The mountains sleep under a lacy coat of snow, though the silver tips of Wild Mugwort poke through everywhere, and release a sagey, desert scent from the hard ground. In last night’s dusk, Rhiannon raced through the dark, bareheaded and dancing to the rhythm of falling snow. She spun under the Pine trees until her hair was plastered to her shiny soft blue coat and she came inside to eat Nettles and Wild Turkey, giggling with the tactile joy of Winter.
Under the persistent patter of alternating rain and snow, the river has risen yet again, swirling past her banks and leaving a wake of mud, foam and ice. Getting out of the Canyon without getting wet has been a challenge but Wolf roared our jeep (affectionately dubbed Ursa) through the swollen crossings as we held onto our hats (literally) and still managed to get mud spattered even through the canvas top.
The benefit of being unable to get online at home is the amount of time I’ve been able to spend with the plants, laying on my belly in the Pine needles with my nose up against the sweet fingers of baby plants and the EarthStar mushrooms swelling and sporing even through the ice and snow. I’ve been digging Nettle and Mugwort roots for potent, cold season remedies and stripping bark from favorite medicine trees.
We’ve been so low on power I haven’t manage to get much writing done, but have the outlines for several new posts including a third Talking With Plants post, a likely controversial write-up on the topic of asking permission from the plants and that belated Pulatilla monograph.
At the cafe, live music drifts out the closed windows into the diamond studded hills. A funny thing to hear Rainy Nights in Georgia in a Southwestern snowstorm while ranchers is cowboy hats hunch over their BBQ ribs and children scamper in and out of doors.
Outside, Mallow leaves and Dandelion greens peek out of cracked pavement, and I pick a few to add to my custom salad. Sometimes I find medicine in the funniest places.