It started with an insomnia-induced binge of Hallmark Channel programming. Then a discussion of orthodontics at dinner. Chapter two in a book on moon symbolism I’m vetting for Maggie. Decorating with scarecrows. Somebody’s instagram post on gardening. A 13th century mystic. Psalm 34. And Fleetwood Mac.
It’s an odd collection of voices, but I’m finding when God wants to say something, He doesn’t play. Or rather, He’ll play anything and everything. On repeat. No herald is disqualified.
Grief is so weird. Of that I am sure. The trick seems to be figuring out what to hold on to and what to let go. And, for me, learning how to honor a person’s place in your life — as challenging as that place was — and giving yourself permission to move on.
I put out “the scarecrows” on our porch this weekend. They’ve been part of our fall celebrations as long as my kids have been alive, sitting right there by the window with their same disproportionate smiles. And this year, there are only four.
“Every moment of one’s existence, one is growing into more or retreating into less.” ~ Norman Mailer
I’ve been thinking about growth this week, and irony. Over the last few months in our neck of the woods, we’ve seen the whole of nature shake off the dust of a dormant winter season and sprout into new growth, spring blossoms and early summer fruit. Yet, in one of life’s inevitable ironies, it seems like much of life has been at a standstill as we enter week 15 of quarantine, shelter in place and the socially distant realities of the Coronavirus pandemic. With schools closed, travel plans cancelled, favorite activities interrupted, and time with family limited, an uncertainty-fueled fatigue threatens to lull us into merely sitting. And waiting.
In truth, God’s great earth teaches that there is no real time of stagnance. No mere status quo, no simple biding of time, no true standstill. There is only growing. And dying. Even dormant days can provide rest and regeneration that contribute to the next growing season, or they degenerate into spoil and decay. As Norman Mailer wrote, “Every moment of one’s existence, one is growing into more or retreating into less.”
To begin again is such a blessing – an opportunity to revel in what may be hovering ahead on the horizon. But, it’s a blessing that sometimes gets a bad rap. I’ve had a few “starting over” seasons in my life, and I’ve noticed they tend to be heavily burdened with the failure or loss of whatever season came before. We steady our hands for a newness thrust upon us, like we’ve scribbled some errant message and, with a heavy sigh, had to tear out the page, wad it up and toss it behind us.
It’s different with a new year. Maybe it’s the predictability that makes the difference, but we seem to turn the page to January with much more acceptance. With more grace — for ourselves, for where we’ve been and where we’re going. We give ourselves permission to embrace something new. And, we celebrate the beginning, relishing the opportunity to retool and tweak life goals and daily decisions alike. The start of the new year offers an anticipated blessing of beginning again — the chance to bring forward what serves us and leave behind what may be holding us back. No strings attached.
Last month, I started working on some of my goals for 2019. Last month. Yes, with one quarter of the year gone, I finally began putting some time into that burgeoning list of ideas I’ve been wanting to add flesh and paint to. I guess that makes me a late bloomer. It’s easy to scold myself and get discouraged with the delays and shifts in plans and even with my own resistance to putting in the work. But, instead, a few weeks ago, I decided to give myself a “talking to” as we say in the South, and embrace the notion that late blooms are still blooms. Their lateness just leaves longer for loveliness to germinate. That’s the inspiration for the mini print I’ve included in this month’s printable calendar – shared as you continue reading in ALL its tardiness! It’s also the motivation behind the trove of painted sketches in various stages of completion and a few lessons I’m trying to teach myself about capturing dreams.
Hello & welcome! I’m Haley Montgomery, and I’m the designer and owner of Small Pond Graphics. I sometimes fancy myself a frog kisser— a documentarian coaxing poignant moments from unexpected places. This blog has evolved from those moments.
The small Pond FIELD GUIDE is part diary, part sketchbook, and part wish list – an archive of ordinary wonders. For years, this space has housed my stories – creative ideas, vintage inspiration, our forays into curious places, and the simple artifacts of quiet of conscious living. Through watercolor, photography, and illustrated tales, these pages uncover the blessing of ordinary days and the wonder found in authentic places and pursuits.
I invite you to open the boxes.
Peek into the drawers.
Rustle through the pages. I’m honored to have you here.
Hello & welcome! I’m Haley Montgomery, and I’m the designer and owner of 
