Saturday, August 21, 2010


There once was a young boy who lived with his father in a little old cottage on a hill. Their wee house sat at the farthest end of the grassiest field, just a hop-skip-and-jump from the sea side. It was not an uncommon scene to see the two of them trail along the rivers side foraging for wild herbs, on a meandering afternoon to visit the ocean. And everyday they would again return home to their little wooden house, where seemingly magical things would happen. For one, the constant passing breeze never ceased to be filled with the most wonderful smells that had wafted from their kitchen, where they would cook until the sun would go down, beyond their hill, and their hideaway house.

As far as the boy was concerned his father knew near everything there was to know. But unbeknownst to him, everyday while he went to school to learn arithmetic, and to read of Alice and her wonderland, and to play skip rope, his father would be home reading.  

He buried his head amongst the pages of books, always absorbing and consuming any number of marvelously interesting new facts. Those facts that in turn would allow him to continue the illusion, that in fact he did know near everything there was to know.. Many a new thing his father would learn on those days, acquiring the knowledge and developing the skills of almost anything he wished to learn. Each day, upon his sons return from school, he would teach him of the most wonderful and rewarding lessons in life, and of the vast array of experiences he could, and would have. They spent their days learning of life together, and in doing so lived their lives with abundance, and with a passion, simply for living.

However, amongst those pages that each day his father would read, he’d also discover things that weren’t all that wonderfully cherry, and others that imitated memories of a life he’d once lived before. Although, no longer did those burdens and heartaches weigh heavy on his heart. But, they did allow him one long, deep, breath at a time, to begin to figure out just what this life consisted of. Many things of this world didn’t seem to add up all that well, and many an unpleasant thing was happening beyond the protection of their haven. He concluded that much investigation of these happenings would be necessary to know just the extent of it all, and if by any chance it could possibly be made better. Although this boys father may have not actually known near everything there was to know, he knew at least of the things that were necessary to be careful of, and of others to nurture, for with care, they could reach the depths of the soul.

The tales that are to follow, are the stories of those days and lives; Of living wholly, learning wisely, laughing loudly, and creating beauty, of collecting the past, upcycling the old, and hand-making the new. But mostly of loving life, for there is nothing else as pleasantly rewarding...

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