May Day

According to old lore, this time of year mid-way between the spring equinox and the summer solstice marks the true beginning of summer, when the earth and the sun have shifted enough to bring the sun's true warmth and to activate the soil's fertility. May is my birth month. For me it often feels like a threshold, a month of potential and promise, almost like the turning over of a new year. After stillness there is striving, an alarming alert to the passing of time. The time is now - the time of fertilizing, planting, and sowing - hanging on as summer sweeps towards us.

This is something I've been giving a lot of thought to this spring, turning now to summer. I garden, and more importantly, I garden with the intent of supplementing my grocery buying, not only for the summer but for the winter months as well. A lot rides on the success of my spring planting, and the soil preparation before it.

I sometimes shuffle my feet on the dividing line between personal and professional in this blog space. To be honest, I wish it could be more personal, to reflect more the artist rather than the professional printer and book binder. Perhaps this is a place to enter that realm.

I lost my father earlier this spring. It was unexpected, sudden, and shocking. It caused my personal and professional life to come to a halt. It forced me to sit in stillness and to dig deeply into myself.

That fertile soil thing? I believe it applies here. I sense that I cannot be the same person as a fatherless child. I mean this in no negative sense whatsoever, simply that new growth must occur from death, and I must explore new ways of doing things in order to grow as a person and as an artist, and much is riding on this growth now.

As the days are growing longer, warmer, humming with new growth, I'm slowly returning to my active self, sowing new ideas and hopes for the future. I have several projects that I've been working on over the past few months that I am so excited to share. I do think my focus and direction is shifting slightly, tilting ever closer toward my true north. In the fashion of nature and the seasons, this too will have a cycle, but isn't that the best part of life?