Welcome to The Wisteria Almanack
- 3 days ago
- 2 min read
A Field Note from Miss Sybil Whitlow, Spring 1858 Edition
Dearest Friends—
It is no small thing to begin again. And yet, here we are—gathered on the page, under the lace-shadowed porch light of something new.
The Wisteria Almanack was never meant to shout. It was meant to sit quiet beside you as you shell peas or brush out your hair at twilight. A companion to the hush between stories, to the creak of old floorboards and the longing you can't quite name. We are stitched from hand-me-down journals and porchside reveries, stitched from the letters we never sent and the courage we meant to have.
You may find here:
Sketches of spirited women and spectral places—from the bayous of Louisiana to the dry-boned hills of Wyoming.
Letters from the edge of the known world, where women keep secrets and tend wild things.
Folklore, weather wisdom, prairie poetry, and the passing thought that maybe, just maybe, we aren’t quite alone when the wind turns east.
And pieces from our cousin across the sea, Miss Lavinia Forsythe, whose English violets often find a wilder bloom among our honeysuckle. Her publication, The Hearth and Violet Quarterly, will delight and inform you of our British neighbors.
The Almanack is for those who hear stories in the creak of rocking chairs and the hush of pine needles underfoot. It is for the witchy and the weary. The homemaker and the haunted.
The woman who writes in the margins. The girl who looks out windows and wonders where she went.
Welcome, traveler. Pour some tea. Or whisky. Either’ll do.
With ink-stained fingers and wisteria-strewn affection,
Miss Sybil Whitlow
Editor, The Wisteria Almanack
Spring, 1858
"A Quarterly for the Wild-Hearted & Weather-Worn"
Comments