These are big, beautiful, heavy, decadent builds! Everything about the current price of precious metals would have me NOT work this way but I do what I want and what I wanted to build this week is big, bold, everlasting ring forms. These rings are set with wonderful cuts of buttery yellow dendritic opal. This is one of my favorite stones to work with and it’s difficult to find in this hue. My pal in Boise cut these stones for me and I’m grateful to have his help when it comes to sourcing precious stones such as these. Dendritic opal reminds me of Indian summer here on the high desert when the weather is a perfect blend of cold wind and warm sun and everything turns to gold as far as the eye can see. These rings are all that, in a nutshell.

Random thinking aloud: I’ve been thinking, these past couple of weeks, about one thousand years from now when some human being discovers our farm tucked away in layers of strata and drift and makes it an archeological dig. We look at archeological sites now and we say, “Look! These people had a religion. They hunted. They grew their food. They had art and expressed themselves. They had music. They kept records.”

So, too, they’ll look at the dusty, fossilized remains of our farm and our life and they’ll say, “Look, they had hunting tools. They had farming implements. They had livestock. They had music. They had a God. They had art and craft — they worked with their hands.”

There is only time separating Robbie and I from our early ancestors and there’s something so solid feeling and human feeling about that.

What do you think an archeological dig would look like in Seattle or Los Angeles or New York City 1000 years from now? What would an archeological dig look like at your house 1000 years from now?

https://www.thenoisyplume.com/blog/2020/11/19/15680/

Beauty Beauty

Something I try to do every morning before I do anything else, before I make breakfast or a cup of tea, before I feed the dogs and all the other mouths and beaks, before I check on the horses, before I collect eggs…is step into the large garden here and see what needs harvesting, what needs water, what needs deadheading, what needs fussing over. It’s a literally beautiful way to begin the day — outside where life is apparent and thrumming and aesthetically pleasing to the eye. There is texture, color, weirdness, abundance. It’s good for my soul.

This morning, as I picked a passel of zinnias and enjoyed their different sizes, colors, and details, I thought about how important it is to foster an appreciation for beauty in ourselves and others, to develop an aesthetic, a taste for the sublime. It’s probably what bothers me most as I look at our education systems in North America — the gaping, yawning abyss that exists where art and music classes used to reside. I worry about focusing on teaching kids reading, writing, and arithmetic, racing China to produce tech-savvy children who can build the computers of the future. What about beauty? What about looking at a painting and crying and not being able to express why but just knowing that an invisible string has been tied tight between the artist’s paintbrush and the beats of your own heart. What about looking out at a pristine landscape and understanding how important it is to keep that beauty as it is? When we know about beauty and value it, when we have a developed aesthetic, we want to conserve beauty, we want to grow beauty, we want to design beautiful buildings that reflect nature, we want to grow beautiful gardens that feed our bodies and nurture our souls. When we have been taught about what is beautiful, we care about beauty. I’m over art that is solely about politics, about making statements about how ugly and unforgiveable humanity is, crucifixes in jars of urine… Trash. Nothingness. I want to see beauty. I want to look at art and transcend. I want to feel hope, amazement, joy, wonder…a sense that I have been dipped in dark chocolate…BITTERSWEETNESS. And most of all, I want to see and believe in all the beauty there is in the world. Mercy. Love. Kindness. That’s the art I hang on my walls. That’s the garden I grow. That’s the life I believe in making and living. Our souls are hungry. Give us beauty. Give us art. Give us a garden of delights.

Big Enough

I used to define productivity differently. My definition had everything to do with the sum of objects I was able to create in the studio and my self worth was tied directly to that sum. When life circumstances kept me from my studio I suffered from a sort of neurotic frustration that was unpleasant to my own body and soul and mind and I’m sure absolutely repugnant to friends and family. This is not to say I created from a place of anguish. On the contrary, working was my bliss, but the sort of bliss that stems from addiction and obsession. Can art be addiction? Can creative work become obsession? I think so. I think anything can turn into an addiction, a substance we use to fill a void, and all human souls are equipped with holes that need filling.

Over the 14 years I’ve spent as a fulltime silversmith, something has changed and evolved and grown and lived and died and been reclaimed and redeemed and reborn in me so that I cannot say I continue to define productivity as the sum of jewelry I am able to create in a day, a week, a month or a year. I no longer choose my studio and my work over all other things. Instead, my productivity is determined by the sum and quality of my living — by the totality of my life. I strive to practice a fully integrated life wherein my work is my play is my food is my faith and one of those things cannot be separated from the others. In practicing this lifestyle, I have found that gardening for 8 hours is productive. Spending a couple months to hunt for my food alongside my husband and bird dogs is productive. Spending five uninterrupted days in my studio is productive. Taking a morning to read and meditate and practice stillness and worship and thanksgiving is productive. Taking care of my relationships is productive. Riding my horses is productive. When I live my life in fullness with joy and conviction the jewelry I create is filled with richness and meaning and at the end of the day, at the end of all the days, I find all of this is enough.

I wonder if I have reached a point wherein I am big enough? I used to believe that if I wasn’t constantly growing the small business side of my work, if I wasn’t growing exponentially in that regard, finding ways to do things faster and cleaner with less effort, hiring agents, seeking out assistants and hiring packing and shipping minions…that I wasn’t working hard enough or that I had plateaued…and we are told so often by society that to plateau in small business is death — if we aren’t growing, we’re dying.

What if I’ve reached a point wherein my creative work sustains me and my little family comfortably and it’s simply enough? Not only is it enough, but what I am able to create in my studio is woven within the tapestry of the sum of my living. There with my food, my family, my farm, my faith, my play, my work, is a glimmer of silver and stone and the music of hammers singing and files rasping and all of it, all of it, is this beautiful life of mine. If I become bigger than this, I fear I will sacrifice all of my living for my work, and my work will lose the truth of my touch, the fingerprint of my life will fade upon the surfaces of these things I create. I’m scared to get bigger. I’m scared to sacrifice the other aspects of my life for an endless quest that has no finish line. I’m not afraid to work hard, but I often wonder if this is big enough. My life is nothing without the work and my work is nothing without my life. Maybe this is called balance or something else entirely? Grace? All I know is I feel free to linger by these flames, with a good horse, in the cold wind, in the sea of sage.


Upon returning home from a short trip to McCall to see Robbie, I spent yesterday setting the farm and gardens in order .  In the late afternoon, I saddled Resero and took him for what might have been the longest ride of his life.  I pushed him and I’m going to continue to push him in the months and years to come because he’s a high-strung animal, just like our birddogs, and I believe these kinds of animals need to be physically and mentally challenged in order to thrive, but also, a good horse or dog is a tired horse or dog.  Yesterday we did an 18 mile ride.  It was tiring.  This morning, Resero is a quiet, sleepy, sunbathing beast in his paddock.  He reaches down from time to time to grab a bite of grass but he’s not his usual highly reactive self.  I should also add that I am thinking about doing endurance races with him.  This horse comes from a competition background and I think he needs it in his life so these long miles have a purpose beyond exploring and pleasure riding.

 While we were on the great, long ride together we saw pronghorn, mule deer, coyote pups, one badger, red-tail hawk, quail, pheasant, chukar, Hungarian partridge and the country was huge and sweeping and laid out before me like something pure, earnest, brimming with life and glory.  I felt so lucky to call this area home and to have a good horse to explore it with.  It was there, in my heartland, that I found myself alone with my thoughts and I began thinking back to a time when I didn’t know when to stay quiet and when to speak up, when I didn’t know I was worthy of defense — that I could defend myself!  I expected someone else to come along and save me, fight for me, defend me and no one did.  I didn’t stand up for myself because I think I didn’t believe in myself, my work, or that I was worthy of my own defense (and I was).  I think it was wrong of me to expect someone else to come and save me from the spiritual and emotional violence of that time.

If I was alone and hurt or attacked in the wilds by a terrible beast, I wouldn’t wait for someone to save me, I would do my best to save myself, I would fight, because I’m worthy of life and living and surviving.  How is navigating humanity any different than a tussle with a creature or a bad fall on volcanic rock that leaves an ankle badly sprained (or worse)?  I guess this is all to say, so many things about me have changed and shifted and shattered and died and rebirthed over the years, I’m thankful I’m becoming someone I believe in, trust in and can stick up for.  I can lay it on the line for myself and for others but more importantly, I’m thankful to be learning when to stay quiet and when to take a stand.  Some things are worthy of of my energy and other things are just pishy caca and not worthy of oxygen.

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On a different topic:

It’s ok to be happy and merry and joyful and to earnestly and honestly convey that to others — to share it.

It’s ok to be successful.

It’s ok to not be a starving artist.

It’s ok to have dreams and to have your dreams come true.

It’s ok to be learning and growing and to carry the emerging beauty of transformation on the surface of your skin.

It’s ok to like yourself.

It’s ok to be liked, to be loved, to be cherished, to be uplifted, to be carried in the hearts of others.

It’s ok to be worthy.

It’s ok to be strong.

It’s ok to have the color of skin you were born with — to be brown, black, white, whatever.  It’s ok.

It’s ok to be self-sufficient.

It’s ok to be capable.

It’s ok to need help from others.

It’s ok to help others.

It’s ok to to practice charity privately and quietly.

It’s ok to have faith and to practice a faith.

It’s ok to pray.

It’s ok to be healthy.

It’s ok to be alive.

It’s ok.

All of those things are ok.

You’re ok.

I’m ok, too.

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In farm news, we took our first cut of hay two weeks ago and it’s the best cut so far in our hay farming career despite irrigation issues early in the growing season.  It’s difficult to believe we’re 1/3 of the way through the growing season and fire season!  Time has wings — I ride it like it’s a bird!

My gardens are aiming for the stars.  It’s my great pleasure to watch the bees working in the flowers I planted just for them.  I’m eating zucchini like it’s my jay-oh-bee.

I have seven broody hens.  I’m fit to be tied.  A sister can’t get no eggs around here!

The turkeys have been threatened by a marauding night beast.  It arrives, on the prowl, around 3AM.  It’s keeping me awake at night.  Our jenny is such a great mother to her brood and she’s equipped with strong survival instincts.  She has started roosting with her turkleteenies in a different place every night to thwart potential attacks.  I trust in her capabilities as a mother and protector so I’m letting her do her thing.  This might be a place we simply cannot free range a turkey flock due to wild animal attacks and I feel I need to let the situation ride so we can know, one way or another, if free range organic turkey raising is a niche market we can pursue.  We’re in such an experimental stage with the farm right now.  It’s a dizzying amount of work but rather satisfying when we figure things out, one by one.

The summer solstice is looming.  Isn’t the light so warm and rich and tinged with the everlasting?  Go out into it.  Let it get in the marrow of your soul bones and then let it write itself all over your shining faces and go forth in all you do, beaming bright.

I love you.

XX

Jillian

https://www.thenoisyplume.com/blog/2018/06/16/13933/

Eden

Every day is Eden.  We make our choices.

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I picked the garden early this morning.  I marveled at my patch of cosmos and sunflowers.  I remember sowing the seeds for those flowers and wondering if everything would blow over in the vigorous gale that often sweeps upriver in this high desert country.  To my amazement, I haven’t had a single flower knocked down in the wind and some of my sunflowers are ten feet tall!  I have a theory that the more a tree or plant is battered by the elements, the stronger it tends to grow.  There’s a reaction to wind, specifically; roots spread wider and shoot deeper so that a plant is tethered to a greater anchor.  My garden has been wind-abused but not broken and so it has grown all the more beautiful and splendid.

I walked my excess cucumbers over to my neighbor’s place, chatted for a while and then made my way home to my kitchen where I am batching spicy cucumber pickles and cardamom plum jam.

I have a simple Sunday ahead of me.  I wish you could come work with me, side by side, rejoice in the bounty, play with the kittens and laugh with me like sisters and brothers do.

X