Slow Transformations – A Rambling On about the Five Acre Wood
Time moves. Spring has begun its magical decent into the five-acre wood. This is our sixth spring here, and I’ve been enjoying digging in the dirt nearly daily throughout the year, slowly moving through every inch of the land. Most of my work has been ungardening, which allows me to sweat and think and grow stronger. It is the gardening that I am afraid of — what to put where and how! I do not envision (I may not have this skill at all), I just move. But the land no longer wears its thorny drapery and untraversable barbed bushes, and when Pearl steps outside, she doesn’t return with dozens of ticks and sometimes she returns with none — a remarkable transformation!Last winter, Amy, a gardener friend, shared some insight which has made the land this spring, not just an undoing project, but a transformative one for me, the pollinators, and the passers-by. Small spring ephemerals are blooming all around, though the deer and geese are munching them at an irritating pace.
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May Apple Rhizome |
May Apple Plant! |
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Plant Pirate! Flower Bandit!
I discovered an acre of Snowdrops and Winter Aconite when trees were cut down for another Wawa in the area, and filled my truck with plants. When I went back and tried 'the right" way, (I asked), the plants were destroyed within a week.
I know better than to ask. Why did I falter?
Snowdrops and Winter Aconite at a new Wawa site.
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Toots and Yedda have been returning to Pond Island for 6 years! We’ve seen them thrive and struggle year after year. So far, their 5 goslings are thriving — no catastrophes, but there is a coyote on the loose!
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Pearl, my love! She ran out into the darkness (was it the coyote?) with fervor — straight into the new wheelbarrow we left in the path. She is recovering, but I do wonder if the wheelbarrow saved her from a worse encounter.
My nursery, Bluebells and my studio, deer munched Dutch tulips, scented daffodils and the Peg and Awl barn in the background, and wood poppy!
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Suggested Blog Posts
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Specimen Cards and a Closer Look Around
Specimen Cards
I look forward to the coming weeks here, the hopeful explosion of plants! Until then, here are some Specimen Cards that Søren (15) and Silas (13) made for me for Christmas, which include a variety of plant friends and creature friends who share the land with us!See more of their work on Instagram: @sorenscoutkent and @koshooniart
We have Garter and Northern Water Snakes here... And a variety and abundance of frogs and toads! 
We also have a family of Painted Turtles! All of these creatures live by and in the untended to ponds. 
Our Pearl! Piplup is the last of our many chickens and guineas. She has somehow survived the many attacks of foxes, &c.At Home Exploration
We’ve returned home from Florida, where winter’s end, hormones, lawn talk, and chain stores wreaked havoc on my mood the first day. Fortunately, for myself and everyone around me, a walk around Wakodahatchee Wetlands quickly settled my inner chaos. Florida, like anywhere, can be so many things at once!
Back home, at the Five Acre Wood, Pearl and I awoke early to sunshine and went outside to visit all the plants’ changes during our weekend away. The three small Witch Hazel transplants survived: their tiny yellow flowers small and sparkly in the woodland. A few Squill, Hellebores, and Crocuses have flowered. Snowdrops have bloomed by the thousands, the snow drop math proving successful here though when I step back, the little clumps have a lot of multiplying to do before they change this comparatively expansive landscape! Even more Daffodils are about to burst, whilst Hepatica, Foam Flower, Geraniums, and other greenies have sent their distinct tops out of the soil and into the sun! A few years ago, I couldn’t have identified these plants by their flowers, and here I am, calling them by their names so soon. It feels magical, this ever-learning.
I’ve planted thousands of plants since we moved here five years ago. Some will take five years to bloom; others have already started on their journey, only to be destroyed by my rambunctious Pearl or over-eager deer families, hopping the fence when Pearl is elsewhere.
Snowdops by Silas Jack-in-the-Pulpit by Søren 
May Apple by Søren Daffodils (most abundant) by Silas 
Bamboo by Silas Virginia Bluebell by Søren* * *
Our Specimen Card Notebook! Story on the back! 
Some of the boys’ early drawings on the end pages! It fits inside our Sendaks!Our Boys Document Creatures and Plants with their Specimen Card Notebooks!
Specimen Cards I look forward to the coming weeks here, the hopeful explosio...
Read The Post -
The pileup is usually an effective way of moving us into high speed. We will open our barn doors tomorrow, for the first time, as a Peg and Awl storefront! It will also be filled with our art, which is most often squirreled away under our rounded bodies as we scribble, cut, or swish with whatever materials are at hand upon our pages.
Smudge and Other Pandemic Pages“If you like to write or draw or dance or sing, do it because it’s great: as long as we’re playing around like that, we don’t feel lonely, and our hearts warm up.”
–from The Woman Who Killed the Fish by Clarice LispectorI’ve been making books and filling them for as long as I can remember. The books pile up – a slow and steady drip of ink on paper that may someday push us out of our home. One of the gifts of the pandemic is a clear time frame. I’ve decided to go back into my journals – specifically, into the pandemic pages, to see what I could find. I found the patterns of our lives on repeat, everything obsessively documented as if we wouldn’t live without record of it. I found Pearl, and plants, grief and illness, disappearance and disappointment, homeschooling, camping, movement, and details so small I needed the quiet of a pandemic to experience them. It is a strange vocation, to be this kind of capturer of the quotidian.
“What is the conversation?” asks Claire, a few times. Conversation? I don’t know how to answer that. The conversation is on the pages, extracted from life, fragments rearranged, stories imagined, reimagined. Patterns, tatters. Is there ever an actual anything, or is everything imagined? There isn’t a conversation – there are infinite conversations and there are no conversations. It depends on who stands in front of what, and where. It depends on who is next to them. How engaged they are. How curious. It depends on what I say here, if anything, and whether you read it. Will you?
Just before the pandemic, I chose a word for the year, for 2020: The word was lightness. I wrote:
“My word for the year is lightness. I love this idea of finding a word to live alongside. So far, (so early but so far), it has freed me from the fear of not making the right marks. It has led me to say yes to a wintry adventure at the seashore where with wet knees and raisoned fingers, we searched for Cape May diamonds with the enthusiasm of children whilst the actual children played with drones, dipped their feet (and pants) into the frigid water, gathered a few specimens, and made their way back to the warm car. These are things that I love, but the weight of obligation and difference and the world’s expectations make it difficult to be so light. The more I forget this, the longer I sit. The longer I sit, the heavier I get – the weight of the dust settling upon me. Lightness. The word, my companion, reminds me to hover and to float – to move and to keep moving.”
It was the right choice, this word, and it came just in time.
From A Tear and A Seed A sneaky peek! 
The Things That I remember Are Not in These Photographs SMUDGE! Left-handed (non-dominant) hand drawings. 
A Tear and A Seed... drawings from a book I didn’t illustrate. A stack of my smudge journals! Our First Storefront!
“...the impeded stream is the one that sings.”
–from Our Real Work by Wendell BerryThe pileup is usually an effective way of moving us into high speed. We will open our barn doors tomorrow, for the first time, as a Peg and Awl storefront! It will also be filled with our art, which is most often squirreled away under our rounded bodies as we scribble, cut, or swish with whatever materials are at hand upon our pages.
We are still scrambling, but hope you come by and say hey! Email us for the address or find it at the Chester County Studio Tour website. Parking is limited – if ours is filled, park in the nearby neighborhood! If I have time, I’ll mow some roadside invasives for side-of-the-road parking.
Pouches! We have a new batch of A Rural Pen ink! 
Seaside Tote, Caddies, &c. Some of our Last Chance waxed canvas bags are in the storefront! 
New Prints from A Tear and A Seed (coming soon to our website, maybe...) We will stock our jewelry in this old treasure! Walter, Søren, and Silas!
We are still working and will share updates on Instagram!
Søren has been working on this gigantic map for months! Come see it in progress or on Instagram @sorenscoutkent
Silas has been working with Copic markers and recently has been drawing cars, an interest he shares with his Pop – his grandfather! Walter will be sharing portraits and landscapes in oil and pencil. He is still navigating his space! @pegandawlbuilt and @pegandawl
Everywhere, Astonishments!
The Chester County Studio Tour features 200 artists including one of my very favourite humans – Claire Rosen — at her home, Warwick Furnace Farm. Wondrously written and photographed Book of Earth by Heidi Gustafson County Studio Tour 2023 | Peg and Awl
Smudge and Other Pandemic Pages “If you like to write or draw or dance or s...
Read The Post
Suggested Blog Posts
Specimen Cards
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Our Pearl! |
Piplup is the last of our many chickens and guineas. She has somehow survived the many attacks of foxes, &c.
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At Home Exploration
We’ve returned home from Florida, where winter’s end, hormones, lawn talk, and chain stores wreaked havoc on my mood the first day. Fortunately, for myself and everyone around me, a walk around Wakodahatchee Wetlands quickly settled my inner chaos. Florida, like anywhere, can be so many things at once!
Back home, at the Five Acre Wood, Pearl and I awoke early to sunshine and went outside to visit all the plants’ changes during our weekend away. The three small Witch Hazel transplants survived: their tiny yellow flowers small and sparkly in the woodland. A few Squill, Hellebores, and Crocuses have flowered. Snowdrops have bloomed by the thousands, the snow drop math proving successful here though when I step back, the little clumps have a lot of multiplying to do before they change this comparatively expansive landscape! Even more Daffodils are about to burst, whilst Hepatica, Foam Flower, Geraniums, and other greenies have sent their distinct tops out of the soil and into the sun! A few years ago, I couldn’t have identified these plants by their flowers, and here I am, calling them by their names so soon. It feels magical, this ever-learning.
I’ve planted thousands of plants since we moved here five years ago. Some will take five years to bloom; others have already started on their journey, only to be destroyed by my rambunctious Pearl or over-eager deer families, hopping the fence when Pearl is elsewhere.
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Bamboo by Silas |
Virginia Bluebell by Søren
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It fits inside our Sendaks!
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Our Boys Document Creatures and Plants with their Specimen Card Notebooks!
Specimen Cards I look forward to the coming weeks here, the hopeful explosio...
Read The Post
The pileup is usually an effective way of moving us into high speed. We will open our barn doors tomorrow, for the first time, as a Peg and Awl storefront! It will also be filled with our art, which is most often squirreled away under our rounded bodies as we scribble, cut, or swish with whatever materials are at hand upon our pages.
Smudge and Other Pandemic Pages
“If you like to write or draw or dance or sing, do it because it’s great: as long as we’re playing around like that, we don’t feel lonely, and our hearts warm up.”
–from The Woman Who Killed the Fish by Clarice Lispector
I’ve been making books and filling them for as long as I can remember. The books pile up – a slow and steady drip of ink on paper that may someday push us out of our home. One of the gifts of the pandemic is a clear time frame. I’ve decided to go back into my journals – specifically, into the pandemic pages, to see what I could find. I found the patterns of our lives on repeat, everything obsessively documented as if we wouldn’t live without record of it. I found Pearl, and plants, grief and illness, disappearance and disappointment, homeschooling, camping, movement, and details so small I needed the quiet of a pandemic to experience them. It is a strange vocation, to be this kind of capturer of the quotidian.
“What is the conversation?” asks Claire, a few times. Conversation? I don’t know how to answer that. The conversation is on the pages, extracted from life, fragments rearranged, stories imagined, reimagined. Patterns, tatters. Is there ever an actual anything, or is everything imagined? There isn’t a conversation – there are infinite conversations and there are no conversations. It depends on who stands in front of what, and where. It depends on who is next to them. How engaged they are. How curious. It depends on what I say here, if anything, and whether you read it. Will you?
Just before the pandemic, I chose a word for the year, for 2020: The word was lightness. I wrote:
“My word for the year is lightness. I love this idea of finding a word to live alongside. So far, (so early but so far), it has freed me from the fear of not making the right marks. It has led me to say yes to a wintry adventure at the seashore where with wet knees and raisoned fingers, we searched for Cape May diamonds with the enthusiasm of children whilst the actual children played with drones, dipped their feet (and pants) into the frigid water, gathered a few specimens, and made their way back to the warm car. These are things that I love, but the weight of obligation and difference and the world’s expectations make it difficult to be so light. The more I forget this, the longer I sit. The longer I sit, the heavier I get – the weight of the dust settling upon me. Lightness. The word, my companion, reminds me to hover and to float – to move and to keep moving.”
It was the right choice, this word, and it came just in time.
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Our First Storefront!
“...the impeded stream is the one that sings.”
–from Our Real Work by Wendell Berry
The pileup is usually an effective way of moving us into high speed. We will open our barn doors tomorrow, for the first time, as a Peg and Awl storefront! It will also be filled with our art, which is most often squirreled away under our rounded bodies as we scribble, cut, or swish with whatever materials are at hand upon our pages.
We are still scrambling, but hope you come by and say hey! Email us for the address or find it at the Chester County Studio Tour website. Parking is limited – if ours is filled, park in the nearby neighborhood! If I have time, I’ll mow some roadside invasives for side-of-the-road parking.
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Walter, Søren, and Silas!
We are still working and will share updates on Instagram!
Søren has been working on this gigantic map for months! Come see it in progress or on Instagram @sorenscoutkent
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Everywhere, Astonishments!
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County Studio Tour 2023 | Peg and Awl
Smudge and Other Pandemic Pages “If you like to write or draw or dance or s...
Read The Post
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