Today, I present to you a short list of long stuff.
I’m on a constant quest to find restfulness and meditation in small pockets of time. Sometimes that’s about doing nothing, just for a minute. But other times, it feels impossible to totally downshift into resting. Restful-ish is the best I can do. If that’s you—if you’re desperate to be chill, but can’t quite put down your electronic reading material, I’m here to suggest some vaguely calming content. All of these are appropriate for dipping in and out of attentiveness.
A thing to read. First, I present to you this compilation of overwhelmingly leafy bedrooms from Studio Ghibli, curated by the very fine newsletter Annika is Dreaming. Her work seems like very kindred content, and I admire it so much:
Bedrooms are a form of time travel. The objects in a bedroom are a snapshot of who we’ve been, who we are, and where we’re going. Bedrooms are a mood ring, they’re a way that I can pour my personality into materiality in a way that’s meaningful.
After that, go ahead and read the newsletter’s entire back catalog, including this playlist about mushrooms.
A thing to hear. My moss-appreciation journey started with Robin Wall Kimmerer, whose moss book I picked up a few years ago on a particularly woodsy trip to Oregon. Since then, I have loved each piece of mossy content that crosses my radar. This audio interview featuring Helen Rosner and Annie Martin is pretty darn great.
In so many ways, moss is defined by what it lacks, relative to what we understand plants to be. It doesn’t fruit. It’s weird, and it’s super tiny. The biggest mosses are only a few centimeters high.
It’s also a call to look more closely at the space between stones, and the “undulating velvet” that moss can create, whether in a lush Japanese temple or a neighborhood park. In short: It’s a transporting little bit of storytelling, and you should have it on while you make a pie.
A thing to view. Leaf art, from fallen leaves, will never cease to amaze me. I have a hard time getting started on personal creative projects, in part because the stakes for indie projects seem high, and they need so much time to simmer. Leaf art that vanishes, on the other hand? Well, that’s a totally different way to think about things.
When I was younger, my ambitions included leaving something permanent. Now, more and more I enjoy the ephemeral nature of this art. Because, in nature, everything changes. Even the mountains used to be on the bottom of the sea.
I also truly appreciated this footnote:
In winter, I do sculpture with snow and ice. It depends. I can only use snow if it snows, ha! The ice can be produced artificially.
A non-plant aside: Speaking of getting personal projects done, I really love Nicole Zhu’s newsletter on this subject, and you could sink endlessly into that back catalog, too.
What the plants are reading
The plants are pretty much just reading gift guides, because they are greedy little suckers.
One of my very fave stores on the planet is Paperish Mess (in Chicago), and they carry a bunch of plant-themed gifts, including these super-cute pint glasses, gorgeous layflat notebooks, and tarot-inspired seed packs. They ship widely; go get ‘em! Yes, I am related to a co-owner of this store. But, my love is unbiased and true.
This redistribution pledge by clothing company Tonlé is thoughtful and deeply necessary. Anything you buy there goes toward Black and Indigenous-led environmental organizations.
This gift guide from The Goldenrod has a bunch of lovely things in it related to Kentucky, including a plug for Rock and Roll Woods, a book to “help children with sensory issues adapt to change.” (!!!) Excerpt:
Kuda is a bit of a grump who doesn’t like change. So when he wakes up to find new neighbors and loud, strange noises in his woods, he is not happy. Will his desire to be with his friends overcome his objections to loud sounds? And might Kuda’s courage help him discover that new things—and rock and roll music—can be pretty great.
I also really like everything at The Fernseed, and you can send botanical goodness and ceramic pots to yourself + your loved ones. Owner Katherine Raz talked to us for this very newsletter, not long ago.
Cool ceramic plant vessels abound, and I especially appreciated these bonsai tree holders from Alicja Ceramics, which seem really unique. (h/t Katherine Raz!)
I’m also going to be shopping off this big list of Black-owned plant shops from around the country, and related plant gifts. For example: This plant-subscription box over at Planting with P sounds dreamy. The geode collection at Tal & Bert is calling out to me. And I really appreciate the mission statement of Grounded, “to bridge the gap between owning houseplants and how they are therapeutic for both your physical + mental space.”
The New York Times also has a mega gift guide for plant lovers this year—here it is. I don’t know if I need a $50 compost bin, but… I want it?
Ok, that’s it!
Onward to restful-ish,
Lindsay
Administrative P.S.
Did you miss the last issue? Here it is. It’s about how vines measure time better than humans.
This newsletter sends on Ẅednesdays because Ẅednesday is a great day to celebrate Vegetation 🌱 It is arriving on the right day today.
I simply cannot stress enough that none of these links are affiliates. I am just trying to help you out.
I really, really am grateful for this silly plant newsletter, and all the correspondence you send me. I am also really grateful for early fans of this endeavor (if you gave me a green plant tank top and a stern pep talk, I’m talking to you), and—forever—the original OFQT team.
Feel free to reply to this, and I will get it like a regular email! Send me links or personal blooms for my entertainment. I love them all.