Making Violet Tinctures on a Warm Afternoon
and how sometimes that's enough
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I’m still in Durham, North Carolina where I am steadily falling in love with this town.
I feel *so* at home being back in the South. The density of the heat feels familiar. The land is speaking to me. The gossamer threads of light playing in the river is an open-ended invitation.
And I feel truly lucky to be part of this incredible fellowship with such a generous, open-hearted co-hort of people. To bask in such consistent generosity and vulnerability is one of my definitions of love. I can’t talk about it too much without coming off like K*ty P*rry and I respect you all too much to subject you to that.
It’s violet season here, one of my favorite times of year. The vivid little blossoms hover close to the ground, which is why they’re often associated with modesty and humility. In late March and April, they carpet the land, offering eye candy and heart candy — some herbalists use them to treat grief, along with coughs and skin issues — while others see them as reminders of lesbian love, trust and spiritual wisdom.
Not long after I arrived, some local friends invited me over to their place on the edge of town for an afternoon, to spend some time with their family on the land and in the fresh air.
The hilly area under a cherry blossom tree was covered in bursts of deep-throated purple. We crept close to the earth, gathering the tiny blossoms, first in our palms, and then transferring them to jars, taking care to leave behind as many as we took. There was a conversation with the land about the harvest and a prayer of thanks given afterwards. The flowers were taken inside and rinsed, and then laid on a clean cloth to dry.
We divided them into small glass jars. To the jars, we added equal parts raw honey and apple cider vinegar. We covered them and put them in dark places to do their thing for a few weeks.
The other night, the co-hort gathered at Locals Seafood for happy hour oysters, grilled red drum, coleslaw and waffle fries. As tends to happen these days, the conversation turned to the surreality of the news, and then, to enoughness. As in, are we doing enough to address the breakdown of democracy, the rise of authoritarianism, the disappearing of people and the stunning amount of injustice in the world, accumulating faster than we can even keep up with. We discussed what actions matter most, what work can we reasonably do. We were agonizing over this question, when I began thinking about the work that we are each doula’ing down here.
In some form or another, we’re all articulating practices of collective memory, the fallacy of truth, embodied systems of knowledge, the practices of oral storytelling, folklores, disrupting and reframing mythologies and examining the aftermath of genocide. There’s always more to do — some more urgent than others — but I’m also trying not to undermine what so many of us are already doing, and have been for awhile.
This morning, I realized my tincture was done infusing. Opening the jar felt a little like revealing a promise that my past self made to my future self, to be experienced in this moment, today. I opened the jar and tasted it. It was heady and delicious. Sweet and tangy, and layered just below that, a lively little floral pop reminiscent of late summer grapes.
I thought about something sweet Shira shared a few weeks back, about work that doesn’t always look like work. Sometimes it looks like play. Sometimes it looks like gathering violets on a warm afternoon. I’m holding that close, and hope you can too.
the juicy bits
End of (Another) Era: Legendary queer swimsuit line Chromat is shutting down. So very proud of my friend Bex for this moving essay that serves as a reminder that when one world ends, another is usually on its way.
Roxane and Debbie bought the Rumpus, which feels exhilarating, and their L.A. home is exactly as stunning as you would imagine.
Ethical self-care is wonderful and all, but scientists say acts of service and kindness for other people might make you happier in the long run.
Repressive governments weaponize bodies as sites of control - and thinness is the latest status symbol for obedience and moral superiority.
I’ve been revisiting Ross Gay’s work and keeping daily little logs of delights, which has felt airier and more satisfying at times than my gratitude list. Delights are savorier, more fleeting, more ephemeral. I might be grateful that I woke up today, but I’m delighted by the birds that sing outside of my bedroom window here.
The National Park Service restored some information about Harriet Tubman after a wave of backlash from academics and historians protested erasure of details about her life and the Underground Railroad work from their site.
some housekeeping
I was thrilled to be interviewed by The Creative Independent, where I talk about all the various tabs open in my brain at all times. On May 9, I’ll be paddling down the Bronx River to raise money to help keep the waterway clean. If you want to donate to our team, we’d surely appreciate it.
As always, thank you for reading! Till soon <3
The line about your past self making a promise to your future self—that’s going to sit with me for a while. There’s something quietly revolutionary about honoring slowness and sweetness in times like these. Gathering violets doesn’t fix the world, but it does feel like remembering how to live in it. Thank you for this reminder that tending to small rituals and collective memory is also a form of resistance.