The Shelter of Tangled Things

Happy Father’s Day and Happy Summer Solstice!

Today brings two wonderful reasons to celebrate. It is both a day to honor the fathers and father figures who have shaped our lives and the longest day of the year, when the sun lingers longest over the Northwoods and summer officially begins.

I’m especially grateful to share my dad’s woodworking on NORDmi.com and to exhibit alongside him at several art shows each year. He has been a steady source of encouragement throughout every creative chapter of my life, whether I was restoring old houses, publishing books, or dreaming up the next project. No matter the endeavor, he has always believed in me. One of my favorite parts of show season is setting up alongside him. His craftsmanship, creativity, and good humor make every event, and time we spend together better.

I started this painting just before the Flint show, and if I’m being honest, I wasn’t entirely sure it was going to work. But over the past week, in those quiet morning hours before heading out on the road, it has gradually come together in a way that has delighted me.

The inspiration came from a not exactly northwoods place: my dad’s garden. Tucked along one edge are blackberry patches with the most wonderfully unruly habit imaginable. Every year I look at them and think, “Surely they’re too tangled and overgrown to produce much.” And every year I’m proven wrong as Dad fills quart bags with berries for the freezer.

This spring, a doe chose the shelter of those tangled canes to hide her days-old fawn, trusting the dense growth to keep it concealed and safe. There was something about that moment that stayed with me.

In a garden where most things are carefully tended and orderly, this patch hums with hidden life, offering food, shelter, and a little mystery. As I painted, I found myself imagining what a summer evening might feel like from within the blackberry canes: fireflies drifting through the shadows, leaves rustling softly overhead, and hints of the dense life within. That sense of abundance, shelter, and untamed beauty became the heart of this painting.

It’s been a stormy, rain-soaked early week in the Northwoods. Between the miles of concrete on I-75 and days spent away from home, returning to the cool, damp forest has felt like stepping into a refuge. June has fully settled in now. The woods are lush, green, and vibrant, and every hillside, roadside, and meadow seems to be announcing that summer has officially arrived.

One of the loudest voices in that celebration is sand coreopsis (Coreopsis lanceolata), also known as tickseed. Right now its bright yellow blooms are lighting up the landscape. Seeing them flower always feels a little miraculous because this patch began with just two small plugs of Michigan genotype plants that were gifted to us years ago.

I planted them in nearly pure sand, a challenging spot where many garden plants would struggle. For two years I mulched, watered, and waited while the plants quietly established deep roots. When they finally bloomed, I collected the seed and spread them across the sandy hillside facing the road. Alongside the coreopsis, I sowed blazing star, another native prairie species well adapted to these dry, nutrient-poor soils.

The hillside is still a work in progress, but each season it becomes more alive. This summer, what was once a barren slope has transformed into a cheerful sweep of yellow blossoms, with more flowers appearing than ever before. It’s a small reminder that growth often happens slowly and almost invisibly at first. Then one June morning, the hillside suddenly bursts into bloom and reveals just how much has been happening beneath the surface all along.

If you’re reading this, you’re already where I most like to share my work. Thanks for being here in this slower space. I’ll see you next week. Until then, If you’d like to follow me on TikTok, Instagram and/or Facebook, please do, I post regularly.

Warmly,
Laura
NORDmi.com