What the Land Has Been Asking of ME

Notes from a quiet retreat, and the first whisperings of what comes next

I’m away on retreat. Not far from home, but away.

The ocean greets me every morning with gentleness. Tall fir trees frame the view from the window. I sit with tea, watching rafts of ducks come and go at dawn and in the evening, along the estuary beside us. It’s a world away from the farm, in a condo surrounded by the sounds of others.

This much-needed break feels like a withdrawal into a cocoon of difference—to think, to reassess. To decide which path, which direction, we are headed. I have to admit to myself that I’ve felt rudderless and uncertain these last years, and even more so recently. I feel as if I’ve been drifting, like the ducks.

Once—usually—I knew with certainty where the path was. But as I’ve gotten older, I notice I’ve grown less certain. Less certain that I have the answers. I have to ask myself: What is real? What is the truth? What, or how, is the way forward?

The farm has asked everything of me. It has been a hard taskmaster—but also a balm for my soul. I arrived on the land parched, in search of meaning and connection. I opened my heart and allowed myself to be led, to become one with the energy of the forest, the fields, the plant beings. I planted thousands upon thousands of flowers for bees and pollinators. I’ve listened in wonder to the songs of frogs, the morning bird chorus, answered the greetings of my raven friend and been mesmerized by the voices of bees. I have stood in tears of wonder at the enormity—the sacredness—of being allowed to do this work, to truly step into my practice as an environmental artist.

It’s been nearly 10 years at the farm. And for the last few, I’ve been standing on the edge of a path, pacing back and forth in front of a bridge that invites others to join me—to reconnect to the Earth, to nature, to find their own inspiration and way.

I’m unsure how to share the profundity of it all. How to be a guide—to invite others to step into their own connection to nature, and not into mine. We are all deeply connected to the land—through our ancient ancestral memories, through our birthright as human beings, as fellow travelers on this Earth with our plant, animal, water, air, and mineral brothers and sisters.

I love technology—a bit of a strange thing for an artist so deeply rooted in the land—but I am a being of my time. I also love meeting people, and inviting them to the farm to experience the sacred energy of this place.

So, as I sit here watching the sun set over the sea, I’ve been thinking: there’s a way for me to extend a virtual invitation. A way of guiding others to connect with the land where they are—as a prelude to inviting them to gather at Alchemy Farm.

In the coming weeks, I’ll be sharing more about what this might look like. If you feel pulled toward this work, I invite you to message me. I’d be honored to walk alongside you.