenment: chop wood, carry water.”

For me recently it has been…

“Before, during and after: stack wood, stack wood, stack wood.”

Because I rely almost entirely on wood to heat my home, I’m learning by fire (yes, pun intended) the fine art of firewood management. Five to six cords moved and stacked on my own this fall (3+ in the barn, the rest left to season outdoors). I’ll be moving it all again as it goes into the house to the stove.

I’ve seen how much of what I’ve learned is reflected in life.

I’ve made a list for you, although rather simplistic and obvious. However, as the best and most simple teachings go, it’s not so clear until you’ve experienced it yourself and it becomes a part of you. I’m still working on that.

1. Just begin.
2. What you do now will determine how comfortable you are later.
3. Each piece has it’s place.
4. There will be pain, but keep going.
5. You can chose to create something simple or you can create a work of art.
6. Time will not wait for you before it moves on.
7. It’s hard but necessary work
8. Enjoy the scenery.
9. Think about moving one piece at a time, not all of them.
10. Take breaks.
11. Overdoing it will be paid for later.
12. Little bits in small windows of time create big results before you know it.
13. Everything builds upon the foundation you’ve already put down.
14. This too is impermanent.
15. Listen for the memory of a bird singing in the tree.

Each time I add a log to the fire I quietly whisper “thank you” to the tree that it once was. And often there are times when the log is just beginning to catch fire a soft whistling sound can be heard like the memory of a bird singing in that tree.

I’m sure there is much more to learn and I’ll certainly have the chance at it again and again. (I’m already working on next year’s load.)  For now, this year’s firewood is in and I’m tucking in for a cozy winter.

All is well in this world.

What sort of lessons have you learned in your daily rounds?

(Want to see more fancy firewood stacking? Check out the images here.)

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The original part of my home dates back to the early 1790′s. Built by Uriah Dyer as his homestead roughly 17 miles inland from the Maine coast, it was one of the first houses in the area.

From this one-room structure grew a farm.

As the needs of the farm grew, so did the buildings. And they evolved over time with change being the only permanent thing.

Farmers must have been an active participant in the design and building of these types of farmsteads, as the buildings are so tightly knit to their individual functions as well as the greater whole. Out of the various types of work done on these farms and the local traditions of building, the connected farm was born – not from architects, but from common people.

Connected farm buildings dot the New England contryside with the highest percentages located from the middle of Maine south into Massachusetts and west into New Hampshire and Vermont. The typical arrangement is that of a house and barn joined together through a series of structures to form a continuous building complex.

(image from “Big House, Little House, Back House, Barn” by Thomas C. Hubka)

There are many variations of this theme, but there are four distinct sections that appear in a typical organization on most farms:  big house, little house, back house, barn. (This is taken from a 19th century children’s verse and is a common description used by “old timers”.)

Big House – The main farmhouse would have been comprised of a “formal” parlor and the families chambers upstairs. It would have been the most refined part of the complex. If this was the original building, it would have housed the kitchen too. (My “big house” also has a “borning room” – currently my workroom… seems appropriate!)

Little House – In my case, this was the original building on the site and housed the homesteaders entirely until the “big house” was built. It likely became the summer kitchen and wood house with the winter kitchen being located in the back room of the “big house”. This building currently houses my kitchen (winter and summer) and is still only one room deep and wide.

Back House – This building extends from the “little house” to the barn and housed farm equipment, work and storage spaces, and “the privy” in the far back corner. No privy there anymore sadly… and yes, I do have indoor plumbing! It is storage space more than work space for me at this point. I also shelter my firewood in it. You can see how it doesn’t really stand straight anymore… it’s what is driving my big project next summer. More to come on that…

Barn – The complex is generally punctuated by this building, typically the largest section. Being the functional center of the farming operation, it would have housed the animals and thier food. My farm had been a dairy farm but also had horses on it for transportation and field work. As you can see by the abrupt end of the “back house”, the barn structure is no longer standing. It fell into disrepair in its later years and then to the ground in the 1960′s.

I’m just starting out on my project of bringing life back to this old place. But my intention is not to live on a working farm… but to make the farm where I live and work. Instead of leaving the farm to go off to work I’m returning to it to do my work from here. Thanks to modern technology, this is possible.

I’ll be taking down my “back house” (planned for 2011) and will salvage as much as possible to go into the rebuilding of a smaller back house and a “new” barn to punctuate the telescoping progression of buildings. This will create a space for my farm-based business!

I’ve struggled with the decision to remove a part of the history of this farm. I was able to settle on it as I realized it is just what any one of the past owners would have done as their needs evolved… change being the only permanent thing.

This is the natural evolution in the growth of my connected farm.

Connecting me to my greater self and to my surroundings.
Connecting my farm to the present day and to the future.
Connecting all of us in its story.

I look forward to sharing the story of this process with you here.

(If you’d like to learn more about the connected farm buildings of New England, check out “Big House. Little House, Back House, Barn” by Thomas C. Hubka.)

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I’ve been going down the wrong road. For most of my adult life I’ve been trying to find the “thing” that I should be doing. The big thing.

The thing that would change the world.

In college I had a poster on my wall that read “Being good is not enough for those who dream of being great”. Ever since then I’ve been wondering if what I’m doing will have an impact or will mean anything. I still find myself dreaming of being great.

I feel that I have something to bring to this world and that generally we all do.

However, in the society I live in, bigger is better and more matters. If you aren’t doing big things and changing the world then you’re not doing enough and you’ll probably never get noticed. It’s a crowded stage.

I’m reminded of that as I watch TED and PopTech talks and read blogs.

Everyone seems to be doing something remarkable.

Big.

World-changing.

My family used to spend some time together every winter skiing in Vermont. Each morning before the break of light, my father would leave the warmth of his bed and walk over to the building where us kids were staying and start the fire. I would listen for him to come in with an armful of wood and blow the glowing coals left from the night before back into flame, knowing that when I made my way out of my own bed that the rooms would be warm and inviting.

Neither one of my parents skied anymore at this point in their lives, but they would orchestrate everything in the background to make sure that the rest of us had a great time.

Small things that we may have never noticed.

They did this not just on vacation, but throughout their lives.

Every day.

In rural Maine, I have the privilege of being surrounded by incredilbe beauty and living very close to the natural world. I notice small things happening around me all the time.

The bee flies from flower to flower.

The trees grow leaves and the leaves drop off in autumn.

The sun shines and the rain falls.

Small things, sure. But without them I couldn’t exist.

The bee’s daily work ends up feeding me.

A tree ends up as wood for the fire that warms my home.

The sun and rain keep me alive.

In my daily round I do small things all the time that I now realize aren’t much different from what my parents did. I rise early and light the fire so that my house will be warm. I prepare food that nourishes us. I create and maintain spaces where life happens. I put words together. I take photos. I stack wood. I listen as my daughter tells me about her day. I help a friend.

I am reminded of my father every morning when I light the fire. And of my mother every time I bake bread using the family recipe that was passed down to her.

Creating a home that is supportive in small ways for the people that live and visit there can be very powerful.

It’s these small, sometimes unnoticed things done with great love that support the people that will go out into the world to do big things.

I’ve been mistaken that remarkable meant big. Now I understand…

I’m going to change the world in a different way…

I’m going to do something small.

Every day.

Will you join me?

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In any endeavor, there are always obstacles in your way.

And there’s always a way around them.

Finding the solutions begins with determining the problems.

In part 1, we took a step towards closing the gap between the person you know to be the real you and how you are currently living in your home by assessing the “hot spots’ in your living spaces and your reactions to them.

How did it feel?

You can tell the place you need to start by how strong your reaction was when you thought about it… maybe you didn’t even need to think about it. The reaction may have been that quick. (I’ve got quite a few sticky areas that need serious attention!)

You could take that list of answers and create a to-do list directly from it. Or you may spend a little bit of time analyzing the data to see where you need to go. Either way, it’s the place to start.

Sometimes what we want isn’t as far away or as unachievable as we might think.

Now, begin to imagine your ideal home. Not just how it looks and feels, but also how it functions on a deeper level… how it resonates. Leave money and trends out of this exercise. (Just you and your own imagination, please.) Write down whatever comes to mind. Don’t try to make sense of it just yet… let the ideas flow. It’s okay to let this evolve over a few days. Take your time.

Dream.

Here are some questions to get you started (now would be a good time to sit with a cuppa…):

• What’s important… what are your priorities?
• How do you want to move through and experience the rooms?
• How would you like visitors to feel when they arrive?
• What impressions would you like them to have when they leave?
• What would you like your home to say and show about you?
• What sort of colors do you see?
• What sort of sounds do you hear?
• Are there rooms or spaces for certain activites?
• What sort of memories would you like to have of your home?
• What sort of memories would you like your family and friends to have?
• Can you describe it in six words?(Don’t be afraid of contrasting words – homes can offer both quiet and activity.)

Becoming clear about how you want your home to be is key to the success of this process. We are often led by trends and other people’s styles and end up living even further from our true selves. It takes confidence and trust to listen to your own desires and dreams. But once you embrace it, you will feel it support and guide everything you do.

How does this compare with how you are living now?
Are you ready to close the gap?

(In Part 3, we will begin to “pull focus” by looking at your personal style and applying it to your home… stay tuned!)

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The Celts called it Samhain, marking the summer’s end and the beginning of the dark time, their New Year.
In old England it was called All Hallow’s Eve.
The day before All Saints Day… a Chritstian day.

It’s a time of year when the veils between this world and the otherworld are considered to be at their thinnest, allowing the spirit world to intermingle with the living.

For this reason, us mortals have been doing all sorts of things to ward off the spirits. Costumes are donned, jack-o-lanterns carved, and bonfires lit to keep those making passage at bay.

It’s not surprising then that it was suggested to me to have my home “cleared” at this time of year. Living in an old house there are bound to be stuck “energies” that may need a little help moving on and the thin veil could make it easier for them.

This is Stephen King country, so I was a bit hesitant! I’ll let you know how it all turned out in a future post.

I think I better carve some extra pumpkins…

What stuck energies could you clear from your home this halloween?

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