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Autumn Newsletter: Apprenticing with Slowness

It is deep Autumn in the Pacific Northwest. My intention was to write this newsletter soon after the equinox passed, but enamored with cooler and shorting days, Leaves riotous shift in color schemes, Rain’s thunderous return and my own deepening “apprenticeship with slowness,” one week fell into another and, well, here we are.

My body exhaled when Summer finally left the scene (though there was a pale pink Rose in the neighborhood that was still offering spicy, peppery scents until it was cut back to my astonishment just a few days ago. After all, I wasn’t done with my daily “sniffs.”) Summer was difficult for me. I wrote about my malaise on Substack: “merging with the deepening of autumn.” These days Sun skims morosely along the Tree line as if annoyed at not being the star of the show. On cloudless days, Sun glares through windshields and shows all the dirty streaks on kitchen windows, a reminder of its brilliance. And I appreciate its gentle warming of my abode. No need to turn on the heat. We call a truce.

Summer Newsletter: Navigating Summer with Grief

In my neighborhood we are now fully into the rhythm of Summer. Those frenetic mating Bird songs of Spring that precede Sun’s early risings have eased into parental lessons. They tend toward later starts and a softer urgency. There is so much as a parent to be exampled on top of the instinctual nature hatched in the chicks! And as mid-July crests, I imagine those who hatch two families each Summer have already fledged brood number one and are well on the way to parenting number two.

Autumn Newsletter: Harvesting Rest

In recent years, my local climate has not followed the usual patterns of weaving cool weather into night, to leaves surrendering their green into startling reds and yellows, and flowers dropping to mulch into soil as autumn approaches. Oh, it arrives in some form, but a bit chagrined and with a folder full of explanations. So I was happy, yes happy, to don my rain gear as the calendar officially announced the equinox in my beloved Pacific NW and the Nature that surrounds me magically turned on cue. As one who has lived all but the first four years of her life in this region of the world, the shift in seasons is one way I navigate the spiral of my being. The harvest of rest this season offers, with its lengthening nights and bundling of my body for warmth, reminds me of all the moments I’ve forgotten in the chaos of summer about SLOW TIME. Slow time, something I lean into with more grace as I age. Stepping away from the demands of external clocks (though they still seems to dictate more of my life than I desire.)

Early Summer Newsletter: In Community With Birds

I guess this ”Early Summer” newsletter is substituting for the never-written-but often-contemplated “Spring” newsletter. It was an odd spring, what with a very wet start, a mid-season hot spell that dissipated into an almost autumnal feel. Oh, we had the occasional mid-80’s day and the tulips, lilacs, irises, peonies, dogwoods, and other seasonal regulars bloomed in color-wheel splendor to remind us Pacific Northwesterners that, yes, the calendar was correct. It was April. May. June. Somehow the writing of the Spring newsletter was waylaid by the enchantment of greening landscapes, creating and fine tuning my recent presentation, and pondering (okay obsessing about) my future “home” options…an ongoing journey I will not delve into right now.

Winter Newsletter: Footfalls On The Journey—Shifting Landscapes Shift Perspectives

Ah February in the Pacific NW. Our mild winter faked us out with a few warm spring-like days earlier in the month. This is typical. A few bulbs poke up. Trees start budding and a few have even bloomed some years, though at least this year the cherries didn’t. Wise those cherries. We are giddy with visions of lighter jackets and warmer days.

Then cold swept in with an unexpectedly large gathering of snow in the lowlands. Caught the weather-folk by surprise as well as the evening commuters on a recent Wednesday. Portland recorded 10-12” in some neighborhoods. My higher elevation abode had about 10”. It turned into an icy mess once the snow thawed a bit and refroze. All the headlines read “snowapocalypse”and folks in the midwest rolled their eyes I’m sure. Now this is typical…a “false” spring followed by more “wintery mixes,” but we are a hopeful bunch in the Pacific NW (or forgetful) and think each year will be different.