If you're like me, you've probably been feeling it. That growing nervousness in the air. That ‘thing’ that startles you awake in the wee hours, a low hum of uncertainty vibrating just beneath your feet. The US is changing – faster than we ever could have imagined, and it's not just politics or snowballing inequality. It's everything. The way that we work. The way we buy. And, sadly, the way that we dream. For those of us who work with our hands and the entirety of our hearts – those of us who gather, formulate, distill, and shape – this change feels both threatening and to some, oddly, full of potential. We're watching brick-and-mortar stores vanish like mist (buh-bye, Joanne’s), and algorithms that tell us what we want before we even know what we want. We’re watching artisan work get drowned in a sea of drop-shipped, mass-produced bullpucky masquerading as the real deal. People say they want "authenticity," but too often, they buy what is the cheapest, the quickest, or the most convenient (I’ve done the same). This isn’t a complaint so much as it is a reflection. Because I know it’s not that people don’t care. It's that we're all overwhelmed – I am! Completely. The daily grind used to be somewhat of a joke, ‘oh, now I have to go do this in the studio,’ but now it’s all about survival. Like, real, put food on the table and keep a roof over our head’s survival.

So what do we do? Those of us using nature as our muse? Those of us rooted in creativity, in craft, who are just trying to survive in a world that feels increasingly hostile, divided, and unjust? Where cruelty screams so much louder than compassion, and where slow, handmade natural art becomes completely invisible in the chaos? How do we keep creating when the world seems hell-bent on tearing itself, and mostly us, apart? We adapt – but we don't abandon. What other choice do we have? Adapt and stand up. What hasn’t changed is that people still crave meaning in this shitshow. We still want to be and feel connected. We still want the quiet beauty that nature provides. And we still need those rituals of creation. Oh, and we want justice. Our work – the careful amalgamating of wild harvests, the tending to formulations, the stories about the art that we create, it all seems more vital and important now than ever before. We’re not just selling or bartering goods. We’re offering an anchor, a rooting point full of memory and healing, sending aromatic prayers off into the chaos.

We can move forward by telling even deeper stories. Share the why of our work. Bring people into the process, and express not just about the beautifully grounding materials, but of place and history and intention. We need roots, and as a creative, you can offer that to folks. This is something I’ve been thinking about, and a multitude of other ‘solutions’ we can utilize, but we need to lean into what’s close (I know, I’ve said it a thousand times), find what grows nearby, forage, and also grow, and then trade locally. I have been reaching out to as many local growers I know (a small but elite group), and I’ve also put in a garden of both useful and tradable goods – like the recently sprouted galbanum. The more that we know is ‘out there’, the more resilient we become. We need to educate people, help them understand what makes our work different, not with catchy phrases and shit you learned from one of those online how-to-reach-a-million-customers-in-a-month classes. Meet them with warmth and truth – meet them with honesty. Show them the time and care it takes, the purpose of the work. Also, let them know the scarcity of some of the materials that you work with – show them it isn’t a trick, that the creation of the work isn’t about mass production or even consistency, it is ephemeral, intentional, and devoted work. We can also form alliances with other small makers. Cross-promote one another’s work (I already do this and have for years), build a village of makers who come together and help one another. But above all, protect your spirit. Take a step back when you need to, tend to your creative flame, find your humor again, and come back to it revitalized and ready to fight on.

We need to be brave, nimble, and keep our eyes open. We have to dig deeper than we ever have before, to bring people into the fold who have been waiting for someone like us. We don’t need to ‘go viral’, we only need that connection, soul to soul, and maybe – just maybe – we will find our way through. But let’s be honest here, a lot of us are still pretending things will ‘go back to normal’, that this is just a phase in our history, that if we hold our breath long enough, close our eyes tight enough, the world we once knew will reappear. Though this denial is comforting, it is also very, very dangerous. It will keep us frozen, waiting for the knight in shining armor, and will prevent us from moving forward, adapting and thriving despite everything. Normal ain’t coming back. What we are being called to do now is to feel it all! The absolute gut-wrenching grief, the uncertain future, the mind-numbing discomfort, and still move through it with purpose. Still send down roots and reach out to one another for connection. We can be mycelium, quiet, forming networks of strength and support. We break down what no longer serves, and from the detritus, we feed something new. When everything above ground has burned and collapsed, we remain, working the soil, healing one another, remembering, and rebuilding. We are resilient not because we are unbreakable, but because we know how to adapt, how to regenerate, and how to quietly hold the world together. Having hope doesn’t mean that we pretend that everything is okay. It means choosing to create beauty and meaning anyway, even as the ground shifts, even when the future is unclear.

But the burning question remains: Is milk a beverage or an ingredient?

Love ya!