Karinaland River

  Quince and Courage The strong visual language of quince intrigues all who encounter them, whether on my tree or dining table. This ancient fruit – who was most likely the true “apple” of ancient times – holds forth with earthiness and energetic originality. Hers is a lovely mantra: “Unabashedly I dare being myself.”  Perfectly imperfect. Each fruit grows into a splendid golden yellow globe, and inhabits its uniquely sculpted shape with quiet vibrancy. Quince is a queen. Unapologetic. Self-assured. Gnarly. Bold. In all of her aspects, she emanates a true beauty. Her perfumed fragrance is delicate, her unusual taste multi-layered, tart, sweet, unexpected. Being a wise old woman healer, she makes herself useful as medicine. This year my quince tree carries an abundant early harvest. Very happily, I allow the treasures to fill the living room with Quince-ness. And I start cooking batches of quince compote – no sugar added, just a bit of rum, cognac, or Damiana liqueur – deliciou...

  The Cicadas are Calling   This summer the cicadas are singing again in my patio! Oh, how I yearned for them to be back. Last May’s "mind-boggling" flea infestation of the whole hill forced me to have it sprayed with chemicals. Meanwhile, bitten all over my body and discovering that I am extremely allergic to the hundreds of fleabites from working in the garden, I get my first anaphylactic shock. My whole body is densely covered in red welts, ferociously itching every minute of the day and night. Unrelenting. Not just the garden, by now house and bedroom cottage are also infested. Non-stop, I am vacuuming, and washing clothes and sheets. Everywhere I am spraying oils of cedar wood, rosemary, and lemon grass diluted in water, and wipe floors and furniture with it. After two sleepless weeks from the intense pain – worse than itching – I catch a high-dose covid infection, first time and brutal. This takes me out for another three weeks, ribs dislocated from excessive violent co...

Language as Vehicle and Vessel   Sunday late morning – still so much fog wafting, mystical and mysterious – engulfed in shades of grey. What will the future bring us? Where will it go? How will it look like? Unknown. Seeking anchor, I am reflecting on the last few days, my encounters with German and Jewish friends. All week, history has been visiting me, triggering vivid memories. Opening internal space, where I am free to roam. Vast time spans and continents interweave their landscapes as I am preparing my late breakfast. Come on a ride with me.   Surprisingly, I am in a really good mood. Splurging on a home-made espresso, a rare occasion these days. Getting out my old Bialetti stovetop Moka pot. The fresh coffee beans are called “Grounds for Innocence,” a blend by Bongo Roasting Company in Tennessee, created as a fundraiser for the Innocence Project . This organization has been fighting since 1992 to free the innocently incarcerated, prevent wrongful convictions, and reform ...

  Mellow Lemonbalm und Zärtlichkeit in my garden so much tenderness– so viel Zärtlichkeit  – and medicine   We all need allies. Mine are my wild friends growing on Karinaland ’s hill. Especially three of them. A sprawling meadow of beautiful   Plantain plants (considered a weed by many), now spread out all over the garden, bushy, high, with delicate blooms. From their leaves, stems and flowers, I make a skin-healing oil. The milky seeds of my Wild Oats , harvested at the right time, infused in cognac for my Milky Oats tincture, becomes a gentle nervous system soother. And under the old plum tree my small meadow of Lemon Balm . All three are my tender allies, beloved balms. As oil, tincture and tea, they calm, nourish and soothe skin, nerves, mood and mind. In Germany exists  Klosterfrau Melissengeist , an old classic remedy for all kinds of un-wellbeing – Unwohlsein . Each year, I used to bring a small bottle back to America. Nuns in monasteries knew how to pr...

  This Morning   sun rises in my heart – starts flowing bubbling over speechless lips roots growing downward elongating spine   innocence is wiggling in my curious toes cup with gold is slowly swelling safely hiding in big belly fleeing nowhere   lightness of being how wondrous gliding free Karina Epperlein, June 2025 My Clematis at the front door keeps showing off  blooming four and five petalled like night stars.

  Early Spring Force – Frühlingskraft How truly awesome is the tenacity of new bloom erupting from bare hard branches? Every Spring, I immerse myself into the wonders of first delicate blossoms. For extended minutes, put my face close to a sea of white petals, breathing their state of being, letting myself be washed. How do they do it? Breaking through. How do they dare? Birthing into a tumultuous world is an act of utter faith. They have no guarantee to be greeted with welcome. Is the sun out, is it hailing, snowing, raining? Oh, how safe it was inside the dark skeleton of tree or bush. But now the juices are pushing from the root system through the trunk, branches, bark, relentlessly demanding the buds’ release. The sun is out and it is warm, let’s go. But no assurance for an easy existence. There is only knowing that blossoming needs to happen, the desire to bloom. Buds opening, what will be unfolding? Light – though soon, desperation might arrive, freezing winds. Where is yeste...

Choosing do we choose who we are – are we? quite ruffled by the winds of time the king’s revengeful laughter the mob’s out and inbreaths we are early bloomers fragrant & delicate   our five petalled faces freckled with hints of rose naked winter firmly boosting in-born curiosity timid slugs traveling stem, leaf and blossom we chose to greet fog  frost  rainstorm  sun tell tales of countering old king’s cruelties defying spread of terror – we are alive   do we choose our windblown tininess, do we? helpless in mudslides and furious flooding disheveled rumpled hesitant and stirred   infused with goodness we still glow huddled in flocks yet declaring all life is sacred – we chose newly confused uncombed tiny and eager cruelly tossed  troubled  shaggy  hollow prepared to be surprised by tears yet with fierce true compass    trembling in turbulent times – do we   choose? life… and somehow bow Karina Epperlein, January 29, 2025 Pr...