I awoke to the sun’s elegant rays streaming through the needles of the white pines into the screen door on my tent. The softness of the sunlight created an exquisite contrast between the dark green pine needles and the dew drops that danced on their surface. The sweetness of birds singing and the subtle tones of rustling leaves warmed my heart as I crawled out of my sleeping bag cocoon and removed my wool sweater. I love the way wool integrates the smells it encounters into the pattern of its knitting. The smell of pine sap in the cabling, wood smoke in the wrists and salty tears around the neckline. Wool sweaters are an embodiment of all they experience and like humans, learn to peacefully carry all of life’s experiences with them while still providing warmth and comfort. I unzipped the tent and crawled out, my stocking feet aware of the cold, pine needle covered earth below me. Dusting the needles from socks, I pulled on my boots and made my way down the gravel farm road. I breathed deeply as I walked, taking in the wildflowers basking in the sun capped meadows and the sweet smell of pine sap and burning brush. Mornings immersed in the woods always remind me about the beautiful strength ingrained in all life on earth. Each and every day, all life goes from a place of physical darkness to a place brimming with light, elegance, sweetness and vibrant energy. No matter how hard it rains or snows or the wind blows, life always finds its way back to lightness again. The outdoor shower now stood in front of me. A four sided wooden frame with a thick green canvas wrapped tightly around it, cut open at one end for the door. I placed my clothes on the adjacent wood pile, hoping they would not be any bugs’ first choice of a place to inhabit. The gravel dug into the soles of my feet while the ice cold hose water poured over me. I stared upwards as the tops of the four wooden boards of the shower siding made a picture frame around the sky’s deep ocean blue dusted with radiant wisps of white. I stood captivated by the sheer beauty of the morning and cold water flowing over my skin. And then I remembered the dream I had last night, and soon my salty tears joined the cascade of water pooling on the gravel at my feet. My brother Aaron was with me in the dream and he was wearing a soft grey sweater like the colour of the sky on a rainy day. He stood close to me, but not close enough for me to hug him, and both of us knew that he was dead. Dreams like these are like coming upon a river with a bridge that only stretches halfway across. They hand me a small glimpse of hope, but then rip it away, reminding me of the love that can never be again. And then when I wake, it feels like him dying all over again; he was there within reach, and suddenly he was gone forever. Yesterday I started carving the second spoon I have ever made. It was out of a piece of cherry wood that I found in the forest near the farm. I was trying to make a curvy handle; I thought it would be so beautiful with the intricate patterns on the cherry wood. But I carved it too thin and the handle snapped. I went back to my tent to get some tape to try and tape it back together. As I walked down the gravel path and listened to the frogs chirping in nearby marsh and watched the evening sun settle at the edge of the meadow, I thought of my brother, and how he too, having a creative tendency like me, would have tried to carve a curvy spoon and broken it in the process. Holding the splintered cherry wood in my hands, I smiled and allowed myself to remember peacefully, until it felt as if Aaron and I were walking down gravel farm road together, reminiscing about our experiences carving wooden spoons. I thought about how the land always seems to bring me back to my grief, while my grief is often what brings me back to the land. Yet, I know that my ability to intertwine my grief and the land is how I will find my way home in my heart.