I am not buoyant today as when I last wrote. On this snowed in day, some places an ice storm (I mean that however you read that) I have been sitting with immense sorrow, fear, anger beyond belief. I don’t have words, but I’ll share some that I’ve been reading. I hope they are some medicine.

“This will not resolve quickly. The Long Dark will be with us for some time. Ritual, prayer, meditation, and creativity are the ways to foster an intimacy with the world of soul and the soul of the world.

Many of the great myths began in times such as this. The land has become barren; the king, corrupted; the ways of peace, lost. It is in these conditions that a ripeness arises in the soul for deep-rooted change. Soul responds to crisis by awakening to a deeper sense of purpose, leaning into how it can contribute to the repair and renewal of the world…

Hidden invitations and initiations arise in a time of uncertainty. The soul recognizes the markers of descent —darkness, sorrow, anxiety—as requiring radical change. The conditions of trouble and uncertainty activate some profound movement towards alterations in the psychic landscape. These are the precise times when the possibility for shifts in the collective field occurs. We are in such a threshold time. We are being called to embody courage and humility. Everyone of us will be affected by the changes wrought by this difficult visitation. Carl Jung said that each of us is a makeweight in the affairs of the world. Never think that you have nothing to contribute to the shaping of our future. You are needed. You are necessary. It is time to become immense.”

- Francis Weller, In the Absence of the Ordinary

Seeding started his past week beginning with lisianthus (that won't bloom until August?), some particularly pesky perennials (stratified, soaked, scarred in order to germinate) & VIOLAS.

There is a hilarious documentary Brian and I watched several years ago made by (I think?) The Rhinebeck Historical Society about the history of local violet growers. Some of the conclusions that were made in the film were WILD. Hilariously off the mark. And yet - I would still recommend you watch it if you can find the DVD at the Stanfordville Library. Then we can gab about the fascinating local history of what used to be the violet capital of the world and laugh about why these historians thought the violet industry died. And yes, I know a viola isn’t a violet, but a violet is a viola, so bear with me.

I started growing violas at Foxtrot last season per the request of a friend whose flowers we arranged for her wedding! She wanted violas in her signature cocktails. Delight! I interplanted these low growing cuties between our dahlias and soon, fell in love. Delicate & cheerful - these plants grew and grew and grew without a care in the world.

The aforementioned July wedding came and went and these plants were still going strong. When it was time to chop back our tunnel dahlias in late October, I couldn’t bear ripping the violas out, so they stayed. I was singing their praise to a friend who mentioned off hand that if you can grow them really close together, they make excellent cuts. Of course! The doc!

And now it’s January my friends. January! These little guys are still blooming, uncovered and unbothered in our tunnel. I’ve been harvesting them to sprinkle into - what I’m calling - the most beautiful greens mix in the world (catch it this spring). As often as I can I’ve been eating this mix with citrus, olive oil, chili flakes and flake salt, maybe parsley sprigs. It’s giving me life.

And just being with these little flowers, they’ve taught me how resilient they are! Through frost, snow, ice - to be both as tender and hardy as a viola.
I guess it’s the little things that keep us going. xx Kate

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