A thousand stories in a single bloom
May in Skagit Valley
Welcome to your Sunday slow read. Settle in and enjoy. If your email truncates this post, you can click through to read it on Substack on the web or in the app.
Tuesday
It’s late afternoon and the evening light often has a peculiar effect on me. I want to dissolve and disappear inside its holy glow. I crave being outside. A familiar theme. Is it the change of air, the sounds of birdsong, human voices, engine powered garden tools, the screech of squirrels, the possible sight of a deer, a raccoon or an eagle flying high above the treetops? Or is it the gentle sighing of the red cedars that pulls at me? Perhaps I should go camping?
The flowers are blooming all over the valley. Trees and shrubs in neighbourhood gardens, wildflowers in the forests. There is such joyous abandon in the way plants throw everything into these fragile, fleeting, vibrant celebrations whose petals will drop soon enough.
Poets, naturalists, biologists and others will have their own stories about these blooms. They’ll tell of passion, love, rainfall, insect health, pollination and acid soils. Speaking in metaphors, data or the obscure language of their specialism.
Look at a single bloom through the eyes of an artist, a lover, a botanist, a politician, a photographer, a gardener, a child, a widow, an immigrant, a person taking their last breath. What do they see?
A charm
A love note
A fine specimen
A photo opportunity
A beloved bloom
A high contrast subject
A pretty thing
A poignant reminder
Unfamiliar
A promise
Let’s dance between perspectives, holding all of them lightly is a gift.
This week, like many other weeks my mind has woven stories of fear and scarcity, love and belonging, grief and upset, contentment and joy, seriousness and levity. It’s a typical week in the emotional life of a human, emotions experienced by billions of others around the world. The stories vary and perhaps the intensity but don’t we all go up and down in our mood, all day long? None of us are special in this regard.
Last week it occurred to me, when I die, I’ll be the same, slightly ridiculous, flawed human being I am today. That thought gave me comfort. There really is so much less to do than we think. The endless work of self-improvement is exhausting and mostly just a treadmill the mind creates to keep itself busy.
When you realise there is nothing to fix because there is nothing innately wrong with you, the mind is freer to day dream and you get to listen to the deeper nudges to go here, do this, stop, rest, wait, act, repeat. It doesn’t need to make sense. Life takes care of itself.
That doesn’t mean no loss or sorrow, it just means, we are designed to weather the ups and downs so we can hold life a little more lightly, be a little more ridiculous and enjoy what there is to enjoy.
Lest people think I live a charmed life, from time to time, I reference experiencing plenty of loss throughout my life. A way perhaps to head off any perceived criticism that I am tone deaf or living in la la land with no idea of the suffering many endure. I don’t feel the need to share much about the losses these days.
A few days ago, a thought landed like a blackbird on a tree:
- I have experienced so much renewal in my life.
A moment later, the realisation that it wouldn’t have been possible without all that loss. My heart filled and then overflowed with gratitude.
A simple shift, when I focus on renewal instead of loss, it changes everything.
Questions
What is your story of a favourite bloom? I’d love to hear.
Where do you see renewal after a loss?
I’d love to know when and where you read this publication? It helps me paint pictures of your lives in my head. Comment below, message me or email me.
Postscript
It is Memorial Day on Monday here in the US, a public holiday to commemorate those who have died serving in the US military. In the UK, this weekend is May Spring Bank Holiday with Monday being a public holiday for most. For my American readers, this excerpt may amuse you.
“On Cooper's Hill in Brockworth, Gloucestershire, people race down a steep hill following a large round cheese. The hill is concave and has an incline of 1:1 in some places. The first person to cross the finishing line wins a Double Gloucester cheese weighing about 8lbs (around 3.5kg). The custom may have been started by the Romans or ancient Britons and be an ancient fertility rite or a way of guaranteeing the rights of the villagers to graze their livestock on the surrounding land. In some years, there have been a lot of injuries, causing the event to be cancelled a couple of times in recent years. In these years, the cheese was rolled down the hill, but nobody was allowed to chase it.” From Time and Date
I hope the sun is shining where you are and you are enjoying the blessings of being alive at this time.
Notes from my writing life
What themes do I keep returning to in my writing?
The human experience, nature, relationships, creativity and the absurdity of life. Adventure and travel too.
I wrote and received many letters in my twenties. Being far from home, it was the way to keep up with friends and loved ones. Perhaps that’s where my love of newsletters comes from. Telling stories of my days was a way to stay connected. It probably helped me process all the newness, just as this publication does too.
❦
Threads that pull me
Book: On Writing, A Memoir of the Craft, by Stephen King (affiliate link). Thanks to
for mentioning this book which has been sitting on my bookshelf unread. He writes of his chaotic life as a child with humour and insight, tracing how the seeds of his writing life germinated and flourished. He deftly weaves in tales of addiction and renewal, yet the writing is light as candy floss with anecdotes as memorable as the best shaggy dog stories. Highly recommend.❦
How I know ‘we’re not in Kansas anymore Toto’
A regular slot for things that catch my eye and tell me I’m no longer in Ferryside, West Wales, UK.
A tale of two bars: Toby’s Tavern in Coupeville on Whidbey Island and the River Towy Yacht Club bar in Ferryside, West Wales, UK
That’s it. Thanks for reading. Slow networking here on Substack is leading to online conversations, real life meet ups and an expanding web of ideas and connections. Join the conversation, restack or like to help the ripples spread.
‘Til next time.
Juliet Fay
Find more of my writing elsewhere
Book: A Life Less Serious: Real life stories from women to inspire, uplift and encourage new perspectives on living by George Halfin. My essay, The Gift of Travel closes the book. (affiliate link)
Digital publication: Hope - A Scrapbook by Catriona Knapman, author of Notes from Saving the World. My poem, Hope for the Family is included.
Your photographs are amazing! Thank you for sharing.
I see my familiars. My family. My home.
I won’t say that honeysuckle is my favorite bloom, but I will say the incredible aroma wafting all around me and everywhere I go in this forest, is intoxicating and healing.
My work with myself and my clients has changed from self improvement to self regulation and being safe enough. Because, self improvement is, perhaps, more maddening than helpful.
I’m reading this post from my front porch while eating a delicious dinner, listening to the 17 year cicadas, and looking out at the forest and mountain range that surrounds me.
Oh, and you two need to come visit me as I have the perfect hill for the cheese round!