Rendering comb down to golden disks of beeswax is one of the ways I process the loss of a hive. By giving my attention over to extracting the pure, golden, divinely scented wax from the skeleton of a hive, I feel connected to the life-death-life cycle of that hive.
I have often struggled with what it means to be a third generation Californian living on stolen land. I love California dearly, but I am also someone who has always longed for a deeper sense of roots.
I found the siren song of ancestral roots early on in Celtic myths and European herbcraft. This drew me to England and Scotland by the age of 17, and I have spent the rest of my life feeling as though I were of two places.
Read More
