Every morning we sit and have tea in the sun early before it starts baking, when it's first coming over, our horizon, because we live in the mountains and there are also trees. We have this gopher that is funny. It's this cute little gopher. I know people hate gophers, and I generally don't like them, but we have this little gopher who, its only place it likes to hang out in the whole yard is right in front of where we sit and have tea, and we watch it. It eats the clover and the plantain. It pops its head up and looks at us. It's not behind us, not to the side of us, not in the garden, just in the grass right in front of where we sit. It seems that this gopher really enjoys the space with us. It doesn't go anywhere else in the yard. It doesn't go anywhere in the garden. It comes up and looks at us and sniffs in our direction, and it's almost like it hangs out with us. It's pretty funny. I don't know what's up with this gopher. I know it probably wouldn't want to go in the garden because all the massive amounts of mint keep the gopher out. But it's kind of cute, and it has a big yard to choose from, and it only hangs out with where we have tea in the morning, digging its little things, pushing the dirt up, coming up, looking at us. It's just a kind of interesting gopher experience. Has anybody else experienced gophers like this?

If you landed here through search, or found your way in from somewhere else ~ hello. Glad you made it. Eaborn is a blog about ancestral living skills. What I write about: growing food, reading the seasons, working with botanicals, knowing your soil and water, and the deeper rhythms that used to be common knowledge. I'm Marama ~ permaculturist, certified herbalist, and frequency healing practitioner with 25 years of practice in the Northern CA Sierras. I write from observation and lived experience. What you'll find here: ✦ Field notes on food sovereignty, seasonal rhythms, and land stewardship ✦ Honest observations from the ancestral record ✦ A curated Affiliate Directory of communities and resources I actually use Comment on what resonates. Ask a real question. That's what the comments are for. When you're ready to go deeper ~ live calls, courses, a real practicing community ~ that work lives in Eaborn Living Otherwise ~ browse, read, find what calls you. ✦ Marama

Part 6 of the Summer Solstice series If you want to acknowledge the Solstice ~ even late, which is fine, because the turn is still fresh and the recognition matters more than the calendar date: 𝗢𝗯𝘀𝗲𝗿𝘃𝗲 𝘄𝗵𝗮𝘁'𝘀 𝗮𝘁 𝗽𝗲𝗮𝗸 𝗶𝗻 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗼𝘄𝗻 𝗹𝗮𝗻𝗱𝘀𝗰𝗮𝗽𝗲. Walk your yard, your garden, your neighborhood. What is at maximum expression right now? What is producing more than can be consumed? 𝗡𝗼𝘁𝗶𝗰𝗲 𝘄𝗵𝗮𝘁'𝘀 𝗮𝗹𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝘆 𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴. The earliest spring crops ~ lettuce, radishes, peas ~ are bolting or finished. Some things have already passed their peak while others are still climbing. The turn doesn't happen uniformly. It's specific. Plant by plant, system by system. 𝗣𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗲𝗿𝘃𝗲 𝘀𝗼𝗺𝗲𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴. Dry herbs at their most potent. Make a jar of something fermented. Freeze fruit. The simplest preservation act connects you to the functional logic of this moment ~ converting peak abundance into future sustenance. 𝗟𝗲𝘁 𝘀𝗼𝗺𝗲𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗳𝗮𝗹𝗹. Not everything at peak requires harvesting. Some of it completes its cycle on the ground. Practicing the release ~ watching fruit drop without the impulse to rescue every one, is its own form of seasonal literacy. 𝗦𝘁𝗮𝘆 𝘂𝗽 𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗲 𝗼𝗿 𝗿𝗶𝘀𝗲 𝗲𝗮𝗿𝗹𝘆. The Solstice is about light at its longest. Even a few days past, the difference between the earliest light and the latest dark is still extraordinary. Give that your attention for one day. Notice how much light there actually is. Build the memory of it. 𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗜𝗻𝘃𝗶𝘁𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 The Solstice already happened. The turn is already underway. And that is not a loss. It is the wheel doing what it does ~ reaching the fullest point and beginning the necessary curve toward rest, toward dark, toward the contraction that makes the next expansion possible. The question this threshold poses is not "how do I keep this going?" It is: 𝗪𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗱𝗼𝗲𝘀 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗮𝗯𝘂𝗻𝗱𝗮𝗻𝗰𝗲 𝗺𝗮𝗸𝗲 𝗽𝗼𝘀𝘀𝗶𝗯𝗹𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝘂𝗿𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗰𝘆 𝗻𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗹𝗱? What can you preserve now that will sustain you later? What can you share because you have more than you can hold? What can you release because not everything at peak is yours to keep?

Part 5 of the Summer Solstice series Every spoke of the seasonal wheel so far has been about a crossing. • Imbolc ~ hidden preparation in the dark. • Equinox ~ calibration at the balance point. • Beltane ~ when growth becomes self-sustaining. Litha is different. Litha is about the moment when the direction reverses. When more becomes the beginning of less. When the thing that has been building for six months reaches its fullest expression and begins ~ without drama, without announcement, to wane. This is the threshold our culture refuses most completely. We have no framework for recognizing peak and allowing the turn. Economic models demand perpetual growth. Productivity culture treats any plateau as failure. The entire structure of modern life is built on the assumption that expansion is the permanent condition and contraction is a problem to be solved. The Solstice says otherwise. Expansion and contraction are not opposites in competition. They are phases in a single cycle. The long days make the harvest possible. The shortening days make preservation necessary. The dark of winter makes the return of light meaningful. You cannot have one without the other, and the turn between them is not loss ~ it is the mechanism by which the whole system sustains itself across time. The plum tree breaking under its own fruit is not failing. It is at peak. And the peak is not a permanent address. It is a moment to recognize, to respond to with intelligence, and to release. ✦ 𝘐 𝘨𝘰 𝘧𝘶𝘳𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘯 𝘚𝘶𝘣𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘤𝘬 ~ 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘯. 𝘍𝘳𝘦𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥: 𝗪𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗦𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗲𝗿 𝗦𝗼𝗹𝘀𝘁𝗶𝗰𝗲 𝗔𝗰𝘁𝘂𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘆 𝗠𝗮𝗿𝗸𝘀

Part 4 of the Summer Solstice series Like Beltane, the Summer Solstice was observed with fire across European traditions. But the fire serves a different function here. Beltane fires were about purification and protection at a threshold of dispersal ~ sending livestock to pasture, transitioning from protection to trust. Those fires faced forward, marking a crossing into something new. Midsummer fires are about 𝗵𝗼𝗹𝗱𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘃𝗶𝗴𝗶𝗹 𝗮𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗽𝗲𝗮𝗸. Staying up through the shortest night. Keeping flame burning at the moment of maximum light ~ as if to say: we see this. We recognize this. We are present for the fullest expression before the turning begins. Across Scandinavian, Germanic, Celtic, and Slavic traditions, Midsummer bonfires share a quality: they are celebratory but watchful. There is an awareness threaded through the celebration that this is the apex. That the year turns here. That what follows will be the long, gradual journey toward dark. The fire at Midsummer is not about transformation or crossing. It is about 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗻𝗲𝘀𝘀. Marking the peak so you remember it when the days grow short and the cold returns. Building the memory of abundance that sustains you through contraction. ✦ This is functionally different from how we typically relate to peaks. We either fail to notice them entirely ~ the Solstice passes unremarked. Or, we try to sustain them indefinitely ~ demanding that summer never end, that growth never plateau, that abundance never cycle back toward rest. The Midsummer fire practice suggests a third way: 𝗿𝗲𝗰𝗼𝗴𝗻𝗶𝘇𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗽𝗲𝗮𝗸, 𝗰𝗲𝗹𝗲𝗯𝗿𝗮𝘁𝗲 𝗶𝘁 𝗳𝘂𝗹𝗹𝘆, 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗹𝗲𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗻 𝗵𝗮𝗽𝗽𝗲𝗻. ✦ 𝘐 𝘨𝘰 𝘧𝘶𝘳𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘯 𝘚𝘶𝘣𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘤𝘬 ~ 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘯. 𝘍𝘳𝘦𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥: 𝗪𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗦𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗲𝗿 𝗦𝗼𝗹𝘀𝘁𝗶𝗰𝗲 𝗔𝗰𝘁𝘂𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘆 𝗠𝗮𝗿𝗸𝘀