give them the fields and the woods

classic Mary Oliver, a song, a show, and Things Men Have Said to Me

does anything go harder than the free popcorn at the hardware store?

Greetings, earthlings!

Here are three things I thought were worth sharing this week:

1. Mary Oliver duh

My friend Jacob of Juneberry Landscaping helped me plant four trees in my yard. He brought his three-year-old, Py, with him, and our trio wandered around my property as I anxiously considered tree placement, trying to imagine these 3-ft tall sticks growing into 30-ft tall shade makers. At one point, while Jacob patiently entertained my overthinking, Py looked at us with her little shovel in hand and said, “TOO MUCH TALKING!” She is wise. We started digging.

The next morning, I hurriedly made my coffee and took it outside to admire the trees, delicate little spindles protruding from comically large piles of woodchips. I know so little about them. I love them.

Later that day, I rode my bike to a nearby park where I knew spring ephemerals pop off. I knelt down on the trail and paid my respects to the Bloodroot, Wild Ginger, Blue Cohosh, Dutchman’s Breeches, and Hepatica, whose names I did not know just a few years ago.

The next day, Jacob shared a picture of Py with a Hepatica flower. This classic Mary Oliver wisdom was the caption.

I thought about how it took me 30 years to “learn to love this green space” we live in, and how lucky I feel to be around 3-year-olds digging holes for trees and gently stroking fuzzy Hepatica stems.

Teach the children. We don’t matter so much, but the children do. Show them daisies and the pale hepatica. Teach them the taste of sassafras and wintergreen. The lives of the blue sailors, mallow, sunbursts, the moccasin flowers. And the frisky ones—inkberry, lamb’s-quarters, blueberries. And the aromatic ones—rosemary, oregano. Give them peppermint to put in their pockets as they go to school. Give them the fields and the woods and the possibility of the world salvaged from the lords of profit. Stand them in the stream, head them upstream, rejoice as they learn to love this green space they live in, its sticks and leaves and then the silent, beautiful blossoms.

Attention is the beginning of devotion.

2. This song

When this song popped up on my friend's playlist I was like, “Oh damn this is a bop, who’s this?” and it was the title track off my friend Paddy’s new album! It’s so good.

3. A show I watched

I can’t believe it wasn’t recommended to me sooner, but I’m working through How to with John Wilson. It’s weird and beautiful. He makes the mundane extraordinary, which is one of my favorite things that art does! I feel less alone for having so many three-second videos of trash, strangers, and funny signs in my camera roll.

Later this month, I’m heading back to the Directangle Press, a letterpress and risograph print shop in Bethlehem, New Hampshire, where I did an artist residency last summer. Very exciting!

My last residency there was self-directed, and this time I’m collaborating with press owner, Josh Danin, on an art book. This is great because Josh is incredibly talented and a joy to be around, and a relief because I’m craving more collaboration these days.

When I was at Directangle for my residency last summer, I struggled to find flow. I couldn’t decide what I wanted to work on, so I flitted from idea to idea, completing a few things but mostly leaving with a pile of poorly or partially executed prints and zines. I learned that I should go into residencies like this with a project, a plan, or a partner.

But I came out of that residency with one thing I’m really proud of: Things Men Have Said to Me, a zine sharing (just some of!) the things men have flippantly said to me over the years that I’ve let haunt me for far too long.

I had this idea for years and never felt brave enough to make it. But last summer, I was on fire: I spent a lot of the year traveling solo, I completed two back-to-back artist residencies, I was in the middle of training for a half marathon, and–after three years of being single and getting totally rocked by bizarre dating experiences, I was embracing the peace and clarity that comes with being alone. I was in love with my life and in love with myself.

The tangled, smothering, invasive self-loathing I’d battled for years was planted and fertilized by casually cruel things men had said and done to me. I had let it get out of control. Making this zine felt like taking a bulldozer to it. I cleared the space for better stories and ideas to take root.

This zine poured out of me. I drew everything in my sketchbook over a couple manic nights. I scanned the pencil drawings and ran them through the risograph as a two-color print with blue and fluorescent pink. The limited edition of 26 pants zines is printed on 11x17 cardstock.

I could easily make three, four, five more volumes of this. It was hard to choose what to include. People say the darndest things.