Dear Ones,

My name is Erin.

This Covered Bridge Studio was born from my girlhood love for a small covered bridge in Chico, CA, called The Honeyrun Covered Bridge. My Great, Great, GREAT Grandfather, Charles Hintz, built this bridge. When I was a child my family lived and cared for my Great Great Aunts. The eldest, Irma, had Alzheimer's and would tell and re-tell and the same stories about this bridge her Dad built. I never minded hearing these stories. We would stand at the hallway wall of framed old photos, and she would have her finger outstretched touching the glass, delightfully tracing the people and details in the old images.

Once, I asked her, "Irmie, why do you think they went to the trouble to cover the bridge?" She paused and looked down at me. I quickly realized, I had perhaps asked Irmie more than her cobwebbed brain could quite grasp. But, then - one of the magic, oh, so rare and oh, so precious, lucid half-child, half-crone times swelled up and out of her...

"Well, you see Dad loved...he loved, all of us and his cattle too, and well, can't you just imagine the sound of that creek below and how wonderful it would feel to just be right in the middle of that bridge and take a pause on your journey? It could be July hot or December freezing and you could stop a while and find relief. Well, that's why."

I loved that explanation. I loved the preciousness of that exchange. She gifted me with a story and metaphor of a covered bridge, and it has served me all the days since. Soon after, Irma's health declined further and the stories at the hallway gallery became jumbled. The words and names could no longer be captured. Her fingers were less easy to look at. So, I would assume the position at her side for those 2 minutes and respectfully listen, but I learned to delight in the way her arm outstretched in the familiar angle and almost looked like a bridge from her frame to the frames of ancestors. Beyond her arm was the window outside with green ivy, and oaks, shade and sunlight playing about like reflections on the creek water. That was beautiful to me.

Bridges. I often say to myself, "Erin, just find the bridges". When there are none, squint your eyes and look again.

Still none - well, this is sometimes the case.

I don't much like this scenario, and it happens so frequently in the course of a day and certainly a life. Somehow, you gotta figure out how to build the bridge you most need.

Almost always, we not only need to build it. We have to BE the bridge.

Two years ago the Honey Run Covered Bridge burned down in the Camp Fire. I am thankful for the deep knowing of the history of this bridge. And, I am patiently hopeful for the next chapter of the rebuilding and story. https://www.instagram.com/p/BqSPbKMD8fQ/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link

This humble little studio is about offering support when you are searching for, when it is time to build, and when you are honoring all that your life asks of you.

What does this support look like at the Covered Bridge Studio? Well, it is a collection of the tools and supplies that I build with.

Starting with flowers. Yes. Starting there. Take me outside to that wild green, and when it's time to come inside...can I bring some of that glory in with me? Because, some of us *need* a visual anchor and bridge reminder that we are part of this living, beautiful place where pretty things grow. And, keep growing.

I think we all need that. Some of us more than others.

Once upon a time I put my toe in the floral industry and learned a lot. So much good and beauty and hard work. I learned mostly that I am not an entrepreneur. Charging money for things is really really hard for me. And, I shifted back toward education, but I brought the flowers with me. Always. I no longer “do flowers” but I treasure them and I treasure the memories of “doing them” for a lot of incredible people and gatherings.

I believe nature is the key to all kinds of ailments and the door to all kinds of growth opportunities. I also believe in the profound work of the great indoors of community life, classroom life, the family table, the hospital room. and the solo car ride. The smallest leaf, grown in the wild forrest or the urban roadside between my fingers or placed in a jar with water has always been the bridge I need to do whatever work is right in front of me.

So, as the Covered Bridge is rebuilt and the water ebbs and flows below there will be flowers as a constant in whatever work unfolds.