Do . Create. share.

Carrot Flowers. That’s what happens when you leave things alone long enough.

These are the spread of carrots we never got around to pulling. To eat or throw away. We just ignored that part of the garden for awhile.

And then this.

Beautiful 8 foot tall carrot flowers.

I wish everything ignored turned out so great.

But there’s really a balance isn’t there- between tending and leave alone.

I’m trying to find that balance with our 8 year old son right now.

Currently, he needs more tending. And unlike with gardens where it might be fairly obvious just what exact tending to do, with children it’s so difficult to know sometimes.

Our son has such a unique personality – all his own- like every other child of course – just that since I was and am my own person, I’m still trying to figure out what makes him tick a certain way and how to reach it in the best way to help mold him into the person that will make him happiest in life and that will give the best of himself to others.

This is the connection I want to always have with my son.

Melding of minds is so tricky.

There’s the moments of fluidity.

But many moments of stickiness.

 

Sometimes when I feel really unwell, I do something really hard at Crossfit and almost cry – not because it’s hard, but because the hardness brings out the emotions I’m feeling about other things in my life. The release feels extremely good for me. It is healing.

I really am. You know why? Because some of them don’t taste as good as the regularly colored veggies that are the “norm” in this country, and yet I still find myself wanting to plant the varieties that are “different”.

Like these purple tomatillos.

End result? Honestly, didn’t like them nearly as much as the regular old green ones. But they are sure are gorgeous aren’t they?

I’m glad I photographed them the season I planted them in the Summer of ’16 since that was probably the last time I’ll do it. Unless I forget and end up a sucker once again, drawn in by those brilliant deep colors.

 

My grandfather made this necklace piece. He was an artist in almost every genre. He painted, he sculpted. He was a photographer.

It is sad to me that just about the time I began to get into photography in my early 30’s, my grandfather was setting his camera down after probably 70 years of artistic use.

That is what is so unnatural about ageing and dying.

By the time I was ready to embark on this journey through the lense, he had finished his. It would have been nice to share it. Doesn’t it make more logical sense that we were meant to share these like journeys with the blood that makes up who we are?