If you’re new here, welcome to On the Commons! Here, we explore questions as varied (but related) as: What are the ongoing consequences of land enclosures in England from the 1400s onwards?
Antonia, your writing grounds me. It's so sensory and beautiful. So honest and unflinching. I am amazed at the many lives you've lived and aspire to have a small plot of land someday, perhaps with an old fruit tree whose fruit I can share with others. Thank you for being who you are.
River, that is so beautifully kind, thank you! And all I can really say is the same: Thank you for being who you are, and I hope you have a place with an old fruit tree someday! It’s an ongoing gift …
I also lived in upstate NY for awhile and was amazed at the variety of apples there are in the world. Fish Creek! After a childhood spent visiting Glacier every summer, I avoid it now because of the crowds. This makes me sad. I hope that my life will allow me to get there during the off-season at some point. And the work of care, what's unseen and unrecorded. Thank you.
Yes, it is terribly crowded in summer. I almost never go once Going-to-the-Sun is open to cars around mid-June or end of June, except hiking in the east side, which isn’t as overrun. We try to go bike the road before that, which is beautiful with no car traffic!
My kid LOVED being at Fish Creek because there are very few people around at all after early September, and you can really sit at the water and listen to it. It was a beautiful day.
I wish I had more of that, but I wish that for everyone who's in for the long haul.
And sometimes I think we are fitted to the season that draw us. I lived in rural New York for 12 years and Boston for 2 years before that and never, ever, ever got used to the summer humidity. I tried to learn and just ... couldn't.
I'm more acclimated to heat now. Maybe because of lost weight, or going for a bike ride no matter how hot (or cold) it is. I can ride with numb little fingers now, but I don't have to like it. I'm hoping for snow this year. In moderation, it makes winter more bearable in my opinion.
I love your essays around this season Nia. The harvesting and preserving is something I long for. Because of subtropical climate, the part of India I live in rarely gets cold enough for preservation of food. Although there is always fresh yield in markets, I often imagine what it would be like if there wasn’t and we had to preserve food for another winter.
Here’s to the sweetgrass, apples, cinnamon, jams, and ancestors who taught us how to live through hard times, exhausting daily chores, endless caregiving responsibilities and yet be capable of extending love, support, and kinship to the world which constantly is in demand of them. And here’s to our beloved moon and women who stand in her light, howling her songs of joy and sorrow to let her sisters know that they aren’t alone.
Never alone, Swarna. 🧡 How I love the way you put that, our beloved Moon and the women who stand in Her light, letting Her sisters know that they aren't alone.
I was watching some random YouTube thing about Hecate yesterday, the ancient Greek goddess of magic, crossroads, liminal spaces, and ... Moon. Made me think of you and wondering what other goddesses you know of who speak through these energies.
My older sister lives in California and it is always SO mind-bending for me, but for my kids especially, to visit and remember that you can get freshly picked tomatoes *in December*! We were there last March and their cousins showed them the various neighbors who let them go pick a lemon from a tree whenever they need it. It is so different from living in a place where the growing season is barely 2 months long!
Though this makes me think of your father's ... pickles, was it? My mouth waters thinking of your descriptions of them.
Nia, I could talk endlessly about goddesses—they fascinate me so much! I especially love Hecate because she is not only known as the goddess of liminality and moon but is also often surrounded by cats. CATS! Recently, I was reading about the goddess Tara from the Buddhist pantheon. She is considered a prominent bodhisattva or an awakened one. What truly captivates me is how the root of her name, in both Pali and Sanskrit, signifies "a star" or "a planet"—a bright celestial object that illuminates the darkness. However, I have this personal theory that, in a more obscure sense, it could also refer to the moon, as it's the brightest celestial object after nightfall. But that’s just my interpretation. Sorry for geeking out! It’s all just so fascinating to me.
It must be such an amazing time for the kids, especially with family spread across different regions of the country, each with unique weather conditions. That kind of perspective shift is incredible. I still vividly remember seeing snow for the first time—I dropped everything I was doing to lie down and make a snow angel. I can only imagine what onlookers thought of a twenty-something acting like a toddler—it must have been hilarious!
And yes, pickles! My father’s favorite was mango pickle, as it was a way to savor the taste of mangoes long after summer. My mother made a batch a month after his passing, as raw mangoes were in season then. I hope I can share them with you someday, Nia. You’d love them—they pair perfectly with potato-stuffed flatbread.
Please don't apologize, I love it! I don't know nearly enough about goddesses, and until recently it's all been pretty dry. I think your essay about Baba Yaga that I loved so much shifted my curiosity in that respect. Thank you, friend! Tara sounds like an amazing goddess.
I bet those onlookers loved it! My nieces and nephews from California feel the same about snow. I loved it when they were little and came up in December, but even now that they're older they have the same delight. It never gets old!
That was it, the mango pickle. Potato-stuffed flatbread and mango pickle ... my mouth really is watering.
Truly magnificent. Thank you Antonia. I am very moved by what you brought us through here.
And yes I did see the moon, and here in Northern Ontario it had a halo last night. I thought of you and wondered if the Ministry of Sundogs might need to add a special lunar halo department until they can get a separate ministry up and running. I got an amazing picture -- hang on, I don't know how to add it here so I'll do a note and tag you. Somewhere out in the note-iverse.
Yes! I'd think lunar halos would apply -- since in the end Moon's light is Sun's reflection, so it's like the shadow side (in a good way) of the same phenomena. I'll look for your Note!
I love seeing the way Moon dances with the clouds. I never saw the Supermoon in full, but parts of Her moving in and out of a partly clouded night. Sometimes that's Moon at Her most beautiful.
"But the courage to act according to what is morally right, what is human and humane, when all the forces around you demand otherwise, that I can understand. It’s those people I look for, in good times and bad, because even the supposed best of times are not good for everyone."
Yes, this is it really. We work from the self out, from the bottom up, holding on to our humanity and building community. So glad you're on the planet at this time.
And likewise to you, John. You would be one of the first people I'd think of as working from the self out, from the bottom up, building community and holding onto humanity. A good ancestor if I've ever seen one. 🧡
To me, the through-line of a random septic tank worker showing up at his grandmother’s place and noting the deliciousness of those apples which you graciously share… that gets to the heart of it… thank you, Nia.
I'm so glad, thank you, Sean! We had a longer conversation, and the place and his grandmother clearly had no good associations for him except the apples. Unsurprisingly for a small town, he knew who my friend was who usually takes the apples for her cider-pressing, and agreed with me that if there's any bad energy around that tree or the place, she's definitely transmuting it.
This whole post makes my heart ache but in a good way, an ache of solidarity. Sometimes, it all feels impossible. I’d love a sweetgrass braid — is it silly to ask for one?
I love your writing. I love how you set the stage. How you bring together the past and the present. How you share of yourself, and of your personal history.
You give me hope and a lifeline. Day by day, we do what needs to be done. And acknowledge the beauty and resilience in that process. One day, one season at a time.
That is a huge compliment, a whole bouquet of compliments. And it means a lot that some lifeline came through -- I've lived and breathed writing since I first learned to read, but always have a hard time doing it if I don't feel it's of service to someone out there. Thank you. 🧡
That is so beautiful, poignant and somber. I hardly got any apples from my trees this year. Maybe they are saving their energy for next year. I have missed your writing. Like you I am worn out right now. Just finding my way in this weird world.
Velvet, I will bring you a bag. They're not as good as your Transparents--I've never tasted dried apples so good as yours. But I sympathize with your tree; many of us want to save energy for the coming times.
Antonia, your writing grounds me. It's so sensory and beautiful. So honest and unflinching. I am amazed at the many lives you've lived and aspire to have a small plot of land someday, perhaps with an old fruit tree whose fruit I can share with others. Thank you for being who you are.
River, that is so beautifully kind, thank you! And all I can really say is the same: Thank you for being who you are, and I hope you have a place with an old fruit tree someday! It’s an ongoing gift …
Thank you, Antonia. Mutual admiration is
a wonderful thing.
I also lived in upstate NY for awhile and was amazed at the variety of apples there are in the world. Fish Creek! After a childhood spent visiting Glacier every summer, I avoid it now because of the crowds. This makes me sad. I hope that my life will allow me to get there during the off-season at some point. And the work of care, what's unseen and unrecorded. Thank you.
And yes, apples in upstate New York! Amazing. Cortlands became my favorite. Really had no idea apples could be good. 🍎
I know. We lived in Ithaca, which is near Cortland, which is an apple. Who knew!
I did not know!
😊
Yes, it is terribly crowded in summer. I almost never go once Going-to-the-Sun is open to cars around mid-June or end of June, except hiking in the east side, which isn’t as overrun. We try to go bike the road before that, which is beautiful with no car traffic!
My kid LOVED being at Fish Creek because there are very few people around at all after early September, and you can really sit at the water and listen to it. It was a beautiful day.
Lovely! My dad goes in September too. I’ve also gone to east side in May. Not much is open, and it’s quiet. Biking the road:).
I'm still learning to appreciate winter. I think we're in for a long one. Thank you for sharing your strength, my friend.
I wish I had more of that, but I wish that for everyone who's in for the long haul.
And sometimes I think we are fitted to the season that draw us. I lived in rural New York for 12 years and Boston for 2 years before that and never, ever, ever got used to the summer humidity. I tried to learn and just ... couldn't.
I'm more acclimated to heat now. Maybe because of lost weight, or going for a bike ride no matter how hot (or cold) it is. I can ride with numb little fingers now, but I don't have to like it. I'm hoping for snow this year. In moderation, it makes winter more bearable in my opinion.
Yes. Winter without snow can be awfully bleak.
I love your essays around this season Nia. The harvesting and preserving is something I long for. Because of subtropical climate, the part of India I live in rarely gets cold enough for preservation of food. Although there is always fresh yield in markets, I often imagine what it would be like if there wasn’t and we had to preserve food for another winter.
Here’s to the sweetgrass, apples, cinnamon, jams, and ancestors who taught us how to live through hard times, exhausting daily chores, endless caregiving responsibilities and yet be capable of extending love, support, and kinship to the world which constantly is in demand of them. And here’s to our beloved moon and women who stand in her light, howling her songs of joy and sorrow to let her sisters know that they aren’t alone.
Never alone, Swarna. 🧡 How I love the way you put that, our beloved Moon and the women who stand in Her light, letting Her sisters know that they aren't alone.
I was watching some random YouTube thing about Hecate yesterday, the ancient Greek goddess of magic, crossroads, liminal spaces, and ... Moon. Made me think of you and wondering what other goddesses you know of who speak through these energies.
My older sister lives in California and it is always SO mind-bending for me, but for my kids especially, to visit and remember that you can get freshly picked tomatoes *in December*! We were there last March and their cousins showed them the various neighbors who let them go pick a lemon from a tree whenever they need it. It is so different from living in a place where the growing season is barely 2 months long!
Though this makes me think of your father's ... pickles, was it? My mouth waters thinking of your descriptions of them.
Nia, I could talk endlessly about goddesses—they fascinate me so much! I especially love Hecate because she is not only known as the goddess of liminality and moon but is also often surrounded by cats. CATS! Recently, I was reading about the goddess Tara from the Buddhist pantheon. She is considered a prominent bodhisattva or an awakened one. What truly captivates me is how the root of her name, in both Pali and Sanskrit, signifies "a star" or "a planet"—a bright celestial object that illuminates the darkness. However, I have this personal theory that, in a more obscure sense, it could also refer to the moon, as it's the brightest celestial object after nightfall. But that’s just my interpretation. Sorry for geeking out! It’s all just so fascinating to me.
It must be such an amazing time for the kids, especially with family spread across different regions of the country, each with unique weather conditions. That kind of perspective shift is incredible. I still vividly remember seeing snow for the first time—I dropped everything I was doing to lie down and make a snow angel. I can only imagine what onlookers thought of a twenty-something acting like a toddler—it must have been hilarious!
And yes, pickles! My father’s favorite was mango pickle, as it was a way to savor the taste of mangoes long after summer. My mother made a batch a month after his passing, as raw mangoes were in season then. I hope I can share them with you someday, Nia. You’d love them—they pair perfectly with potato-stuffed flatbread.
Please don't apologize, I love it! I don't know nearly enough about goddesses, and until recently it's all been pretty dry. I think your essay about Baba Yaga that I loved so much shifted my curiosity in that respect. Thank you, friend! Tara sounds like an amazing goddess.
I bet those onlookers loved it! My nieces and nephews from California feel the same about snow. I loved it when they were little and came up in December, but even now that they're older they have the same delight. It never gets old!
That was it, the mango pickle. Potato-stuffed flatbread and mango pickle ... my mouth really is watering.
This is all so wholesome 💜🤗
Truly magnificent. Thank you Antonia. I am very moved by what you brought us through here.
And yes I did see the moon, and here in Northern Ontario it had a halo last night. I thought of you and wondered if the Ministry of Sundogs might need to add a special lunar halo department until they can get a separate ministry up and running. I got an amazing picture -- hang on, I don't know how to add it here so I'll do a note and tag you. Somewhere out in the note-iverse.
In any case: thank you once again.
Yes! I'd think lunar halos would apply -- since in the end Moon's light is Sun's reflection, so it's like the shadow side (in a good way) of the same phenomena. I'll look for your Note!
I love seeing the way Moon dances with the clouds. I never saw the Supermoon in full, but parts of Her moving in and out of a partly clouded night. Sometimes that's Moon at Her most beautiful.
Very thankful for you and your writing <3
Thankful you're here, Michael! 🧡
"But the courage to act according to what is morally right, what is human and humane, when all the forces around you demand otherwise, that I can understand. It’s those people I look for, in good times and bad, because even the supposed best of times are not good for everyone."
Yes, this is it really. We work from the self out, from the bottom up, holding on to our humanity and building community. So glad you're on the planet at this time.
And likewise to you, John. You would be one of the first people I'd think of as working from the self out, from the bottom up, building community and holding onto humanity. A good ancestor if I've ever seen one. 🧡
To me, the through-line of a random septic tank worker showing up at his grandmother’s place and noting the deliciousness of those apples which you graciously share… that gets to the heart of it… thank you, Nia.
I'm so glad, thank you, Sean! We had a longer conversation, and the place and his grandmother clearly had no good associations for him except the apples. Unsurprisingly for a small town, he knew who my friend was who usually takes the apples for her cider-pressing, and agreed with me that if there's any bad energy around that tree or the place, she's definitely transmuting it.
Nia,
Thanks again for the warmth and smells of your home,
Transformed through fractals of your clever mind and fingertips
Through electronic code .
The high desert freezes
Nightly now and the winter greens garden thrives beneath blankets by night
Like
Us we dream big
In these troubled times
III
I love that: "Like / Us we dream big / In these troubled times." Thinking of you both in your high desert ...
Stunning. I’m speechless at how good this is. THANK YOU.
That's so kind of you, thank YOU! 🧡
This whole post makes my heart ache but in a good way, an ache of solidarity. Sometimes, it all feels impossible. I’d love a sweetgrass braid — is it silly to ask for one?
That is what you give me, too, with your writing, an ache of solidarity at such a strong foundational level it's hard to describe.
And no, not silly at all!
So lovely. I can taste those apples and have a vision of your cozy, industrious home.
If I could cook half the amazing recipes you share, it would be even cozier and better-smelling!
Awww- thanks for that. My house is all torn up so I’ve barely been cooking. I am off/kilter as a result.
I can understand the feeling. You will be nesting again soon!
I love your writing. I love how you set the stage. How you bring together the past and the present. How you share of yourself, and of your personal history.
You give me hope and a lifeline. Day by day, we do what needs to be done. And acknowledge the beauty and resilience in that process. One day, one season at a time.
Thank you.
That is a huge compliment, a whole bouquet of compliments. And it means a lot that some lifeline came through -- I've lived and breathed writing since I first learned to read, but always have a hard time doing it if I don't feel it's of service to someone out there. Thank you. 🧡
Such beautiful, wise, tactile writing -- thank you!!
Tactile. That's the word I couldn't find for it. Thanks.
Love that word applied to writing.
That is very kind, thank you!
It's heartening to read your posts.
I first read that as "heart-rending" and though, oh no!
❤️🩹
That is so beautiful, poignant and somber. I hardly got any apples from my trees this year. Maybe they are saving their energy for next year. I have missed your writing. Like you I am worn out right now. Just finding my way in this weird world.
Velvet, I will bring you a bag. They're not as good as your Transparents--I've never tasted dried apples so good as yours. But I sympathize with your tree; many of us want to save energy for the coming times.