Made by hand

in every land, and the sun and moon keep rising.

I made the basket on the right as part of a class taught by April Okimaakwe Stone at North House Folk School.

“So much can happen in a year, in a lifetime, in a day. Even after all this contemplation of time it is still a strange, unfathomable thing…But mostly the world keeps turning, the sun and moon keep rising, and life goes on.”

-

Beth Kempton

, ‘KOKORO: Japanese Wisdom for a Life Well Lived.”

Dear friends and readers,

So much can happen in a year, right? Some years are just bigger and boast-ier than others, some less memorable. If you read my most recent Wanderlife post about a bouquet of time, you know I’ve been contemplating this strange, unfathomable thing.

Last April, a year ago, I had my first major surgery. A rather large tumor was removed and I’m feeling much better, thank goodness. It was benign, thank goodness, but inspired me to explore the expanse of 2024 more mindfully. These are the 365 days that lead to my half-century birthday at the end of December. More mindfully as in, I started this Wanderlife project and also I am peppering the seasons with special treats. Like a week during the dark part of winter to enjoy the sparkle and joy of New Orleans celebrating Mardi Gras. I also spontaneously joined an online course called “Spring Light” with the writer

Beth Kempton

. The quote above was offered as a prompt in her course and it got me thinking…

So much can happen in a year. One year ago I stretched out on a chaise lounge in my backyard for long hours in the direct sunshine of spring, still no leaves on the trees to create shade, and watched the cherry tree work toward buds. As the buds burst into a riot of blooms, I rested and recovered from the anesthesia, from the muscle soreness throughout my body after time on the operating table in an odd position, from the existential shudder of an unavoidable reality: my physical body will eventually take one last breath.

The spring blooms produced a bumper crop of cherries last summer. So many cherries!

The tree is in full bloom now, again. It is so beautiful.

May all those blooms become sweet stone fruits….

The cherry tree in my backyard at dusk, lit by the light of our family’s bonfire on April 23, 2024.

So much can happen in a year, in a lifetime, in a day.

Life went on. The mass was removed and I was a lighter version of me. I was free to forget about it. But I didn’t want to forget, not entirely. When I saw that April Ogimaakwe Stone was teaching a basket-making class in Grand Marais, Minnesota around the anniversary of my surgery, I asked a dear friend to join me for a road trip.

I first read about April and her work when she was featured on the Love WI project, a series of stories produced by the nonprofit where I work. April has learned to make baskets from black ash trees, trees that help to maintain the healthy water systems of Northern Wisconsin, as her ancestors have made for a very long time. She said,

“Basketry teaches me to be flexible, that everything is an organic process. It teaches me to be free flowing and strong. Whenever I make a basket, I think about community and how the different parts of the basket, the base, the uprights, the weavers, the rims, the lashings, all have a role. They all have their gifts, their responsibilities, their burdens.”

-April Stone | Bad River Reservation, Wisconsin

Her name sounds to me like a balance of ephemeral lightness grounded with earthiness. I love it. And I loved spending time learning from her how to pound an ash tree that she had harvested and overwintered in a snow bank near her home, how to peel strips of annual growth from the log piece-by-piece, how to split those strips of wood into thinner flexible material, and then how to weave the wood into a functional, beautiful basket.

I sat next to my friend for two and a half days, wetting and coaxing the strips of ash wood into a hex pattern that creates a porous vessel, like a colander or a sieve. We admired each other’s work along the way but it wasn’t until the final day, when we lashed the top rim pieces on to create a sturdy hold and final shape, that we marveled at just how different our baskets were.

When we took a group photo of the seven students holding their baskets at the end of class, April said, “there is always a square one in every group.”

Some were tall and straight, others more rounded. The weaves were the same, as were the components. The same, and different. We are all just living in a body, the same and different, right? It’s another strange and unfathomable thing.

Just before my friend’s 50th birthday, she learned that she had cancer. That was a couple of months ago. We returned home with our baskets a few days before her scheduled surgery. She is now recovering and doing well, thank goodness.

Grand Marais, Minnesota, on the shore of Lake Superior and home to North House Folk School.

Bird Technology

It’s no stretch of the imagination to figure humans copied birds to make the first baskets. Birds in every part of the world make nests from the things that grow in those places. People all over the world have processed and used fibers to make baskets to do all sorts of things — hold their babies, like the birds modeled, but also to carry, catch, clean, and cook food. Just start thinking about it and you realize, baskets are part of living.

I figured I wanted to at least make one basket in my life. Last year I read a book written by a friend of my step-sister’s that you should check out called “Why We Need to Be Wild: One Woman’s Quest for Ancient Human Answers to 21st Century Problems.” (Find it here). I was particularly struck by the fact that every basket, everywhere, is still made by hand. As I write that now, it’s like, Of Course That’s True! All those sun hats and cheap Easter decorations, those were living fibers shaped by traditions, made by hands, created by people. And for each of us, as for each of them, so much can happen in a year, in a lifetime, in a day.

Thank you for being here, for reading, and for sharing your thoughts and ideas if you feel like it. I am enjoying being part of the Substack writing community more than I could have known! The little notes I get after publishing bring so much joy, so thank you!

Thank you to teachers and friends, and particularly

Beth Kempton

, whose course “Spring Light” has continued to generate ideas and inspiration, and April Stone, who shared of herself and her experiences with such integrity and grace, I feel like I might be a better person now that I’ve made a basket with my own hands.

Sincerely,