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It happened. One day I woke up and I noticed the chirping of the birds, I saw that neon yellow butterfly and the ants, awoken from their winter sleep, running around. The long call of the raven. The deep rumble of the forest dark.

The squirrel who lives in the pine just outside my working window stood still for a moment as to say something about time. The current in the creek sang of velocity. The embers in the fire whispered about intensity. It just happened. It DAWNED on me.

I cannot produce a coherent narrative about it, not yet, but then I begun to write the one thing I have never been able to write about, the one thing that has no language, the one thing that has defined me more than anything.
It just happened.
I find words in the wordless. I found language deep, deep layered into the world and under my feet.
– and I have no fear-
(I will ride into battle from now on head high) (I have changed)

Maybe it was here. Down by the creek.



Where we go to drink the water


Or maybe it was while overlooking the land and noticing how the snow has pressed it flat, all of the weight it has carried and the land moaned and the land rejoiced in the sun.

We removed all of the hugelkultur beds and begun to ready it for a different approach

(plus building a greenhouse, rebuilding the barn, welcoming the first of the summerguest, the accommodations, working hard, body aches, drinking oceans of birch sap, lots of food, feeling torn but not too torn to tell)

The land lets us. Maybe it is because the land lets us.

Maybe I am like a tree, my tentacles touch, maybe the whole forest is vibrant and connected, speaking to itself, in the underground, under my feet, maybe my feet sink into the ground, maybe it´s all weird like that.



Or maybe it was the moment when my son kissed my daughter and I realized that it is true. We are the rebels.
(and I found peace with that)




Maybe it dawned on me when my youngest lit his first fire all by himself


Or when I noticed the inscriptions





Maybe it happens every year but then maybe I just forget.




8 comments on “It dawned on me

  1. ncfarmchick says:

    This post’s title certainly caught my eye since it contains my first name! New beginnings are all around at all times of year and it sounds as if you and your family are off to many good ones. Thanks for the glimpse inside your story, as always.


  2. Dear andrea
    Such a good phrase for a spring post. Thank you!
    It comes from the east and is dawning on us, (here slowly, but inescapably). Am avid to bask in warmth and light!
    All best,
    ~ Abigail


  3. The earth, the air, the forest. They are all creeping into and becoming you. You are becoming them so you are together. Not separate. And when you are together you know each other and can think each other’s “thoughts”. I say this in quotes because I do not believe we have a good word for the “thoughts” of the others. But we will know them, all the same.

    Great post. I especially liked the first 3 paragraphs. – Renee


  4. By the way, I’ve been meaning to ask you: What kind of camera do you have? It’s really good to be able to take all those amazing close-ups!


    1. Oh, I didn´t see this comment before now, Renee, sorry. It´s a… bum bum… Fuji xsf1something, it´s brown and I got it from Jeppe as a present for my 40ieth birthday, it cost a fortune and we couldn´t afford it (but I love it 🙂


      1. Maybe I can get one for my birthday, too. Your close ups are real nice.


  5. Lori says:

    It happens every year. It’s like gardener’s amnesia. I forget what it’s like to be out and about and loving the earth. Then spring comes and it all comes roaring back to life in the sky and the trees and the dirt under my fingernails. And I love it all over again like a long, lost auntie.


  6. Bill says:

    Beautiful. Joy that it happened. Dawn is like birth, it seems to me. How appropriate the word–it happened when it dawned.


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