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Long Short Days

12/18/2018

 
Picture
In early December,
the  sun vanishes over the rim of the canyon
at what seems an unconscionably early hour.
Picture
The hills are very steep
(we have had to dig flat spots to stand or walk),
which means  it also takes quite a while
for the sun make its way back
over the opposite hills
 in the morning.

​But getting up before the sun isn't too hard 
in these modern times,

thanks to a couple of old solar panels
(one light at time to preserve the batteries,
and a very warm old parka.


And since there is no internet, phone, radio or cell service
 the days,
if  short on natural light,
​are long on time.
Picture
And that is why I come.
Unscheduled and uninterrupted hours
are the reason​

that I fill a cooler with food,
pack a thousand projects
(few of which I work on),

gather a stack of books
(most of which I don't read), 

​and head off by myself.
Picture
These solo weeks
are always remarkable in some way --
if rarely easy.
Endless uphill and downhills can be hard on the legs.
And  I can almost guarantee 
that on the first day
I will be awash in what I've taken to calling
"transitional melancholy,"
a thing I cannot like but am learning to embrace
(or at least accept),
as an elemental if uncomfortable part
of shifting into a different gear.
"This was SUCH a bad idea,"
I mutter as I unpack the absurd pile of projects.

But the next morning (at least so far)
I can hardly wait to get up
light the fire,
and get started.
Picture
Sometimes, all I want to do is knit.
On other trips I've been glued to my loom,
or gathered lichen for wood cookstove dye experiments,
or carved magic wands from sticks.
There was one memorable one
when I was drawing a naked self portrait
(I was weaving a lot of nudes then, and not so prone to getting cold),
when an old friend knocked in the door
walked in and introduced me to his his brother, who I'd never met.
They had just walked across the canyon
​and were mostly interested in scrounging some lunch.
Picture
On my visit a couple of weeks ago,
​I became obsessed with:
trying to play my old recorder,
 drawing hourly (ish) comics.
and gathering  stuff 
(dead plants, coffee filters, grocery receipt),
to twist into cordage.
​
Oh yeah -- and playing the Cello suites by headlamp.
(Actually only the Allemande from the G major suite
which I play in D major on a baritone concertina,
​which I'm sure is exactly what Bach had in mind....).
Picture
One of the things I most love
about these solo visits to the canyon,
is getting to practice being how I am
when no one else is around.
With minimal outside input,
and 
no emotional labor,
(other than dealing with myself that is),
I can immerse myself utterly
in whatever takes my fancy--
really notice how it feels,
and remember that once upon a time
I was good at solitude.
Picture
It's awfully easy to get out of the habit of solitude -
way easier than to get back into it, at least for me.
And these days, even when seemingly alone,
our devices are usually there
to connect and distract.
And that's a wonderful thing.

Until, sometimes, it is just too much,
especially around this time of year
when everyone seems to be trying to sell something,
or ramp us up about how perfect things should be.
​
So it's nice to step away,
to gather weeds
and tunes--
to gather myself together. 
Picture
And then to write about it,
​ to you! 

Mary Berry
12/18/2018 12:41:44 pm

"Transitional melancholy"! Yes, yes, yes! I've been searching for this phrase forever. I also get it the day before I go away, as I'm packing (maybe pretransitional melancholy?).

Tracy Hudson link
12/20/2018 06:39:39 am

Me too!!

Arlene
12/18/2018 01:14:11 pm

It may sound corny, but your posts move me, moves my heart and mind to be open, to see my daily life as more real. Thank you for this.

Cindy D
12/18/2018 01:28:33 pm

Great post! Solitude has its benefits.
When you weave with iris leaves do you just twist one leave or ply leaves. I’ve spindle spun some leaves while wet. Once dry I had a hard time weaving with them. Should I weave them when wet?

Velma Bolyard
12/18/2018 01:31:45 pm

Your words and pictures make me happy. So rich, so real.

Pam Hutley
12/18/2018 02:05:25 pm

A wonderful post Sarah. This time of year drives me crazy with the noise and advertising even when I am just trying to buy some fresh fruit. My early years of isolated contentment have never left me and I long for the 'other side' of a new year and some quiet.

Jennifer Edwards link
12/18/2018 02:07:47 pm

This deep solitude is something I both crave and fear. Even though I almost always long for time completely by myself which rarely happens, it does seem that I might experience that melancholy but then relish every moment. I’m thrilled for you to be able to do this! And your drawings are enchanting! That first one caught my breath! Lovely feel. All the best to you sarah!

Paige link
12/18/2018 04:35:57 pm

Thank you, Sarah. I will look on ‘transitional melancholy’ will fresh eyes next time and welcome it as a friend. Your drawings and words are such a beautiful gift. And to think I first came here just for your beautiful weaving!

Jodi
12/18/2018 05:44:45 pm

I was trying to figure out who was building things in the background, then I realized it must be people shooting birds...

Laine
12/18/2018 07:30:45 pm

Oh, Sarah. Thanks for being you.

Pam
12/19/2018 04:28:16 am

Calming and beautiful - and I learned something new. That transitional melancholy is a real thing. I’ve experienced it but didn’t know what it was about. Thank you!

Dee Jochen
12/19/2018 08:39:30 am

Oh, Sarah, Thank you for giving me images and words to fill my heart just now. With family in busy environment, I will return to this to remind me of what can be.

Ruth Manning link
12/19/2018 05:22:48 pm

Yes, harder to transition, that barrier you have to cross over. To do anything really. Solitary helps you ponder don't you think Sarah? And then , who knows, something might come of it.....

pat cooper
12/19/2018 07:05:33 pm

Transitional melancholy - fabulous - captures that feeling perfectly, I am twisting cordage from palm fronds (because that is what I have in South Texas) interesting - thanks

Leonie link
12/19/2018 09:31:33 pm

Getting used to myself when no one else is around. That is something true.

Lisa Ann
12/20/2018 04:28:02 am

"...getting to practice being how I am when no one else is around." There's gold in them thar words, and a bushel of ponder fodder. Thanks, Sarah :)

Bethany link
12/20/2018 06:03:10 am

Precious these moments in time...quietly contemplating, searching and finding joy in being alone. Great reminders. Be happy and create...

Tracy Hudson link
12/20/2018 06:47:21 am

Agree with all the above, your posts are pure gold, like sunlight on weld-dyed yarn, and they make a place to sit and think amidst the tumble of urges and emotions at any time, but especially this time of year. You're motivating me to post more frequently about ~~whatever~~, just in case those who read me are looking for a quiet space to contemplate. The Internet is loud and crowded, but it helps to share the quietness, and, paradox though it may be, the solitude.
This came at exactly the right time, as I wrestle with the odd agitation of having all my time to myself for just a few days. And I was reading the Gentle Learning post at my parents', which was wonderful but I couldn't comment for some techy reason.
Guess I'm done rambling.... much appreciation and warmth.

janie
12/20/2018 08:49:58 am

Always a wonderful and thoughtful post well enjoyed. I need the transitional melancholy. It makes me slow down and appreciate the cold and dark. All too soon it will be a hot summer again.

Linda Healey
12/20/2018 09:48:57 am

Having just (July to the present) experienced solitude as I’ve driven and camped across the country in my teardrop— now staying in a lovely empty house belonging to a friend near a small NM town—I so relate to this post. I have my handwork but the morning found me in the shed, sawing a few scraps of wood I found into extra bedslats. Soon the knitting, spinning a Hokett. They’re on my list. Thank you deeply your posts, Sarah.

Jacqui
12/20/2018 12:14:48 pm

Love your posts!! Thank you.
Merry Christmas from sunny New Zealand.

Summer
12/20/2018 01:42:15 pm

Sometimes I feel like Pigpen with the many details of my everyday responsibilities flying around me in a whirling cloud. I expect it may take more than a day for the dust to settle and that the melancholy may be deep. But I crave that solitude that you describe. Thanks for sharing your journey -- and heart -- with us.

Eileen
12/20/2018 03:02:24 pm

Sarah, thank you for sharing. I wish I had more time to take off and be somewhere without all the distractions. Someday soon, I hope.
Happy Solstice!

Nancy
12/21/2018 01:51:04 pm

I wish I had more time to take off... oh but I can dream and do what I can when I can and love it!

Heather Myers
12/21/2018 07:19:03 pm

Spot on! Thanks. Adds fuel to my niggling thought I need to be non-electronic for a while in my personal hours.

Barbara
12/26/2018 04:30:55 pm

An led lantern might be more conducive to your lighting needs rather than a headlamp; I have a few for power outages and they are quite bright. Thanks for all of your wonderful blog posts <3


Comments are closed.
    Picture

    ​Sarah C Swett 
    tells stories
    with
    ​ and about

     hand spun yarn. 


    Picture
    Click for info on
    my four selvedge
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    ​ Rebecca Mezoff  
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