Dear Reader,
It’s been a while. And it’s been on my mind. My creative practice of writing has been laser-focused on my other place of enjoyment, Flucking Flourishing. Northern Notes has whispered to me, through nature, through winter turning to spring, as the bright green new growth appears as days get longer.
I haven’t forgotten, just neglected this part of my life as I write other things with a new(ish) voice and a spirit full of fun. Creativity hasn’t left, just appeared in different forms: stitches I’ve made, photos I’ve taken, food I’ve prepared, drawings I’ve sketched, instead of the written word on the screen in front of me.
So what prompted my return? Two people subscribed to my musings on life in the northern hemisphere—plus it’s June in a few hours (at the time of writing).
I have just been outside to walk on the moss, connect with the earth and pay homage to the sun that is slowly and gently setting at 22:45.
I’m in the countryside this weekend, a luxury I’m forever grateful for. My husband’s family has been coming here since the 1980s, when they bought it, slowly creating a paradise by the water I never tire of.
The cottage is on a hill and during the spring and summer, the sun travelling around it, as if the small, red structure is centre of the universe.
The lichen covered rock is also covered by soft moss, scarily dry for this time of year despite recent rain. Its softness is something I love, as tread carefully over a few sharp sticks to take photos of the setting sun. It’s cool, gentle, and springs back to shape once I lift my foot.
Moss intrigues me. It’s incredibly intricate in its shape and I often remind myself to read Robin Wall Kimmerer’s book on moss. Braiding Sweetgrass was exquisite so I’m sure I will fall in love with moss even more after reading her moss deep dive.
The intricate delicacy of moss requires you to get low and observe. To stop and focus. It’s humble, no big leaves to dazzle or trunks to distract. It’s quiet, slow, and kind. I don’t know why I think of a plant as kind but moss fits it well. If you’re ever out in the wild and need to light a fire, dried moss works a treat, although it seems like sacrilege.
Spring has been long this year. We’ve only just reached temperatures over double digits the past few days. It makes winter seem long for this Australian, used to short winters and long summers. The saving grace is the length of days, with peak daylight on June 21, the midsummer solstice. I’ve been told that even this date can bring temperatures below ten degrees Celsius but I haven’t experienced that since I moved here over seven years ago. I’m not sad about it. I like the feeling of not having to wear a jacket, scarf, beanie and gloves when going out. Quite liberating after months of layers.
My dad is here at the moment. He’ll be reading this (hi, dad!). What a pleasure it is to have him here! We can talk about things we did when I was young, and he’s helped me build an outdoor kitchen by our sauna. He’s very handy!
No one visits in winter. And I don’t blame them.
I’ve been bird listening the past few days. All the small, chirpy birds are out, filling the air with their excitement. I read today that birdsong is like a balm for our soul because it’s an ancient sign that we’re safe. If the birdsong stops, then danger is about. I hadn’t really thought about that before, but it makes sense. It feels delicious to be surrounded by song, even the honky birds. Geese, swans, eagles, gulls, and terns. So many different birds. And how can I forget the cuckoo?! He’s been out in force, trying to find a mate.
Long days, water, slow sunsets, blue sky. It’s been a beautiful end to May and start to June.
I’ve been taking time to let go. Shedding layers of coats and scarves as well as thoughts and ways of being that no longer serve. It’s a spiritual spring clean. I sent a whole box of physical things to be reused by someone else, so why not shed some other things too? No one wants them, of course, but the process of recognising patterns of thinking that aren’t mine or no longer fit with where I want to be and how I want to feel seems timely as the season changes to one that is all about new growth and fresh starts.
Navigating post-menopause as I am means meeting myself with kindness as I swear randomly, my body changes, and I collect a growing list of symptoms that thankfully don’t appear at once but plague me at random times. Me being me, I’ve read and absorbed and listened to a gazillion experts and studies and podcasts. I’m tweaking how I live (no more alcohol), and making sure I take the advice and integrate it into my life.
Walking on the moss helps. Connecting to nature and the rhythms of the seasons soothes my soul. Birdsong for breakfast (no seagulls please!), and sunsets for dessert. Soaks in the sauna and sea. Swishing reeds and rustling birches. The summer is waiting, and I’m ready to embrace it all, breathing it in for another year.
Until next time,
Lisa x
If you’ve been thinking about subscribing to Northern Notes, now’s a lovely time.
~ All photos are my own 📷
I’m Lisa’s dad, Bill. I am loving being here for the onset of summer and to spend time with a daughter and her husband who live 15000 kilometres away from my home in Melbourne. The beauty of Aland and its traditions and history are a wonderful backdrop to just catching up. Love you Lisa.
Your writing is delicious. I feeds my winter weary soul. Today we are finally out of coats and warm socks. I sat outside and enjoyed the bluest skies with billows of white cloud ships sailing through. The birds were singing and soaring from one huge oak or maple to the next. I will water my spring flowers and enjoy a dazzling sunset later. Thank you.