The Plant / Music / Writing Room is Growing

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Almost everything which matters to me now as a woman—and as a creative individual with an identity that I must nurture and respect so that I can be who I need to be—currently resides with me in this room.
I’ve assembled this cocoon to incubate in as I prepare for the next stage in my life. It’s like my own little Jiffy pod to germinate in and to begin growing my new taproot so that I can transplant myself when it’s time to go.
I am growing past just being a gardener. I am branching out and reaching for the sun.
Soon, I will be practicing the piano again and I will be thinking of the peace this instrument gave my Grandma Virginia for many years. She loved her piano and I want to honor that by finally enjoying it too.
I hope the plants won’t mind!
Oh, and speaking of plants, they are at the core of my specially arranged space and there will be more to come! This room will be stuffed with plants all winter.

Soon the vine attached to this window screen will dieback for the winter. Then the winter sun will shine brighter and the walls will grow colder as the Eastern winds hit the back of the house.

I will keep the painting of Paris by my side at all times to remind me of what’s to come.

This is the view looking back into the creative space from the dining room.

Monkey Puzzle Tree, Araucaria araucana.

To get away from this space though—and from all of the work I’ve been doing around the house—I’ve vowed to get out of the house for at least one weekend each month.

This past weekend I went to my father’s house just north of Astoria in a small community in southwestern Washington. I awoke to the sounds of chainsaws in the hills and when I walked into the kitchen each morning to make my morning coffee, I’d stand at the window and contemplate the Monkey Puzzle Tree while my coffee brewed.

In an effort to get some writing done, I also went to my father’s house to be alone and to be inspired.
For several days I watched the birds as they’d fly up and down the small coastal river behind the house. They were greedily picking at what remained of the salmon from the last run this season. The fish really do spawn and die and yet they still give back to the natural world until every last bone is picked clean.

The day I left for the trip I went for a five-mile walk beforehand to a specialty grocery store in SE Portland to pick up some special gluten-free ingredients.

While strolling along, I saw this unusual garden ornament and I thought about how funny it was to see a doll in the garden. It tickled my inner goth girl.

But best of all, that day as I walked, before I took off to write, after I’d just finished nesting in my new creative space I saw what I can only call: The writing on the wall.

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