Once Around the Sun, your second book, follows the year through the changing seasons—from what’s growing in the garden to what’s gathered around the table. What drew you to structure the book this way?
The seasons structure and define our lives—they dictate moods, inform what we wear, decide how much sunlight we’re getting (or not getting), and frame what rituals (religious or otherwise) we celebrate. They shape what’s available to us at that given time (flowers, fruit, vegetables), which in turn determines what meals we make and the way we share them (at a table, on a blanket). This book is about the seasons so there really was no other way (at least to my mind) to structure it.
Each seasonal chapter returns to “What’s in Season,” “At the Table,” “Celebrating the Season,” and a closing to-do list. What does returning to these same touchstones throughout the year make possible?
As a device in the book (and in real life) they act as north stars that orient you to where you’re standing in the story of the year. Having these touchstones to return to feels incredibly grounding and reassuring to me. The rituals we keep each year add another layer to the memories of all of the years that came before. I think that your body holds those experiences and remembers them when you recreate the tradition—that kind of emotional muscle memory is pretty special and powerful.
After spending so much time documenting a full year, what has the long process of making this book taught you?
It’s funny because I document the year every year—working on the book was just an extension of what I naturally do, it’s just that the book asked me to do the work of organizing it. The things I took away from this experience were more tied to the process of writing and working on something so personal. Sharing something you really care about with the world, with complete strangers and people you will never meet makes me feel vulnerable in a way that is terrifying and uncomfortable (especially when you’re a wildly sensitive person like myself). So learning to be vulnerable is one thing that making the book is actively teaching me still. Another lesson learned: converting photos from RGB to CMYK is not for the faint of heart. I actually started a Google Doc titled “Book Learnings,” so I don’t forget these things next time (if there is a next time).
There’s a long-game quality to gardening, cooking, and making a home. You plant something without knowing exactly what it will become, and you return to it over time. How does patience show up in your creative life?
Patience is hard for me. Creatively speaking it’s about having the patience to allow myself the time to improve as a writer. I’m impatient to have the time to dedicate to that growth—the time to read (and read and read) the time to write, all of it.
You make such beautiful use of what is already around you—from summer produce and autumn flowers to dried citrus and natural materials. What draws you to working with what’s available rather than always looking for something new?
Accessibility and ease. I think it’s natural to crave newness—changing things up keeps us inspired but I’m a sucker for tradition and I really enjoy and look forward to things coming back in season every year. By the time they come back around they feel new to me again. There’s always an arrangement I wish I’d made or a project I didn’t get to finish and I have the whole year to think and dream about it. We’ve gotten so used to constantly being fed something new that it’s created this unsustainable hunger and attention deficit, an inability to stay in the present because there’s always the anticipation of something bigger, better, cooler. I’m certainly not immune to this but I really dislike it. More than wanting something new I have an even deeper desire to be better about not getting caught up in that spin—it’s a work in progress
Photo credit: John Hesselbarth and Kate Foster
If you could choose one moment from each season to linger in—the meal, flower, ingredient, gathering, or small tradition you most look forward to—what would they be?
Fall: That moment when a wind gust blows the yellow leaves off the trees and they come showering down all around (honorable mention: scheming on a Halloween costume).
Winter: Looking for and finding owl wing prints in the snow.
Spring: The first meal outdoors. It’s always a little cool out still but the thrill of eating outside again after 7-8 months is enough to keep you warm.
Summer: God it’s really hard to narrow this down for summer. There are so many moments I’d love to live forever in: the first pond swim, the first foxglove, strawberry season, sleeping with the windows open—but if I had to pick just one I’d say eating the juiciest peach standing over the kitchen sink.
What does beauty mean to you? Has your understanding of beauty changed over time?
When I see or experience something beautiful (a song, the light at certain times of day, snowfall etc.) there’s always this feeling of time stopping so I’d say that this sensation is what defines beauty for me.
What makes you feel most alive these days?
Being off my phone.
What makes you feel most at home?
My favorite incense, my bed, my husband.
What are the products, objects, or everyday things you find yourself returning to throughout the year? Are there any constants in your life that feel seasonless?
Candles, incense (again!), music, a good lightbulb.
If someone closes Once Around the Sun and carries one idea into their own home, what would you love for it to be?
To notice more (especially the small things). To play. To stop for a minute and take it all in.
LISA'S EDIT
I first used this on a trip to Florida one March (which is basically the equivalent to high summer where I live). As it turns out it’s just the thing to follow a day in the sun—soothing and hydrating (and incredible-smelling, too), I plan on using it all winter long to conjure memories of sunshine and warmth.
When I opened the box to this bar of soap and pressed my nose to it I thought about how I would describe it and the two words that came immediately to mind were earth and summer. Made with Hay, Labdanum, and Vetiver it grounds me down into my favorite season and element even as autumn moves towards winter.
I ordered this assuming that it was a jar of really nice almond butter (which it is, but really it is so much more). The first time I had it, it was for a quick, thoughtless piece of toast to get me through till lunch—I spread it across the bread, took a bite, and proceeded to, in the most restrained way possible, lose my mind. Decadent x 1,000 thanks to date sugar, vanilla, and cinnamon it is outrageously good. The next day I added a scoop of it to my oatmeal, the day after that I added it to some greek yogurt with walnuts and blueberries—tonight I think I’ll drizzle it over some vanilla ice cream.