Enchantment Learning & Living Blog

Welcome to Enchantment Learning & Living, the inspirational space where I write about the simple pleasures, radical self-care, and everyday magic that make life delicious.

Gardening, I Love You

April 8, 2015

This post is a day late, in part because I got carried away in my patio garden yesterday--watering thirsty plants, trimming dead leaves, watching those little radish sprouts grow, and clipping fresh herbs for my dinner. I couldn't help it. I was seduced outdoors by the intoxicating fresh air, redolent with the perfume of blooming lilacs and greening grass; by the way the sunlight seemed to pull my beets upward until their leaves doubled in size under its loving gaze; and in the way my breathing just seemed to slow down when I took a moment to brush my hands against the dirt near my strawberries and onions.

Such is the glory of gardening. It grounds you. It connects you to this world, this earth. It sweeps away the cobwebs of the day and reminds you that there is blood pumping in your veins. It is all the possibilities you plant in your life made tangible, even as the more ephemeral seeds--hopes and dreams--take a little more time to manifest.

In honor of these glorious feelings, and the necessity abandoning the writing desk for time in the garden, I leave you with three posts on the delicious, delicious pleasures and revelations found among plants:

1. On Grounding and Gardening

2. On Watching Your Garden Grow

3. On Tasting the First Tomato from Your Garden

Enchantment Learning & Living is an inspirational blog celebrating life’s simple pleasures, everyday mysticism, and delectable recipes that are guaranteed to stir the kitchen witch in you. If you enjoyed what you just read and believe that true magic is in the everyday, subscribe to my newsletter below for regular doses of enchantment. Want even more inspiration? Follow me on Instagram, Facebook, Pinterest, and Twitter. Here’s to a magical life!

DIY Seed Bombs

March 27, 2015

Nothing says spring like planting seeds or enjoying the beauty of bright flowers splashed across your backyard. There is no better way to enjoy both delights than with these super easy seed bombs. What's a seed bomb, you might ask? It's just what it sounds like: a ball of dirt and seeds that you can throw anywhere in your garden. They make lovely gifts for spring celebrations like Easter--better than sugary confections. They are a gentle way of bringing beauty to the lives (and yards!) of those you love.

I used a mixture of organic flower seeds that would attract butterflies in my seed bombs because my little niece is in love with butterflies right now--and bright flowers. Now she can have both in her backyard! You can feel free to use any kinds of flower seeds you would like, however. You can find the red clay at your local herb store or here (it's the same stuff you would use for a face mask). Go easy on the water--just mix in a little at a time until the dirt and seeds are just wet enough to form balls otherwise you end up with soupy seed-sprouting mud.

Ingredients:

1 cup red clay

1/2 cup soil

1/4 cup seeds

Approximately 1/4 cup water

Mix all dry ingredients in a bowl and slowly, one tablespoon at a time, add the water until the mixture is just wet enough to form balls. Then roll blend into one inch balls and let rest on a drying rack overnight. Make sure there is plenty of air circulation--you want the dirt to dry or else the seeds will begin to sprout! Makes about 9 seed bombs.

Reflections on a Snow Day

March 3, 2015

The universe gives you a snow day. Although you don't have to teach (it's your work-from-home-day, after all), the thought of classes being canceled gives you permission to throw your carefully scripted plans out the window. No need to be at a desk today. Your kitchen is calling you.

You make soup, so much soup and pots of pinto and garbanzo beans until your home smells like comfort and your freezer is stockpiled with spoonfuls of love for those days when you won't have energy to conure it yourself. You even pickle green beans to the backdrop of Spanish guitar music and once naked tree branches dusted with tiny white pearls outside your window. It is as if the crystal blanket across the city has given you permission to care for yourself.

That night, you sleep under the soft kisses of snowflakes and awaken once again to a city cleansed of its busyness by ten inches of snow.

You venture out into that wilderness armed only with a strong cup of coffee and hiking boots, past iced-over streets and neighbors shoveling their sidewalks in their bathrobes and snowshoes, towards your neighborhood park looking like nothing if not an open prairie. The scent of winter and cedar burning fireplaces fills the air, as does the stillness interrupted only by the chatter of birds oblivious to the snow piled atop their homes.

In a few hours, this quiet expanse will be taken up by kids rolling together snowmen and falling back to etch snow angels into the earth. But for now, it is just you and a lone cross-country skier in this vast morning.

You cannot help yourself: you cut across the safer street paths where your feet can land between car grooves and into the unblemished snowfall of the park, though you know it will take you calf-deep into the snow and your shoes and socks will soak through. No matter. You are on your way to a blazing fire and hearty breakfast with your family--and what is a snow day for if not plunging into nature headlong?

Later, after the snow is nothing more than a memory and puddles under the sun, you still soak up the gift of your snow day as you soak in a bath piled high with bubbles as fluffy as the snow you trekked through this morning. For a day--two, really--the snow stopped time, allowing you to tune in to what really matters: early morning walks and luxurious family breakfasts, lazy schedule-less days and long naps.

The universe gave you a soul day.

On the Blood Moon Eclipse

October 8, 2014

The blood moon.

Symbol of the abundance we draw towards ourselves. Harbinger of the final harvest before the hush of winter overtakes us.

The lunar eclipse.

You cast into darkness that which was once filled with light, not to dim our sight but to reveal the things we bury in shadow.

Together you create supercharged healing, an extraordinary revelation for those willing to listen; your alignment on this harvest season is a gift, a reminder of the blood that makes us, the life that sustains us, the spirits that guide us.

Awash in the red glow of your light, I draw abundance to me; I call life and love and creativity into my home; I open myself to you, blood moon, to cleanse me of my tiredness and recharge my soul. I bathe in your blood light to better feel the strong bones and sinewy flesh and soft skin that makes me, well me--that make me human.

On the First Kiss of Autumn

September 13, 2014

Yesterday the wind whipped through your land, chasing out the heat of summer and bringing with it the first kiss of fall. The day had started out warm, hot almost, but slowly cooled as the wind pulled clouds down from the mountains and over the city. You had been out in the bluster long enough yesterday to feel the chill in your bones that only a bubble bath and cup of tea could cure.

This morning, the wind is gone and in its place is the heady aroma of autumn. You linger on your porch, enjoying the cool air and the gentle cloud cover. You inhale that almost undefinable smell synonymous with this time of year: crisp air tinged with the bright green of leaves and the dusky overripe scent of your garden about ready to curl in and retire for the year.

The weather promises a day of delicious slowness. Autumn is slowly snaking its fingers through the earth and your heart, pulling you inward, deeper into the quiet of the season.

On Another Harvest Moon

September 9, 2014

You went moon gazing last night. You sat on the front lawn of your family home and simply gazed at this perfectly ripe orb, full of the promise of harvest, of cleansing and rebirth, of inward reflection. You watched as it grew more golden in the late-night sky, covered only by thin, stray clouds like frayed ribbons drifting over its upturned face.

You let its light wash over you, bathe you in the mythology of the moon, settle your mind and refresh your soul. And when you finally turned your gaze from that moon and made your way home, it was to dream deeply, letting its light filter through your window and into your dreamscape.

It has been almost a year since you have opened yourself to a better way of living, of dreaming, of being. A year since you began diligently working on doing less, on recovering from the addiction of busyness. A whole year since you learned to have time for the moon and embrace the bounty of its wisdom. Each month it waxes and wanes in its own time, its own pace. So you too continue to learn how to grow into the fullest expression of yourself and take the time you need to take to listen to who you are.

And who you are is a woman who bathes in the moonlight and cultivates the quiet essential to her well-being. The moon, as if to emphasize this realization, is there to greet you on your waking. It has watched over you as you dreamed through the night and is there looking over you again in the morning; heavy and golden in the sky as you make your way to work, only the two of you are awake in the city.

On Watching the Bees Collect Pollen

September 3, 2014

Today you find yourself thinking of the last time you had visited your mother's garden before the semester swept you up in its embrace. It was still early in the morning, with the air carrying the faint promise of autumn; there was a cool breeze made all the gentler from the previous night's rain. Fat dewdrops hung from the tips of grass blades like small crystals glittering in the morning light, wetting your feet and ankles.

Your soul was quiet despite the riot of activity around you. Everywhere her garden was bursting with life: the morning glories had turned their heads to the sun and the birds sang their daily aria as they gathered breakfast. The giant sunflowers were like sentries along the garden wall and walking paths and the branches of the apple tree were heavy with fruit. Even the voluptuous squash blossoms stretched open, languid and happy as the bees crawled along their insides.

The bees. You watched them, first in the squash blossoms and then making their way across flat sunflower heads, stuffing their sides full of pollen. For them, there was no time to waste, no time for coffee or conversation. No, they must bathe in the golden dust, gather up each grain for their hive, and fly off in search of more pollen in another flower. There too, as they gathered, they left the seeds of future blossoms behind.

For a long time, you simply watched and marveled at the bees' industry, their undivided focus on gathering, nourishing, pollinating. Now as you think back to that morning while brewing your first cup of tea at the office, you hold that memory close, a delicious reminder of the beauty in industry.

On Chile Roasting in New Mexico

August 22, 2014

It is that time of year again. Not quite summer anymore, nor completely fall, but some season in between. School is just around the corner and markets are full to bursting with summer's bounty. You find that you, too, are beginning to wind down from the limitless summer of late nights reading and long days writing, into the solid routine of teaching. It is that transient month of living up your free time and getting ready for the fall.

But nothing tells you that the season is changing more than the smell of green chile being roasted. In all the places you've traveled, the things you've seen, nowhere on earth is there chile roasting like in your home, New Mexico. You watch as they pile a sack full of ripe chile into the caged roasted and fire it up. Soon, the chiles are cracking, their tender skin peeling and charred. The air is perfumed with the smell of this roasting fruit, a smell akin to burning sage or hot spices. This is the smell of your land.

All at once, this smell alone brings back a flood of memories: family Friday night green chile stew with fresh tortillas and beans, a micro-brew and good conversation; the soothing fall ritual of peeling sacks of roasted chiles to freeze and put by for the year, hands tingling from the spiciness; the bouts of homesickness when you lived away, cured only by your makeshift attempts to roast chiles in your oven. It is the smell of pure comfort and nourishment, of home and self, the spice of the earth buried in the veins of the chile and your skin.

On Dreaming Under the Supermoon

August 11, 2014

You were in my house last night, ephemeral tendrils of light seeping through my window and curling around my body as I slept. I didn't see you, but I could feel you sweeping away debris from my mind and old skins from my body one gentle caress at a time.

You bathed and cleansed old wounds and shed light on the darker corners of my mind, allowing me to release burdens I didn't know I was carrying. You held me in your arms as I dreamed deeply of things long past and those to come, of the here and now, and of the realms that only exist when I close my eyes.

After a week of letting go of old selves, of things, old ways of thinking, I return to my dream realms to finish the task of unburdening myself from people I will and never should be. You, supermoon, help me with this, with your larger than life wisdom casting hope, rebirth, gentle understanding into the shadows of my home, myself.

You, dear moon, reinforce the necessity of gentleness in my life, of the feminine virtues so often undervalued in this world of loud and busy. No, you say, that is not your road. You tell me that I am a daughter of the moon, of the stars and midnight, of the quiet hours of reflection, the mistress of secrets revealed only in the hush of late hours and moonlight.

Today is the day I feel this transformation most, as I shake off sleep and turn those quiet hours of healing into a gentle industry and forward movement. The metamorphosis happens now when last night it was enough to dream my dreams and let your light wash over me.

A Love Letter to Summer Monsoons

August 1, 2014

You quiet my mind as you feed the earth. The strength of your thunder, the flash of your lightening all serving to soothe the storm inside me. Your wet rain kisses my skin, filling the cracks and crinkles of my parched mind as it soaks into the dark soil grounding my plants, burrowing deep into their roots even as it brushes their upturned faces.

You send a hush over the city, making the land, the traffic, the day-to-day bustle slow down whether it wants to or not. You wind your way to your fullest expression, clouds gathering in force behind you, a welcome promise of a calm, settled evening. I watch those dark clouds race across the horizon punctuated by your low grumble that warns the city of your strength, inviting the day to bow before your might. There will be no late night frolicking or even an afternoon reading on the porch; windows are securely fastened shut, door tightly closed. Inward I must go.

Your crackle and light sooth me to sleep late at night, the downpour of rain finding me in my dreams. I would run out and dance in you, if I could, if it weren't for the thunder and lightning. I content myself with listening to your wild symphony--the only noise that can draw me away from my book and my place on the couch to simply stare out my window and listen and drift on the song that is my summer monsoons, my healing balm that washes over my soul.

Lavender Foot Scrub

July 31, 2014

So yesterday I talked about the importance of giving your feet a little extra TLC, especially after moving or doing other activities that keep you on your feet all day (teachers, I'm talking to you!). In that blog, I extolled the virtues of my Honey Eucalyptus Foot Soak, a perfect way to sooth and refresh your tootsies. Today I offer you another such treat in the form of a foot scrub. Like my foot soak that can be turned into a full-on bath, this foot scrub can also be used as a regular body scrub, but it is especially nice on the soles of your feet. The rough texture of the sea salt smooths away dead skin while the lavender is a natural relaxant and anti-inflammatory and anti-bacterial.

I use less olive oil in this recipe than I would in a body scrub because you want more grit than moisture for a foot scrub. Since the soles of your feet are tougher than the rest of your skin, the extra grit offers more exfoliation. If you want to use this as a body scrub, just add another 1/4 cup olive oil to soften it. Ready for the big kicker? You can also use this as a foot soak! So why not double the recipe and use half to soak your feet and the other to scrub them clean?

Ingredients:

1 cup sea salt

1/4 cup olive oil

10 drops lavender essential oil

2 tablespoons dried lavender buds (optional)

Combine ingredients in a bowl and transfer to a mason jar to store. To use, wash feet thoroughly. Generously apply the scrub to feet and work it across your skin with your hands, spending more time on rougher areas. Rinse when complete and moisturize feet. Makes about 1 cup. Enjoy!

On Thunderstorms & Gothic Novels

July 16, 2014

It is a dark and stormy night--both in and out of your book.

Safely burrowed under the covers of your bed, you jump as the thunder rumbles outside your bedroom window and lightning lights up the pages of your book in a bright blue sizzle. Rain tears at your plants outside and the wind howls, whipping around trees and slapping against your sliding doors.

All the while you are turning page after page of your latest read, a novel rife with Gothic drama--evil power-hungry villains, wild magic, breathtaking adventure, and a heroine who seems to handle it all in stride, even the thunder and lightning. The storm outside your window only serves to punctuate the plots twists in your book. Boom! says the thunder: your heroine is in grave danger. Flash! goes the lightning, illuminating a mystery long buried under history and subterfuge. Tap, tap nudges the rain on the roof: don't forget that small detail for it will be her salvation and the villain's undoing.

You pause from your page turning only long enough to glance about the room when the lamplight flickers...but you drag your thoughts quickly away from potential power outages and back to your book. After all, you have candles nearby. And matches. They will be enough light to finish your story by.

And when you do finally drift off to sleep, serenaded by the storm, your mind still reeling with the shocking ending, speculating as to what might happen in the next installment, you dream of Gothic plots and magic and thunder--an intoxicating potion of cathartic experience.

Enchantment Learning & Living is an inspirational collection of musings touching on life’s simple pleasures, everyday enchantments, and delectable recipes that will guarantee to stir the kitchen witch in you. If you enjoyed what you just read and believe that true magic is in the everyday, subscribe here.

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Summer Lovin' Rose-Lavender Tea Blend

July 14, 2014

Ahhhh...summer. The time for long afternoons reading on your patio over a cup of tea--hot or iced. The time when flowers are blooming and the bees are happily tickling your lavender buds in an attempt to collect and distribute pollen. The time of year when I start craving light floral teas that mimic the bounty of the season.

One of my favorite blends that perfectly captures the season is my Summer Lovin' Rose-Lavender Blend, a tisane, or herbal tea, that combines rose petals, lavender buds, and raspberry leaves for a lady-like tea that is delicious either hot or cold--and perfect for any occasion, from an afternoon tea with the ladies to an impromptu iced tea in the shade after tending your garden.

Yes, this tea is decidedly romantic with its fragrant rose and lavender perfume wafting from your cup. The raspberry leaf binds these two flavors together with its own light black tea taste with floral undertones. One cup of this is enough to make you see summer through rose colored glasses--if you aren't already! As a bonus, these herbs are healing powerhouses--details below.

Ingredients:

1-part lavender

1-part rose petals

1-part raspberry leaf

Combine ingredients in a bowl and store in a mason jar. To brew a perfect cup, use one tablespoon of blend per cup of boiling water. Let soak for 5-7 minutes. Enjoy!

Health properties of ingredients:

Lavender: a traditional nerve tonic and relaxant; antiseptic and antibacterial.

Raspberry leaf: rich in vitamins A, B, C, E, magnesium; tones uterus; relieves tension.

Rose petals: soothes skin; mild sedative and natural stress reliever; rich in vitamin C.

On Hollyhocks

July 12, 2014

They are your blowsy desert flowers with no self-control--they don't need it, for it doesn't do their petals and stems any good. Only the breeze and the sun and the expansive turquoise sky do, filling their open faces with light they collect and send snaking down to their roots where they can store it. They take pleasure in their plot of earth held in place only by the thin, strong threads of life that gather dirt and minerals and water around themselves in a protective nest.

That is these hollyhocks below--the roots and stems that allow them to stretch to the sky and fearlessly blossom into fat, joyful flowers one on top of the other in a noisy cluster. They are not your coy primroses nor your restless impatiens--sounding too much like 'impatience'--that bloom time and time again, already eager to start the cycle once more even as they have not yet made it through their first bloom. They don't care about covering the ground, as does your flowering thyme, more than happy to crawl across the earth in a slow bid for more territory. Nor do they need to make a point of their beauty like the rose, always looking to be the object of everyone's affection.

No, hollyhocks simply are. They are happy in themselves, firmly planted in their nourishing nest of roots, water, soil. These brassy flowers want light and sun around them, growing strong in the heat of the desert, thriving on the kisses of bees and the caresses of dry air. They stretch tall to touch the sky, gifting it with their jewel-toned petals of pink, purple, red. They return the bees' love by offering up their fat stamen coated in pollen. Eat, they tell the bees. Eat. Even when their flowers fade, they still hold strong; it is as if they cannot contain themselves, wantonly spreading their thick black seeds everywhere, letting them spill over flagstone and dirt, peppering flower beds and getting carried away in the wind to find new homes, new nests. They cannot help but multiply. They are living proof that lush, blowsy flowers can blossom--thrive--in any desert.

On Summer Thunderstorms

July 10, 2014

It is one of the reasons you love your desert so much. It has no room for demure little trembles in its sky nor the constant damp of the drizzly northern climates. When it rains--truly rains--it does so with wild abandon.

You feel it in the air today, the way the wind slowly gathers the clouds together, fashioning them into a thick blanket to cover the sky, wraps itself around the sun until the desert brightness is dimmed for the afternoon. Then as you tend your plants, the wind licking your hair and coiling itself around your body, you hear it: the thick rumble of thunder.

There will be rain soon, falling hard and fast and all at once from the sky just as it should in the summer; it will calm the city even as it continues to crack and groan and whip the air around street lamps, throw rain down from the sky to soak the earth. But for now, the thunder teases you, making you hold out your open palm in anticipation, hoping for some fat drops to kiss it. You sniff the air, searching for that ephemeral smell of clouds breaking, drops hitting dry land.

And when the rain does come, you will watch from your window even as you would rather be out dancing it in--if it weren't for the thunder and its companion lightning, never far behind it. You will admire the way the rain hits your window, falls against your upturned plants, washes the city free of dust and heat. You will curl up and fall asleep to the crackling of thunder, the wild patter of rain--and you will relish sneaking outside when the rain has subsided, the land hushed as if under some sort of spell. You will marvel at the puddles and sweet air, the quiet after the hard rain.

Already it begins. You hear the first flutters of rain hitting the trees. Another roar of thunder rolls through the clouds. You head indoors, almost unwilling to leave your perfect perch for an afternoon rain, but another peel of thunder reminds you that it is time to close the windows--which you do, just as the rain being to fall in earnest.

This is your kind of thunderstorm.

On Buying a Bouquet of Flowers

June 19, 2014

You couldn't help yourself.

There they were at the front of the store, a riot of colors stuffed into tall tin buckets, each flower vying for your attention like some flirt who can't help herself--it's nothing personal, she does it to everyone who walks by. The sunflowers and daisies call to you with their bright happiness, sunlight springing from their petals. The snapdragons and irises lure you in with their intricacy--the purple irises still tight in their buds, unwilling to blossom quite yet, the snapdragons asking you to play with their delicate mouths that open and close under your gentle touch, less snap and more first-kiss.

You settle, finally, on a mixed bouquet for its compelling arrangement of pink daisies and purple mums (you think--they could be another flower unknown to you, but lovely all the same), shy lilies with all but one yet to fully bloom, and little yellow wildflowers that might not have a name. You don't need these flowers. Not really. They won't feed your belly, nor serve a useful household purpose like the baking soda you later put into your grocery basket. But there is something to their whimsical elegance, something to buying a bouquet of flowers, that puts you in the mood for picnics and long afternoons reading outside.

They add softness to your day and more than a little grace. You can picture them now, nicely trimmed and tucked in one of your small mason jars on the kitchen table, perhaps. Or on your nightstand ready to greet you with the sunrise. Like the ribbons you collect, or the sea glass, your bouquet of flowers brightens your home, lifts your spirits, reminds you that it is okay--necessary even--to indulge your senses; true they will fade and the water they sit in will thicken into a swamp-like goo. But while they are fresh and bright and colorful, they feed your soul and remind you that some of the best pleasures exist in the space between one moment and the next.

On Ruidoso

June 14, 2014

It is more mountain than town, more sky than buildings. The sun is closer here, practically coating your skin in its hot embrace before it has even reached its highest point in the sky. The air is fresh and dry, sweeping away any serious thoughts or unnecessary tasks as you gaze out at the lake.

View of the lake at Inn of the Mountain Gods.

Time, too, seems to slip away here as you forget what day it is, what hour, during long morning nature walks and afternoon naps. The roads are home to trucks and deer--those graceful animals seen foraging along the roadside, loping back into the woods--and you find your mind wandering, drifting past those roads into the wilderness, as surely as your car wound deeper into the mountains only a day or two before.

Deer getting ready to cross hiking path.

During one of your morning hikes, you stumble upon a family of deer. They stand in a grove by the street, almost ten in all, their long ears leaning forward to take in the sounds of the woods, to figured out who you are. They are no more than a few yards away. As if deciding you are no real threat--yet still wary--they slowly take off across your hiking path, long legs taking them deeper into the woods, far away from the presence of humans. You marvel at their grace, grateful for this sighting.

You marvel, too, at the resiliency of the land, scarred over by fires that consumed so much forest, charred and blackened trees standing like ghostly sentries guarding the town, memories of a too-hot summer, a too-hungry fire. Yet you see it, once you look past the blackened branches: new growth, little flares of green making their way up out of the blackened soil, ready to heal those wounds. The earth knows no other way but to keep moving forward, to keep planting and tending its seeds.

And even as you know you have only experienced the surface of the town--a local nail salon and a steak house--you admire its long line of shops down main street and the way nature seems to take even those building over, as if the heart of the town lies at its outskirts where the hints of urbanity fade under the caress of nature. Yes, this is a place more mountain than town.

On Spring Rain

May 8, 2014

It only lasted a few minutes--here and gone in a flurry of wind and rain and hail--leaving light and soft earth in its wake.

Even now there is hardly any sign that it has rained at all, save for one or two stray puddles and an extra sweetness in the air. Still, you know those few minutes calmed the earth and tamed the dusty winds that have rolled through town these past weeks, stirring up trouble and dirt. The fat plops of moisture fell to the ground, coating the dry earth in a silky blanket, allowing the seeds in your garden to drink deeply and the thick yellow pollen to leave the sky and make its home in the ground.

This rain, gone too soon, makes you want to run out and play in it; it is rich, violent, bursting with life in a way that compels you to dance in the puddles and twirl in the rain as you once did so long ago. You want to feel these nourishing drops kiss your face, wet your eyelashes, and dribble down your chin. You want them to slap your palms and mat your hair with their thickness as you gaze up at the clouds that have rolled over the mountains and covered your city.

This is your desert spring rain, a flashy foreshadowing of the monsoons with their thunder and lighting and lovely, lovely rain that grace your home in the summer, nourishing the earth, cleaning your soul, feeding your heart.

On Watching the Birds in Your Bird Feeder

May 4, 2014

It is a quiet afternoon. You've given yourself over to reading on your patio, your only company the birds--sparrows, finches, doves--swooping in and out of your bird feeders.

They used to be shy creatures, forever dissuaded from your patio by the cats with the hungry eyes in the patio above yours. You courted them night and day with bird seed and three homemade feeders you crafted out of small colorful colanders and fishing wire. You wanted to thank those birds for their songs, their morning chatter that serves as your natural alarm clock. Finally, after hanging your feeders beneath your herbs--as far away from those cats as possible--and filling them up with thick, black sunflower seeds, you find the little birds at home on your patio.

You pause momentarily, lifting your head from your book to enjoy the quiet spring afternoon. And then a red-breasted finch swoops into the turquoise feeder closer to you, swaying gently in time with the rocking of the feeder. It eyes you as if afraid you might chase it away or take its seeds. It is fast and efficient, cracking the thick sunflower shells and gobbling their flesh in gluttonous delight. Another bird flies toward the same feeder, this one a dusty brown but just as small as the finch splashed with red--its mate, perhaps. You keep still; you don't want the flutter of a turned page to frighten off your friends. They are so much more graceful than the pigeons and doves that swoop into the feeders as big as they are, forcing the metal colanders to clack and cling against your patio railing. No, these little finches nibble and sway in time with the feeders.

Without thinking about it, you set your book down. With that one swift movement, you startle the finches and they take off with a quick flap of their wings, nothing but spent sunflower shells scattering in their wake.

5 Easy Tips for Greener Living

April 22, 2014

In honor of Earth Day, I'd like to offer a few easy tips I've developed over the years to become eco-friendlier. Typically when we think of going green, we conjure up images of having to buy really expensive organic goods (so not true!) or attempting to make drastic lifestyle changes all at once--an overwhelming task! In fact, there are many simple ways to be greener without dramatically changing your day to day routine. What matters is baby steps--simple changes make all the difference in the long run. As you get used to one change, you can throw in a new way to be eco-conscious.

1. Use what you have. Seriously, it sounds simple, but many people can be tempted to throw out perfectly good household items simply because they aren't green or organic. But where does the stuff that you throw out go? Landfills--and landfills equal frowny face.

2. Shop local. Less travel time for produce and other goods means less of a negative impact on the environment. This is also a great tip for supporting local business and get to know your community. Co-ops and farmers' markets are great places to start!

3. Make your own cleaning supplies. You don't have to shell out big bucks to green your home, even though most organic cleaning brands would have you think otherwise. Try whipping up a batch of this all-purpose cleaner for your basic cleaning needs. Also keep in mind that distilled vinegar and baking soda work wonders for cleaning and are both super cheap.

4. Recycle. It's worth the effort! Same goes for when you need to buy new things--opt for buying things at antique and secondhand stores. Not only are you buying one of a kind furniture and other goodies, but you are recycling in its most basic form.

5. Walk (or bike) where you can. The exercise is good for you and the environment. Now I can't really walk to work since it is on the other side of town. But when the weekend hits, I like to stick to my own neighborhood so I can walk everywhere--to the store, to the park, to a restaurant.

And always remember--if it's good for the earth, it's good for you!