Alas, the snowstorm missed the Sault. I was watching the radar, and the storm did one of those fancy moves where it creates a pocket of nothingness in the middle of its gigantic self. No foot of snow meant that all the little children went grudgingly to school this morning. Ours drug their feet through the new inches (1-2-3? I don't really know. I've never been great at estimating measurements), letting the last of their dreamy snow day dreams melt away. I suspect a few teachers (bless 'em) were dragging their feet as well. We were all hoping for a snow day. It makes me chuckle to think that here we are surrounded by more snow than any other place we've ever lived, and not a snow day to be seen all school year. People don't stop up here for anything, and I kind of love that. This morning I was ogling the fresh, light snow thinking of course winter is depressing everywhere else. Winter in the Upper Peninsula is a sight to behold. Watching snowflakes fall never gets old. Until April.
Some feedback on Fierce Solidarity has been trickling in, and what I'm hearing right now is that it's beautiful, but hard. That's what the work felt like. There wasn't a day I worked on Fierce without tears in my eyes at some point. It never got easier. I'd get up and pace the house and listen to music and cry my heart out. Then I'd get back to it. Reading it won't be any easier for people who've lived through anything close to the stories in this book. There were moments, though, during the writing that I had to pace the house because the hope was too powerful to sit through. I'd pace the house and listen to music and cry my heart out. Then I'd get back to it.
Writing this book was an exercise in bearing pain and hope. It's only natural that the reading would be similar for the sensitive hearts out there. The good news is that the book ends with big hope, and big purpose. So, please don't give up on your way to the conclusion. The hard pockets are temporary and interlaced with gems and jewels of soothing goodness. It doesn't hurt to take a mindless breather every now and again. These things aren't meant to be done in a day.
On that note, I'm off to tick another item off the Flowchart of Action, so I can feel accomplished at the end of the day.
Anna Turner is the woman behind Little Hearth. She's an ordained interfaith minister, a writer, a believer in purposeful living and healing, a perpetual student, and a full time feminist mother.