Graveyard Dirt: Two Worlds and In-between

MILF*

1 large glass of locally produced elderflower wine + 2 shots of homemade apricot cordial (apricots, brandy, wine, bridal honey (honey, rose petals and spices)) + 1 shot of Cr�me de cassis = an unbearable urge to run down the streets, naked, screaming Dionysus' name ecstatically

]]> ...I think I'll have another.

* Maenad I'd Like to Fuck

Local Haul

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Today's local haul which will be turned into personal projects, gifts for friends (the ones who trust my mushroom knowledge, anyway) and homemade risotto.

Rabbit Magic

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Today in a forgotten beech hedge the rabbits came out to play, and in the sun-dappled groves of cliff-growing trees they shared their secret magic with me.

Accomplishments, Failures & Adventures

Six deer in a fucking week. Up until last Friday? Neither of us have EVER seen a roadkill deer before in our neck of the woods (I've been here for roughly a decade, Italics was born and raised here), but, somehow, I managed to find six motherfucking dead deer in a week without any effort.

]]> (The finding part, I mean. The DRAGGING DEAD, SMELLY WEIGHT ALL BY MY FUCKING SELF TO THE CAR AND LIFTING IT INTO THE TRUNK ONLY TO HAVE TO LIFT IT BACK OUT WHEN I GET HOME BECAUSE I HAVE TO HAUL EVERY SINGLE FUCKING BODY THROUGH THE GARAGE INTO THE BACKYARD SO I CAN PROCESS IT, KEEP THE PARTS THAT ARE SALVAGEABLE AND THEN DISCREETLY DISPOSE OF THE STILL HEAVY ASS REMAINS IN SECLUDED WOODED AREAS SO I CAN GO BACK FOR THE NATURE-CLEANED BONES LATER has been a tremendous amount of effort that my broken body hasn't seen in years.)

(The space between my shoulder blades? Hasn't stopped hurting for over a motherfucking week. But I feel stronger, more energetic, alive. It blows my mind that just three years ago I was practically bedridden and now I'm lifting and carrying around adult deer all by myself. <- This Aries? Doesn't take getting benched well, even when the Universe is the one calling the fucking shots.)

I'm exhausted and desperately need a day off and feel so out of touch, but I'm worried about frost (hard frost signals the end of mushroom season, and I don't nearly have enough boletes and agarics for my projects/witch's sale) and I know that this roadkill deer streak won't last forever. I miss writing here, feeling connected with people and interacting with readers and friends but I need to work hard, now, so I can spend Winter at an easier pace reflecting over (and writing about) my accomplishments, failures and adventures.

Nature's Whitewash

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Fairy Lights

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I have fresh fly agarics hanging from wall to wall like mushroom fairy lights.

Broken Deer Funeral

The funeral of a broken deer found at a crossroads.

Death's Lunchbox

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In this house? Offerings of sandwiches transcend species. Ask the fox (smoked ham on whole wheat), ask the badger (peanut butter and honey on white), ask the deer (organic romaine heart on handsliced pieces of gluten-free bread).

Professional Dropout

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If I hadn't dropped out of pre-med twice (when I do things I burn my name into the motherfucking asphalt so it ain't forgotten) I might've had my medical degree by now.

Death; Rebirth

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A new deer priestess is born.

Roe Deer #1

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The Old Woman, either confident in my abilities to keep up with this pace of life or deliberately positioning my ass for a nervous fucking breakdown (seriously, how much can one fucking person do?), saw fit to send me one of Her (exceptionally expired) deer. (Actually, She saw fit to send me two - within 20 minutes of picking up this roe buck I stumbled across the remains of a toddler-aged fawn.)

Hope for Rain

Most days I hope for rain (to finally be given a chance to sit down and begin drafting entries about all of the super-wonderful-amazing shit that's been going down here), but even when it does I'm still outside in the forest with my basket in hand.

Amanita Muscaria

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Fly agaric (amanita muscaria) for the Old Woman's (rein)deer.

Awesomely Perfect Day

Goddamn son of a bitch, I deserve this effing strawberry beer.

]]> (What an awesomely perfect motherfucking day filled with wild mushroom harvesting (bolete and fly agaric), forest sex, dead crows, park swings, timber xylophones, walled garden walks (I WAS V. GOOD AND DIDN'T STEAL ANY VEGETABLES OR FRUITS), long lunches (homemade sausage gravy with french fries), mushroom processing, brown stocks made from roasted dinners (chicken, in this case) and strawberry beer drinking.)

(Future "awesomely perfect motherfucking day" activities: out-of-my-fucking-mind stoned masturbation and Anglo-Saxon documentaries (watched in bed).)

The Money Shot

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Ms. Graveyard Dirt's way of "taking it easy": creating, from scratch, a two course (one main, two sides, one dessert) roast chicken supper for the entire family (after baking a batch of Ukrainian buttermilk cornmeal muffins - to eat with the strawberry jam - for breakfast).