AT RANDOM:
Well it’s home again to Plume Gables and the greatness of Idaho summertime. As I sit here typing, the night bugs are scratching out their cacophony with drawn out leg strums and the staccato of antennae against evening air. The grapes are mumbling their long summertime sigh, “Longer. Taller. Reach further. Grow plumper.” Thank God for the darkness outside, the silhouette of the mountains in the distance, the heady scent of sage winding through the screen door and around my senses. I love home.
I also love lavender cheese. This stuff cannot be beat. I spent too much on a block of it from the fish shop at the local Pocatello Co-op and I don’t regret it one bit. I’ve been living on it and black bean salad with fresh garden veggies and avocados. Eating, these days, is such a simple pleasure. For the most part, I glean what I can from the garden and wash it all down with iced tea and plain yogurt (Nancy’s). These are mundane life details but I feel like we haven’t talked for so very long that I’m inclined to give you the long and the short of it all.
Little rocks with big plans. Lined up, smooth talking on the front porch railing. Hot in the afternoon sunshine. Little miracles. Mountains on my doorstep. I want to slice them in two, keep one half for myself and give the other to you. We’ll keep them in our pockets and run our thumbs over their smooth faces when we attempt to be wise while making big decisions in life. Little stones for peoples with busy fingers and complicated nexus.
I gathered them at the South Fork of the Snake River
under dark clouds, beside the wateRRush.
What makes you choose one stone out of a pile of stones? The color? The texture? The size?
I nearly always have a rock in my pocket.
A rock and at least 3 hair elastics.
I’ve spent the day remembering all the things I thought about while crisscrossing Idaho, Oregon and Washington. I remember most of all, listening to one song by Fleet Foxes, repeatedly, in the dark while following the tail lights ahead of me:
Come down from the mountain
you have been gone too long…
…call me anything you want
any old name will do
call me back to
back to you.
[Fleet Foxes]
I couldn’t get enough of those notes, drawn out long and laid out bare.
I felt like a witness, unto myself, listening to that song.
AS I WRITE THIS. I’M NOT SAD. I JUST AM.
Summer is strong enough for me; strong enough for us both.
There was a clear stream in Oregon, on the edge of the pines. I set my bare feet down it in but it felt like I dropped my soul in that cold spring water. I drifted to sleep under blanket blue and when I awoke, I wasn’t thirsty any longer. And when I took to the road again, I flew.
Of course, while I was away, the garden connected with it’s tribal-jungle heritage and grew zucchinis the size of lamp posts. This is one of five:
[this is a classic pose of mine by the way…]
This weeks harvest:
zucchini
green beans
onions
tomatoes
basil
sunflowers (does this count?)
beets
The concord grapes are nearly ready!
I can’t wait for the entire yard to smell purple.
And lastly, reconnecting with my studio space, my metal, my stones. Pouring out a few metalliferous thoughts. Building necklaces, three sheets deep. Curvy rings. Flowers and etched bands. The embrace of bezel against stone. I have many treats for you birds.
Happy Friday.
It’s so good to see you again!
What have you been up to and how does your summer flow?
Love,
PLUMENTINE
