Well, summer continues on. August is a difficult month for us as a family, as it has two significant death anniversaries. Surrounded by the dust and parched landscape in 95-100+ degree heat, it’s easy to fall into a sort of seasonal depression. We’ve been stuck inside, waiting out the heat, trying not to wilt like the garden outside.

About a week ago, it was the one year anniversary of my uncle’s death. I am grateful that our church tradition has a place for the dead: prayers to say by the graveside, prayers for yearly memorials. There is a great comfort to it. The words of the prayers feel like old friends, embracing and supporting us when our own words fail us.

My garden is continuing to produce faster than I can keep up. I attempted canning some roasted tomato soup, but unfortunately it didn’t turn out. I wrestled with the pressure canner and lost: it fell below pressure, I had to restart the timer twice, the bands weren’t screwed on tight enough, and things overflowed. Ah well — next time! And we’ll have some not-shelf-stable soup for dinner this week.

I keep losing track of my zucchini and finding them much too late. I think the longest and largest I’ve grown so far is approximately 1.75 feet long and 5 inches in diameter. They’re much too woody for us to eat, so our chickens have been very happy with the zucchini surplus. Michael also enjoys hauling them around.

I’ve been reading more, and it’s been lovely to dive deep back into fiction after a brief time away. I forget how fiction can be a balm to the soul. It portrays truths in a deeper and more poignant way than I think non-fiction does. Tolkien says it better than I ever could in his essay On Fairy Stories. If you haven’t read it, I strongly encourage giving it a read. Here are two of my favorite quotes, to give you a taste:

Fantasy is a natural human activity. It certainly does not destroy or even insult Reason; and it does not either blunt the appetite for, nor obscure the perception of, scientific verity. On the contrary. The keener and the clearer is the reason, the better fantasy will it make.

On Fairy Stories

And probably my favorite quote of the entire essay:

The consolation of fairy-stories, the joy of the happy ending; or more correctly of the good catastrophe, the sudden joyous “turn” (for there is no true end to any fairy-tale): this joy, which is one of the things which fairy-stories can produce supremely well, is not essentially “escapist,” nor “fugitive.” In its fairy-tale — or otherworld — setting, it is a sudden and miraculous grace: never to be counted on to recur. It does not deny the existence of dyscatastrophe, of sorrow and failure: the possibility of these is necessary to the joy of deliverance; it denies (in the face of much evidence, if you will) universal final defeat and in so far is evangelium, giving a fleeting glimpse of Joy, Joy beyond the walls of the world, poignant as grief.

On Fairy Stories

Fiction in particular has been good for me this month. That fleeting glimpse of Joy beyond the walls of the world is definitely poignant as grief, and heals grief well.

I’ve recently finished Susanna Clarke’s Piranesi, which was beautiful and strange; magical and eerie. I’m still processing the mystical world building and the story’s twists and turns. I also reread Megan Whalen Turner’s The Thief: that book is such a fantastic romp, and the twist at the end always delights me. I’m currently reading the next in that series, The Queen of Attolia. If you like fantasy and political intrigue, with witty dialogue and plot twists, you’ll love these books.

I reread Sarah J Maas’s Crescent City books for fun, to prepare for the third book releasing in January. I enjoy her ability to write ensembles of fun, unique characters, though I have a bone to pick with some of her plot choices. Still, I enjoy the thrill and mystery as much as the next person, and her world building and romances are fun “fluff reads”.

I also read Roshani Chokshi’s The Last Tale of the Flower Bride, and Rebecca Yarros’ Fourth Wing. Chokshi’s prose is beautiful and moody and ethereal, but I must admit, I didn’t enjoy the story or the ending. Fourth Wing was fun and predictable, with dragons and an angsty enemies to lovers romance (one of my favorite tropes).

My making is still slow but I’ve continued to spin in the evenings. I enjoyed snapping this picture of me spinning in my handknit socks.

As for knitting, I’m determined to finish one of my many works in progress (WIPs) before I start another. I’m approximately 90% done with four different WIPs (a scarf, a hat, a cardigan, and a pair of socks), and I have to just buckle down and finish them. I hope next time I’ll have some finished objects to show off.

It’s still strange to think of where we were a year ago. Still not living in our house, unable to work on projects much due to the heat; reeling from unexpected death. It’s also strange to think of two years ago, just having moved from a life I loved, struggling with incessant morning sickness, weighed down by perinatal depression; saying goodbye to one of my dearest family friends and mentors.

But I look at the growth that’s happened over the past year and my heart lightens despite the memories of Augusts past: Michael’s continual growth, living in our own house, planting my first garden, my fiber skills improving, (learning how to spin my own yarn!) and so many other beautiful things.

This is a part of life I am still learning: the balance of grief and joy. Just like fairy stories, I do not deny the existence of dyscatastrophe, of sorrow and failure. I grieve; I remember them before God and ask that their memory be eternal. And it is good to grieve and remember. But I also am learning to look for the sudden and miraculous graces, the joys beyond the walls of this world. And that, too, is good.