my life in photographs

My life during springtime can only be described as soil underneath my fingertips. In the garden, you'll find seeds have become baby blooms and the bees have found their invitation tucked inside every petal. I kneel into the dirt and sculpt little caverns before placing my plants, it makes me feel like I am free. As of yet, none of my flowers are dead. There is still time for this to happen but I am hoping my backyard world will offer the right amount of sunlight, rain, and shadow for the flowers to grow wide in their spring song. 

Tell me about your gardening story. Do you have a favourite plant or flower? Do you have any advice for a girl just discovering her green thumb? Tell me more! 

If you would like to see more daily snaps from my life, find me on instagram!
username: amyflyingakite

coconut cookies

To continue on my pursuit of becoming a better baker and overall better person, I made a batch of coconut cookies. I had originally planned to attempt a coconut biscotti but realized too late in the hour that I didn't have all of the ingredients (or was it because a biscotti sounds too daunting for an untamed baker like myself....) Either way, a coconut cookie was born! If you like pretending you know what a tropical island tastes like or if you just like coconuts, this is a nice and easy recipe to follow.

What you'll need for 3 dozen cookies:
1 1/4 cups all purpose flour
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup butter
1/2 cup packed brown sugar
1/2 cup white sugar
1 egg
1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 1/3 cups flaked coconut

What to do with your ingredients:
1. Preheat your oven to 350 degrees F (175 degrees C.)
2. Combine flour, baking soda, and salt. Put aside.
3. In a medium sized bowl, cream the butter, brown sugar, and white sugar. Beat in the egg & vanilla
until light and fluffy. Gradually add & blend the flour mixture, mix in the coconut.
4. Drop dough by teaspoonfuls onto ungreased cookie sheet.
5. Bake for 8 - 10 minutes or until lightly browned/toasted. Be careful, these cookies don't take very long in the oven! 
The recipe and other reviews can be found here

Put cookies on a plate next to your pina colada or dip them into a hot cup of tea. 
Enjoy life and don't eat flowers that are not the 'edible' kind :)

The mountain life

A dream of living in the mountains haunts me, like a cold silver spoon pressed against a bare belly, I cannot escape it. When I try to fall asleep at night, the same story flutters across my eyelids: There I am, wandering through a field of wild flowers as if there is a skipping rope beneath me. I have no sleeves on my blouse, no worries, no sorrow, only the sun bouncing between the mountain and my shadow. It is a home for the rabbits and the long-legged deer. It is a home for me and all of those living things that I love.

 I collect edible mushrooms for a stew but I know it is far more than ingredients I am searching for, it is the way of living that I hunt. I trace the blades of sticky grass with my fingers. I smell the dirt. I see a symphony of bell flowers and I watch bees float around them like daytime fireflies. I pluck the brightest berries from a thorny vine and I wonder how something so delicate can grow from something so sharp. I am here, where the wild birds sing, and I cannot remember the last time I heard bad news.

 I hurry to collect the last of the mushrooms when a cold wet kiss from the clouds hits my forehead. A dark fog is descending on the mountaintop. Soon enough there will be a stew of rain, thunder and hail so heavy that all living things will wonder if there are apples falling from the sky. I start to run. I try not to be careless but thunder has always scared me. I hold onto my basket filled with scattered pieces of life that once grew below the mountain and I find a temporary shelter beneath a leafy tree. The rain begins to pound like sobbing giants and I cannot tell the difference between my heartbeat and the thunder. I close my eyes. I think about my mother. I think about a safe warm bed. I think about stirring a hot pot of stew while hungry bellies gather around. I know somebody is waiting for me and they will be worried if I do not make it home gently. I imagine their belly growling and I wonder what will become of the stew without my mushrooms and hands to stir it.

I look at my legs and I tell them to run like hell. I dart between thistle bushes and the safety of treetops. My head forgets to think for once and I rely solely on the transportation unit that is my body. Run, breathe, gulp, run faster. I hold onto my basket like I am caring for a baby and all of its offerings are soaked in a bath of rainwater. The thunder roars on like a pack of angry lions. I am terrified but the rain hides it well. Some would say the mountain is a temperamental mistress, but I say the mountain is a mother and with each temperament comes a lesson. 

At last, I come upon the porch light of my other home; the one where I sleep, feed mouths and keep my banjo. My hair is sopping wet, my frozen hands still cling to the basket and I have never in my life been so glad to watch a porch light flicker. The screen door swings open, there are people inside, they have been waiting for me. "Hot stew, anyone?" 

A life like the one in my dreams gains much more than soup on a spoon and berries on a stove stop, a life below the mountain gives you a soul. One day, I hope I am there in my waking life too.
  Blouse & Boots Thrifted at Value Village 
Skirt Oasap 

Photographs taken in Banff National Park
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