Long weekends

Long weekends are for slowing down. For simple pleasures. Feeding Cornflakes to friendly ducks and soft, black moor-hens. Learning how to row a skiff. The splash of oar in water, a silent oasis, a bubble of river and bush inside the big city.

Long weekends are for equally-long walks in sunshine. For getting lost somewhere in a highway underpass, but it doesn't matter because nobody is in a hurry: this is a long weekend.

Long weekends are for cooking and housework, giggles and cuddles, red wine and friends.

I think long weekends may be my favourite. I'd like to order another one, please.

(Photos from this long weekend brought to you by a family visit to the Fairfield Park Boathouse, which was super touristy and even more super fun. Ralph didn't make it into any pictures because photographing him would have meant having to let go of him, and letting go of him would have meant Ralph fulfilling his heart's desire of diving head-first into the water, to "pat the ducks")

All in good time

Pulling out towering, still-flowering cosmos, taller than my head. Shaking the soil from the roots. Lopping dead flowers and seed-heads from a hundred different plants, tossing them into the garden bed to nestle and rest and seed to grow again another season.

Cutting away the dead and decomposing once-green things that had suffocated beneath the cosmos’ enthusiasm. Gently tending, trimming, clearing, watering, anything that had somehow survived in the floral dark. Training the climbing roses up and over fence and pole, and cutting back the potato-vine, inviting flowers.

Tending, training, trimming, trusting. It is a precursor to the big winter cut-back, settling the plants for rest and eventual rejuvenation. The autumn harvest, the garden clean, planting and sowing for fresh new blooms in spring.

And in life, the closing off of long-worked projects, the handing over of harvest, a preparation for hard-earned rest (learning to say no!) and hopes of new growth to begin again. All in good time.

We will remember them

“There are some things which cannot be learned quickly, and time, which is all we have, must be paid heavily for their acquiring. They are the very simplest things and because it takes a man's life to know them the little that each man gets from life is very costly and the only heritage he has to leave.”

~ Ernest Hemingway

(Image credit: Jake Melara, licensed for unlimited use under Creative Commons)

Scout says Ralph says

Scout (rubbing her belly): These pancakes are delicious. My tummy says yum-my.

Ralph (rubbing his belly): My yellow t-shirt says YUMMY too.

At bed time...

Scout: I love you to the aliens' planet, and a million.

Ralph: I love you to my rocket ship and I also love the aliens' planet.

At another bedtime, when their father was overseas...

"I love you past the aliens' planet and all the way to Daddy!"

During a book photoshoot...

Me: This photo is supposed to tell a story. It is cold and rainy outside. But inside, the person is all cosy and warm, snuggled into blankets on the couch, drinking tea and reading a letter from a friend. Maybe they have just gotten up to make some toast...

Scout: Can I be that person? (pause) And can you make me some toast?

Scout (cuddling her dolly): Do you wish you were as good at Mummying as me?

Me: Yes!

Scout: It's ok, don't cry. You did TEACH me how to do it.

Scout: Ring ring! Hello moon? Moon? Can you come down please?

At bed time...

Me: Thank you for a really good day.

Scout: Thank you for being a really good Mummy.

Ralph: Can I bounce a ball on your head?

Mail-art from the old herbal

When I was a teenager I read this book by Mary Stewart, and became instantly fascinated by the world of herbs and the mysteries of folklore and medicine surrounding them. By day, I planted and tended a herb garden at our home. By night (by candlelight because we had no electricity) I studied reference books about herbalism. When I had a pimple, I tried pressing the petal of a calendula flower to it to make the pimple disappear (no joy). When I had a headache, I made a tincture of feverfew and drank it (it tasted so disgusting that it definitely distracted me from the headache). I found some glycerine capsules at the local pharmacy and filled them with crushed herbs to 'medicate' members of my family when they were sick. Don't worry, I was smart enough to research which herbs were safe for consumption and in what manner, before I did all this. I just wasn't smart enough to speak to an actual herbalist, who might have been a little better at achieving the health and beauty results I hoped to achieve.

My favourite two books for discovering new herbs to plant were a small-and-simple guide called "The Pocket Encyclopedia of Herbs," alongside "Complete Herbal," which was written by Nicholas Culpeper in 1653. I love the descriptions and language in Culpeper. About borage, the herb at the top of this post, for example, he said "The leaves and roots are to very good purpose used in putrid fevers to defend the heart, and to resist and to expel the poison or venom of other creatures." Also, he assigned every herb a place in the astrological charts (borage is under Jupiter), and was sometimes (unintentionally) very funny.

And it's these books that bring us (finally! I can hear you cheering!) to the point of this post.

After having a lot of fun painting antique botanical prints for my mail-art recently, I have decided to extend the theme, and paint some of my old friends from these two books. On the back of the envelope, I've shared a tiny tidbit about the herb for the recipient's reading pleasure (or not). Something like this...

ΔΔ "Venus governs it. Ladies' mantle is very proper for inflamed wounds, and to stay bleeding, vomitings, fluxes of all sorts, bruises by falls, and ruptures: and such women or maids as have over great flagging breasts, causing them to grow less and hard..." Culpeper, 1653

ΔΔ "It is a strange coincidence that the leaves can be used for wiping fingers after eating crabs, to wipe away the smell. Crabs, chrysanthemums, wine and the moon are the four autumn joys of our scholars, artists and poets." Chiang Yee, The Silent Traveller in London

ΔΔ "The name of this herb conjures up biblical images of aromatic resins and healing oils... has a strange 'masculine' fragrance -- the kind of musky scent that gives depth to perfumes." The Pocket Encyclopedia of Herbs

ΔΔ "The leaves of mallows, and the roots boiled in wine and water, or in broth with parsley or fennel roots, open the body, and are very convenient in agues, or other distempers of the body, to apply the leaves warmed to the belly." Culpeper, 1653

All your thoughtful words

During the past month or so I have been chipping away at the photography for my new book (which is going by the working title Snail Mail Revolution, by the way, but that might change). I want the book to be really beautiful, something that you will want to hold and touch and browse through slowly. It is really important to me to avoid having something that looks like a glorified stationery catalogue.

When I put a call out to you guys to tell me what you loved about snail-mail, what you felt made it so very special, your responses were absolutely amazing. Thank you!

Thank you

Thank you

Thank you

Thank you!

So many of you encapsulated PERFECTLY how I felt about this ancient and evergreen way of staying in touch (take a look at this wonderful quote from Selise, for example). People loved snail-mail because it was so intensely personal, a direct conversation between two people, thoughts written by hand, their rethinking exposed in crossed-out words and margin notes. And because it was slow, a return to mindfulness and patience and the art of waiting for something worth waiting for. Many people loved that letters were tangible, something they could touch and smell and see. There was more said, so much more, and it was beautiful. But you will have to wait for the book to read it all!

All your thoughtful words really helped me when it came to planning the photography, and I was really keen to capture the essence of what you were saying. To my mind, the photographs needed to evoke some kind of emotion, to tell a story. The sense of occasion that comes, for example, with opening and reading a letter from someone you love. Or the thoughtfulness that goes along with sitting down to write a letter. Do you know what I'm trying to say? Is this making sense?

If you follow me on Instagram, you'll have seen the images on this post popping up during the past couple of weeks. They are outtakes and behind-the-scenes shots of what I've been trying to create. I hope you like them. I'm really happy with how this book is all coming together!

Sickle moon

It was a sickle moon last night. Did you see it? Wavering and watery, paper thin, I stopped to greet it on my way back across the road, with a $12 bottle of rosé in my hand. "Good night moon," I said (good night stars, good night air*). That was a little bit embarrassing because it turned out I said it out loud without realising, and two people coming out of the bottle shop with wine that probably cost a lot more than $12 looked at me kind of funny.

Anyway I have been absent from this little blog for the past few weeks, while I finished the photography for my book (eek!) and the illustrations for Wendy's book (woot!) and another big pile of letters to send to you folks (coming soon!). I always miss this space when I am away, but I have learned to (try to) be more realistic with my time and with what I can and cannot do.

But then I saw the moon last night and I thought of you.

I thought about how strange and magical it always feels to learn that people are reading my blog, reading it from all over the world... Melbourne and Bendigo, New York and Illinois, Russia, the Ukraine, France, Germany, Portugal, Singapore, Mexico, Argentina, and so many other places. Last night, when I looked up at that sickle moon, I thought about how maybe you were looking up at that same sickle moon (or that you would, in just half a world's rotation's time), and I felt strangely close to you.

(*Good night noises everywhere)

Image credit: sickle moon by Nousnou Iwasaki, licensed for unlimited use under Creative Commons

Morning thoughts

"When you wake up in the morning, Pooh," said Piglet at last, "what's the first thing you say to yourself?" "What's for breakfast?" said Pooh. "What do you say, Piglet?" "I say, I wonder what's going to happen exciting today?" said Piglet. Pooh nodded thoughtfully. "It's the same thing," he said. ~ A.A. Milne

Made me grin today.

"And autumn garner"

"I trust in nature for the stable laws of beauty and utility. Spring shall plant and autumn garner to the end of time." ~ Robert Browning

Keeping within yesterday's botanical mail art theme, here are some links "of beauty and utility" that you might enjoy:

* Decorating with houseplants - Taipei style

* Lovely fern-pressed jar DIY

* Gorgeous gift: seed bombs!

* The most beautiful self-watering pot I've ever seen

* How to incorporate plants into your home

* Make a mini green wall out of old jars

* One plant three ways

* How to keep your house plants alive

* Good idea for Mother's Day? DIY marbled hanging planter

* Love this forest-on-a-cake!

* Plant your herbs in old teacups and milk jugs

* Stunning art made out of petals and leaves

* The right plant for your home

* Invites you in: urban jungle in Antwerp

Antique botanical mail-art

Ever since I created the wild strawberry mail-art for my Secret Pen Pal Scavenger Hunt pen-pal, Corey, I've been majorly drawn to painting antique botanical-style mail-art. I had more fun with this series than I have had in a long time. The only problem being the photographs: it would appear that I had too much coffee the morning I took them, because some of these pictures are inexcusably blurry. I didn't even notice until I came to edit them and by that time, the letters were well on their journeys around the world, so there was no way of re-taking the photographs. Anyway if you can overlook the bad photography, here's the mail.

ps. If you'd like to see the contents of my mail to my secret pen-pal, she has created a beautiful blog-post about it here. (Oh my gosh I'm so embarrassed about that revolting black bag-of-horrors that before it left Melbourne contained pretty, pressed flowers from my garden. Note to self: don't send organics in the mail in summer).

---

ps. have you heard about my new letter-writing and mail-art e-course? 

Over four weeks, I will guide you through multiple methods of making beautiful mail-art and creative, handmade stationery; teach you the art of writing and storytelling; help you forge personal connections in your letters and find pen-pals if you want them; and share time-management tips so even the busiest people can enjoy sending and receiving letters. Register your place or find out more information right here.