There are wildflowers drying in my room.

Bundles of wildflowers, tied together with hemp chord, hanging from a length of twine I strung across the ceiling.

Buttercups and daisies, red and white clover, chickweed, deadnettle. Mugwort, also. This week I learned that mugwort is a very mild psychoactive and it grows all around my house. (My little sister told me that bible pages are thin enough for rolling a joint, which would be useful if I owned a bible.)

There’s homemade soap curing in my room.

The first batch came out crumbly and brittle and streaked with veins of lye and soda ash. I’ve read that some folks think rebatching is disgraceful and isn’t true soap making and I think that is silly. I took what I had and melted it down and mixed it with beeswax and oats and milk and honey. Came out fine and smells delicious.

There’s plantain salve tucked away in a drawer in my room.

Broadleaf plantain grows almost everywhere where humans live. It’s known to be astringent, bitter, and is believed to draw impurities from small cuts and bites and stings on the skin.

There’s mead fermenting in my room.

I took a taste when I racked off the solids the other day. It’s very clearly alcoholic, but there’s still a background taste of honey. I’m worried because it’s stopped bubbling – it’s stopped making carbon dioxide. I think this means it could start to go bad if it comes in contact with oxygen, unless I bottle it quickly. That’s a tomorrow thing.

There’s a half-done crocheted sweater in my room. There’s a sand candle burning on an old clay tile. There’s a guitar in the corner, and it isn’t covered in dust. There’s a bookshelf. There are strains of Aoife O’Donovan and Crooked Still and Driftwood humming in the background.

All of these things –

all around me. While I’m reading, gaming, writing, trying to sleep.

It’s all very grounding. It’s good to have something to show for my time.