Settling in with Soggy Flowers

Hello Friends,

It’s been a long while since my last note, four months to be precise.

I’ve been in a chrysalis of sorts and on the move again as well. I left Florida in mid-March and arrived at my summer home in New Hampshire the second week of May. Last week I walked to a tiny local market, in the stillness of a small-town Sunday afternoon, with the sound of gravel crunching under my feet. As I stepped onto the porch, I heard a man inside say, “We need to toss these.” The moment I pushed open the wooden door, a tall, thin fella spun in my direction. He thrust a bouquet at me. “Soggy flowers for you! Enjoy!”

My eyes were adjusting to the indoor darkness, but inches from my face pastel blooms wiggled on slender green stems. Startled and confused, I just stood there. “They are yours if you like them. They’re free!” he said with an ear to ear smile. “And pretty.”

“Oh. Sure. Thank you.” I grasped the wet brown paper wrapped around their stems and admired the bouquet. They were floppy; most of the beautiful blooms drooped down as if they were tired from putting on a show for shoppers. “I’ll give them a good home.”

Once home, I snipped the stems and sat them in a vase. On day two, one flower’s stem creased and buckled, and the bloom hung upside down. I trimmed it and placed it in its own shallow mason jar. On day three, the rest of the bouquet had perked up. Now, a week later, every flower is hanging in there.

I can relate. When I arrived at this New Hampshire paradise, I was relieved and also unsure whether I wanted to stay. I explored my new home while still grieving my recent losses.

Within days I fell into a rhythm of waking with the sunrise (that’s before 5 am up here!), cozying up to the wood stove, and watching the sky bloom over the lake and mountains. Around 7 or 8 am I walked through a meadow to the lake while being serenaded by birdsong and sipped my tea sitting on a camp chair near the water.

For the first year (2017) of my solo, nomadic journey, I was lonely. Gradually, I fell in love with solitude in nature. This spring, I traded solitude for a tapestry of friends, most of whom I’d met on my nine-year journey. I traveled from driveway to farm to the next friend along the way and camped alone only two nights during the two-month trip north. We shared meals, walks, chats, bike rides, and even a few rounds of golf. I felt so blessed, taken care of, and loved.

Mom has been with me. I hung her wind chimes outside my door, and every time I hear the delicate cascading melody, I remember she’s close by. I wonder if she played a part in arranging all the kind people who welcomed me into their lives.

Even with all the love, I’ve felt sad and lost. Grief is a curious thing. This year held several endings, and the waves of grief have come in all shapes and sizes. I’ve hiked and cried, biked and wailed, sat and whimpered. My heart has never been so tender and so full of love. Grief is proof of deep love, and boy have I loved.

One of my favorite passages from Mary Oliver comes to mind:

Excerpt from “The Summer Day”

I don’t know exactly what a prayer is.

I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down

into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,

how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,

which is what I have been doing all day.

Tell me, what else should I have done?

Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon?

Tell me, what is it you plan to do

with your one wild and precious life?

When I first read this poem, Mary’s freedom was a gorgeous dream. Today, it is my lived experience.

Now I walk barefoot through a meadow each morning and sit, just my journal, a pen, and a towel. Resting in stillness, listening to a symphony of birdsong, a bumblebee buzzes around my face, arms and chest, and I give her free rein. A dragonfly lands on my knee, and I gaze into her humongous dark eyes. When she zooms away, a butterfly flutters onto my big toe while an ant zigzags across my foot. This must be how a flower feels.

In this moment, I realize I am the soggy flowers.

The best part is this: I am not cut and in a vase. I am wild and free, and I live in this meadow. As a member of this buzzing ecosystem, I will stretch toward the sun, be friends with all beings, fully live and love with all the seasons. I’ll remember that winters are an invitation to rest and reflect, and the blossoms of spring always follow.

Lots of love (and more to come),

Kristy

Header Photo: The “Soggy Flowers” on day three.

—

Article in the Concord Monitor (New Hampshire’s Capital City Newspaper)

Wandering the world: Solo traveler Kristy Halvorsen shares her journey

Fun side-story and a podcast episode:

Mike and Allie found my book, Perfect Unfolding, in their parents’ bathroom, fell in love with it, asked their Mom where she got it, and tracked me down. Two days later we were sitting in Coddi recording a podcast for Forest Alchemy. We talk about leaping into the unknown, the freedom of living with less, and what nine years on the road has taught me. My favorite part was when I shared something I’d never thought about or said before: “I’d rather fill my heart than fill a space.” (46 minutes into the podcast)

Listen here: Leaving “Normal” and Following the Call. Or search “Forest Alchemy Podcast” on your favorite podcast app.

Sunset

I built two raised beds and this is my lil’ garden

90-second trailer for my new book Perfect Unfolding:

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