I’ve been thinking a lot about “homemaking” and what it means to create domestic spaces that are inclusive of the living world outside our doors. Homemaking can feel like an outdated word. However, when I think about it in relation to the question that often sits at the very center of my being—“What does it mean to make a home?”—then new dimensions and possibilities seem to spill forth.
I loved Camille Dungy’s book Soil. These lines in particular have stayed with me: “What folly to separate the urgent life will of the hollyhock outside my door from the other lives, the family, I hold dear. My life demands a radically domestic ecological thought.”
A radically domestic ecological thought.
What are the practices such a thought might invite us into?
Since last spring, I’ve kept an occasional list of what I call “Home Inventories.” It’s been a very simple, practical way of logging movements, objects, seasons, perfunctory rituals, daily practices of inhabiting—often hardly worth mentioning—that make home familiar.
Here on the first day of Spring, I wanted share several of those lists.
Inventory I: Lost and Found Objects
A log of a toddler’s tireless practice of making and re-making home
Tree Finder book (most recently on the arm of the chair in Aspen’s room, previously in her red wagon, previously in her toy bin, previously in the corner of her bed)
My jeweler’s loupe (purchased after a workshop with Lucy Jones when she spoke about carrying one with her so as to be able to look at small things like moss and lichen.) A month after vanishing from my purse, the empty case left behind, I finally found it at the bottom of a reusable shopping bag.
My watch (still missing as of this writing)
A black, two-holed button set upon on my desk
A quiet blade of grass placed in my hair
A small, sharp stone in my pocket (discovered by sitting upon it)
A bandaid with cupcakes on it, stuck to the elbow of my striped shirt (impressively hard to remove)
A toothbrush, rolled in newspaper, at the bottom of my backpack (...what?)
Two blue magnatiles zipped into the pocket of my computer case
A miniature umbrella from the dollhouse, standing on my bookshelf
So very many pieces of tape, everywhere
Inventory II: Things Buried, Unburied, Growing in the Garden
A log of the homemaking work of beaks, critters, squirrels
Aphids on the aspen tree (being farmed by ants for their honeydew)
Peanut shells poking through the soil in the raised beds (buried in autumn by squirrels)
The “weeds” we let grow in our backyard last year, which produce dozens of plump, bell shaped flowers in white and purple
A riot of maple seedlings growing in our gutters, in the cracks in the porch, in the pile of mulch, in the herb pot
Volunteer squash plants—ten of them!—growing from seeds buried in the compost that I hastily spread in early spring
The daisy fleabane, which grows taller and more vigorously than the tallest of the flowers we’ve planted
Inventory III: A (Partial) List of Home Rituals
The perfunctory patterns of life that come to define home
For months, trying and failing, every morning, to get a three-year-old to eat breakfast
Aspen and Dada morning dates to our local coffee shop, where Aspen is now a regular
House Sparrows, House Finches, Northern Cardinals returning to the trees in March
Aspen’s “garden tours,” given to lucky guests. Includes, always, the apple trees, the aspen tree, and the doorbell on her playhouse
Walks around the garden
Weeding the garden
Mulching the garden
Playdates with Bubba (Aspen’s name for my mom) on Friday afternoons
Early family dinners of: whole wheat noodles, curry, “big salad” Seinfeld-style, rice bowls, pizza
Evening walks or bike rides around the “neighborhood loop”
Watching Mr. Rogers Neighborhood on rainy afternoons and evenings
Bedtime routine: snuggling, books (read by Andrew), songs (sung by me…This Pretty Planet, Waltzing Matilda, Row Row Row Your Boat)
***
What are some of your homemaking practices and rituals?
Two Spring Workshops
Writing at the Edge (Virtual):
In this time of ongoing ecological transformation, how do we write about our home places? Over three sessions, we'll explore three transitional ecosystems: salt marshes, the fluctuating border between forests and grasslands, and places where human development meets "wilderness." Each offers us a glimpse of what is possible at the edge and invites us to peer at what is held within fluid boundaries. What can be learned from the beings who inhabit these edge-landscapes?
April 11th, 18th, & 25th from 7:00-8:30pm EST
To register, or for more information, click here.
Writing at the Edge (In-Person):
A three-part writing workshop exploring ecology of salt marshes, the legacy and work of Rachel Carson, and how to weave edge-places into our writing in a time of uncertainty. Held at several locations within the Rachel Carson National Wildlife Refuge between Scarborough and Wells, Maine.
Sunday April 28th, Sunday May 5th, and Sunday May 12th from 12:00-1:30pm EST
To register, or for more information, click here.
I meant to thank you for this post which made me smile at times and which was a wonderful blend of day to day blessings and challenges.
For me: a cup of coffee in the morning, and watching the finches and woodpeckers on the feeders.
For my five year old grandson when he spends the night with me and my wife: wrapping himself in his "fuzzy blanket, laying on the couch, and watching the Andy Griffith Show (he thinks Barney is so funny) and the Beverly "Billhillies" (he loves Granny).