The threats we still face from the dominant culture, the insults and violence, have not stopped us. We still go for the outer air.
The price exacted by a culture determined to keep us in our place is high. It has always been high and I think it may always be high.
No connection erases the primal fear that is a constant in our culture: the fear of the power of women.
A community limited to those who look like us will never be a community, which can only be formed through an amalgamation of differences and the necessary level of trust.
I dig a hole and add my load, closing it over with a prayer, as well as more dirt: that I, too, my be more happy, considering my extraordinary good luck in just about all areas of my life: work, love, family, friends, health…
Has this box come to me as a necessary interruption, a reminder, as a Zen teacher said, that our plans are never as tasty as reality?
After decades of neglect, the great wheel and all the internal parts have been repaired and replaced by our talented millwright, Ben Hassett, and last Sunday, October 18th, water was released from the millpond through the sluice and the great wheel, creaking and groaning, began to turn again.
We women are creators, and when we have the means, we are creators of historic proportions.
Wolf Pen is the way many people in this country lived, when we were still agrarian and made do with much less, in the material sense, than we consider essential now. We lived in a few small rooms, we farmed, milled, carpentered, built, ran cattle or horses—managed to survive.
Women in the United Sates now control 11.2 trillion dollars in investible wealth, 39 percent of the total. But are we wielding the decisions?