they took to the trees [special edition]
words: january 2022 + october 2023 | film photographs: march 2022, october 2022, july 2022, august 2022, july 2023
two years ago, i moved into a little cottage in the woods. this is the story of how i found healing. of how i found home.
before moving to my redwood abode, i had been transient for a while. i had gotten rid of most of my things. i had plans to move to Paris. i had plans to pick up and go. anywhere but here. always so quick to leave. then i found myself in a relationship where we needed to travel outside the country. i lived in Costa Rica, in Nicaragua. i lived out of a suitcase. i had felt untethered not only to place but also in that relationship, floating in a cloud of confusion and hurt. my nervous system on constant overdrive, i did not know which way i was going. but in that relationship that had housed so much hurt, anxiety and so much fear, for the first time i found myself wanting to find a place where i could be still. where i could lay in the dirt and let the earth hold me. i felt myself seeking comfort. i felt myself seeking stillness. what had been on repeat in my heart for years was how much i had wanted a home. my bones ached to be held. my feet ached to find roots.
upon coming back into the country, i met with a friend. a friend who became my anchor while i was still stuck in the waves. my friend who was the little bit of rope that was all i needed to let go of the relationship that i was drowning in. after i ended that relationship, i was unsure of where i was going to go. but i let the anchor of my friend guide me as i searched for a place where i could unpack my bags. and i found that place within the mountains. the first time i met my redwood cottage, i had already started feeling the threads of settling pulling me in. i moved in on halloween 2021.
my intention when i moved in was to just stay for 6 months and then pick up and leave again. but then something happened. my body found rest. my heart found love. my soul found community. for the first time, i had allowed myself to expand. after so many years of contraction, of being small, of hiding. i had found my roots taking their own shape. i had found my written words now being spoken. i had found my flesh held in safety, in loving arms, in warmth.
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one after another, i moved into my little redwood cottage and that same week i met my partner. alongside expanding into a love that held me in my growing, i grew into a home that held me in my healing. i found healing in my creating. i found healing in my playing. in my dancing alone. in my being alone. in my realizing that i am never alone. i found silence. i found sound. as the crickets and owls and hummingbird wings and buzzing carpenter bees hummed my heart towards its regeneration. i had laid myself on the ground. i had watered the earth with my tears and sprouted into a new way of being. i had found peace. and for once in my life, i did not want to leave.
i found myself planting seeds. i found myself sewing again. i found myself doing pottery. filling the space with things that i made. i found myself serenading the trees. these trees who became my companions, my guardians, my inspiration. these trees who taught me more than i could ever put into words. these trees with their roots that stretch out below me, holding the earth beneath my feet. and my own roots, my own fresh shoots, reaching out in these new ways. i found myself intertwined with this landscape that i had found myself on. the green so within me. i found myself sharing this space with my loved ones, and feeling how really i was sharing myself. every time i invited someone over, it felt like they were witnessing my own inner landscape. my true self on display. for this home became so much more than i had ever imagined. this home became an extension of myself. my essence imbued in every nook and cranny. part of my identity. getting to know the spiders. the skunk that liked to live under the house. the neighborhood cats. and now the smell of redwood after a rain reminds me of home. because it is in this place that i stumbled upon two years ago, weary and broken feeling, that i found home.
and now, on the two year anniversary of moving into my sweet forest fairy woodland cottage, it was time to let it go. my partner and i have moved into a new home where we can expand and grow our roots together. packing up and moving things out of my little cottage has felt like extracting the little bits of myself that i had so tenderly planted there. gently uprooting these extensions of self to be replanted.
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it has been no secret how much i have loved this home. on the last weekend of moving things, i hosted one last gathering on my porch. an autumnal picnic to celebrate the endings of things, to celebrate cycles, and to honor this home that has been so incredibly special to me. that night, i walked over to do an open mic at this sweet venue in our little downtown. and i read my january 2022 substack post “they took to the trees”. this was a piece i had written in dedication to this home, to this land, and to my love. i wrote it as my attempt of expressing my gratitude for both my partner and my home for being such soothing balms when i needed it the most. i had read this piece at an open mic before, but reading it now as i was in the process of leaving just hit different. i broke down and cried [sobbed, really] as i realized the depth of the words that i said. releasing in their truth. and the community there held me in that moment of tears. this community who afterward expressed similar sentiments toward this land, toward the trees that we found ourselves living amongst.
the next day, as we were finishing packing up the last things, we were gifted with rain. more rain than was predicted. and in the rain i read “they took to the trees” to the land, to my home. these words that i wrote for them. my tears, these words, my offerings to this home that has given me so much.
and so on my two year anniversary of calling this mountain redwood cottage my home, i offer you this special edition of “they took to the trees”, professing my love to this land with these words spoken as it is watered with rain. my heart pouring out. in gratitude and in reverence.
my suggestion is to listen while envisioning the smell of wet redwood, of feeling the rain kiss your skin, of feeling your own gentle expansion, of releasing your own roots, of witnessing your own shoots. this is my gift to my home. my gift to my love. my gift to this community. and my gift to the redwood tree.
you can read the original substack post here: they took to the trees
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more words have been brewing about this experience that i am holding close and will share soon. but for now, please enjoy this special edition of “they took to the trees”: a collaboration between myself and this land.
+++ song share+++
i am extra sentimental and tender these days, so i am sharing two songs with this post. both of these songs were on repeat when i first moved into my cottage, the soundtrack to my feelings.
+ Lizzy McAlpine: “To the Mountains”
+ Of Monsters and Men: “Slow and Steady” this song is 10/10 making me cry right now. “i’m letting go but i’ve never felt better” :’ ]
+++mutual aid share+++
Gazastrong is an organization that is sharing resources for how we can help the people in Gaza. if you have the time/energy/resources to do what you can, to donate, sign petitions, and to help in the ways that we are being called to help then this is a good resource to start. community has the capacity to stretch far and wide and we all have our part to play. everyone should feel safe in their home.
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i am so grateful for you for reading these words. you, who takes the time to hold space in your own space. wherever you are in whatever transitions you are going through, know that you are held.
if you enjoy these offerings, i would so appreciate hearing from you. and do share these posts with folks who you think would also enjoy a splash of rose and thorn. as someone who is still fairly new to bringing forth my work publicly, sharing my substack with people is the best way for others to find this corner of the tapestry. and i am working intricately on an offering that is soon to unfold, so stay tuned.
wishing you warm honeyed blessings.
with lots of love,
k.s.a.
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❤️❤️❤️