past present future

photos often sit patiently in my archives waiting to see the light of day. i don’t do this intentionally. it’s just that life gets in the way, i take thousands of images that end up getting shuffled around in order of importance and due date. if images are just for my personal use, these sights unseen wait on the back burner. they wait for words to match up with them before they take on a life of their own. i picture it like a cozy library with walls covered in shelves. rows and rows of images, days, smiles, fog, love, and laughter all waiting until just the right time.

i’m ashamed to say that it’s dusty in there these days. i am constantly apologizing to my muse, and thanking her for storing my thoughts and views until i can get it together {surely i can get it together one of these days! there is so much i want to share with you!}

presently, the good news is that i’ve been reinspired to carry my nikon with me. the past two months of transition has put a noose around my creativity it seems which causes problems on many different levels! my present state of mind is rich with childhood innocence: viewing the new world around me with fresh eyes and bewilderment. totally and fully worthy of documenting. meanwhile i run on my mousewheel trying to play catchup.

as i look to the future {and a date with a plane to carry me to the west coast in just a few short weeks} for a bit of teaching at the upcoming Shutter Sister workshop/retreat {!!!} i find myself simultaneously looking to the past when i spent a similiar time in the pacific northwest mentoring at a retreat as well.

ah, cannon beach oregon. it’s got a magical quality to it, no?
{and this really makes me want to see Goonies again and again!}

while i was in oregon, i was invited out for a photowalk with Liz Ness. if you don’t know her you should! she is Great Plus Photos (and an incredible photographer and writer with the best laugh ever!) she does a remarkable job with her Out of the Box Challenges. you can watch the video here to see Oregon and all of us in action. Ali Edwards and Jackie Wood were naturals, i on the other hand was a tad bit nervous to be infront of the camera. Liz created and documented such a great day and a truly challenging photo challenge.

thanks for the opportunity to participate and shoot with you, Liz.

for the love of art

i know you as if i’ve known you and yet i want to know you even more.
{there is time for that now}

life intersects and intertwines, and with it family’s grow. people’s presence gains importance until you look around one day and wonder if there was ever a time when you did not wake to see their face each morning.

and you smile at all the stories you want to tell each other.
but you know there will be time for that.
{hello love}

do you believe we leave hints for each other? subtle bread crumb trails from a life long past… they act as reminders: glints of sunlight sparkle off necklaces, the way her hair falls, the way his hands move, the quiet presence of familiarity, the lightness and children that danced around the maypole that day so long ago.

we leave these hints for ourselves… to remember each other. when suddenly you gaze into those eyes again and all things become familiar as if no time has passed… and love and family and art span no boundaries of time or distance; you find yourself waking up again and again right here.

exactly where you were supposed to be all along.
yeah. it’s kinda like that.
{say hello to my sweetheart, art farmer}

“we are all a little weird and life’s a little weird
and when we find someone who’s weirdness is compatible with ours,
we join up with them and fall in mutual weirdness
and call it love.”

someday… and right now

 

someday i will write of feet stomping snow clumps from boots. i will write of mudrooms and clothes wet from never ending winters. woodstoves and soups and shared lives. there will be beauty in the simplicity of saying good morning. because that is how i will see it. because that is how i have dreamed it.

someday my stories will write themselves.

my camera sits idly, waiting patiently for the dust to settle. for the boxes to unpack. my camera is patient and knows that i am eager to show her around these parts. i blink and rub my eyes as if awakening from the best dream ever. my surroundings have changed…

you see, i’ve moved.

i’ve moved to New England and it’s alive with love and family and laughter and barefoot children. and it seems so bizarre because it happened so suddenly although it was a long time coming by way of heart.

i am full of stories. yes, still processing the month that passed like a blur with health issues and big life stuff. yes, crossing the country only to downsize and pack it up again to make our way 700 miles further north.

i am full of stories untold.
(always trusting they will spill when they are good and ready)

i’m very excited to share the loveliness of our new life here in this space.
treeforts and fairyland.
sunny days and dewy mornings.
big red barns and the happy souls that live in them.

let me catch my breath, i’ll be back in this space as soon as i can. i’m simply absorbing it all because it’s like a dream come true.

xo meredith

everywhere to go

The Trail Is Not a Trail
by Gary Snyder

I drove down the Freeway
And turned off at an exit
And went along a highway
Til it came to a sideroad
Drove up the sideroad
Til it turned to a dirt road
Full of bumps, and stopped.
Walked up a trail
But the trail got rough
And it faded away—
Out in the open,
Everywhere to go.

****

the speed of slowing down

“we must be willing to let go of the life we have planned,
so as to have the life that is waiting for us.”
-joseph campbell

isn’t there a book called When Things Fall Apart? um, yeah. i’ve read it, more than once. and it’s good. written by my hero Pema Chodron. i think i need it again. maybe a pocket size version of it. “this is it, man.” this is what i always think in the moment, that this is it. the final straw that bends me to my knees sucking in wind with big choking sobs. “it’s the big one” he’d say as he clutched his chest on reruns of sanford and son. then the laugh track kicked in.

but no. it’s not. it feels like it sometimes, more often than not these days. but it’s not. life is simply a series of big ones. which make nothing too big at all when you look at it with space.

you’re stronger than you know. stronger than you give yourself credit for. siblings remind me of this, my story. the story that is so much a part of me i can’t see it for what it is. 18 years ago i was 18. i was this story then as well. somethings never change. and when that ‘something’ is strength and spirit? that’s a damn good thing.

my mother eats in silence. hand shakily moving a fork across time and space and dementia to reach her old lady mouth. this is not her mouth. i smile at the face of this. this angel baby that is my mother. she is my mother no longer and i’ll never be her baby again. i smile at the face of this because there’s nothing else to do. i am here. right now. i am happy to be here. i tell her this and she stares at me. she stares as if reaching desperately into the confines of her mind to conjure up something anything that resembles who this woman is, me, sitting infront of her smiling. i hope that she is reaching desperately into that abyss but i know well enough that she is just staring at my face. human to human. i am nothing more than the woman who says “hi momma” i am the woman who kisses her on the lips and she questions nothing. you can fight this, you can cry and beg and plead. or you can simply accept it. and so i smile with nothing but love.

i look forward at the others. all lost in their minds. i sit with them and listen to their stories, they fill the silence that my mother brings. a woman sat across from me at the table, “you’re so pretty and at ease.” she (this stranger) says it as a matter of fact. she says it to me while i watch my mother eat. this stranger has never seen me before in her life and right now i am simply another customer in this restaurant in her mind enjoying a fine meal in this establishment back in time 1958. i wonder about this. this statement spit from the mouth of dementia.

this is only my face. when faced with something larger than me, i slow down. W A Y  D O W N. slow down to a crawl if you need to but you cannot lay down here, meredith. you cannot lay down here in the snow or you’ll freeze to death, so you simply slow your step. breathe in the cold air, breathe it into your lungs even though it pains you. one step and then another. look up at the moon and watch your breath spill out across the night sky.

one step infront of the other and before you know it, you climbed that fucking mountain. one breath at a time. sure the buzzing is inside you, but it dissipates eventually when you make peace with each outward breath. and your face, this face she sees now, is at ease.

when you face death you must look directly at it. unflinching. welcome it, even. breathe it in, holding your breath will get you nowhere. remember that you’ve got nothing to hide. and nothing but love to give. when it’s time to move on, do so with peace in your heart. that love you carry? it travels with you no matter where you go.

everydayness

looking forward into a hurricane.
looking back into the muck from where we grow.

everyday life is sometimes messy, we all know this. and yet so often we try our best to clean it up. we shine it and polish it and make it presentable. we photoshop and airbrush and texturize and soften and i do all these things too because i want to see what is aesthetically pleasing and so i sweep the dust bunnies under the rug. i arrange photos to put chaos into order. yes, i do. but what is real is what is true. and if photography is mostly optical illusion, then there’s something to be said for hidden beauty that is found in the mess. in the cluttered table top, the forward the backward dance of multi-tasking, the child hanging from the apron strings, the toys scattered after a morning of busyness.

this is the truth of how i work. old school headphones to drown out the mess. in this moment i realized how funny this must look. and yet how important it is to recognize this time of my life. so i put myself at arms length to see my life for what it is right now: messy.

messy is still beautiful to me.

what i try to never lose sight of is my everydayness. i’m not even sure if that’s a word, but it makes sense to me. it’s the stuff that creates our lives… and in the end, it’s all that matters.

a new part of my everydayness is embracing my story as an everyday storyteller.  you can now find me as a contributor over here at paper coterie: this amazing company, this amazing site. i’m beyond thrilled to be a part of this collection of women who celebrate, photograph, and write about their every day lives. check out this amazing video with one of my favorite authors Kelly Corrigan talking about why our everyday is important.

it’s the thread that strings us all together.

i’m always in a constant state of change (yet again!) i am from everywhere on any given day; but soon enough i will be finding my way back home to new england. so stay tuned for some excitement (!) and in about a week i’ll have some great giveaways so you too can embrace your everydayness and check out some amazing products from paper coterie.