My Grandmother knits, sews, cooks and bakes bread, daily. Her sister and mother did the same. My daughter sleeps warmed by a quilt that my Great, Great Grandmother stitched by hand out of discarded bed sheets and worn linens.
My love for things handmade is unending.
I am a feminist, and yet there is a very real part of myself that will never give up on preserving the hands-on nature of my inheritance. Each night I make a meal from scratch for my family. Each morning, after dropping off to school, I crochet.
Sure I swear like a drunken sailor and run a successful business like a boss bitch, but there is a very real part of my heart that loves the feeling of an apron draped over my shoulders, and hands sore from throwing bowls at my pottery wheel.
I am a maker. Born to make things with my hands and heart. Every damn day.
This doesn't make me any less progressive, nor does it lessen the strength with which I stand firm on the Earth to declare my worth.
And as I approach the Solstice next week, and the New Year ahead, I just thought I'd carve out a little space to declare this little truth of mine.
My hope is that 2016 brings more unplugged, mindful moments, making things by hand with women from around the world at my River Retreats and River Story Sessions. I hope to increase my income in a way that honors my highest heart and potential. And, I hope to maybe, perhaps, finish a blanket that my great, great grandbaby can one day pull up under her chin, when the weight of the world telling her what she should be, just feels like too much.
I am a strong, independent businesswoman AND I love to sit in serenity and stitch with the songs of my ancestors singing in my ear. I dream of log cabin writing nooks, tucked deep into forrest nests, and heart-to-heart conversations over tea, not text. And as I continue to evolve and find my way in this oh-so-confusing-internet-driven photography industry, I really want to remain true to what makes my heart beat the hardest.