Carmel Mawle

Love, as an act of resistance

January 6, 2026 admin Comments 0 Comment

We live in a time when empathy, charity, and even love has become radicalized. Those of us who strive to emulate the Prince of Peace might interject here, “But weren’t those ideas always radical?” Apparently, they were two thousand years ago. But I’m not sure if that was always the case. There’s evidence that our ability to empathize and show compassion has allowed us to work together, care for each other, share food and resources—all characteristics that aided in our collective survival.

With the winds of intolerance, greed, and brutality at gale force, practicing love and kindness is radical. And creating art becomes an act of resistance, spreading concentric circles of love and refilling depleted reserves. In the midst of chaos, take time for quiet reflection, meditation, and prayer—a respite from the storm. Be good to yourselves and patient with each other. Create art.

Today, on the anniversary of an insurrection, I finished sketching my second children’s book. I’m experimenting with different illustration techniques. Like The Golden Rule, it takes place in the Rocky Mountains and features the wildlife I love. And also like The Golden Rule (Do unto others as you would have them do unto you), it might be considered radical. I’m calling it Love One Another.

The Love Religion

The inner space inside
that we call the heart
has become many different
living scenes and stories.

A pasture for sleek gazelles,
a monastery for Christian monks,
a temple with Shiva dancing,
a kaaba for pilgrimage.

The tablets of Moses are there,
the Qur’an, the Vedas,
the sutras, and the gospels.

Love is the religion in me.
Whichever way love’s camel goes,
that way becomes my faith,
the source of beauty, and a
light of sacredness over everything.

~~ Ibn Arabi

Translated by Coleman Barks (From the introduction of his book of Daily Readings, A Year with Rumi)

On Winter Solstice

December 21, 2025 admin Comments 4 comments

Growing up in Alaska, summer days were long and warm and generous. No sooner had the sun dipped into Cook Inlet, than it began its climb back into the sky. In the winter, the opposite was true. Winter’s long nights stretched their cold tendrils into the day.

That said, I remember being mystified by my parents’ friends who headed south for the cold months. Even our darkest night contained light. The Alaska state flag honors that light with seven stars of gold on a field of blue. My winter days were spent beneath a multitude of twinkling stars, the moon, and undulating aurora borealis. Reflected light glistened from fields of snow and frost-covered trees. My childhood winters were not dark, they were magical.

Maybe I’d have felt differently if I’d been commuting by car to work every day. My sister and I cross country skied two miles (uphill both ways) through wilderness to the paved road, where we caught the school bus. We buried our skis in the snow bank there, so we could retrieve them at the end of the school day. Then, with stars studding the sky, we made the same trip home again.

In the winter, the teachers flooded the playground and created an ice rink where we played crack-the-whip. We built snow forts, snowmen, and had snowball wars. We shoveled the pond in the woods behind our A-frame for our own bumpy rink, and brought thermoses of hot cocoa to warm our hands and cheeks. In the mornings, there were crystalline works of window art and new tracks through the snow.

As an adult, I have more empathy for those suffering from Seasonal Affective Disorder. My husband and I live in the Rocky Mountains and I love the quiet winters there. But, with so much darkness, my energy reserves run low. I think that’s true for a lot of us. We begin our day before the sun comes up, and the day’s work isn’t done until long after dark – no doubt, a metaphor for our time.

But still we rise. Because we must.

And there’s strength for the long winter nights in a common truth. That nothing is permanent except change. Darkness, in itself, is unsustainable.

Jalal al-Din Muhammad Rumi, a 13^th century Sufi poet, said:

We bury our seeds and wait,
Winter blocks the road,
Flowers are taken prisoner underground,
But then green justice tenders a spear.

On this Solstice evening, we are reminded that – even at its most powerful – darkness cannot keep us from the light. Dark days will give way to the warmth and generosity of summer. Like the arc of moral justice, the earth’s gradual tilting toward the sun is inevitable.

I’ll close with another of Rumi’s thoughts:

“If everything around seems dark, look again, you may be the light.”

Moving Within

November 4, 2025 admin

A child walks through the forest on a snowy night to bring carrots to a hungry rabbit. This is an illustration from my children’s book, *The Golden Rule* (the first book of the Ardea Herodeas Books “Collected Wisdom” series).

Each morning, my husband and I start the day with a short reading and meditation. We cycle through books by Thich Nhat Hanh, Robin Wall Kimmerer, or other inspirational writers, and then we read from Coleman Bark’s A Year with Rumi: Daily Readings. Jalāl al-Dīn Muḥammad Rūmī was a Sufi mystic and a prolific poet from the 13th century. Craig and I are often struck by how his words ring true in our current time. Here’s Rumi’s poem for today:

Move Within

Keep walking, though there’s no place to get to.

Don’t try to see through the distances.

That’s not for human beings. Move within,

but don’t move the way fear makes you move.

Yes, it’s November 4th, election day. Fear has permeated our national and international politics. Rumi’s poem is a good reminder that we don’t know what the future will bring. Still, we keep putting one foot in front of the other. Get to the polls; cast our votes. But the poem resonated in other ways, as well.

Renovation-in-process. Panhandle Creek Press will be based in the area over the garage.

As many of you know, we have been living in a small cabin for over a year while we complete the addition to our cabin over Panhandle Creek. It’s taken much longer than we expected, but that’s the nature of most renovations (especially at 8725′). We had hoped to be in by the holidays, but yesterday we learned it will most likely be January or February before we can move back home. Disappointing, but we’re grateful to have a roof over head and plenty of firewood for the stove. My books will stay in boxes for a couple more months. In the grand scheme of things, this is a small setback. Do I sound convinced? I’m getting there!

The back of the cabin viewed from up the ravine.

Completing Denver Publishing Institute was the catalyst for tremendous movement within. I’ve known since Writing for Peace what kinds of books I wanted to publish. DPI gave me new tools and greater clarity of vision. To that end, we’ve added two new imprints:

Ardea Herodias Books which aims to cultivate unique voices in children’s literature and develop beautiful books that challenge young readers to grow their capacity for empathy.

North Fork Publishing will serve as the hybrid press, providing support from initial book concept to developmental, copy, and line editing, from book design and page layout to publishing and distribution. North Fork Publishing provides authors with the flexibility to design a program that best meets their publishing needs, and replaces our previous hybrid press, “Panhandle Creek Publishing.”

Both Panhandle Creek Press and Ardea Herodias Books will operate as a traditional press.

When Craig bought me watercolors last Christmas, they opened up a whole new world of possibilities. I began painting the natural world—my home in the Rocky Mountains, childhood memories of the Alaskan wilderness where I grew up.

With the increased hostility toward immigrants and cultures from around the world, the books being purged from schools and libraries, and the political move to remove empathy and compassion from faith, I knew I wanted to create a children’s book about “the golden rule.” My time at DPI also helped clarify my vision for the book and a “Collected Wisdom” series of children’s books written by authors from within many cultures—children’s stories that pass knowledge through the generations. I’ll be honest, the illustrations are a stretch for me. It’s taken much longer than I had planned!

The first book in the series, The Golden Rule, shares simple quotes from various faiths, cultures, and traditions. The illustrations tell a story of how one small kindness spreads on a wintry night. The book will release on the Tuesday before Thanksgiving, November 25th.

And on Tuesday, December 2nd, we’ll celebrate another launch for author Nancy Johnson’s book, Essence of Our Humanity: Portraits of My Beloved Psychiatric Patients. It’s a small, beautiful, and very unique book. I’ll tell you about it next time!

Back to Rumi’s poem. Though so much is at stake now, and so many of the sign posts along the way are darkly foreboding, Rumi’s wisdom still holds true. Genuine strength is found in empathy and compassion. Without knowing the future, we resist fear and walk on, acknowledging kindnesses and adding our own where we can.

On Growing Clarity and New Directions

August 1, 2025 admin

“Time passes, and you begin to see people for who they really are.” – Unknown

I haven’t posted for over two years. For those of you who’ve stuck around, it’s good to connect again. A lot has happened since August 2023. I’m sure that’s true for you all, as well. I hope you’ll drop me a note in the comments and give me a brief update.

I’m currently enrolled in the Publishing Institute at Denver University, a four week intensive graduate course on the industry of book making. I am in my happy place. They have done an incredible job developing this immersive program that is a safe space for students to fully engage and take risks. I don’t think I’ve ever experienced an environment that is so completely supportive. The faculty, all of my classmates – without exception – are cheering each other on and lifting each other up.

The motto their faculty espouses is, “Be kind, and work hard.” It’s a beautiful thing. And also smart. This is the next generation of genuine book lovers to move into the publishing industry. Students who are not afraid to make mistakes or share their creative ideas are students who will bring innovation to an industry that is always transforming.

Being kind and working hard is good business and, I think, a good motto for living life. It may be a little out of vogue at the present, but I believe it’s a principle that will stand the test of time. I find myself now evaluating my relationships and the ways I spend my time with growing clarity. And I’m excited about life’s new directions.

As a quick update, our cabin addition is nearing completion. It’s taken longer than we hoped, but that’s the nature of construction at 8750′ elevation. The two small cabins we’re renovating are also near completion, and we hope to get those on the market this year. Craig is returning to engineering, his core strength, and I’m excited to open Panhandle Creek Press for general submissions as soon as I graduate from the Publishing Institute. We’ve applied to the county for a hosted short-term rental. If that goes through, we look forward to welcoming writers for some quiet mountain inspiration time, complete with beautiful views, hiking trails, wildlife and bird viewing, propane fire pit, and a hot tub overlooking the Panhandle Creek.

I intend to get back to regular posts here to keep you all apprised of developments. Please share them with your writer friends and let’s build this community of nature-loving writers. Together, we changed lives with Writing for Peace. Panhandle Creek Press will be a new beginning, a way to cultivate kindness and celebrate hard work.

Blending In

August 27, 2023 CarmelMawle

The colors and markings on this red-tailed hawk blend perfectly with its surroundings.

As wildfires rage across the globe, here in the northern Colorado Rockies we’ve been blessed with lush green forests and meadows. We fall asleep every night to the murmur of Panhandle Creek, and feel a strong sense of reprieve. We’re grateful for the rain we’ve had this season.

Since moving into our mountain community, we’re learning about the importance of forest management and wildfire mitigation. Every year, we haul truckloads of deadwood to the slash depot and weed-wack the area around our cabin to reduce fuels in the Home Ignition Zone. Though we’re working with our neighbors to increase the fire resiliency of our community, we understand the need to prepare for the changes that will come with a warming planet.

The good news is there seem to be lots of options in nonflammable and fire-resistant building materials. We’ll use stone on the lower half of the cabin, but we’ve been pleased to learn about the options available in nonflammable concrete log siding. Those concrete sidings come in lots of varieties, ranging from the gorgeous hand-hewn log look to some that don’t look much better than the old vinyl siding. We’ve had several samples mailed to us, with more to come. Our first choice was extremely heavy and cost about twice as much as the second set of samples. On the plus side, those were light, much easier to work with, and filled with insulation. We have more research to do and more samples to come. Ultimately, we’ll be balancing affordability with a natural appearance that (like the beautiful hawk above) blends into our landscape.

Three of the nonflammable concrete log siding samples we’ve received so far.

A Dream Materializing

August 16, 2023 admin

A bull moose nibbles wildflowers along the Panhandle Creek.

Craig and I recently marked our 30th anniversary in the same Santa Fe Bed & Breakfast where we celebrated our silver anniversary five years earlier. At that time, I was recovering from a fall on the ice that broke my back and wrist, and grieving the loss of my friend and mentor, Sam Hamill. We found solace in the NM landscape, the Santa Fe architecture, galleries and art, and this B&B. Their mattresses are the perfect blend of soft and firm, but Craig had to help me in and out of the tall bed where I slept on rolled towels to minimize the pressure on my spine. I had forgotten that. What I did remember was the kiva in the corner of our room where we built a fire and watched the light and shadows flicker across the rustic beamed ceiling, and how each room was decorated with art the innkeepers had collected on their world travels. I remembered our hosts’ warmth and hospitality, the fresh fruit on our table, the beautiful common rooms, and gourmet breakfasts.

Traditional adobe architecture welcomes guests to the El Farolito Bed and Breakfast Inn.

The trip to Santa Fe this spring for our 30th again came at a time of major transition. In this case, I had just turned 61—the age my dad was when he died of bladder cancer—when I learned I had melanoma and squamous cell skin cancers. Days after the last of several small surgeries, Craig was laid off without warning after 26 years with the same employer. As we drove south through that sacred land, we were both a bit shell-shocked. El Farolito B&B was the perfect place to collect our thoughts and plan our next steps.

Years ago, Craig and I dreamed of buying a fixer-upper on the Oregon coast, and opening a small B&B where writers and artists could find inspiration. That dream reemerged when we moved full-time to the mountains. We envisioned a place where writers could come to hike and fish, or watch the birds and wildlife. A place where they could find solitude and nature. It’s my idea of a writer’s paradise.

When the Spokane cabin is finished, it will have 2 bedrooms, 2 baths, and a gas fireplace.

We bought the little cabin on Spokane and started updating it with the thought that we could stay there while we did the renovations on our home. We hired an architect, tossed all of the balls in the air, and then began running into challenges. It turned out our first architect wasn’t reliable. There were also easements that needed to be addressed, and county codes that downsized our initial vision. But Craig’s “early retirement” has turned out to be a blessing because he has the time now to devote to these projects. As a result, we found a wonderful new architect who solved problems we didn’t even know existed. The plans are beautiful.

Drawings from the plans of our B&B overlooking Panhandle Creek and the riparian environment where wildlife thrives.

We are converting this small log cabin into a comfortable writing studio.

When it’s all done, our basement will house a comfortable and welcoming B&B with a view of the Panhandle Creek. It will have a private entrance through a covered deck and another deck over the Panhandle Creek with a hot tub and a gas firepit. The Spokane cabin, looking out over the Roosevelt National Forest, will be a two bedroom, two bath retreat with the tiny log cabin for a private writing studio. Like our favorite B&B in Santa Fe, we hope to provide a place where guests can draw solace, find peace and quiet, and heal, while surrounded by natural beauty.

In anticipation of future writing workshops and retreats, as well as helping other writers’ dreams materialize, we founded Panhandle Creek Publishing. I’m very excited about our beautiful first book, Kunterbunt, which will be released this year. I look forward to sharing more about that in coming days.

The path to our Writers’ Haven hasn’t been easy, but we are beginning to see our dream materialize. It’s a long shot, but we are hopeful that we can break ground and get the foundation, walls, and roof up before winter. I’ll keep you posted.

The Visitation

March 19, 2023 admin

The Great Horned Owl is the most common owl in the Colorado Rocky Mountains. We often hear them calling to each other, especially in the winter when the Creek is frozen and silent, but it’s rare to see them. They are nocturnal hunters, and their wings are lined with finely textured feathers that allow them to descend soundlessly onto their prey. When we are lucky enough to see them, it is usually dusk or dawn, when there is just enough light to catch its wings silhouetted against the sky as it flies between trees.

Owls hold a special significance to me. They bring me back to my childhood in Alaska, where they were often depicted on Tlingit totem poles. Owl was said to have flown to the ocean to bring back fire, burning his beak shorter in the process. Traditionally, the owl is associated with prophecy and wisdom, a messenger of the gods. Once, when I was a child, two snowy owls landed beside me in a hoar-frosted birch. I can still see their golden eyes.

So, when we sat down for dinner the other night and saw the owl in the tree next to our deck, I leapt across the room to grab my camera. I shot first through the window, because there was a good chance he wouldn’t be there long. Then I headed outside, walking as quietly as I could in my leather moccasin slippers over dried grasses and pine needles. I crossed the yard between snow drifts, looped around the fire pit, and slowly crept up under the deck. The owl was still there, watching me inch closer with my camera. He waited, framed against the conifer, as I snapped pictures in the dying light.

In my hurry to get out the door, I hadn’t thought to grab a coat or shoes. Standing in the wind, the temperature dropped until I could no longer hold my camera steadily. When I turned to go back, he launched off the branch and swooped into the silver tree. I was able to get a few more shots there before I went back in and then, from the window, watched him return to the same bare branch beside the cabin. This time, I quietly opened the sliding glass door and crept outside onto the deck. Again, he waited as I took pictures in the dying light, until he was barely visible. As we finished dinner, we could still see the dark shape of his body. And the next morning, there he was on the same branch. He finally flew off when Craig took Max outside.

We human beings tend to search for meaning in the natural world. I suppose that, historically, our survival has depended on the navigation of forces beyond our control (seasons and weather, the cycles of the moon, drought and floods, wildlife and hunting conditions, etc.) and, to some degree, that is still true. While most of us in this part of the world have indoor plumbing, heating, and electric lights, there is still much that is beyond our control. That need to understand, or make sense of the unknown, is passed from one generation to the next, founding religions and mythologies, making us a species of story-tellers.

Whether or not the Great Horned Owl carried a message from the gods or heralded an era of transition and its accompanying lessons, this was a highly unusual visitation. And a Rocky Mountain memory I’ll cherish.

Good Things

March 15, 2023 admin

In the past two posts, I’ve shared some personal health news. That’s not something I normally do, but for some reason, I felt compelled. I told myself that my little trial might convince someone to grab their hat as they walked out the door. I hope that’s true. But, I think, on some level, I was also reaching out for support. It’s scary hearing the “C” word. I am happy and relieved to share that the latest surgery produced good margins. From henceforth, I will be gratefully mindful of wearing hats and sunscreen.

In some ways, writing a blog is like a cross between journaling and sending smoke signals into the wind. You pour something of yourself into it, even if the writer is not actually the topic of the blog. In my blog, I thought I would share the beauty of the Rockies, maybe a little about my writing journey. My hope is that readers – you – will find inspiration in your own natural world. And, at some point, I hope I will be able to invite you into my world with writing workshops and comfortable writing retreats.

So, while I hoped to share my Rocky Mountain muse with you – a gift of natural beauty and inspiration – you have shared the support and words of encouragement that I needed to hear in the moment. Thank you for your kindness, so much.

More Good Things

The lovely Winslow Writers, above, have been preparing for a very special event. The Spring Equinox Reading will be an evening of stories, poetry, and music, featuring Royston Hunget on the fiddle.

If you can join us on Monday, March 20th, at 6pm, in Fort Collins, we would love to see you! Contact me here for further details!

Savoring The Beauty of Winter

March 1, 2023 admin

“What good is the warmth of summer, without the cold of winter to give it sweetness.”
― John Steinbeck, Travels with Charley: In Search of America

Snow falling on snow, the crackle of fire in the woodstove, a hot cup of tea, and a good book. As I write this, snow is falling. Owls call to each other from across the valley. The creek is hushed beneath layers of ice and snow. I love winter. The reality and the metaphor.

Steinbeck’s quote, above, resonates deeply for me right now. There are the changing seasons, and there are “Life Seasons.” And, really, what is life, but a season? We’re here for such a short time – there’s both beauty and loss in every moment.

I want to thank all of you who have sent encouraging messages since I shared my cancer diagnosis. I’ve had two minor surgeries, so far. The first was successful, but the second results weren’t to the doctor’s liking. They called this afternoon to say he wasn’t comfortable with the margins, so I’ll go in again next Tuesday. I’m grateful that he’s thorough. I know many of you have gone through this and come out the other side.

As Thich Nhat Hanh said, “Thanks to impermanence, everything is possible.” So, we’ll savor the beauty of winter, knowing that spring is on its way.

On Hope

February 17, 2023 admin

Hope is an embrace of the unknown and the unknowable, an alternative to the certainty of both optimists and pessimists. Optimists think it will all be fine without our involvement; pessimists adopt the opposite position; both excuse themselves from acting. It is the belief that what we do matters even though how and when it may matter, who and what it may impact, are not things we can know beforehand.

~Rebecca Solnit

I learned today that I have cancer. Two biopsies both came back positive – one for squamous cell carcinoma, the other for melanoma.

Earlier this morning, I was listening to an On Being podcast with Rebecca Solnit, and I was moved by the clarity of her observations about hope. She’s written a great deal about finding hope in the darkest places, and the way our best selves emerge in a crisis. She spoke about the power of stories to influence our thinking – like “womb” and “tomb,” two words evoking dark places – one of nurturing, growth and possibilities, the other of death, decay, and returning to the earth.

I think they caught it early, but I don’t know. And it doesn’t really matter. Last week, I celebrated 44 years of sobriety – every day of it a miracle. And this day is no exception. Sunrise on pristine snow, critter tracks through the trees, a talk with my daughter who’s recovering from an illness (along with her daughter), a couple of short calls to catch up with friends, and then this afternoon with my mom, her laughing about the latest book she’s reading, later a good visit with a client who’s working on a fabulous book, and Craig calling to say he’s getting a car wash on the way to pick us up. Mom’s spending the weekend with us. She loves the fire in the woodstove, the snow on the trees. Says she’s not bringing her book, because she’s going to do some writing.

It’s these little things that feel so full of life and love and healing.

Mary Oliver said, “All eternity is in the moment.”

I’m grateful for this moment, and all it encompasses.