58 Comments

“things take however long they take” was a profound reminder for me today as my brain tries to rush me through grief. Thank you for this.

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I regularly need it myself. 💚

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the great horned owls returned to my suburban neighborhood late this fall and i missed them so much. every night at dusk when i walk the dogs, i try to find them calling to each other from neighbors' roofs or chimneys, at the top of the park pines or median eucalyptus trees.

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I'm waiting/hoping for a pair to return in our neighborhood as well. Such a beautiful language to listen to!

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They're working on hook-ups this time of year so here's hoping they find their way back to their love nest in your neighborhood too!

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1000 miles walking and 500 rucking impressive! I walked 851 last year, maybe 1000 is in my future. Also I am doing a one sentence project, curious to see what comes of it.

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Report back re: the sentences!

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2024_1213: Struck again, as I always am, by how much of a paradise California must have been before colonists carved a bloody path to it for settlers and Catholics.

A bit of that paradise remains to this day in Humboldt County on the Hoopa Valley Indian Reservation, where one of very few California tribes not forced from their homeland still lives. Another place where that paradise can still be seen is on the mostly uninhabited Lost Coast:

https://www.cbsnews.com/sacramento/news/lost-coast-native-american-tribe-california-redwoods/

Your sentence has also reminded me of a book, Bird Girl And The Man Who Followed The Sun, by Velma Wallis, where the story is told of an Alaska Native who walks to California in the long ago days when California was a paradise:

https://epicenterpress.com/2020/07/15/bird-girl-and-the-man-who-followed-the-sun/

In this new year, I'm grateful for your generosity.

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I grew up in California learning that the Padres made California livable. Now I see the names of the saints everywhere and think, genocide. The missions were a killing ground. Thanks for the book rec.

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The genocide in California was truly unholy.

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Grateful for you too, Amanda!

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I'm another person who was struck by this sentence "... how much of a paradise California must have been ..."

Since I grew up there, I've always been aware of how much of a paradise it was. I often felt as if I had been born too late. But the hummingbird you met a few days earlier in your sentences probably finds California as much of a paradise as any of its ancestors since there's still plenty to eat. Which made me wonder if maybe I need to grow my idea of paradise?

When I go back to visit, I can still feel "old" California in many places. I smell it in the soil. I feel it in the breeze coming off the ocean or down a chaparral-lined canyon. I hear it in the mockingbirds who sing in the middle of the night, in the middle of the city. It's as if paradise is lying just beneath the concrete surface — waiting.

Maybe we are the modern Ghost Dancers that can revive it? Maybe through our poetry, songs, and fiddle tunes we are singing Turtle Island back into conscious being? We need to mourn what was lost but maybe we're also being called to attend the rebirth?

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I love the idea of being Ghost Dancers.

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I so enjoy these. Thanks for sharing them.

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Thanks for reading them!

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Beautiful sentences. This is my favorite song for crossing the solstice into the new year: https://open.spotify.com/track/0bbZ3J2KdCT92SlBFORNNU?si=8359284b482543f5

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Gorgeous.

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the Métis waltz springing from the cross-tuned strings of a single fiddle—Bring to IndigiPalooza, PLEASE!

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Now there's a good idea.

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My sentence for 2024_1225: As the waning crescent of the balsamic moon reflects off the plane's wing, I attend to my uncovered coffee in turbulent skies and watch the brightening horizon for glimpses of mountains rising above the rolling sea of clouds.

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Lovely.

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"2024_1229: In the hours so deep into the night it is nearly time to get up I find myself awake listening to a pair of very nearby great horned owls calling back and forth and my joy cannot be contained by any earthly measure."

I used to hear our owls. I don't anymore and I didn't realize how devastated I am until I read this. Do I sleep through them now, or are they no longer there. Please let it just be me.

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Keep your ears open. They're everywhere!

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Re: 2024_1213 I am also struck again by how much of a paradise this whole turtles back must have been before "settlers and Catholics" as I saunter these Wisconsin woodlands.

It's marvelous again, how a violin can activate the tear ducts.

Miigwech.

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🙌🏾

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Chris, thank you for this winter brightness!! I always enjoy these monthlies, and this time I also was moved by the Old Paint music by Sapphire Jetty. Does she have a link where I can see if she’ll be playing in the Bozeman area? I’d like to feature her music on an episode of Desert Oracle Radio Replay on KGVM here. Maybe an interview too! Thanks for any help.

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First, email me at chris [at] chrislatray.com and I can get you Sapphire's contact info.

Second, I'm also going to need to know more about this Desert Oracle Radio Replay. I've been a huge Desert Oracle fan since before it was even a podcast!

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The deflated decorations are a topic of conversation between me and my 3 year old who is often horrified by them being deflated. But funny to talk about on our drives! Thanks for another great few newsletters! Excited for 2025 and what you are sharing with the world!

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I'm excited for 2025 too.

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Thanks for the music.

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And by that I mean both the words and the fiddle.

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Miigwech!

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What a particularly delightful collection! So many sensory details, I felt like a little passenger along for the ride. Excited to get the audio for your book so I can listen & read along!

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I hope you let me know what you think of it. It was quite an experience.

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Mmm, what wintry fruits here. It must be an owl New Year, as my mother's been listening to her local pair for the past week or so too. For me (and it looks like for others here, too), I particularly love/perpetually need the kicker of 2024_1222: "things take however long they take."

Uno reverse:

2024.12.2 - All the comfortable systems of a modern life leave me unprepared to stare through the carcass of a sixteen pound bird.

2024.12.5 - Once again, the breath is a reminder that great tasks may be completed, with patience and periodic rest.

2024.12.6 - No brain cells left over to navigate grocery shopping in the hub of late-stage capitalism.

2024.12.8 - If nothing else, we started the day with brunch.

2024.12.10 - Bless the soft wool blanket shawl on a chilling winter day.

2024.12.11 - Wise women speak in a holy hall, and it feels like receiving sacred insight.

2024.12.12 - Never trust a vegetable that's primarily water to taste good after freezing then nuking.

2024.12.14 - Coffee and sunlit conversation in the morning; chili and crass, cackling gameplay in the evening.

2024.12.15 - 'Tis the season to eat five unbalanced meals a day and thank nature for the miracle that is peppermint tea.

2024.12.18 - I've internalized the short daylight and would be happy to sleep straight to the solstice.

2024.12.21 - A treat, to read all day.

2024.12.23 - A gray day begs for silly art and serious conversation among those who feel deeply.

2024.12.26 - I love a long, unhurried day in conversation and adventure with a soul friend.

2024.12.28 - A house party by any other name, when loaded with raunchy background movies and copious hard liquor, is still a house party.

2024.12.29 - In another life I must have been a microbe in a hot spring, because I love the hot-cold whiplash between a warm pool and the river nearby.

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You've really got a knack for this, Lucy. I love that you share them!

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Thank you Chris, that's really kind. I appreciate your sharing here, and it feels like the best way to counteract the weird one-way communique style that make up most of the internet. (But also, please tour BLS to Denver!)

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I think I'm headed that way in May!

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Fantastic, I'll stay tuned!

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