My roots run deep in the soil—literally. I grew up on a cattle and tobacco farm, where the rhythm of life was set by the seasons, the weather, and the needs of the land and animals. That early connection to the earth shaped the way I see the world. It taught me that the land gives so much to us, quietly and constantly, asking for very little in return—only that we care for it as it cares for us.

Over the years, that connection evolved but never faded. I built my first home on a hill above a creek, choosing the location not just for the view, but for the sense of peace and presence that being close to nature brings. And now, in this next chapter of life—my so-called “empty nest” years—I’ve settled in the city. It might seem like a far cry from the farm, but my backyard tells a different story.

I’ve spent the last few years slowly transforming that small patch of land into my own little nature sanctuary. I started by clearing out many of the honeysuckle trees that had overtaken the space—not all of them, because I recognize their value. The berries feed the wildlife, the tangled vines offer safe harbor for birds, and their shade cools the yard during the summer. But I made room for diversity, for native plants, and for other forms of life to return.

In doing so, I uncovered a treasure I hadn’t expected: an ancient silver maple, standing tall and wide like a quiet guardian. She had been hidden in plain sight, partially choked by overgrowth and ignored for years, maybe decades. Reclaiming that space and bringing her back into the light felt symbolic—like honoring something timeless that had always supported life around it, even when no one was watching.

Our planet is under pressure—climate change is accelerating, and vital protections are being dismantled. The window for action is closing, but we are not powerless. Change starts in our own backyards, and small actions, multiplied across communities, can spark real, lasting impact.

This year, I took another step forward. I certified my backyard habitat with the National Wildlife Federation. https://www.kwalliance.org/certified-backyard-habitats.html

It was a way to be even more proactive and to show my family, neighbors, and friends that they, too, can—and should—join the effort to create and maintain more habitats in their own backyards. It doesn’t require acres of land. It just takes intention, a bit of effort, and the willingness to coexist with the wild things that have always been here with us.

That’s the thing about nature—it supports us in ways we don’t always recognize. It nurtures us physically, emotionally, even spiritually. From the air we breathe to the silence that soothes, it gives and gives. But too often, we forget to give back.

Supporting the places that support us doesn’t have to mean grand gestures. It can start right in our own backyards. It can mean planting native flowers for pollinators, reducing chemical use, conserving water, or simply letting parts of our space grow wild. It can mean protecting old trees, feeding the birds, or just sitting quietly and noticing what lives around us.

Whether you live in the country or the city, on a sprawling farm or in a small apartment with a balcony garden—nature finds a way to show up for us. The least we can do is return the favor.

So today, I encourage you to ask yourself: How can I support the place that supports me?
The answer might be simpler—and more powerful—than you think.

Hope Is the Thing With Feathers

2/24/2022 2:43:49 PM
1 Comment

Hope Is the Thing With Feathers

Reclaimed barn wood,vintage typing paper, vintage recycled carbon paper (combed onto the paper), splattered India ink, vintage colored paper collage cutouts.

As I woke up and read the headlines today, several thoughts ran through my mind. The topmost thought was of hope for the people, families, and lives affected on this dark day in history. May the people of Ukraine hold on to hope and still manage to allow it to sing in their hearts, even as they go through the horror of invasion and war. May the world come together to save innocent lives, their homes and country. As we sit here in our homes and carry on our normal routines, may we collectively hope for those affected and for those yet to be affected.

Hope and art are firmly attached in my mind and personal philosophy, so I thought it was a good day to write my monthly art blog.

Several years ago, as I was packing up my house, about to embark on a big move, I ran across some old office supplies that were given to me by a member of my family who had used them in the 1940's. Among these things were old embossed typing paper, a box of used carbon paper, faded colored paper. and black India ink. I thought about how to best use these things while honoring the memory of someone who was precious to me. With this in mind, I continued packing up boxes of memorabilia and odds and ends and I ran upon my Father's comb that I had watched him use on many many mornings in my youth and even after I had become an adult and came home to visit. My Father was a huge proponent of , If it still works, why replace it. I also found a metal Christmas ornament from my Mother that said "Hope". I tucked the comb and the ornament into the box with the office supplies and continued packing. It was Winter, a cold day in early February that I moved my life from one city to another. My parents had both passed away within months of each other a few years earlier. My two oldest children were grown and had recently moved out of the house and my youngest was not far from going her own way as well. When the move was finally finished, and I was settling into my new house, I found the little box that I had saved, and in the throes of imminent complete empty-nesting, I sat down to do what has always been my best therapy, creating a piece of art.

Anyone who knows me, knows that I love birds and nature. All of my art has an underlying theme of the connectedness of humans, animals, and nature. So on this cold, snowy day, I thought of my family that had passed and the legacy of lessons and love they had left for me to nurture and pass on one day to my own children. What message could I give them? How to best pass on things that were touched and used by generations of family before them? Seemingly insignificant things, precious to no one but family who knew the stories attached to them. As I often do before starting a piece of art, I went to my favorite poets to get inspiration. I landed on a poem by Emily Dickenson, "Hope Is the Thing With Feathers", and I was inspired.

Watching little birds in winter, hunched over from the weight of snow, but still managing to sing their beautiful tunes in, what I imagine to be, the anticipation of spring, not too far away, has always given me a lift in spirit and the gift of hope. Hope doesn't cost a thing and keeps us warm, inspiring us to carry on. So, using the image of a bird in winter, my father's comb as a tool, my mother's ornament and the supplies from the past and as a gift to myself and my children, I created another work of art to pass on. Embedded within it, are stories and physical reminders of family gone before them, and a reminder of the power and importance of hope.

Finding or creating artwork that you have an emotional connection with can also serve as a means to improve your mental health. Hang an emotive piece somewhere you will see it every day, and humankind’s spiritual connection to the arts will do the rest.

Sally Augustin, PhD, an applied environmental and design psychologist and founder of Design with Science says: The right nature-based artwork can also give clients a way to muse on life situations, these experts add. Images of a pathway through a serene landscape or a rbench in the middle of a pleasingly landscaped garden can foster relaxation or allow clients to make mental associations with the imagery. But, Augustin cautions, avoid nature imagery that's confusing, chaotic or complex. "You want to look at a scene that would be comfortable to enter," she says

Scan the QR code below to read an article " Healing by Design." It is research-based design insights for therapists offices, but I apply it to my own home.