Bringing in the Roses

The dog days of summer aren’t so bad.

With Kristen here, I’ve felt so relaxed, so in the moment — I get better at living in the moment as the years go by.  She keeps asking me if I need to answer emails, I keep telling her I should, but then I don’t, and we go spend the day at the river instead.  Pardon me.  Please!  The thing is, my best friends all live miles and miles from here.  I see them individually, once a year at best, so when I am with them, I try to be with them.  I know you understand.

We’ve been bringing in the roses.
The air in the house rings sweetly with the silky and sensual froth of the queens of flowers.
I sometimes feel guilty for having a yard this mature, this lovely, this blooming…every summer.  

The peach tree is growing fuzzy things.  The plums threaten to snap branches.  The grapevines reach so greedily for unfettered space.
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The fire boys came over yesterday to help me with the lawns.  Jimmy was fighting with his wife about whether or not he’ll pursue smokejumping next year — I cut him three long stem roses in coral, peach and red to take home to her in a mason jar.  Today, Eric’s wife, also a hotshot in a city two hours away from here (she’s so tough and tall and beautiful), comes to Pocatello for the first time this summer.  I told him to stop by for roses on his way home from work this evening.

I’ve cut roses to keep.
So selfish with the petals, I am.
I have them floating like sweet surrenders in shallow bowls on the nightstand, in the bathroom, on the window ledge by Kristen’s bed, in the parlor, in the kitchen adjacent to the wildness of the jasmine.  When I cut them from their brambly stems out in the rose garden, I wonder if I should.  I know they’ll bloom out quickly in the heat.  Perhaps moving them into cool water in the house is a sort of tender mercy.  They’re spared for a couple of days before they nod their heads and drop their fancy dresses to the floor like tall ladies in silk gowns after a long evening of dancing and pressing painted lips to slender cigarettes.
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The world seems so lithe and green.
So long suffering.
So breezy, light and unflappable, at the moment.
These are lean months, fat with fruit and flowers.

Me too.
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I take Kristen to the airport tomorrow morning.
I’ll have three full days to gather myself before another best friend arrives for a visit and an adventure.

Somewhere over in the North Cascades, RW is jumping out of airplanes, a river is flowing to the sea, a trout is sunning its silver sides in the alpine air and everything is fine.  
So fine.
I hope it is for you too.
If it isn’t, take off your shoes and put your bare feet in some grass or in a strand of clear mountain water.
Feel your soul expand.

A good and restful sabbath to you all,
The Plume

:::Post Scriptus:::
Because I have now received a few emails about it, I thought I would state here that the wildland firefighter from Boise who recently passed away while fighting a fire in Texas was neither a friend or family to us (though all fire fighters are brothers of sorts) — thank you for your kind notes of concern, God rest his soul.  xx

Getting Closer To Home

I like to visit the wheat,
up and over the mountains,
down in the Arbon Valley —
especially during the gentle, summertime, evening hours
when the world seems gold plated
and breath bated.
It’s a pretty darn beautiful thing.

Earrings For Riding In Trucks

I wanted to create, for myself, a pair of big, bohemian-esque, countrified earrings.




Pretty and rustic. 

Earrings I could wear while riding in my truck this summer.
Here’s what I came up with!

I love mine so well that I decided to make a few pairs for you — big and small. I’m not a leather worker but I’ve used leather here as I would sterling silver. These earrings are simple, sassy and lightweight, stamped conservatively with a western style leather stamps and antiqued a gorgeous saddle tan. They’re like wearing feathers. They have a beautiful leathery smell like you’ve been hanging out in the tack shed soaping saddles all afternoon. They’re perfect earrings for riding in trucks. 
Or, I suppose, riding on subways.
Or riding on bicycles.
Or anything else you can think of…
…they’re just perfect.

In the shop now!
x


:::EDIT:::
WOWEE!
Thanks so much ladies for snaggling these earrings up so quickly!
I appreciate you so much!
Now I’m going to go buy some spinach.
x

And just like that…

summer ended.

Baby, it’s good to have you home.
The next six months are all ours.
Let’s squander them on something good.
xx
Plume

Home is Where The Tomatoes Are:

I’m home.
Boy howdy, it feels good to be in my nest of feathers, treasures, fur babies, grapevines and down valley drafts!

Speaking of nests,
one of the things I love most
about papasan chairs is they do
feel rather like a nest to me…
do you reckon the same?

Yesterday I made the thirteen hour drive from Tacoma, Washington (just South of Seattle) to Pocatello.  It’s a monstrous distance when your iPod is out of juice the entire way and you’re the only one driving.  Monstrous.  But I made it and I’m settling into real life again. 

I slept in a bit this morning, harvested a load of veggies from the gardens, TOMATOES TOMATOES TOMATOES, cleaned a bit, bought groceries and canning supplies (it’s that time of yearrrrrrr!!!!!!!!!), visited the chiropractor (I’ve got something bothersome happening with my neck), gardened some more, and at the moment I am attempting my first gluten free baking job — rhubarb crisp.  I’ll let you know how fantastic it is tomorrow.

I’m going to try to be back in the saddle by Thursday which means studio hot as well as interwebular correspondence answered.  I’d shoot for tomorrow but I think my neck needs to see a massage therapist…

Thank you all so much for traveling with me and for all of the glorious comments you left on my Washington posts!  You’re so delightful, kind of like a kitten cherry baby octopus pie.

Love, love and love,
Plume