In the early 70’s I spent a year and a half with my young son, alone in the middle of thousands of acres of rolling grassland. When we settled into the small farmhouse this landscape seemed empty. Soon Jamey and I set out toward clusters of low trees on far away hills. Striding through the hay we were giants on the earth, taller than all we surveyed. Yet when we reached the trees, we became small and cool, hidden beneath the shelter of their branches.

The first months of the pandemic I was like a giant on the earth. I sewed masks, harvested lavender and made sachets, hiked hundreds of miles on the mountain where my husband and I live. Now, more than a year later, I have come to welcome the holy sameness of being small, of being still, a sameness I first experienced fifty years ago.

Our old farmhouse had wood heat and a deep porcelain bathtub where most evenings a tree frog, brilliant green with Maybelline eyes, would show up at bath time. Bright and bony, perched there on the edge of the tub, the frog radiated trust and humor, willing to dispense with camouflage. My friend. Last night, as I steeped in warm water during my evening bath this vivid frog from long ago came to mind, prompting me to explore with you the color green.

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Green is ubiquitous, so we take it for granted. We think we know it. It’s everywhere! But green is one of the most challenging paint colors to create because your green and my green are not the same. As a colorist, to determine the “right” green for your project I bring foliage along with my color decks, sometimes clipping plants outside your house. As we study feathery pale green lichen, rich shiny camellia leaves and spiky fern fronds your responses give reveal to me how much yellow or brown or blue tint is required to generate your personal green.

Green shows up differently in the interior, and also in combination with other colors. Green samples require study under various types of lighting. Exploring colors like this with a client is an adventure requiring both trust and tenderness. Memories, experiences—these shape preferences sometimes more than we know. Lack of camouflage is key. By showing up bare, like the frog, we form an esoteric temporary kinship that fills me with delight.

As the pandemic rolls on at last we have a bit of rain in Northern California. The moss and grasses begin to quicken, spreading vital green over the land. Fresh but familiar. A blessing. Each night I hope to remember anew that this ritual, the warmth, the depth, the holy sameness I often take for granted is the very thing that renews me, over and over again.

May your own time in this sacred hesitation yield some warmth, some depth and wonder. May we stay bare, and stay green.

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