Ex Libris:
The Adventures of Jessie and The Grumpy Gnome
From the Books of our Life Experience
Magical Matera
Matera. An ancient city named for Mother Earth, where nature and architecture entangle in a towering spiral of winding stairways and caverns. Where cobbled paths fold in on one another like a living Escher concept, twisting along steep inclines through carved archways, and past weathered wooden doors. Smoke escapes the chimneys of cave residences and rises as though the streets were breathing. The smell of incense permeates the air, floating from any number of the dozens of churches tucked into the rocky landscape. As twilight falls, lights glimmer from every darkened window like a kaleidoscope of starlight, mirroring the expanse of the night sky above. Every surface is stone--and each stone holds a story, from a moment in the timeline of the second-oldest inhabited place in Europe.
Dancing in the piazza of San Giovanni Battista in Matera, Italy
Matera.
An ancient city named for Mother Earth, where nature and architecture entangle in a towering spiral of winding stairways and caverns. Where cobbled paths fold in on one another like a living Escher concept, twisting along steep inclines through carved archways, and past weathered wooden doors. Smoke escapes the chimneys of cave residences and rises as though the streets were breathing. The smell of incense permeates the air, floating from any number of the dozens of churches tucked into the rocky landscape. As twilight falls, lights glimmer from every darkened window like a kaleidoscope of starlight, mirroring the expanse of the night sky above. Every surface is stone--and each stone holds a story, from a moment in the timeline of the second-oldest inhabited place in Europe.
A deeply historic city, Matera emanates a kind of otherworldly mystic charm. This place envelops and entrances, inviting all who enter to be taken by its beauty and age. The streets feel alive with stories. It seems like a place straight from the imagination, with an infinite network of tunnels connecting the natural terrain and peoples’ homes, clad in pale stone and tufts of moss. Painted green shutters and heavy wooden doors punctuate stretches of bistre walls and cobbled lanes. Known as the city of caves, “The Sassi” is a sprawling of ancient neighborhoods and grottoes carved from the region's natural limestone. The city rests in the Basilicata Region, a rocky terrain stretched above the crook of Italy’s boot.
Matera on the Map
When the Grumpy Gnome and I traveled to Italy in November of 2018, Matera was our wildcard. Located in the remote far south, this was the furthest and most difficult place in our itinerary to reach--and the one we were most excited for. We were traveling by train and weren’t entirely sure how we would make it, as there was no direct route to speak of. Most people we spoke to before our trip had never heard of Matera. I was admittedly a little nervous about navigating the language barrier through a more traditional, rustic part of the country, being so inexperienced in speaking Italian. We truly had no idea what to expect--and were absolutely enthralled by what we discovered. Matera quickly became our favorite place we’d experienced, and our only regret was not spending more time there.
For the bulk of our time in Italy, we had called Florence home. This was a pretty far stretch to figure out by train route, but we managed to. We had purchased rail passes for the duration of our trip to cover transportation, and found a way to go to Rome, then Salerno, where we were able to book a regional train to Matera. Even through the heavy winter mist and gathering dusk, the bus ride was beautiful. We had booked our accommodation through Air BnB, and our host was waiting to greet us at the station. I remember anxiously checking my phone service to make sure I could reach him, in case we were delayed. One thing I did find in traveling further south is that locals almost expected train delays, so that relieved the pressure a bit.
I could barely contain my excitement as the bus bumped along and the sky dimmed. I squinted at pages of my travel journal in the low light, studying the notes I had made about this mysterious place. The story of Matera seemed very much to be a story of survival. It’s the second-oldest continually inhabited place that we know of after Petra, Jordan, dating back to the Paleolithic period. A deep ravine divides the natural cave formations of these early settlements from the modern city that has developed from similar rocky terrain. Matera has been a UNESCO World Heritage Site since 1993. However, the city overcame a terrible spell of poverty in the 1950s. In this tragic time, Matera was known as “the shame of Italy,” with people seeking refuge in its natural caves and living without running water or electricity. Due to the close proximity of living quarters, disease was rampant, with high rates of infant mortality. These horrendous conditions were documented in a book by Carlo Levi, “Christ Stopped at Eboli,” in which he describes the harsh environment where a people lived beyond the boundaries of modern progress and time. This raised awareness of the city’s desperation and became the catalyst of a shift that lifted Matera from abject poverty to a cultural capital.
We arrived at the Matera station in the cold, light rain of a November evening. I looked at the faded photo in my travel journal, of our host and the address we’d be staying at. I felt the rain mist cool against my skin as I scanned the dispersing crowd for the face in the photo I held. A friendly older man approached us, with a soft, deep voice and kind expression. Our host, Nicola! He was very gentlemanly and insisted on taking our bags, which he rolled down the bumpy cobbled hill at a brisk pace as we hurriedly followed. I distinctly remember feeling taken by the vibrant spirit all around, with holiday lights strewn above rain-soaked streets, the reflected colors shining. I had to stay focused on keeping up with our host and resist the temptation to be distracted, until we were settled in. The Grumpy Gnome was in good spirits, just as fascinated as me. Though I think he felt the rain seeping through his worn-out boots, and was a bit grumbly about that. Ultimately, we were so relieved to be here--we had made it, the long journey to Matera, and had met our gracious host. We both intuitively knew that we were in for something amazing.
As we came to the base of the hill, we turned left into a piazza at the center of town. Nicola paused to point out that this was the best landmark to find our home from. An element that helped us orientate ourselves in the maze of stone-laden streets were the installations for the upcoming Salvador Dali art exhibit. Nicola’s place was just around the corner from the Dali elephant. I cannot even express how happy this made me, as an avid appreciator of Salvador Dali. It all felt like a dream, before we’d even walked into our home for the night.
The Dali Elephant, a part of the art installations throughout the city
We rounded the corner from a 12th century church, crossed under a wide, low archway, and turned down the next quiet street to face an impressively tall set of dark wooden doors. They were like something out of a fairy tale. Nicola presented a very large skeleton key, and showed us how to open and work the manual lock. At first I was admittedly a little nervous about breaking something by accident, but later rationalized that this lock had clearly survived many years and was probably durable enough to withstand my inexperience. We entered.
One of the things we were most excited for was seeing the accommodation where we’d be living for the next two days. Nicola’s place was a traditional cave home completely unique to Matera, and absolutely incredible. The inside opened to a cavernous, warm, beautifully furnished space, with stone walls vaulting upward in irregular beauty. There were many colorful lamps and bright orange accents. I instantly felt at peace, and beyond thrilled by the opportunity to stay here. He gave us a quick tour as we trailed behind in amazement, taking in every detail of the space enveloping us. This place held 800 years of history. The front portion of the house was partially built with additional rocks and limestone, and dated back to the 1500s. There was a modern shower surrounded by natural stone, with ornately carved vents in the walls to allow for aeration. At the back was a limestone cave from the 1200s, carved completely from the land, which was used for food storage after the harvest. It now served as a meditation room, and I believe he told us that his wife was a yoga instructor. He explained that if we were to dig through the back of the limestone cave, we would only have to go a short distance to reach the 12th century church we’d just passed, San Giovanni Battista. We were currently standing underneath the piazza.
The Grumpy Gnome and I kept exchanging glances of total joy and disbelief. This was everything we’d hoped for and beyond. Nicola had prepared a map for us, and drew a bold line in pen that highlighted the location of his home, the central piazza, and the main road that looped through the city like an elliptical spine. He explained that Matera could be a very confusing place to find your way through, but if you follow the main road, you will always make it back. He showed me how to work one of the coolest Nespresso machines I had ever seen in the small kitchen area, and wished us a beautiful night. After recommending a local restaurant for traditional dinner and showing us how to close the incredibly tall doors with attached cords, Nicola left us to begin our first night out in his magical home city.
Here is area a few photos of the home where we stayed:
As we successfully locked the wooden doors behind us, I felt a swell of pride, freedom, and excitement surge over me. And hunger. We hadn’t eaten much on our long train expedition throughout the day, apart from snacks we’d packed. I took the Grumpy Gnome’s hand and beamed an uncontainable smile. He was every bit as excited and overwhelmed by this place, and in that moment we both felt immense gratitude for everything that had made it possible for us to be there together. We climbed a winding staircase up to the restaurant, and enjoyed a fantastic traditional meal. Few things can warm your spirits on a cold, rainy night like hearty Italian food. We shared a carafe of local wine, and I opted for one of their signature dishes--baked pasta. There is a kind of bread unique to Matera that is absolutely delicious, which was served with our meal. Pane di Matera is made from a Lucanian milled semolina grain, and has a long fermentation process housed in clay cisterns. It’s completely and authentically a product of the local environment. Warm with wine and excellent food, The Grumpy Gnome and I headed down a stairway into a basement, where the restaurant had created a museum about the city’s history. After looking through a series of historic props and black and white photographs, we made our way back up and out into the cool night air.
Gazing over the balcony and across the staggering rooftops, it felt like standing on the precipice of a dream. The rain had coalesced into a visible fog and settled as a haze upon the uplit maze of buildings below. The beauty of this place was unlike anything I’d ever witnessed. Far too awake and excited to return to the house, the Grumpy Gnome and I ventured into the newly fallen night to experience the city. We quickly found that the best way to explore Matera was to embrace getting lost--to freely wander the labyrinth of curving alleys and stairways on foot. With full hearts and happy stomachs, we walked, pausing to take photos and appreciate the wonders surrounding us. We explored the city in the cool, misty dark, following our rain speckled map and Nicola’s bold pen line around the curving path of main road. We passed many churches, and houses tucked into rocky tiers that ascended to the murky clouds above. As we approached a large uplit church situated at the edge of the ravine, we crossed paths with a cat. He was sitting upright on one of the can lights set into the street, proud and friendly. I soon learned that Matera had many resident cats, and remember reflecting that this place was like an epic playground for them. We continued past and followed a street that hugs the curve of the ravine, gazing across the dark abyss to the steep cavernous hillside opposite where we stood. Another sculpture of the Dali installation came into view--a melting clock, from ‘The Persistence of Memory.’ I soon heard that Matera was set to be the European Cultural Capital of 2019, and the incoming Salvador Dali exhibit was meant to kick off a year of celebration and increased tourism. I could hardly believe our luck, that we were here on the eve of such a special time for the city. We followed the map, trying to pick up on any other landmarks we could register for the following day. Upon returning to our beautiful cave home, we settled in for sleep.
I awoke in the morning with the distinct feeling that I had just experienced some of the best, most restorative sleep I’d ever had. Something about that cave--it enveloped you like a warm hug. I awoke before the Grumpy Gnome, and decided to try out the coffee machine before getting ready for the day. At this stage in my life, I didn’t meditate often. But I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to spend time in a 13th century cave, and decided to give it a try. I remember the sound of that room being particularly wondrous--the way the reverberations surrounded you, it had a resonance that was astoundingly rich. I recorded a few vocal sketches after meditating and stretching, just to have a blueprint of what it felt like to be there. The Grumpy Gnome awoke, and in much better spirits than a typical morning. We quietly gathered our things for the day, carefully locked the enormous doors behind us, and stepped into the morning light.
We began the day by hanging in the piazza nearby, listening to music filtering through the windows of shops preparing to open. It was quiet, with no sign of anyone out except a small white delivery van parked to the side. Curiosity led me to the ornately carved stone arch above the entrance to San Giovanni Battista, in appreciation of the artistry and age. The Grumpy Gnome took my photo as I stood in the doorway and studied every architectural detail that I could see. I convinced him to dance with me for at least one swirl in the piazza, despite his reluctance. I laughed, and we headed to our first stop, a walking tour of the city.
Here are moments from our first experiences of Matera by day:
On our walking tour we were accompanied by an older, lovely English couple on holiday. We followed our guide through a sunlit maze of stone, learned about Matera’s extensive history and characteristic architecture, and explored the interiors of old churches and museums. Afterwards, the Grumpy Gnome and I stopped for food and circled back to the town center. The area across the ravine had sparked my interest, and I wanted to see if we could go there. We had learned that the Sassi di Matera were split into two districts: the Sasso Caveoso and Sasso Barisano. Across la Gravina was a rocky hilltop crested in green grass, bespotted by the dark archways of natural cave formations. This was the Murgia National Park, or Parco di Murgia. While there was a bridge to cross from one side to the other in warmer months, the path had been closed for winter. The only way to access this place on the first of December was to take a tour. We investigated, and asked about whether there was an opening to go at the tourist information office in the central piazza. They kindly explained that the last English-speaking tour had already happened, but we had the option to join the Italian tour for the evening. My eyes lit up, and I looked imploratively at the Grumpy Gnome. He agreed. I sprang at him with a massive, grateful hug. They handed us a map with information about our tour schedule, and we headed off through a new part of town towards the pick up location.
In search of the bus stop…
Taking the Italian tour was one of the best decisions we could have possibly made. This was adventure at its finest. We tentatively approached a small crowd of people with our map and registration on the street corner, and a man in a long coat smiled and nodded. We had found the right place. The busses were black passenger vans, and we had enough people in our group to need two. They ushered the Grumpy Gnome and I into the front seat with the driver, where we squeezed into place after fastening our seat belts. Our driver had his phone mounted to the dashboard with a GPS and streams of Italian music videos. He sang along with the music over the excited chatter of the passengers behind us, and we were on our way.
As the van followed the winding highway along the perimeter of the park, it quickly became evident as to why the connecting trails were closed in winter. This was a steep drop! A tiny winding river snaked at the bottom of a dark plunge through the divide of la Gravina, with walls of rock jutting upward on either side. We pulled into the first stop at the park, and climbed out onto the broad, grassy plateau. It had begun to rain. The Grumpy Gnome and I were the only two without an umbrella, and he had misplaced his hat earlier in the day. I gave him mine, since my coat had a decent hood. The hat barely fit, and this humor was not lost on our Italian friends, who enthusiastically offered to share the shelter of their umbrellas.
Our tour guide was remarkable--brilliantly charismatic, animated, and incredibly funny. His sparkling energy and expressive voice reminded me of an effervescent actor. I didn’t need to understand every word he spoke to feel his enthusiasm and have fun with the group. As we all followed his lead, he paused to stoop down and pluck a wild herb. He encouraged everyone to pick one of their own and taste it--I think it was arugula, because I believe I recognized the Italian words for “vibrant” and “spicy” flavor. And that was the closest thing I could relate to what I was eating. This was a true experience of Italy, I thought--joyfully praising and enjoying edible plants together on a hike.
We continued on to what would have been a Paleolithic-era dwelling. Our guide was explaining how people would have lived and taken shelter in the natural caves--there was deep history here. Hunting weapons, pottery, and grave sites had been uncovered in this stony landscape surrounding la Gravina. A couple of the individuals with us wanted to make sure we understood what our guide was saying, and did their best to translate. I think they were enjoying a rare opportunity to practice their English skills, which were far better than my Italian. While I didn’t know very much of the language, I had practiced pronunciations and become pretty good at how to say things accurately. This really helped when we were deciphering schedules, menus, road signs, and postings of historical information. In this group, everyone seemed happy to be there, and be together. We climbed back into the van and drove further into the park to our next destination.
Twilight was approaching, and there was a sense of building excitement. Our guide led us down a slope of rock towards a rough opening in the hillside, guarded by a barred gate. We all peered through. There was a fresco--one of the oldest, earliest visual expressions of Christianity. Byzantine-era monks were worshipping in these caves, back when their religion was controversial and they risked persecution for their beliefs. Something about the natural aeration and dry climate had preserved these paintings for centuries, and the immediate area was blocked off to protect it. We were still very close, though--and able to see it clearly. Surrounding the painting and bare rock of the cave were dozens of croce, hand-carved crosses layered upon one another. I was standing before some of the earliest surviving expressions of the Christian faith. I examined them in reference, my hands grazing the embossed crosses and literally touching history. This was the Chiesa Rupestre di Madonna delle Tre Porte.
As we walked back up the steep cliffside, our guide excitedly ushered us towards an overlook, where the lights of Matera were brightening. The city looked like a floating lantern across the deep shadow of the ravine. Twilight descended around us, and I had never witnessed anything so beautiful. The lights of Matera echoed the emerging stars above. I caught my breath and absorbed the beautiful sight of the ancient city, from a distance. Everyone was in a state of deep admiration and awe. A photographer set up his tripod and captured a few precious moments as the evening fell. He offered to take a photo of Brian and I, which I will share below. This was one of the most joyous, exuberant, fun tours I had ever experienced as a traveller.
In a state of bliss and wonder, we hiked back to the van and followed the highway into the city, serenaded by our contented driver. Upon returning, downtown was bursting with energy and sound. People were out walking together, shopping, going to dinner. Everything felt so alive. Our hair and faces glistened as the rain continued to fall lightly, saturating the stone surfaces like a glossy mirror that enriched all of the color around us. It felt like Christmastime. I think this may have been the first weekend where the holiday decorations were up, and remember someone mentioning that the dark hollows of Murgia Park would also soon be lit in celebration. I posed with the Dali piano statue, and in the little hollow of a Christmas tree. We enjoyed dinner and listened to live music as the laughter of happy Italians warmed the damp winter air. After the shops closed and quieted, we walked uphill and all around the Sassi as far as our feet would carry us.
Here are some photos from our night walk around Matera:
We settled into the coziness of our cave home later that night and relaxed, exhausted with the joy of the day’s experiences. This place felt protective, enchanted, and true to its name-- “Mother Earth.” I vaguely remember writing in my journal and drifting off into another night of deep, dream-filled sleep.
I awoke early. I couldn’t help it, I had to walk the magical streets of Matera one more time before we were scheduled to depart in the afternoon. The Grumpy Gnome needed more rest, his feet were recovering and mornings were not for him. I softly whispered that I was heading out on an early hike, folded the worn paper map into my pocket, made a cup of steaming espresso, and ventured into the dawn.
In the darkest moment before sunrise, I distinctly remember feeling the city breathe. As I peered over the stone wall bordering our street, clouds of steam exhaled in thin trails and dispersed across the narrow separation of tiled rooftops. The homes of Matera are layered on top of one another, nested in the natural hollows of cavernous rock. I became aware that the street I was standing upon was one level of many, where wisps of chimney smoke rose like a frail ghost from the infinite mysteries beneath the surface. I smelled incense, hearth smoke, and cold air, as I grasped the cup of espresso to warm my hands. The dozens of churches that Matera is home to must have been preparing for Sunday mass. Church bells rang gently through the silence, as the dawning sun warmed the sky.
I checked the location of my camera and skeleton key, and set off to explore. Morning walks are something that I truly cherish, as they can reveal the soul of a place in the stillness. I felt the sky brightening above, and photographed my surroundings as I continued on. I remember almost slipping down weathered staircases, watching delivery trucks making their morning rounds, and passing a couple of committed joggers braving the cold. I routinely checked my pockets to ensure I had not lost the map or the key, and looked for any paths we had not yet taken on our walks of the city. I passed the Rupestrian Church, Madonna de Idris, took in stunning views of the ravine at sunrise, followed Via Madonna delle Virtu past the hallmark Dali clock, and headed back to our cave home.
Here are some highlights from this magical morning walk:
The Grumpy Gnome was awake when I returned--and in a good mood! In the morning! Miracles are indeed possible, I reflected. We reluctantly packed our things and greeted Nicola, who was stopping in to see how our stay went and prepare for his next guests. We graciously thanked him and told him about our adventures, wishing we had more time to spend. I promised him I’d return, and he warmly replied, “Sicuramente Si.” We departed with hugs, and enjoyed a couple more hours in this charming, stunning city.
I trailed behind the Grumpy Gnome, meandering around the central piazza to watch shop doors open as the city slowly awoke. I remember seeing an older gentleman with an enormous, fluffy dog resting on a bench. This dog was a cuddle magnet, welcoming all who passed by to pet him. We were then drawn in by the passionate, gritty voice and percussive guitar of a musician playing in the street. The emotion and presence of his music was so powerful. After listening to a few songs, I walked up to him, thanked him, and bought his CD. I saw his name was Michele Isoldi, and his music became the soundtrack for the remaining days of our trip.
Here is a brief video of him playing:
The day warmed as we walked uphill past open markets and overgrown houses to the bus station. We had booked a beautiful midday ride to Salerno, and later, Rome. I took note of the many moods of this transformative city, and how the bright, sunlit atmosphere contrasted the cool stormy night of our arrival. I realized that I actually preferred the rain. It was painful to leave such an extraordinary place. I loved seeing and being around the people who were out, visiting the shops, conversing and enjoying their day. I remember the kindly expressions of the older ladies working at the open market, talking with customers in amiable chatter. It really felt like a true community in Matera, and one that I fell straight into with love and longing.
Having made the determination that I wouldn’t go to Matera with any preconceived notions, I was blown away by the beauty, history, community, and magic of this ancient place. Our time there has become a powerful, constant source of inspiration in all we create.
We didn’t want to leave, and cannot wait to return!
By Jessie Howe. February 22nd, 2021
All featured travel photography by Jessie Howe
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Evolution of a Logo
When I first began work on this travel blog, I was really struggling to come up with a logo.
How could I encapsulate the myriad of incredible experiences we’ve had in one single image? I sketched out plenty of half-formed ideas, and nothing quite felt right. In this process, something kept me circling back to the idea of character. The characters we met on the road, the unexpected…the encounters that truly color our journey and inspire us. And, the importance of storytelling in my life. I kept cycling through ideas over the summer, and trying to capture “it.” Whatever “it” was.
Finding the Character…
When I first began work on this travel blog, I was really struggling to come up with a logo.
How could I encapsulate the myriad of incredible experiences we’ve had in one single image? I sketched out plenty of half-formed ideas, and nothing quite felt right. In this process, something kept me circling back to the idea of character. The characters we met on the road, the unexpected…the encounters that truly color our journey and inspire us. And, the importance of storytelling in my life. I kept cycling through ideas over the summer, and trying to capture “it.” Whatever “it” was.
One day, The Grumpy Gnome came home from our local Goodwill outlet with a stack of fantastic old books! They were someone’s collection of Yale Shakespeare volumes, from the mid 1900’s. Whoever had owned this collection was an actor—theater programs, his script notes, and correspondence with cast members, directors, and loved ones were folded into the aging pages of the nine small editions. On the inside cover of ‘The Merchant of Venice’ was an intricate label that featured a gnome, walking with a book through a whimsical forest. The inscription read, “Ex Libris: Ruth Cofeen to France.” I had seen the phrase “Ex Libris” before, but didn’t fully understand where it came from. I did a little research and learned that libraries and book collectors would create custom labels for their personal collections of books, and “ex libris” is a tag of ownership. It roughly translates to “from the books” in Latin. And then, it hit me—we were both looking at the personification of The Grumpy Gnome. Strolling cheerfully through his forest. On the inside cover of a book that was beloved by someone enough to tag it as their own. I began thinking of “it” as a library label, rather than a logo. I had found our symbol: I would create an image that represented all of our stories, Ex Libris (or “from the books”) of our life experience.
I began sketching from the label we had found, but took liberty with the decorative border to add elements of our own stories. It’s a kind of Easter egg hunt, deciphering what each of the animals represent and how they symbolize the interchange of experiences that connect all of our adventures. It’s the full journey, past and present, on a page. The original pencil drawing is featured above. I started here, then refined it with marker, and used Adobe Creative Capture to photograph and upload the marker rendering as a vector. From there, I was able to add the text to personalize our logo and upload it as a graphic. Apart from drafting in CAD, I don’t have much experience with art on a computer—graphic design and digital painting are still very new to me. This process was great because it allowed me to draw everything out physically and upload it in a cleanly rendered way.
Some of the symbolism woven into this image is as follows:
Wolf: inspired by our puppies, Kaia and Lucky—my connection to them as their adoptive mother. Lore, family, compassion. A reminder to look beyond judgement to see the inherent good in all living beings.
Mountain Goat: Krampuslauf (Austria); tradition, the mystical…old legends. Defying all obstacles to climb the mountain.
Black Forest Squirrel: our travel mascot—playful, curious, unique; we befriended one in the Black Forest, at the Triberg Waterfall area in Bavaria, Germany
Cat: inspired by our two adoptive kitties, Max and Banshi—they have big personalities and always speak their mind. They accompany me in just about everything I do, connecting me to the joy of home.
Phoenix: inspired by a golden statue we found in Edinburgh; a reminder that we can always reinvent ourselves, be evolved by the journey, and rise stronger than ever before through transformation
Thistle: Scotland—one of the first symbols I experienced as a traveler; reminder to notice the wonders of nature, to understand context and history of the places you travel to.
Unicorn: the national animal of Scotland—a reminder to believe in magic and you’ll find it.
Butterfly: Schmetterlinghaus, Vienna, Austria—a beautiful art nouveau building with a stunning butterfly exhibit. Freedom, metamorphosis, embracing possibilities. Enchantment.
Bear: Madrid Central Zoo, Spain—we saw a Malaysian Sun Bear, and a Panda on our trip passing through. They were two of the sweetest animals that The Grumpy Gnome had ever seen. Interaction, communication, playfulness.
Raven: London; community, mystery, messenger. A reminder to appreciate and fully observe the wonders that surround you.
Deer: Germany, Austria—family connection to The Grumpy Gnome’s heritage. Gentle strength, tranquility, reflection, family, beauty, and harmony with nature.
Giraffe: We were able to see two baby giraffes at the Chester Zoo in England; reminder to embrace the unexpected, move through discomfort—don’t let social awkwardness hinder you.
Forest: inspired by our many passages through nature—embrace and honor the beauty of the earth; allow yourself the freedom to wander and explore; open up the itinerary and don’t over plan.
Book: the source of all shared experiences—communication, storytelling, connection, history, learning and understanding the context of where you are. Never stop learning. Write your story. Be evolved by the journey.
Gnome: The Black Forest, Germany—waterfalls, woodland hikes, natural wonder, the essence of finding the magic in the every day. Embracing your unique self, just as you are. Self expression.
The Gnome’s Hat: a fun connection to The Grumpy Gnome’s stubbornly upright hat, which never quite fits, but also never falls off. Preparation, finding balance, accepting the things you can’t control.
As our this blog progresses, we will share stories, art, and music from our travels that work with these symbols and expand upon their meaning. There are many layers, and it will be fun to explore them :).
Believe in magic, and you’ll find it.
