Wake Window

Prune

My first piece of East Fork pottery was a prune side plate. It was “seconds” quality, meaning that it had some sort of flaw: pinholes, shiny spots, nicks in the clay body, glaze variations, stuff like that. Most of my pieces are seconds – they’re usually 20% off. I ordered it on a whim (was this my last chance for prune before the color retired?) and it came in the mail at the beginning of COVID, mere days after I found out I was pregnant. I spent some lonely, nauseous days in my first trimester eating “lunch” off of that plate. I remember reading a quote on the East Fork website that said something like “eating from a piece of East Fork pottery is self care” and it sure felt like that. Frozen shrimp and fried rice had never been treated so well.

There wasn’t much to look forward to during the daylight hours in these early days; early days of COVID, and early days of pregnancy. There was SO. MUCH. TIME. I rotated between my bed and the porch swing. Beautiful spring day after spring day, it was an endless April, punctuated only by meals. Each meal that could possibly be eaten on a plate was eaten on the plate. It was mostly bread, and grapefruit. One day I got my act together to make lemon poppyseed muffins. One night it was frozen dumplings that were overcooked. I had never washed a dish as willingly in my life. Sometimes looking at the plate still makes me queasy..

Lapis

Lapis arrived on the website in July 2020, (three months later – an eternity) and by now I was living my best pregnant life. We had gotten into a rhythm with COVID. Anxiety was still high, but we had realized that this situation would last for a while, so we began to find a new normal. I was gardening and swimming, spending time outdoors, and walking a lot. Pregnancy was generally very good to me and mentally I was the best I had been in a while. I was, however, still very broke, as my husband was in school and I was unemployed, making East Fork unobtainable, despite deciding that I loved lapis and it was going to be my favorite color. I decided this with the same confidence that I was approaching impending motherhood with. All the decisions I was making were the correct ones.

Summer turned to fall, Lapis faded from the instagram feed as seconds arrived online – signaling it’s slow goodbye. Amaro and Panna Cotta arrived, and on the day my son was born pinto was teased on IG. I didn’t notice of course because I had entered another dimension. He came six days before Christmas, and I certainly wasn’t thinking about pottery. Christmas came, and I ate my breakfast on my prune side plate, perhaps the only part of my routine that hadn’t changed.

My aforementioned confidence was starting to wane, as the shock of the situation was settling over me. Just before things went dark, I got a late Christmas gift from a good friend. A Lapis mug. She was seconds quality but I didn’t care. My dreams of owning an East Fork mug had gone the same way as all my preconceived notions about childbirth and motherhood. Does it sound silly to say that this restored faith was enough to keep me from totally slipping away into the abyss? Corny or not, this 12oz vessel held a lot more than my morning coffee. They say not to pour from an empty cup, and as many times as I filled that one up it didn’t seem to help.

I was caught in a storm so perfect it couldn’t have been just by my own design. I have a history of depression which I brushed off when my midwife seemed concerned. Despite being on Lexapro for seven years, the idea that I could “do it perfectly” convinced me to wean off. Those same lies scared me away from an epidural, adding traumatic birth experience to the mix. I also heard that trouble conceiving can put you at risk for PMADS (Postpartum Mood and Anxiety Disorders) so I checked all the boxes. We haven’t even mentioned that it’s December and I’m seasonally affected. It’s also 2020 – the middle of a global pandemic. So I was struggling with this postpartum thing to say the least.

I was now living in an endless darkness. Night after endless night. I lived for the light of day, a steaming mug of coffee, and no other mug would do. Every opportunity to use my mug was taken. Coffee, tea, water, wine. I had never washed a dish so willingly in my life. Looking at it now I can almost feel the walls closing in.

Taro

Four months pass, the longest of my life. The days start to get longer and the light is welcomed. As I slowly wean my son I feel the color coming back into my cheeks. The Lexapro is also helping. I also got my first dose of Moderna. I had my son with me at the vaccination event. Some soldiers took my name and showed me where to go. I entered the stadium and it felt like I was walking up to receive a prize. U2 was playing and I cried. When East Fork re-releases taro later that month, I get a second chance at more than just motherhood.

I haven’t left my baby for more than a few hours at a time so when Emma and I pack up her Subaru for a day trip to Asheville it doesn’t just feel like an escape, it is. As we drive further and further away from my son I feel the smothering hold of new motherhood fading into the distance and I get the closest I have ever been to a younger me. What I don’t realize is that this is motherhood too – it doesn’t have to eat you alive.

We talk for hours, uninterrupted by cries. We talk about things that don’t matter, because we didn’t need to be efficient, we had all day. Leisurely stopping for coffee, waiting in line at a busy taco stand without a stroller, these weren’t just things you didn’t do as a new mom, these were things I hadn’t done since February 2020 – over a year ago. We arrived at the East Fork store a few minutes before opening. If I remember correctly, it was the first day that Taro was available in the store and we were dressed for the occasion in whatever lavender we could find. A small line had formed but we were close enough to the front to get let in in the first round of guests. Even now, only three years later, it feels like such a distant reality – limited number of people in a space at a time – social distance – the whole six feet.

The enclosed space surrounded floor to ceiling with fragile ceramics was not my natural habitat, I had spent enough time with my handsy baby that the energy here felt foreign to me, sophisticated and adult. Shhhh don’t tell anyone that I don’t belong here. Do you think they can tell?

We bought vessels. New vessels. Some people (my husband, my mother) would say they’re the same as the ones in my cupboards at home. The mug I chose, holds the same 12 ounces, has the same soft feel, and curved handle. When you put your mouth to the brim, the raw clay edge feels rough against your lips just like all the others. But the color, the purple, is brighter, lighter. I chose this one from a wall of purple mugs, looking for the one that felt right. The one I chose has a nick, a line, a gash across her clay body, imperfect, technically flawed, but I didn’t want to leave her there. Had I finally learned that perfect doesn’t exist? Perhaps it was the elation of a day of freedom after pandemic motherhood, but I decided to do something brash and I also bought a mixing bowl. The largest form available at that time – who spends $128 on a mixing bowl? Don’t remind me. This massive thing held so much value and it felt so fragile. Did I deserve this? Was this irresponsible? Could I take care of it?

It made it home in one piece, and so did I. I returned to my son and he was intact as well. I showed my small family my new acquisitions and I introduced my family to the pots. It may have only been a four hour drive through the Appalachian mountains, but it felt like I had traveled much further.

Life continued to trend upwards, never all in a straight line, granted, but one should probably be wary of that. I started to fill my cup with more than coffee as my body became mine again, and I became a better mother for all of it. The large bowl held salads and peaches as spring turned to summer, and apples and pie crust as the days grew cooler. It fit seamlessly in with the ritual of our year, a part of our family. It’s purchase was a risk that we were all better for.

Rococo & Harvest Moon

“Claire said you should just go ahead and open it, don’t wait until Christmas” my mom told me as soon as the guests had left. It was December again, taro had turned to peachy keen and orchard, and they had faded into Harvest moon (a beautiful spiced orange) and Rococo (an almost bubblegum pink). We were celebrating my son’s first birthday and our family was in town. I had made the decorations by hand and the living room was a shrine to our boy and his first year. My mom had delivered a parcel to me, a gift from a friend I had known since childhood. I had asked Claire to get me a wheel thrown mug from East Fork’s Atlanta store – close to her home. She said she had delivered on that request – but this was something more. All of our guests had left except for my parents which was a relief because I wanted relative privacy to open my pottery. If I had to explain it – they wouldn’t understand, and that was most people. My husband didn’t get it, but he had no choice but to accept it – besides, it made me happy, which to him, held value after the year we had had.

The card I can’t remember exactly, but it acknowledged that by turning one, my son wasn’t the only person who had reached a milestone. Claire had delivered, all right. The wheel thrown Sunday morning mug in a cheery shade of pink was indeed a level up from the mug that had carried me through, but there was something else, something that I had never imagined would find its way to me. I could feel the shape of it as I unwrapped the brown packing paper, East Fork‘s telltale packaging. It seemed to go on forever, suspense building with each layer. Eventually I turned it over and the paper ended, staring back at me was a pie plate – hand thrown by Alex Matisse himself, the golden orange color warm in my hands. I think I fell asleep there on the couch with that dish clutched tightly. If only freshly postpartum Grace could see me now.

Lambs Ear & Day Lilly

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