Once upon a time I was a wedding photographer, traveling all around the world capturing lavish celebrations of love. I decided to step away because so much of that world didn’t line up with my values and heart. But every once in awhile, a magical couple comes along and I just cannot say no. I am beyond words thrilled to be documenting this chapter of Isabel and Trey’s love story, and cannot wait for their wedding in the Fall.
Star-shaped cookies with Susan to celebrate the longest night of the year, the deep beauty of darkness, and the friends who tether us to the light.
My beloved friend Madeline makes the most incredible jewelry for her company, Mimosa Handcrafted. I was lucky enough to photograph some pieces on my forever muse Sharah Allegretto and her family this past week.
Hi.
I want to begin this note by expressing my gratitude. I once was the only neighborhood girl running around with leaves in her hair, snail shells in her pockets, and books overflowing from her hand-me-down tote bag, but it turns out there are so many of us. Here we are in this busy plastic world, hearts tethered to forgotten acorn caps, starlit woodsy paths, and one another. I'm so happy you're here.
When my husband and I sold everything and embarked on our journey in our Airstream over a decade ago, it wasn't a vacation. It was an expedition. I felt an unrelenting calling to find our Home. "What is it you are looking for?" people would ask, but we'd shrug and answer, "I guess we'll know it when we see it." I should have said, "I guess we'll know when we feel it," but I didn't know then.
For years we wove our way around the United States, our children spending their days splashing in streams, running through sequoias, and getting to know Mother Nature right up close.
And then everything came to a screeching halt when Thomas got in a horrible mountain biking accident that landed us in an Austin hospital. I will never forget the day the doctors told us we needed to stop traveling so that Thomas could get the treatment he needed. I walked outside, looked around the chaotic cityscape, and was certain the sound of my breaking heart could stop traffic. It didn't make sense. How could this be it? I had given up everything, risked it all, and followed the calling deep in my deepest bones, only to be dumped in the middle of everything I was spiritually allergic to: greed, grime, and great big buildings blocking every view of the galaxy.
I grieved my Inner Knowing. Until then, my intuition had never steered me wrong, especially when my ancestors deliberately delivered the messages in the darkest shades of divinity. But Thomas getting so severely hurt and our family being swallowed up by a sweltering urban sprawl wasn't part of the plan. The expedition had failed. My magical compass was broken, I decided, and it was time to toss it in the trash.
Except the calling didn't go away. Sure I played the part and went to work and joined the PTA but inside, I was struggling. My dream for our little family, the one that had catapulted us into the most incredible road trip all those years ago, lingered around every corner. Finally, one night, while taking a bath, I started crying and couldn't stop. The deeper I dug into my feelings, the further away from everyday troubles I went until I realized the real cause of my tears: I missed myself.
Of course, flowers can find a way to bloom even in cracks of cement, but in fighting to find the sunlight, I cut off my roots.
I am an old woman with messy long gray hair who lives in a cave in the woods. A campfire is burning outside the entrance, during the day and throughout the night. My wrists are lined with bracelets made from bones and sharp teeth. I dig up clay at the bank of the river to make bowls, altars, jars, and cups. Once fired, they hold remedies stacked into one another along the walls. Burock root, chamomile, verbena, and sage. Teas and tinctures, elixirs and extracts. The medicine exists in both the vessels and the tonics. Everything is covered in moss and smells like the forest just after it rains.
I've had this same dream, reoccurring since I can remember sleeping. A tiny girl in her Grandmother's house, a teenager at summer camp, and even now. Except, I know it's not a dream. I know what it is, and I vowed that night in the bathtub never to abandon myself ever again.
I promised to stop suffocating my sacred truths and dragged my pottery wheel out of the dusty garage corner the next morning. Moment by moment, I've reclaimed what I had tossed aside.
I now spend my days far from the city, tucked away behind our tiny crooked cottage from the 1800s in a sleepy southern town. The river arches her back along its borders. When I walk through our yard to my studio, my footsteps are outlined in lemon balm and horseherb. I'm greeted by chickens who cuddle my neck and squirrels who eat the pecans fallen from our tree straight from my open hands.
I showed up here (both in Smithville and online) and promised myself I wouldn't hide. I braced for impact only to find poetry books left on my doorstep, butterfly wings left on the fence posts, and you.
You, my friend, are such a beautiful part of this miracle.
Edvard Munch once wrote, "From my rotting body, flowers shall grow and I am in them, and that is eternity." I have long been in love with these words, but don't feel the need to wait for my death to experience the alchemy of an eternal exchange. Every photo I take, every pot I pinch, every word I place on a page; each one is a flower, cross-pollinating along the wild winds, finding its way to your garden and back again.
Together we are figuring it out. Together we are finding our way.
In this world that tries its best to silence the sacred and shun the serene, I promise never to stop fighting for the preservation of us wild-hearted women with my gentle weapons made of weeds. After all, in the end, the vines growing over the crumbling castles get to claim victory.
I'm not sure what this next year will hold, but I sure do love you a whole lot, and I'm forever thankful.
Michelle
I was recently asked what my pottery looks like. I realized that unless you have instagram, and you are checking my stories, you most likely won’t see my pieces. I launch shops once a month, but they sell out within an hour, and once they do, the shop closes and all of the photos of the pieces disappear.
I think I shared my very first pottery pieces that I offered for sale on this blog, so I thought it would be beautiful to share the evolution with a few photos of my latest collection.
