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birchandpine birchandpine

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Kate Oliver  Mama + Wife | Writer • Artist • Traveler | Airstreamer • Minimalist | Owner • Designer • Builder @themoderncaravan

http://www.birchandpine.co/shop

I fumbled through the house hurriedly and as softly as I could, afraid that somehow the hawk would hear my footsteps echo through the long hallway, to find my phone. I had to capture it, afraid no one would believe the story, afraid I’d not believe it myself. Peering back through the window, my heart caught in my throat, afraid it gone. Yet there it was. The hawk. I snapped a horribly grainy image and threw the phone behind me onto the bed, and pressed my hands against the glass. I whispered to it. What are you doing here?
The moment felt significant, even within the moment itself. This is not always the case, we often don’t realise it when it’s before us, when we’re in it. This time I knew, and I couldn’t peel away, afraid I’d miss anything at all, even just it being there, stoic and silent and still. As I felt this draw to stay, the hawk turned its head, almost creepily around, until the eyes and beak were positioned at its back and resting on me. // The Hawk represents a messenger in the Native American culture. It often shows up in our life when we need to pay attention to the subtle messages found around us, and from those we come into contact with. As with all messages received, it is important to recognise the messages underlying truth. The hawk’s gifts include clear sightedness, being observant, long distance memory, messages from the universe, guardianship, recalling past lives, courage, wisdom, illumination, seeing the bigger picture, creativity, truth, experience, wise use of opportunities, overcoming problems, magic, focus. //

Twelve days. It's hell until then. Holding on and pushing through and not sleeping and working our fingers raw. It's unimaginable right now, even while walking through it. This isn't normal - to work like this. It's not sustainable. We've just got to get through, and fight the exhaustion and the weary bodies. Almost there. Almost, almost there.

This little kitchen. I remember this night that we were repairing the plaster walls, and Ellen had gone to sleep. The house was quiet, just me and some soft songs and a glass of wine. We'd been off the road for a few months then, and a song came on as I worked late that brought me to tears. I thought our dream was gone then. Turns out...that with some serious perseverance, insanely hard work, a mostly nonexistent social life, and a little bit of hope...you really can overcome the impossible. We've worked our asses off to get here, and I'm so fucking proud of us both. I can't help it. I can be proud of us, yes? We faced shit that would - and nearly did us - stop most people from ever trying again....but we're back on the road in eight days...and it only took us a year and half to do it. Here we go. Deep breath.

The first thing I saw when I opened my eyes this morning. 🌈

We grow up, fall in love, we have babies, or maybe in my case, it happened differently - I fell in love later, the true kind of love - the kind you hope and wait for and read about. And then you take pictures, when you're moving and settling into your thirties, on a perfect June evening when saying goodbye, and realize that all that falling in love and having babies and life and work keeps you from seeing your friends, but the good ones are the ones that understand, because they are living too, and you pick up right where you left off, not skipping a single beat.

On set today with my love for @themoderncaravan. Shot by @bylindsaycohen.

Light at home.

Grabbing a cold one on this sweltering day and then taking a few steps back to work...because in case I forgot to mention it over here, we moved into our Airstream and it's just completely wonderful. I can't stop smiling. Follow our move-in and client renovation progress over @themoderncaravan. 🍻

Portrait of a tired, heart so incredibly full and happy, stressed, overworked, joyful, thankful, needs-a margarita, loving summer almost thirty-two year old woman (because I became one of those along the way, somehow).

A testament to my wife, and the true and deep love she has for human beings. How lucky I am to walk through life with a person like her. To know Ellen Prasse is a gift.

Sacred gifts from my dearest @athousandroads, our connection born out of ashes and resilience, courage and womanhood, and a pattern of intrinsically linked experiences that brought meaning to us both in the times we truly needed it. Our life is beautiful, always and only, because of the people in it, and we have the best people.

Enjoying our backyard at nine pm in this almost summer light, and thinking about how I am going to miss it here, and how it's become home, and that we found community and friends that we love. I am looking forward to many, many visits...but for now, I'm going to let myself be sad and think about that, and how thankful I am to be sad to leave a place, because that meant we were overwhelmingly loved and accepted and cared for, and that is a beautiful, beautiful thing.

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