all I want for Christmas

Stephanie ULeave a comment

In this tucked away place, I feel like the only person around. Maybe I am. I haven’t seen a soul all morning. I look up as the wind makes the tree tops dance and sway. They creak as their branches rub together in response. The fallen pine needles conceal the sound of my footsteps, but not entirely, as I catch sudden movement to my left. A Red Squirrel dashes across the forest floor, scurrying up the nearest trunk to get a better view of the outsider. But his/her alarm system remains silent. No threat here. “Hello there little one,” I whisper as I continue my search for a sit spot. 

The quality time I’ve been waiting for has finally arrived. My chance to wander the winter wood and revisit a place we discovered last year. Barren branches twist and bend toward the sky like arthritic, skeletal hands, creating a tangled garden wall that closes off this small patch of forest from the rest, creating this perfect circle. I have to duck my way in to clear the entryway the deer have made into this isolated hideaway. It’s chilly, but I’m cherishing this morning of solitude and silence. 

All I want for Christmas is already here. The thought flashes through my mind as my back nestles against the thick, chunky trunk of a pine. A group of geese fly low overhead, obscured by an overcast sky. Their honking disrupts the silence that surrounds me. Snow starts to fall ever so lightly. It tinks against the fallen leaves that still remain.

It seems so simple – the wish for a walk in the woods, the feel of a winter wind on exposed cheeks, the crisp, clean air filling my lungs, the familiar scent of pine diffused beneath a canopy of trees. The desire to be uninterrupted. 

Just a few days where life is reduced to a rustic cabin, feeding a wood stove, eating hearty chili on repeat, and a worn, wooden table to spend time at – talking, reading, writing. No computers, no phones, no television screens. And each day, I am free to wander. No concern for clocks, decisions, or deadlines – just following the sun from dawn to dusk.

This winter cabin stay has become an annual tradition of ours – born from my love of a particular place and the need for a seasonal reprieve from the hustle and bustle of the holidays. We long for some quality time together disconnected from the screens we’re stuck to all year long, all week long – laptops for work, phones for scrolling, and TV to occupy our overworked and exhausted minds. 

My Christmas list begins and ends with this. 

There’s an automatic feeling I get that starts in November. Everything becomes “too much” – no matter the year, no matter what I do, no matter how much I don’t do. It’s smothering to me, the intensity of what the holidays have become in our society of insatiable consumption. There’s this general sense of anxiety, overwhelm, and irritation – even when I hermit away. If my work-life balance is off-kilter, it only compounds these feelings. 

The last few years, we’ve been working to break away from the chaos and madness that has become the standard holiday procedure. Though, deprogramming from the not-so-merry matrix was harder than we thought. We had no idea how enmeshed we were until we began to untangle ourselves from it. What we thought would be something immediate, was, in fact, not. For those around us, it seemed like a “war on Christmas” with Scrooge-like tactics – opting out of what we should be doing, what we’re supposed to be doing, what everyone does and in what measure. It was met with confusion, resistance, guilt, shame, and backlash. 

Was it possible to opt out? To keep what replenishes us and abandon what causes physical, emotional, and financial stress? What parts are commercially driven? What parts are driven by joy? Can we stray from the norm? The shopping, decorating, cooking, cleaning, commuting, waiting in traffic and long lines, maxing out credit cards, losing your shit with incorrigible family members, forcing smiles, and attempting to be present while hiding the fact that we’re all exhausted, overwhelmed, anxious, irritable, stressed and strapped – for time and for money. We spread ourselves so impossibly thin trying to do everything all at once. And after all the gifts, there’s not much left to give. There is no break, no slow down, no rest. Everything in excess. 

It is only now, after our initial conversation years ago, that we’re moving ever closer to the simplification we seek. Voluntary simplicity in our complex, consumeristic world is a process. It requires more than just flipping a switch from that to this. It’s more gradual than immediate. A shift versus an abrupt halt. And the time we spend at the cabin is both affirming and reassuring that our desire to choose a simpler, more intentional life is what is right for us. However slow, we’re moving in the right direction. 

What I experience this time of year is not just a result of our desire to simplify. For me, as a child, the holidays stopped being merry and bright at a young age. My mother’s addiction, coupled with her toxic and increasingly abusive behavior tore open a void so vast and so infinite, that it swallowed our entire family and any memories we had of happier times together into its blackened oblivion – as if it had never existed at all. The only thing my sister and I were gifted from her thereafter, was the blunt-force truth of how motherhood, for her, was a major mistake. A tree was still decorated each year, but no longer with us. Presents towered on the loveseat next to it, but none of them were ours. Beneath it, was purposely left empty. I wonder if she believed taking away our gifts was what would hurt us the most. But the thing was, presents were never a priority for me. I was a child who rarely asked or wanted for much.

And because of that, my wishlists were always short. My favorite gift was nothing extravagant – it was a stuffed Pongo from 101 Dalmations. I named him Shadow, after the Golden Retriever from Homeward Bound: The Incredible Journey. A movie I must have watched over a 100 times, maybe more. I took him everywhere with me – until his fur matted and turned gray, until his plastic eyes rubbed away, until he was falling apart. The two of us had some pretty incredible journeys ourselves. Shadow, coupled with an innate gift of a wild imagination was magic to this quiet, solitary child. I could be entertained for hours with just one stuffed friend and the forest as my playground. 

I was simple in my nature from the very beginning. But as I grew up, that simplicity was made to seem like a defect, something to correct rather than to embrace. It was abnormal to be content with less. To want very little. It was strange not to care much for the things that everyone else did. That wild imagination of mine lended a helping hand in getting really good at pretending I was like everyone else. Until, eventually, I was. It’s only now, over the last few years, that I have been re-discovering my authentic self – my identity, lifestyle, values and beliefs – and reconnecting with the person, mindset, and way of life that makes me truly happy. 

In my mother’s efforts to abolish our holiday happiness, it wasn’t the presents I missed. It was listening to Christmas records on repeat, singing and dancing around the living room. It was the way the tree lights lit up our faces in all their blinking glory. The special ornaments that we hung. Taking long drives in the country pick out our favorite Christmas decorations. Putting out the cookies and milk for Santa and making sure there were carrots for each of the reindeer. Sitting up in bed with my sister and listening for the hoof stomps on the roof, swearing that we heard them. The excitement of waking up on Christmas morning and anxiously waiting at the top of the stairs, trying to peep through the wooden railings without getting caught. The time we spent together on Christmas morning, gathered under the tree – talking, laughing, and playing around the piles of wrapping paper before we headed to Gram and Pa’s house.

What I missed the most was the memory of my mom back when she still wanted to be a mother. I missed how happy my dad looked when we were all still together. I missed laughing with my sister when we were still best friends. I missed my mother’s hugs. I missed hearing “I love you”. I missed all the things we so often take for granted – unknowingly as children, unconsciously as adults. I tried to hold onto what Christmas was like in the “before” time. I relived it each year in the “after” because I thought if I didn’t, I might lose it forever and I didn’t want to let it go. This meant spending a lot of Christmases that were quite the opposite of comfort and joy. For years, I was buried beneath chaotic emotions of sadness and anger mixed with nostalgia for a lost time. I didn’t address any of this until much later in life. But in my nonlinear, unconventional, and still very much ongoing journey, I came to realize something.

No longer experiencing the typical childhood Christmas, I was able to grasp its true meaning, or at least what it had meant to me, very early on. Of all the things I went without, of all the things I wished for every year thereafter, presents were never one of them. I would have taken every gift I ever got and given it all back (well, maybe except for Shadow), if it meant I could be happy again, feel safe again, feel wanted and loved in my own home. If it meant I could get back all the laughing, smiling, singing, joking, dancing, and having fun. I wanted  long car rides to nowhere, snow forts in the backyard, and capturing our special moments on home video. I wanted the peaceful nights that got replaced with drunken harassment. I wanted all the little things that when pieced together, punched a massive hole straight through my heart. None of the things I wanted most had come from a store. I wasn’t old enough to comprehend what that all really meant, even if I had unknowingly realized it back then.   

What are the most meaningful things in my life? 

What do I truly value?

What can I live without? 

What don’t I want to live without?

What brings me joy and happiness?

What am I missing out on if I am not present, if I am not paying attention, if I am stressed and overwhelmed?

How conditioned had I become by life circumstances, by those around me, by society, by failing to address my own healing and wellbeing? 

How far did I stray from who I am? What I once believed?

What do I know, deep down, to be the greatest gift of all?

What did little Steph want most back then?

What does big Steph want most right now?

*******

At 38, I’m seeking comfort and joy. 

I’m creating those silent, holy nights.

I’m walking in a winter wonderland.  

I’m putting more than a little love in my heart. 

I’m bringing back all of my favorite things.

More and more, it’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas around here. And yes, it’s one that “comes without ribbons, without tags, without packages, boxes or bags.”

There is magic to be found in these shorter, darker days. And it’s much simpler than what is being sold to us. This magic returns when we begin to rediscover the true meaning and spirit of the season. What winter represents and what happens when we allow ourselves a slow down – a time for reflection and restoration. In our hibernation, we go inward, perhaps spending more time on all that we let slip away during the preparations of spring, the life-giving months of summer, and the abundant harvests of fall. The winddown should be now. And yet, no matter the season, we have found every which way to complicate and overwhelm our lives – even more so during the holidays. We overlook all the beautiful, wonderful things of our everyday lives. We stop taking the time to appreciate these moments and experiences and to express our gratitude, even for the simple fact that we are alive – right here, right now. 

The warmth of a fire.

The cozy comfort of a favorite sweater.

The healing powers of a medicinal tea.

The comfort of a handmade blanket.

The silence of a heavy snowfall. 

The stillness of a forest in its dormancy.

The quietude of time tucked away.

The transformative power of inner work.

The laughter of a loved one.

The fullness of our hearts instead of our closets. 

Can we stop and  ask ourselves, what more do I need?

We have become a society that is too busy, too distracted, too stressed, too overwhelmed, too angry, too anxious, too frantic, too overworked, and far too demanding to appreciate all the little things that make up a really big thing. We have forgotten the greatest gifts that all of us do not have in equal measure: LOVE and TIME. Love – how are we showing it? Time – how are we spending it? 

Little Steph and Big Steph aren’t so different from one another. Little didn’t want much even when there was a time she could have asked for anything. Big doesn’t want much either, even in a time where she can ask for anything – right now, present day. 

My Christmas list is as short as it ever was, comprised of all the little things that make up everything to me:

  • Love
  • Time
  • Peace
  • Safety
  • Laughter
  • Rest
  • Conversation 
  • Gratitude

In Cabin 12, there used to be four names carved into the wall to the left of the fireplace. It was back in the early 90’s, so those carvings are most likely long gone by now. I can’t remember what they all decided on – their initials, first names, or something made up. I only remember the mother’s. She decided to carve “Ziggy Stardust” explaining to her family how the nickname given to her by her friends was the same name as David Bowie’s alter ego. 

“Ziggy played for time

Jiving us that we were voodoo

The kids were just crass

He was the nazz

With God-given ass

He took it all too far

But boy, could he play guitar

Making love with his ego

Ziggy sucked up into his mind, ah

Like a leper messiah

When the kids had killed the man

I had to break up the band”

There is a picture kept – one that captures this moment, frozen in time, so that a memory can take shape outside the mind of a little girl. The father is carving away with his two daughters, one in the matching oversized sweatshirt they both loved so much. The mother is behind the camera. 

Oh, the rise and fall of Ziggy Stardust.

But none of them knew it back then.

Some of my greatest childhood memories were spent in these woods, in these cabins. This is a gift, coming back here to this special place to make new memories of my own with the person that I love. And so here I am, sitting at a table, so simple in its design it looks crudely made by today’s standards. Yet it’s still here, decades later, each cabin having its own. It’s so old now that the tabletop feels more like glass than wood, smooth and weathered from time and use. Four simple chairs were built to go with it. My husband sits across from me. We’re laughing, really hard, at something stupid he just said. His laugh is the fucking best thing in this world. I snapshot this moment in my mind. His smile, that laugh, the way he’s looking at me. How my hands disappear as he scoops them up in his. His dirty bare feet stretched out towards the fire.

We’re both wearing old long johns. I’m in my favorite wool sweater while he’s in a fleece-lined button down covered in fabric pills. My ratty pair of slippers probably should have been tossed out by now but they’re here on my feet. Our wool socks hang from the back of the chairs drying from today’s wear. The cabins aren’t insulated. Blustery drafts seep in from every angle and corner so we keep the wood stove stacked. There is no TV. No computer. No service inside for our phones. The only other room has two sets of single bunk beds, each with their own thin, hard mattress to sleep on. We bunk across from one another, carrying the table conversation to our beds. Each night, we leave a cracker out for the resident mouse who visits through the uneven space between the wood panels of the ceiling and the stone of the chimney. 

Bear wakes early, reloads the stove with wood, and puts on a pot of coffee. He hunts at daybreak while I wake up slowly, uneager to abandon the warmth of my sleeping bag. I scramble back into my long johns, take the cold walk to the bathroom, and warm up again by the fire with a book in hand. Eventually, I bundle up and go wander out in the woods – sitting in one of my favorite spots, tucked away from the trails. Each night, we return to the table for two bowls of chili and more conversation, dreaming and scheming up our life plans. 

What more could I ask for?

All I want for Christmas is already here. 

a place of the past

Stephanie ULeave a comment

When we talk about history, our stories tend to drift to a person, a place, or event – almost always in relation to human activity. We trace our steps back through time to relive the moments and experiences of who and what came before us. We discuss art and architecture. Advances in civilization. Major discoveries and inventions. What human hands have built and what human hands have destroyed. We, as humans, seem to have this insatiable desire for development and progress. Our war machine constantly churns. So much of what once was could never withstand the test of time – not with our endless need for consumption and our compulsion toward destruction. A great many things have been lost as a result. Cut down and cut short by ballot, bullet, bomb, or bulldozer. 

Just like people, places have memories. Their stories, their trauma, their growth and their decline are all experienced – as we experience our own. Just as the body keeps the score, so too does the land. It holds onto its history. There is energy and its expression – something that can be felt as well as seen. We bear witness to art and architecture. To creation and destruction. To invention and evolution. And none is the result of human hands. Because these things are not man made. It is the work of mother nature and mother nature alone. 

But we don’t often visit a wild place to experience it beyond what we see before our eyes in the present day. If we want a history lesson, we go to a museum. Most likely, we’re out in nature for the trees, never questioning their age or existence. Or perhaps we are there for a scenic view or some destination water feature. Who doesn’t love a waterfall? There are various trails to trek or a summit to ascend. Could be pretty… or could be pretty unremarkable – that is, if we even bother to pay attention to where we are. How the majority of us experience the natural world today is a discussion in and of itself. To be IN nature, WITH nature, SURROUNDED by nature, and still somehow folks remain so disconnected from it. It is a byproduct of our modern society – to maintain these dysfunctional, detached, and disengaged relationships – with each other, with our communities, and with our surroundings. That has to change. As we work to build more meaningful and authentic connections with ourselves and with one another, so too, must we build more meaningful and authentic connections with the land.

What did these mountains, hills, and boulders bear witness to? As humans picked clean the bones of a place? As their communities became barren wastelands? As their kin was cut from the root? As their soils eroded and wildfires burned? How long have they waited for their new neighbors to seed, take root, and rebuild what was lost?

What did this place feel like before? Were land spirits present and alive? What beings called it home? How many trees were felled? How much ground was paved over? How much wetland was dried up and filled in? What was misplaced? What might now be extinct or endangered? How young is the flora in comparison to the age of the land? How fortunate is a natural area to have escaped development in the name of progress? 

A Natural Relic

By 1900, the forests of Pennsylvania were devastated – with our state having lost more than 60 percent of them. The flattened landscape left was prone to soil erosion and wildfires – nothing but smoke and stumps. In a state of 28.7 million acres that was once almost completely tree covered, only a few hundred acres of true old growth was spared. The rest fell victim to the great deforestation – an unregulated logging industry mining for building materials, ship masts, and for charcoal. Our regional hemlocks and oaks were felled and stripped of their bark for leather making in the tannery business. All of this happening all around it, and yet, this boreal relic from the land before time remained. 

To someone unfamiliar, the Tannersville Cranberry Bog could be considered unremarkable – with its stunted trees, precarious “walking” conditions, lack of plant diversity (at least at first glance), less than scenic views, and required guided tours. But in reality, the bog is anything but unremarkable. 

Thousands of years ago, a glacial lake once occupied this space that is now known as the Tannersville Cranberry Bog – a 1,000 acres of land protected under The Nature Conservancy. A bog like this is created over hundreds or thousands of years, formed when plant matter decays in a lake and begins to fill it. Peat deposits start building as the plants die and decay and the water turns acidic. The water is collected by precipitation and is held there by these layers through absorption. Bogs are freshwater, and in spite of the large amounts of decaying plant matter, they are very poor in nutrients. While the ice and lake have long receded, the bog remains – smack dab in the middle of the civilization that now surrounds it. This ecosystem represents an intricate transformation that took place over thousands of years – impossible to replace or replicate.  

A considerable portion of the bog is covered with a boreal forest of black spruce and tamarack, two conifers normally found in Canada, at the southern limit of their range. It is the presence of these two Canadian conifers amidst an array of plant life unique to a boreal bog that makes the Tannersville Cranberry Bog such an incredible place to experience.

The beauty of the bog is hidden in its history, beneath its surface, in its ecological function, and the particular life it sustains within its unique ecosystem. The site was designated a National Natural Landmark in December 1974. The Cranberry Bog is nothing short of a natural treasure, a geological remnant of a long-ago ice age. 

What’s a Bog?

A bog is one of several different types of wetlands that also include marshes, swamps, and fens. Each has their own distinct characteristics – defined by the flora and fauna they support. They are places which are neither land nor water. While other types of wetlands are very nutrient-rich, bogs are characterized by their lack of nutrients and relative inability to support large plant life. They have  no drainage or inflow. No water gets in other than rain or snow and no water gets out except for evaporation. Bogs support plant and animal life that have adapted towards water-logged conditions, low nutrients, and acidic waters. The conditions of this unique habitat make them critically important to the species that live there.

The plant life you’ll find are high bush blueberry, leatherleaf, cranberry, sheep laurel, bog laurel, swamp azalea, and on the outskirts, rhododendron. Two others, bog rosemary and Labrador tea, are among the state’s rarer plants. Sedges and other plants typical of wetlands dominate the more nutrient-rich portions. There are two species of insectivores: the gorgeous, vibrant pitcher plant and alien-like sundew, which are found in the more open, sunny areas of the bog. Other beautiful and fascinating bog plants include grass-pink orchid, white-fringed orchid, rose pogonia, yellow lady slipper, and (formerly recorded but not seen in recent years) heart-leaf twayblade. There are also wild calla, cotton grass, poison sumac, the rare yellow-eyed grass and the rare dwarf mistletoe which grows as a parasite on the black spruce.

Bogs serve an incredibly important function – acting like a sponge – with vegetation and detritus breaking down incredibly slowly. Our sponge, the Cranberry, cleanses and controls pollution throughout the Pocono Creek watershed. Bogs aid in the proper cycling of nutrients and pollutants. They are carbon sinks, infinitely valuable in their ability to remove this greenhouse gas from the atmosphere due to their remarkably slow rate of decay. They are considered one of the most valuable ecosystems in the world. 

A Land Before Time

Walking the bog is like stepping through a portal and transporting to a different time. Here I am, standing in a boreal ecosystem formed by glaciers thousands of years ago. I shut out the modern world and soak in something prehistoric – as if I were the peat moss itself. Everything is quiet and still. Civilization and man made sounds are obscured. The bog, both in aesthetics and function, is in essence, a giant sponge – densely packed with sphagnum moss, also known as peat moss. This sphagnum is super absorbent – plushy like a pillow. This, coupled with layers of dead vegetation beneath, create a bog’s foundation.

The bog is a tactile place. The textures are exquisite. Lichen of many species cover bark and branches. There are the sharp edges of a sedge grass blade. The delicate hairs of a carnivorous pitcher plant. The vibrant cranberry globes in stark contrast to the muted brown landscape of autumn. The plush blankets of moss with their brilliant hues which vary in color – emerald, lime, amber, crimson, and sepia tones. Even the otter scat, left atop the bog boardwalk, has remnants of undigested crayfish shells, flecking as the piles deteriorate. 

There is a duality in this place – both fluid and solid, velvety and dense. There’s a richness to its water, steeped this vibrant and luxurious brown. It sits below, alongside, and within the spaces between hummocks, all at some indiscernible depth. These floating islands  house the life above ground and are smattered across the surface of the bog. Depending where, to step off a hummock, might mean losing your boot – sinking a few inches, a foot, or several. 

This bog emits an ancient energy – purposeful and radiant in its deliberate infiniteness. Here, you can see and experience life in slow motion. Here, time is both frozen and unbound. To wander the bog, is to let modern civilization slip away and in its stead, experience an extraordinary place of the past, one that would be irreplaceable if ever it were damaged or destroyed. 

PLEASE NOTE: Because of its fragile nature, the bog can only be visited during regularly scheduled walks by guided access only. Find out more about the Tannersville Cranberry Bog HERE

an alternative black friday

Stephanie ULeave a comment

We have a tendency to measure worth in the weight of our possessions. Our culture is geared heavily towards consumption. The holiday season only seems to amplify this. Gift giving and receiving is the driving force behind this time of year. We have quantified Christmas – starting our shopping earlier and earlier each year. We break the bank, max out credit cards, and fall into seasonal debt – all for the sake of giving. We experience feelings of guilt, pressure, overwhelm, shame, stress, and sadness instead of joy, appreciation, and love. 

Enter Black Friday – the busiest shopping day of the year. We wake up just to wait in line. Traffic jams. Crowds. Stampedes. Chaos. Stress. Hustling. Bustling. Jostling. Rushing. Snatching. Grabbing. High tension. Short tempers. Disrespect. Who gets one of only a limited supply? Oh, this is popular? Maybe I’ll buy the stock out and resell it on the internet for twice as much. There is no caring. No sharing. No compassion. It’s every consumer for themselves out there.

If we pause for a moment, Black Friday can give us some real food for thought. What is it actually about? Who benefits from the sales made that day? Is there any environmental impact that happens as a result? What are we buying? And more importantly why? What compels us to shop, to tolerate the chaos? What happens when we strip away the highly commercialized, highly sensationalized act of holiday shopping? 

Is the meaning and spirit of Christmas meant to be fighting one another for the last item on the shelf, rushing around from store to store, honking our horns, standing in long lines, navigating massive crowds, getting pushed and shoved and having the people behind us breathing down our necks, chasing deals advertised from big box stores and corporations? And after a while, one day just wasn’t good enough for us. We needed more. So stores began opening their doors on Thanksgiving Day to give us more time to spend – not with family, but on THINGS.

The holidays should be a time to express gratitude, joy, and contentment for what we already have. Most importantly, each other. Winter is meant to be a season for rest, relaxation, reflection, and going inward. And yet, we’re busier than ever. More stressed than before. The holidays plays out more like a circus than something peaceful, relaxing, comfortable and cozy. 

I’ve been called a Grinch a time or two for speaking out about the madness we’ve morphed the holidays into. But I take the Grinch comment as a compliment – reflecting back on the moral of this Suess story: 

“And the Grinch, with his Grinch-feet ice cold in the snow,
stood puzzling and puzzling, how could it be so? It came without ribbons. It came without tags. It came without packages, boxes or bags. And he puzzled and puzzled ’till his puzzler was sore. Then the Grinch thought of something he hadn’t before. What if Christmas, he thought, doesn’t come from a store. What if Christmas, perhaps, means a little bit more.”

― Dr. Seuss, How the Grinch Stole Christmas

I understand that the majority of us will not go without a completely gift free holiday season, especially with children. I’m just hoping to call attention to our mindset – how we approach the act of giving, and in what measure. How we express our love and gratitude for the ones we care about. How we can be more intentional in the ways in which we consume and why. 

It’s easy to rely on material goods as our primary expression of love and appreciation. In a consumer-driven society, that’s the message we receive. We’re saturated with marketing and advertisements on the daily. Our lives seem to revolve around material things. And no, of course we cannot quit shopping altogether – certainly not all at once. But maybe there are ways we can become more conscious and considerate. We don’t have to do what we do just because it’s something we’ve always done. What everyone else does. We don’t have to shop just to shop. We do not have to buy gifts just for the sake of buying gifts. We could start asking ourselves questions. Decide what the holidays really mean to us based on our own values and what we’d like to experience and take away from this time of year. And maybe we can decide it’s time to start some new traditions.

We can work to eliminate the pressure of having to buy big and bold. We can quit the disappointment that creeps in when we didn’t get a certain number of gifts or something with a high-ticket price. We can shift our focus to being grateful for the things that money cannot buy. Things that might take a backseat in our holiday priorities without us even realizing it.

So, in the spirit of alternative thinking, here’s just a few Alt/Black Friday ideas:

  1. OPT FOR OUTSIDE – instead of choosing four walls, choose four elements. Bundle up and take a hike, take the dog for a walk as a family, visit a park or natural area, check out a cool local water feature, or even have a fireside backyard gathering. 
  2. SMALL BUSINESS SATURDAY – if you still want to shop, shop small! Support your local businesses, artisans, crafters, and creatives. Black Friday and Cyber Monday promote shopping at national retailers, big box stores, and vir tual shopping spaces like Amazon. Put money back into your community by shopping locally. And don’t forget the possibilities of gifting local experiences. Gifts aren’t limited to material items!
  3. VOLUNTEER – Give back during the holiday season by volunteering your time to a local organization. What better gift to give than one of service to a local nonprofit in need of some help? Want to spend a little money? Giving Tuesday is right around the corner. What’s an organization that a loved one likes to support? Give a gift in their name!
  4. BRIGHT FRIDAY – This is a sustainable substitute for Black Friday that aims to raise awareness of textile waste in the fast fashion industry. How? By encouraging swapping, trading, re-styling, and refashioning instead of buying new. 
  5. LEARN A NEW HOBBY – Were you thinking of trying something new but felt like you didn’t have the time to get started? Instead of shopping, get a jumpstart on that learning. Or have a craft idea you never really got around to crafting? Dust off what you have on your shelf and get started. Didn’t have the time to finish an old project? Break it out.
  6. ORGANIZE & TAKE SOME INVENTORY – instead of bringing in the new, spend the day organizing what you already have. Check out your closets, drawers, or basement. Is there anything you can donate? Plan for a springtime yard sale? I know it sounds more like work than fun, but taking a look at all the stuff you already have, maybe even some of the things that you haven’t seen in a while, can be a really great motivator and deterrent to buying more stuff, at least for yourself. 
  7. CUDDLE UP – Host a Christmas movie marathon or a read-a-thon in the house. Work on completing an old school puzzle or break out some card games or board games. Chilly day? What better reason to hunker down under a pile of blankets with a cup of tea or hot chocolate and a good book or favorite movie.  
  8. MAKE A GRATITUDE LIST – Take a moment to jot down everything you are grateful for in your life. Then take a look at that list. Sometimes, when we see things written out and in front of us, it really helps to put things into perspective. 
  9. HAVE SOME FUN – Treat Black Friday as an extension of Turkey Day. Eat leftovers, spend quality time together, and have some FUN! Create a Thanksgiving leftovers recipe and challenge a family member to do the same. Let the rest of the house vote on the best dish. Recreate the Thanksgiving Day Parade with cardboard-box floats, decorated from things you already have in the house. If there is snow, get out and play in it! If there isn’t, wad up some pairs of socks and have a mock “snowball” fight. 
  10. OBSERVE NATIONAL NATIVE AMERICAN HERITAGE MONTH  – November is Native American Heritage Month. This is a time to recognize the history, culture, and contributions of the Indigenous people of our country. Spend some time learning about the tribe(s) nearest to you. Check out if they host educational or informative events in your community, or if there are ways you can acknowledge and support them. NEPA is Lenape territory. They are very active and offer many opportunities for education, engagement, and history with the general public – sharing so much of their wisdom and knowledge of our region.

A Path Less Traveled – My Wild Woman Experience with Callie Russell and Jessie Krebs

Stephanie ULeave a comment

There are so many directions I can steer the conversation when someone asks me about my time spent with Callie Russell, Jessie Krebs, and our group of wild women on the water. I could lead with the fact that I almost didn’t go – my finger suspended above my phone screen as if my body had frozen in time, hovering over the registration button, apprehensive to press and commit to such an experience. Knowing damn well others would jump at this kind of opportunity. 

Why? Because I couldn’t imagine myself flying across the country and surrounding myself with a group of women I have never met before and spending a week among them. Sisterhood is a foreign concept to me. I’m a creature of solitude with no happy medium – you either remain at surface level as an acquaintance or you become like family. And I can count the latter on only two hands. Either scenario, connections don’t come easy for me. But that’s a long, drawn out story for another time. 

I knew if I did this, I would make damn sure to show up as myself, however uncomfortable that might be for me. I’m in the thick of it – the work to de-program and unravel from the carefully crafted and carved out model of the woman I spent 38 years tweaking and fine-tuning in order to present as the best version to fit in and belong. And there wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell I would squander this experience by slipping back into that false form just because it was the familiar and easy thing to do. I’ve spent too many years living her life, not mine. That thought alone, letting the real Steph stand up, almost paralyzed me into inaction – so strong it overrode the chance to meet and learn from someone I highly revered. What would she think of me? What would they all think of me? Could I do all the things they were set to teach us? Was I fooling myself, thinking I belonged? Maybe. Maybe not. But I would never know if I didn’t take a chance on this. Take a chance on myself. 

I could also begin with a shameless admission that I have been an ALONE series fanatic since the first season aired. I would be lying if I said the idea of meeting both Callie and Jessie while also having the chance to learn from both of them at the same time, in the same place, didn’t excite the shit out of me. It did. For the first day or so, it felt as if I had walked into some alternative reality. 

Honestly, it still feels surreal to me, having spent a week with Callie whom I have looked up to for years… someone I admire, someone who inspires me, and someone who has motivated me to think more profoundly about my life and how I live it. And that was before I even met her. That feeling is now multiplied tenfold – having the opportunity to spend time with her, learn from her, have her share her skills with me, and witness first hand how she experiences life.

Both of these women are a force of nature in their own respective right. I can go on and on about the sheer wealth of knowledge and experience between them when it comes to survival, wilderness living, and ancestral skills. Individually… collectively… your head will spin with all they have to share. I know mine did. Each subject we discussed and practiced could have been a course in and of itself – taught as an individual subject in a week’s time, maybe longer – but we only had a week to cover all that we could.

I found myself scribbling chaotic notes in my journal, sneaking keywords in the margins to remember things of importance or topics of further exploration. I did my best to keep it more coherent, less hieroglyphic, while simultaneously attempting to give them my full attention. My phone was merely a tool for further documentation or a camera to capture stolen moments in between. 

The way in which both Jessie and Callie spoke and interacted with us during our time with them is what stuck out to me most. They led with patience and grace in their guidance and teachings. Their words were filled with such pride and passion as they shared their wisdom and lived experiences. And yet, both women were entirely void of ego, sharing and teaching from a place of immense humbleness. It only made me respect and admire them that much more. Their humanity, their humility, their vulnerability is something I will never forget. There is no denying it, they live for the lives they lead. 

We often romanticize the idea of living off grid and disconnecting from society without really considering what it takes – not only physically but mentally and emotionally. We daydream about what it would be like to make that choice – to make a lifestyle shift so brazen, so far removed from the comfort and convenience of our modern world, that we are no longer part of the mainstream. We choose the path less traveled. With Callie, there is no dipping a few toes into that life, or skirting around its perimeter, half in the wild, half out. She’s all in. And has been for most of her life. What you see on ALONE is only the tip of the iceburg. Her connection to the land, to the plants, to the animals… it’s Otherwordly. It’s everything you imagine it to be and more. It’s genuine and from a heart place. A soul place. So much deeper than how most of us in today’s world see and experience life. Having the opportunity to experience life as she lives it, was such a privilege. I’m filled with immense gratitude. And I know I am better for it.  

We are also often confident and cocky in our ability to survive if we find ourselves lost or injured out in the wilderness. We feel we would know exactly what to do and how to act – in order to be rescued, in order to keep ourselves alive, in order to protect ourselves. Bold of us to believe it true, especially without knowledge or practice. Jessie removes the bravado and replaces it with reality. In life or death situations, the choices you make matter – IMMENSELY. Being prepared, not panicking, and knowing what to do (and what not to do) is ultimately what will save you or cost you your life. If society collapsed and life as we knew it broke out into some apocalyptic hellscape, and I had the option to call in a lifeline, it would be to Jessie. Anywhere on this earth, if someone is to survive for the long haul, it’s her. Fuck Bear Grylls. So much of what we see on TV plays to the pomp and circumstance of viewer entertainment, not backed by decades of training, leadership, and countless experiences surviving out there in some pretty desolate, dangerous, and remote places. Jessie is strength and feminitity fashioned into the ultimate badass.

This experience could be intimidating for anyone – on many levels and for many reasons. But Callie and Jessie’s approach was to show up for our group not only as leaders, but as mentors, as friends, and most importantly, human beings who genuinely cared about encouraging and uplifting the women around them, ensuring that each individual’s learning experience was meaningful as well as comfortable, regardless of their experience level with wilderness living or survival. 

They are the real deal. They practice what they preach. They are experts in their respective fields and in this way of life. They’re influencers no doubt. They just happen to influence primarily off-screen. Both women actively choose to live their lives in stark contrast to mainstream America and yet… live lives so rich in wealth of a different kind of currency. And it shows – in their passion, in their personalities, in their outlook and mindsets, in their values and beliefs, and in the ways in which they choose to share their wisdom and their lives with those who are willing to learn. 

But if you were to ask me what was that “something” out of the many possible things that I could take away from this experience, aside from a better understanding of survival, wilderness living, and ancestral skills, it would be this:

LEARNING HOW TO LIVE

Understanding how that statement means so much more than just a concept. As we breathe, we live. Each day we wake, we go on to live our lives. Each day we choose what that life looks like, feels like, and how it plays out – in repetition or spontaneity. How we spend our years, months, days, hours, minutes, and seconds. We either make it count, or we don’t. 

Therefore, we must ask ourselves, whose life are we living? Is it ours? Are we living it well? Are we living it true to ourselves? Are we merely surviving? Are we only existing? Are we just going through the motions? Are we healthy? Are we happy? If not, might there be a different way? What are the values and beliefs we hold sacred and are we acting upon them? 

Though we may be alive, have we learned how to live?

Not just in theory, concepts, metaphors, or dreams… but in action and practice.

What do we want out of life?

What are we longing for?

What are we searching for?

What does a life well lived mean to us?

Can we change our stars?

I spent a week living in the extreme version of what I long for: less stuff and living closer to nature – and not just in proximity. It fueled the fire of my want and wish to simplify my life in such a way that I am left richer in body, in mind, and in spirit. I will be better for it. And in turn, nature will be better for it too.

I left Montana and came home with all the possibilities – how I can take what I value and what I want for my life and start to put it into practice. Make more calculated moves in the direction in which I want to go. I also left Montana knowing that a drastic and immediate change might not be possible. We all can’t just up and quit our jobs, spend months hiking the PCT or the AT to find ourselves, take a year to travel the world and Eat, Pray, Love, or upend our lives as we know them to begin. Not everyone has the luxury to explore themselves and their lives outside of the one they are currently living. But I believe we can start right where we’re at. And that is exactly what I plan to do – gradually moving in the direction of my own true North – transforming my dreams and ideas into my real life.

I know this trail that I am walking down is drawing me nearer to a life well lived. The universe is pushing and pulling me to the places and people who I should cross paths with. And I trust it and myself to take me where I want to go.

And all that I learn along the way I hope to share – for others who might seek the same – shining a tiny headlamp to illuminate a path we might all someday walk together – leading us towards a different way of living, of being, of experiencing this life. Living closer to ourselves. Living closer to nature. Redinifing community through our relationship with wild places and beings.

Funny thing, what began as my biggest fear, turned out to be my biggest triumph. I never felt so sure of my place, of my beliefs, of my values, of my passion and purpose, of all the things I have spent my life searching for only to end up feeling like I don’t quite fit anywhere in this modern world – a stray piece from an entirely different puzzle thrown into the box and expected to conform. 

This feeling of connectedness, of belonging, of alignment – to the person, to the wild, to the life I want to be living – it never felt as strong as it did when I woke each morning and stepped out into those trees from my tent, filling my mug with coffee, and having Callie top it off with fresh goat’s milk. The morning I had to pack up and leave, I grappled with an intense pull to stay alongside the longing to get back to my home to the ones I love. For the first time in my life, I felt at home in a place that wasn’t my own. I felt drawn and connected to people and place with ease. 

Until now, my deepest, truest feelings were kept private. My spiritual beliefs were practiced and spoken of only from the comfort of my own home. To say out loud that I yearn to take all of these things and step more firmly into them and to finally admit to myself that yes, this is it. THIS IS IT RIGHT HERE.

It was like 10,000lbs of weight and 38 years of feeling lost, alone, and unsure had just vanished – POOF – into the cool, crisp air of a Montana morning as the sun rose over the mountains. It is there where I shed my doubts along with my bathing suit, feeling the soft sand squish beneath my feet. The truth was as invigorating as the river water that enveloped me, the cold of it shocking me straight into my body, holding me there in the present moment. There was only me. There was only here and now. And in that here and now, that truth was as bare as my skin and as naked as my body. I let it wash over me as I sunk down below the surface, fully submerged. Water and truth collided with my skin, startling my nervous system and my mind. I gasped from the sudden cold and this split second epiphany that hit me like a freight train out of nowhere, as I filled my lungs with the deepest breath of wild air as my heart raced faster and faster. I have never felt more alive. Never. And like a drug, I want to chase that feeling. Not just for a moment, not for a day, not for a week, but for the whole of my life – however many days I have left to live it and live it well. I want the wild on the outside to match the wild on my inside. 

My life was already changing before I met Callie, Jessie, and this crazy, beautiful group of wild women. Only now, I have a clearer line of sight to this focal point in the distance. I’ve got my internal Direction of Travel pointed straight at it. It doesn’t take me in the direction of the Earth’s True North, no. Instead, it directs me to my own. Some magnetic pull towards a place that neither you or I will find on any map. In order to get there, I must follow my gut. I must let my heart lead the way. It is the compass that will orient me. I must pay attention to the call of the wild. And not just listen to that call, but answer it. 

Thank you will never be enough to express the appreciation, gratitude, respect, and reverance I have for Callie and Jessie. And I will never forget a single wild woman that was there to share this experience alongside of me. The individual gifts they shared are priceless, just by being who they are. All the special moments we shared are so beautiful and special to me. And another first in my life, is leaving Montana now knowing what sisterhood truly feels like. And I can’t thank you enough for showing me a glimpse of what is possible – finding community in wild women and wild places.

TO FIND OUT MORE ABOUT CALLIE: https://www.caprakhan.com/

TO FIND OUT MORE ABOUT JESSIE: https://www.owlsskills.com/about

a force of nature.

Stephanie ULeave a comment

We might feel as if there aren’t many places, spaces, or faces that can withstand the kind of waves that build up inside of us.

Anger.

Grief.

Melancholy.

Anxiety.

Suffering.

Loss.

Emotions so vast and colossal that they form a tsunami – capsizing our lives as we know it.

When we feel like we’re drowning in the depths of our own deep sea, when we feel like erupting under the pressure of our own seismic activity, when we feel like cracking wide open after a fracture in our own crust, nature recognizes this wild force we have become, even if no one else does.

May we spill our heartbreak on the forest floor, our tears like raindrops falling and soaking into the soft earth, the rich tapestry beneath our bare feet absorbing our sadness and pain.

May we scream our fury across the tops of mountains, our rage like a gust of wind, carrying our hurt across the expanse as if it were some feathered beast of burden, a wingspan so large it blots out the sun.

May we whisper our worries to the trees, stoic companions resolute in their counsel and confidentiality, always listening without interruption. They recognize our trepidations and advocate for the sharing of all that we leave unspoken.

May we wash our grief away in the swirls and sweeps of a river flowing. May we submerge our sorrow below the surface of a tranquil lake so still that it reflects the sky in mirror image. May we sink our misery down beneath the scrubby plush of peat moss and boot-stealing muck of the swamp lands.

May we tap into the wild consciousness of creation. Unplug from the Matrix of a conditioned society and choose instead to link up to the feral and untamed mycorrhizal network that connects all things.

May we weave ourselves through the rugged fabric of the earth, intertwining our threads with the other-than-human – fungi and root, soil and sun, water and mineral, plant and animal – life sustaining energy and forces.

It is the great gift of right relationship – to have nature know you better than you might know yourself. Let the land, the sky, the trees, the water, and all who exist in these wild elements hold space for you.

May nature validate all that we feel inside, even when we do not – no matter how cumbersome, how relentless, how challenging, how exhausting, how formidable, how tempestuous. Lay it down. Let it out. Nature knows what you should not carry alone. Perhaps, nature knows what we need even when we do not.

The wild is the one place where we do not have to pretend to be okay.

Where we do not have to have all the answers.

Where we do not have to just get over it.

Nature will see and experience you at your wits end,

at your wildest….

and just let you be.

In the wild silence, may we find our voice.

In wild spaces, may we give fashion and form to our unspoken things.

In our own wild nature, may we find ourselves.

a wild community.

Stephanie ULeave a comment

As a child, I longed to live on the Yorkshire Moors, in a place like Misselthwaite Manor. Not for its gothic mystery, or its endless corridors, or the many places I could get lost within the shadows of its walls and unused wings, no. I dreamt of its secret garden. 

I have gotten lost countless times in this story. Even now in my thirties, especially when I’m feeling nostalgic, I’ll throw on the film that first came out in 1993, adapted from the novel written by Frances Hodgson Burnett published in 1911. And I let one of my favorite childhood daydreams drift back into the forefront. 

As a girl growing up, I was more like Dickon Sowerby than Mary Lennox. But I felt a connection to both children. Mary, a daughter neglected by her parents, too caught up in their own lives to raise and care for their own child. This emotional distance and lack of parental nurturing left Mary hardened, angry, isolated, and outcast from a young age. I felt that. 

Dickon was a boy born of and for the outdoors. Countless days were spent in solitude out on the moors, befriending animals instead of other children. He was quiet, kind, and soft-hearted. And to me, his effortless ability to connect with nature was something so identifiable it felt like a mirror image of myself in fictional form. 

Together, Mary and Dickon’s friendship resurrected a special place that changed the lives of everyone involved in the tale. I held tight to this fictional place, dead set on making it a reality in my own life. Someday. I carried this belief with me into adulthood. The possibility that something found and considered forbidden, abandoned, withered and forgotten, could be restored to its former beauty. That it could have the chance to bloom once again within the hearts of humans and within the lives of the plants and animals who called it home. And even in the most dismal of circumstances, nature will find a way to nourish the most broken of hearts with its magic and magnificence. 

I was the perfect melding of both characters. 

A child void of nurture – neglected and misunderstood. 

A child welcomed by nature – acknowledged and accepted.

As a result, I spoke the language of wild things far better than I ever did the language of human beings. My grandfather told me it was my gift, a gift that he and I shared. But it seemed like we were the only ones in our family who found it to have any value. It was only he who ever paid it any mind, making sure to teach me what he knew and believed. He made me feel special and cool because of it. Everyone else just seemed to think it was weird. That I was weird. But I didn’t care, at least not as much back when I was younger. It was only when I started to get older that I too, started to believe it was silly, stupid, and nonsensical. What use could something like that be in the real world? In my world? And so I buried the gift back, way back, in a dusty corner of my mind, until I had forgotten almost entirely that it was even there at all. 

But still, I promised myself that if I ever found the key to my own garden that kept its wonder and beauty locked away – abandoned and obscure – that I would untangle myself from the gnarled roots and painful thorns of my past. I would clear the way for my joy, happiness, and truest self, all of which were buried beneath its dense, dry overgrowth – left to wither by the generations before me. Somehow, I would find a way to face that pain, acknowledge it, and visit this place – not to revel in its ruin but to get my hands dirty. Uncover the life that was trying to sprout beneath it. The life that was desperately reaching for the surface towards the light, towards the sun. I would work to remove the dead that was dogpiled on top, and give the life waiting below its chance to grow, to bloom. 

And if I was luckier still, one day I would find a place that would lend me the opportunity to grow a secret garden of my own. I would befriend a robin redbreast, just like Mary. I would spend countless hours in the company of wild things, sometimes in solitude, sometimes with someone I loved and cherished – sitting, watching, and working to build a place so special that it would change our lives along with all who called it home. From the most dismal of personal circumstances, nature would find a way to nourish my own broken heart with its magic and magnificence. I would fall in love with myself as I fell in love with this place.

Our house was built in 1970 by an extremely talented stonemason. He lived here until his death and that is when the house was sold to us. His craftsmanship and talent are evident in the care and attention of each stone laid, stacked and cemented to become the beautiful stone cabin as it stands today. But the level of consideration he gave to the house was not given in equal measure to the land. The property was used as his dumping ground for discarded and unused construction supplies – bricks, cement block, rebar, wood, plastic, barrels, plastic pipe, tires, broken machinery, etc. 

In some areas, the yard was barren, void of life and monotone in color. In others, invasive plants had overrun the grounds, crowding out any possibility for native species to thrive. The emphasis was on monoculture and a community of one – a man and his house made of stone. The land was untouched, unkempt, and uncared for. I could sense it, even beyond what was visible to my own eyes. It had been forgotten, looked over, ignored – much like the outside grounds of Misselthwaite Manor. It had a sadness to it. A longing. 

That is, until we arrived.

Even me, the little girl all grown up who got her wish for a secret garden to call her own, couldn’t have dreamed up the kind of enchantment, discovery, transformation, and partnership that this restoration and rewilding would bring. Not just for the outer landscape, but for her inner landscape as well. A seed was planted in her heart alongside the ones she sowed into the earth. To rewild the land, was to rewild myself, seemingly in equal measure.

To tend to and become a caretaker of this land, my goal was to listen, not speak. To observe, not enforce. To learn, not instruct. To be guided, not dictate. Working with the land is drastically different than working on the land. As is working for the land versus working for yourself. There is a shift in the power dynamic. The land takes the lead and you follow. It becomes function over formality. Which is achieved through building right relationship. And like any relationship, it takes time. Time I was willing to lend.

The end result looks much different than what the majority of our society are accustomed to. That instant gratification, carefully curated and well-manicured aesthetic, curb appeal to appease and attract the human eye, and a sole focus on the needs and wants of humans.  

Home began to expand beyonds the walls of our house, beyond the stone of its exterior – to encompass every inch of the land and all the things that live upon it. An invitation was presented – for the wild to become a part of our family and for us to become a part of the wild  – this extended community of human beings and wild things. 

We have welcomed 45 native species to our community so far. That’s over 130 individual plants, trees, and shrubs that were placed on this land with the utmost care and respect. Cultivating a habitat rich in its support, sustainability, shelter, and biodiversity for all who call it home, even the transients who prefer to just pass on through.

Our family, our community, our neighbors, our kin – they don’t all look like us. They are made of feathers, fur, paws, hooves, wings, scales, bark, limbs, leaves, and flowers. The land is a home to them as much as the house that stands on it is for us. This is a place we all call home. But that’s a story for another time. 

We can learn the language of wild things. 

We can listen in such a way that we can hear what animals, plants, birds, and trees have to say. What they have to show us, teach us.  

We can befriend a Robin redbreast, just like Mary Lennox.

We can smell of heather and grass and leaves as if we were made of them, just like Dickon Sowerby.

Together, we can discover what has been abandoned, lost to time and pain, and breathe new life into these forgotten places, even the ones we have hidden inside of ourselves.

My grandfather was right all along.

It is a gift.

A gift I let the world convince me not to embrace, not to celebrate.  

We all have the potential to harness it. 

We just have to plant the seed inside of our heart and let it grow.

plastic fashion.

Stephanie U2 Comments

In the quest to live a more earth-conscious life, along with the active choice to live more intentionally, I have been slowly but surely examining how modern society operates and how I choose to operate within it. Because of that, I am taking some things that most of us, including myself, usually never put a second thought to. And then explore them beyond what is known and familiar. These are things that are so commonplace in our lives that they hide in plain sight. And yet, may result in damage to the environment and thus, to ourselves.

For me, this is a journey of different choices, alternative ways of living that are more simple than mainstream, and opting out, actively and purposefully, to live better for nature and for humanity.

And it’s not that some of us do not care, it’s just that we might not know. And if we must consume in the world as we know it today, it’s a step in the right direction to become a more informed consumer. And from there on out, we can choose to make more conscious choices or better yet, opt out of the things that we are able and willing to.

One of these things for me is clothing, in particular fast fashion – the business of replicating high fashion trends and designs, mass-producing them at a low cost, and then bringing them to retail stores or online shopping. The global fast fashion market in 2019 was valued at 36 billion U.S. dollars and is expected to grow even further in the years to come (Windridge, 2021). One of the negative impacts of this industry is plastic pollution. YES, PLASTIC.

Microplastics to be exact. Microplastics are traces of plastic waste in the micrometer range (1/1000th of a millimeter to 1mm), though sometimes they are defined as being anything up to 5mm in size.

We all are familiar with the negative impact of plastic waste in its larger forms, especially single use plastics, and the clear and present danger they present to the environment – on land and in our oceans. But how dangerous is plastic when it breaks down? The truth is, we are only just starting out with research to study the long-term effects of microplastics on the environment, on animals, and on humans.

OMG… SO THE CLOTHES IN MY CLOSET ARE MADE OF PLASTIC?

YES. YES, THEY ARE.

And those clothes are shedding that plastic. Worse yet, when we discard these clothing items because we no longer want them, if they end up somewhere other than a donation rack purchased by someone else, the materials do not biodegrade with time. Which leads me to this mini side tangent:

——–

We are consuming textiles at a rapid pace. And sadly, the amount of times we choose to wear a singular piece of clothing before we discard it, has decreased by 36%. YIKES! This means we are discarding clothing so fast that it has become a HUGE waste management problem.

Okay, so where do the majority of our fashion choices go when we no longer wish to wear them? Tons, and I mean actual TONS, of discarded clothing gets exported to places like:

KANTAMANTO MARKET, GHANA

PANIPAT, INDIA

ATACAMA DESERT, CHILE

GIKOMBA MARKET, KENYA

The images of these textile wastelands are breathtaking (and not in the good way let me tell you).

——–

Studies have shown that most of the microplastic pollution comes from textiles (clothing) – along with tires and city dust. It accounts for over 80% of all microplastic in the environment (Bofill, 2020). These types of fibers contribute immensely to the persistence of microplastics in terrestrial, aerial, and marine ecosystems. It is suspected that up to 30% of the Great Pacific Garbage Patch is, in fact, made up of microplastics. And if you haven’t heard of the GPGP, don’t worry… I’ll be doing a write-up on it in the future.

Clothing made from polyester, nylon, acrylics, and spandex shed their microplastics in the wash. Each garment in a load of laundry can shed more than 1,900 fibers of microplastics, with fleeces releasing the highest percentage of fibers, over 170% more than other garments (Katsnelson, 2015). An average load of laundry can release over 700,000 fibers. BIG OOF.

These microplastic fibers leave our washing machines, then circulate through our water systems, and ultimately end up in the environment. There are traces of microplastics everywhere – in the air, in the soil, even in the ice cores of Antarctica. New Scientist reports that microplastics found across the Arctic may be fibers from laundry, stating that “polyester fibers make up nearly three-quarters of microplastic pollution in the Arctic.” UGH. And microplastics have been detected not just in marine waters but also in freshwater systems that include marshes, streams, ponds, lakes, and rivers across the globe. Most fish for human consumption contain microplastics.

Animals carry microplastics in their bodies too. When they themselves are eaten, those microplastics are also ingested. This process is called ‘trophic transfer’. When plastic ends up in the environment, it tends to bind with environmental pollutants. When plastic moves through the food chain, the attached toxins can also move and accumulate in animal fat and tissue through a process called bio-accumulation (Plastic Soup Foundation, 2023)

——-

SO, WHAT CAN WE DO?

Here are a few ways you can consider reducing the amount of microplastics in your life when it comes to fashion and fabric:

– Buy second hand. Thrifted clothing will shed less of these microfibers because they aren’t brand new. When you buy second hand, you are buying clothes that are already out there, diminishing the demand for fast fashion. I’ve shopped second hand for the majority of my life. There’s some really cool shit out there to nab for cheap. And guess what? I have found some amazing sustainable pieces.

– If you are buying brand new, look to sustainable brands and clothing lines. Take a look at the companies you are considering buying from. What’s their business model like? Where do they stand on sustainability?

– Opt for clothing made of natural materials (yes, they can be an investment, but they also last much longer, are of better quality, and are made from durable materials that biodegrade).

– Consider staple wardrobe items that can be worn with multiple outfits and/or items that are more evergreen and you can wear for awhile versus a quick fashion trend.

– Look for certifications – ie: The GOTS certification shows that a garment is organic and sustainable. The OEKO-TEX provides its Standard 100 certification for some polyester fabrics.The Global Recycle Standard (GRS) certifies recycled polyester as genuine. 

*Please Note* It’s okay if some or a lot of your wardrobe includes these fabrics right now. Don’t panic! You already have the pieces so keep them. 

– Try not to wash your clothes as often, wait until you have a full load, use cool temperature water, and bring back the CLOTHES LINE! We put up one last year and I love it! It was one of my favorite chores to help out with when I was a kid. There’s nothing like the smell of clothes fresh off the line. Except maybe the ground after it rains. I wear overshirts, tank tops, sweaters, and even some pants multiple times before I wash them. If they aren’t dirty, smelly, or you haven’t sweat through them, give them a couple wears. 

– There are two products out there now with a purpose of trapping a percentage of these microplastic fibers. There are the Guppy Friend Washing Bag and the Cora Ball.

– And last but certainly not least, whenever you’re considering buying something new, stop and think for a moment. Consider what the item is, where it’s coming from, or even if you really need it.

SOURCES:

https://www.sustainablerookie.com/fashion/your-clothes-are-made-of-plastic#:~:text=Polyester%2C%20Acrylic%2C%20and%20nylon%20are,are%20partly%20made%20of%20plastic.

https://www.forbes.com/sites/melaniewindridge/2021/01/27/sustainable-fabrics-reducing-the-impact-of-microplastics-on-the-planet/?sh=3958516b4e74

https://earthyroute.com/blogs/slow-fashion-series/4-places-where-our-clothes-end-up-when-they-are-discarded

boreal bog beauty.

Stephanie ULeave a comment

I am fortunate to live within driving distance of the Southern-most, low altitude boreal bog of the eastern seaboard – the Tannersville Cranberry Bog. It is one of The Nature Conservancy’s first nature preserves in Pennsylvania. They recently hosted a several day volunteer operation to assist the land stewards with clearing a small patch of woody vegetation in order to let more light through to the bog floor, encouraging the low lying species to grow in more abundance.

Thousands of years ago, a large glacial lake occupied the space of what has since become a thick soup of peat moss, or peatland, which represents a unique group of wetlands. They are normally found in more glaciated regions. Akin to what you would see way up in the Adirondack mountains of NY or in the Canadian wilderness. This is what makes this bog so special to our region. It works to soak up rain and runoff like a giant sponge—cleansing water and controlling pollution throughout the Pocono Creek watershed.

Many of the species found in places like this are rare, threatened, or endangered because they require certain conditions to grow and thrive that only a peatland or boreal bog like this can provide. In its natural state, the bog is acidic and nutrient-poor. These plants are specialized for those conditions. Like the Pitcher Plant featured here, a super gorgeous carnivorous plant.  You will also find native orchids, including rose pogonia and the state-endangered heart-leaved twayblade. When staff and volunteers remove species such as highbush blueberry, sheep laurel, and leatherleaf, as well as black spruce and tamarack trees, there’s space and light for these orchids, bog rosemary, and carnivorous sundew and pitcher plants. Also, the cranberry plants, which the bog is fondly referred to as. These feed the bog copper butterfly.

As I was volunteering, I couldn’t help but think about how place like this will be threatened and affected climate change. Pennsylvania is not exempt from rising temperatures and alterations to the hydrological cycle that will surely alter the environmental conditions that support a habitat like this. The bog is already facing changes due to the human development happening all around it, with increasing levels of nitrogen in the bog. That means there is less stress — one of the factors that come into play with the balance of plants. Volunteers respond by increasing another factor: disturbance. Which is what we were doing – cutting and pulling vegetation.

That day, the wood frogs were an amazing symphony of tiny “froggo” voices in chorus. My moss-loving self was in absolute moss heaven. Normally, the bog is only accessible through guided educational tours. So getting to spend an entire day in it, up close and personal, was truly special. And navigating the bog with the least amount of disturbance to plant life off-boardwalk was a feat in and of itself. Clearing growth in sensitive habitat areas off-boardwalk is a tricky task and require lots of careful steps and mindful maneuvering. And the bog did try to steal my boots more than a few times!

Contributing to the continued longevity of such a special and unique place as a boreal bog, is something I am grateful to have been a part of. To give back to a wild area that represents an intricate transformation that took place over millennia – a habitat that would be impossible to replace if destroyed. It only makes me want to fight harder, in all the ways that I can and am able, to do my part to protect and preserve the wild spaces around me and all that call those spaces home.

undigested material.

Stephanie ULeave a comment

It is customary to oust the

painful memories from our past,

in some place beside us,

below us,

so that we do not have to revisit them.

We prefer to leave hurt behind,

expel it from our bodies,

reject all that is sharp and hazardous,

to be nourished by the softer matters.

Pain is the accumulation of bone, feather, and fur.

The exoskeletons of our own closets.

An oval mass of indigestible material.

Trauma becomes an owl pellet.

We are not meant to examine,

to pull apart,

to peer with intentional curiosity,

at the things our bodies will us to dispel.

But some of us do.

The intact bones of trauma,

raw material too dense to break down,

offering a particular kind of insight,

for the ones who choose to pick apart the past.

Not to suffer,

but to learn,

to understand.

To collect what was formerly discarded,

the regurgitated rejections of unpalable history,

and puzzle over it,

like some detective.

Hellbent on connecting the dots,

examining the truth,

no matter how gnarled.

You are a Barred Owl who collects her own pellets.

Picks them apart one by one.

To discover the anatomy of self.

To master the science of my own personal ecology.

To examine and acknowledge every part of who you are,

and what you have experienced,

even the parts that are hard to digest.

bird’s eye view.

Stephanie ULeave a comment

I had to go up.

Because up is where I feel small.

In the best way possible.

Up is where I am humbled.

Surrounded on all sides by immense beauty.

I am infinitesimal in comparison to places like this.

A tiny dot.

A blip in time.

And my ego was checked somewhere mid-ascent of this 80 degree incline.

Here, is also where I am reminded of who I am.

A loner.

A wanderer.

A wild one.

Content with disappearing into the great expanse.

To go unnoticed in nature, is an art form.

To draw attention away, not towards.

Unlike society, wallflowers are much obliged in the wild.

Most conversations are had without speaking a word.

Revelations are kept close to the heart.

Worries are carried up and away on the wind.

Secrets sink deep into the forest floor.

No one cares what I have to say here,

how I look,

how I present myself,

or what I’m wearing.

There are no humans to be found.

Only feathered friends.

I am joined by three Bald Eagles, swooping up and over the mountain, just above my head. So close that their shadows blot out the sun for a brief moment and I am left mouth ajar, marveling at this magical experience. It’s the closest I have ever been to an eagle in flight.

Nature knows who I am.

She bores right through my center.

There is no fooling her.

I go to her when I need a wake up call. A reminder. A confirmation. Because peeling back the layers of societal programming is a long, arduous, and jarring process. Confusing, too. This strange compulsion to continue on as I think I should, as I was told I should, but not as who I am. Cramming myself into some made up ideal to appease the masses and conform to a structured normalcy, even if it doesn’t work for me.

I am digging myself out of this deep trench, from decades of insecurity, mistrust, doubt, and inferiority being shoveled so high upon me – from a life that left me wanting to be anyone but myself. I am surely and steadily unbecoming all that I became so I can step back in to who I already was.

And I will not find her in most places that people tend to go looking.