“I don’t believe you have to depend on things outside of yourself in order to create,” said Alysia Mazzella, as we sat in her rustic studio filled with the unmistakable sweet scent of honey. Morning sunlight poured through the windows on a frigid winter day. She poured us warm coffee and checked her goldenrod-colored wax, heating in a large cauldron and almost ready for her next set of hand-dipped beeswax candles.

Mazzella’s path to candle making started shortly after she moved back home to Newburgh from New York City in 2010, with a mission to slow down and embrace the wooded landscape of her youth. The 30-year old SUNY communications major has long been passionate about ritual. She believes we all have a deeper purpose within us, and if we take proper space and time, we can cultivate it.

Before moving home, she’d started an online magazine in New York City, then studied documentary locally and at Salt Institute in Portland, Maine. She devoted her time to telling other peoples’ stories as a documentarian until 2015, when she became director of trainings at The Restorative Center, a nonprofit devoted to community-centered restorative justice in downtown Newburgh. That, for her, was a gamechanger.

“It was circle work,” she said. The nonprofit approached conflict mediation through the structure of the medicine wheel, a four-part ritual. Two people told their stories, seeking justice for themselves and from their community, rather than from the black and white perspective of conflict between victim and aggressor.

The medicine wheel ritual as a means for resolution further inspired Mazzella’s meditation practice and prompted her to create an oracle deck of cards—also structured in four parts. She did a limited print of 150 decks, called Fourfold the Oracle, last spring. Like tarot cards, oracle decks divine wisdom and guidance, however, an oracle deck strays from a strict set of cards. It’s a system dreamed up by the creator. Fourfold the Oracle encourages players to “discover the stability of fourfold rhythms,” Mazzella explains on her website. “Purpose lives within natural cycles of four: the directions, seasons, elements, moon phases, noble truths, [and] stages of life.”

Mazzella’s rituals had always included aromatic beeswax candles, so in 2017 she tried her own hand at the age-old craft. Beeswax, accompanied by tallow, is among one of the oldest candle making materials, and it stands unmatched in its healing benefits when burned.

The first candles she made weren’t exactly beautiful, but “I could feel my ancestors cheering me on,” she said. Mazzella followed that feeling into a business of finely crafted beeswax candles – introducing a modern and elegant twist to the 5,000-year-old practice.

Mazzella sources her beeswax from a family-owned apiary in Western New York, where they practice regenerative beekeeping. The honey is only harvested when there is extra to be taken. When they do harvest honey, the wax is naturally harvested, too.

In addition to her hand-dipped tapers, Mazzella’s collection (alysiamazzella.com) includes a pillar candle that showcases imagery of leisure, mirth and delight. She makes these from a silicon mold modeled after an antique bowl. Her hand-poured glass prayer candles feature Ganesh, “remover of obstacles,” and Mama Moon, “nourisher of harmony.” She is introducing an especially elegant twin flame taper soon. As we yearn for more warmth and joy after the depths of winter, ritual nourishes our senses and spirit—a bright beeswax flame may be just the right accompaniment as we inch into the light.

Fire cider takes a stand for herbal traditions

This piece was featured in Dirt Magazine. Link to the published article here.

Few age-old food traditions are without controversy, and fire cider, the de-congesting folk remedy of times past, has not been exempt to the trials and tribulations that mark the capitalization of our food system. The vinegar tonic known to cure what ails you recently fought a five-year trademark case over who could use the term. The watershed battle would set a precedent for the question: can a company “own” a folk remedy?

Farmer and food activist Sarah Berman, 31, of The Armstrong Farm in Augusta, NJ kept an eye on the case, watching as the battle incited a Free Fire Cider movement. In the meantime, she printed “Traditions not Trademarks” on the label of her ginger-and-onion-infused remedy – a nod to the notion that plant knowledge and food traditions belong to communities, not corporations. When fire cider became a generic term by judicial decree in October, Berman and herbalists across the country were free to sell their product under its common name without fear of a lawsuit.

Versions of fire cider have deep-rooted history in Western herbalism, going as far back as the 17th century, and perhaps much further. One form of the concoction, Four Thieves, took root during the Bubonic Plague in France. It was made with vinegar, garlic, and herbs and was thought to repel the flea that carried the disease known for wiping out Europe during the medieval period. Other varieties of similar vinegar tonics are believed to have been used since the time of Hippocrates, the famous physician of Classical Greece who once said, “Let food be thy medicine and medicine be thy food.”

An advocate of the good food movement, Berman’s philosophy doesn’t stray far from that of Hippocrates. Since moving to The Armstrong Farm in 2013, she’s been focused on providing “a food source for the greater community,” growing, foraging and processing, and passing on what she’s been learning about the healing power of plants along the way.

Berman’s Fire Cider – similar to the version popularized in the 80s by “godmother of herbalism” Rosemary Gladstar – is made with heirloom garlic, hot peppers, horseradish, onion, rosemary, and winter savory, all grown on the farm. Those ingredients she doesn’t grow, Berman sources organically: ginger, turmeric, black pepper, lemon peel, and the Vermont apple cider vinegar in which it all steeps for six weeks. In this style of medicine-making, called acetum, the vinegar pulls out alkaloids, minerals and other nutrients from the plant material. Honey, another key ingredient, is also harvested from The Armstrong Farm, from hives tended by Life Bee Good, a local apiary.

“There is no right or wrong way to make it,” Berman said, enforcing the opinion that fire cider is an herbal legacy that belongs to all of us.

As a medicine, fire cider’s many benefits are especially well-suited to wintertime, when we are more prone to colds, have lower energy, and are under greater physical stress. Berman’s label recommends a tablespoonful daily. When Berman, who’s originally from the south, moved to Sussex County 13 years ago, she “fell in love with the way fire cider affected my well-being in the winter months.” Along with its warming kick as it goes down, fire cider is said to be decongestant, antiviral, anti-inflammatory, a digestive stimulant and overall immunity booster.

After playing with her recipe for seven years, Berman spent the last couple years refining its flavor, which she describes as “a smooth jazz song dancing on your tongue.”

She processes her ingredients as soon as she harvests them and takes the extra step of cold pressing her fire cider, which helps to preserve plant enzymes and nutrients that increase the remedy’s potency. Bottles are available at Berman’s  Etsy store and at local markets in Sussex County. “The sediment at the bottom is all the good stuff,” said Berman, “so shake it up before you take a shot!”

February 2 marks World Fire Cider Day. Berman encourages curious kitchen alchemists to try their hand at making their own. On top of its history of healing, the tonic is imbued with fresh status as the symbol of a culture that favors sharing herbal recipes no matter how profitable they may be.  

The color alchemist leads fashion back to its roots and toward a more sustainable future

This piece was featured in Dirt Magazine. Link to the published article here.

“The most exciting change in my daily life from living in Brooklyn,” said Audrey Louise Reynolds, who recently moved to Warwick, “is the fulfillment I’m getting from being completely a kid in nature.”

Consider the blue wood she found in Wawayanda State Park. The bark is enveloped by Chlorociboris aeruginosa, a blue-green cup fungus that usually manifests as a green stain on its host species. “I started rubbing it on my shoe like a crayon, and it turned my shoe this blue-green,” said Reynolds. “So I filled my pockets with it.”

Her eyes light up when I ask about Tyrian purple, which is produced by boiling snails and is the most expensive textile dye on the planet, pricier than gold. Audrey excitedly unearths details about the shell-bearing creatures for my novice ears. “But really,” she concludes, “can I start a snail farm?”

Starting a snail farm doesn’t seem far out of the range of possibilities at Reynolds’ new setup. Her 1870 farm-style house, where she has relocated after 15 years in Red Hook, Brooklyn, adjoins 100 acres of wilderness. It’s airy and light, her walls adorned with abstract pieces by Peter Sutherland, Anthony Lister, and Judith Supine; her curly white Lagotto Romagnolo companion, Damo, is excitable and ready to make friends. Most rooms are painted with vertical stripes. All the paints – home-grown fermented indigo, burned bones black, light purple local berries, foraged green earth – are made by Reynolds.

Reynolds has always been on this course. When she was three, she painted the walls of her family’s home with turmeric. In high school, she customized skate decks and shoes for friends. Her father worked in the automotive industry, and as a child, “He even showed me the difference between blue-black, red-black, and yellow-black,” she recalled. “I remember bags of shredded plastic bottles that were to become car textiles and running my hands through these silky-smooth confetti-like pieces.”   

Reynolds studied painting at the School of the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston, where she also worked as a line cook. The intersection of her work and studies eventually brought her to a bigger realization: she could manipulate food to create color that was less harmful than the toxic paint she used in her classes, and if she could do it with food, she could certainly use any organic matter. That was in 2002. Today, Reynolds is at the leading-edge of the sustainability and fashion conversation.  

Two years later, the late British designer Alexander McQueen discovered Reynolds and commissioned her to make materials for his collections, such as pigments from sumac, spinach, and blue butterfly pea flower. Rogan, Loomstate, and No. 6 followed shortly, hiring Reynolds to dye seasonal collections. She found herself in an experimental frenzy in her small Brooklyn apartment, creating pieces with burnt fabric, making paint from recycled tires, and smashing nuts onto textile.

Dirt, plants, and compost form the foundation of Reynolds’ palette. Since 2008, she has been focused on nature-based color. That’s when she eliminated all synthetic mordants, which are used to fix color. Excluding these from the dye process is a challenge, but she discovered effective alternatives in salt, algae, soy binders and through use of fermentation. Reynolds founded her company on the concept of dermal absorption, bringing attention to the fact that chemically dyed clothing can harm human health, while the medicinal qualities of nature-based dye can actually be good for us.  

Dye can be good for the environment, too. Sasha Duerr, a natural dye educator at California College of the Arts, designs irrigation systems for gardens and house plants from leftover natural dye, which in turn nourishes plants with the vitamins and minerals from the ingredients. She writes in her how-to book, Natural Color: Vibrant Plant Dye Projects for Your Home and Wardrobe, “The process of … creating colors from nature [is] directly related to our ecological literacy.”

Dye waste in the conventional garment industry is another story. According to the World Bank, 17 to 20 percent of industrial pollution comes from textile dye. A 2013 New York Times article, Bangladesh Pollution, Told in Colors and Smells, revealed the realities of a fatal factory collapse that briefly brought the western world’s cut-rate fashion industry to our attention. It underscored the intensity of pollution from textile dye mills – located in poor communities vulnerable to climate change – with photos of waterways in shocking hues.

Reynolds is determined to bring change to the textile industry, combining her unique skillset with environmental advocacy. Over the past decade, she has traveled to Bangladesh, China and Turkey to implement her natural dye techniques in factories.

Large-scale sustainable dye installation certainly helps, but change also starts with the individual consumer. Reynolds recommends that people “build a wardrobe of ethically sound garments, go to clothing swaps, and donate to people in need or foundations like HELPSY,” a for-profit B Corporation with an environmental mission to keep clothing out of landfills (you can find a bin location near you here). Purchasing secondhand and swapping can help ease the production demand. The U.S. Environmental Agency estimates Americans dispose of about 12.8 million tons of textiles annually, which amounts to about 80 pounds of clothing per person. It takes up to 200 tons of water to make just one ton of fabric, according to the Natural Resources Defense Council. That’s a lot of water, and much of it is chemically altered by way of pesticides and synthetic dye.

Synthetic dye was introduced 160 years ago. Before that, all color in textile production was derived from natural ingredients, and the stories behind them are fascinating. Cochineal, a cactus-dwelling insect, jumpstarted the South American economy by way of crimson red in the 15^th century. Indigofera tinctoria (also known as indigo) leaves have been used for their violet blue hue for 6,000 years, by ancient civilizations spanning present-day Africa, Europe and South America. Reynolds adores these age-old processes and uses them often in her own work.

As people have been doing since the dawn of civilization, Reynolds finds her way to color through curiosity, intuition and experimentation. She is no stranger to fermentation or distillation, and balances her dye concoctions with heat, salt, time and agitation to manipulate colors exactly as she dreams them up. Last year, she custom dyed hand-spun cotton blankets with 100-day fermented indigo for NOMA Copenhagen, hailed as the world’s best restaurant, known for sourcing wild-harvested ingredients to connect eaters to the local terroir. Reynolds has her own line, ALR, selling clothing along with her handmade natural dyes at alrdyeing.com, and is currently featured in the Fashion for Good Museum in Amsterdam, where customers can purchase her one-of-a-kind clothing items.

Reynolds sources garments from small family-run cotton operations, one in Texas and another in Egypt. She likes to cater to customers who prefer a more local option as well as those who crave a more luxurious cotton. “I don’t have the answer to what’s the most sustainable,” she said, “but I can offer several options for my customer who is on that journey and wants to explore it with me.”

Audrey agitates one of her shirts in an eyeballed concoction of dirt, salt and roses. She describes the tint as the color of Venus of Willendorf, a faceless female-bodied figurine made in Paleolithic Austria around 30,000 B.C., believed to be representative of fertility and a good luck charm. The color also brings cave paintings to mind. I ask if the dirt has a name. “It’s called Dirt I Found,” she says, and we both laugh.

Through Audrey’s eyes there is a romance in the origin of color that connects us to another time, place, and struggle. “What’s your connection to the thing you’re making if there’s a layer between you?” She asks, urging us to put our hands in the dirt and create.

Welcome to my new food, travel and technology website, soon to feature weekly writing on the insights of renegade travelers, on-the-road recipes, and zero waste living.

This new writing hopes to explore how we can feel more connected to our surroundings by reviving age-old technologies that promote self-sustenance as well as support the earth and all its creatures. Alongside, it is my love-song to nomadism and the ways in which it can provide a more fulfilled life.

This website is currently under construction and will be launched in Summer 2019. For more recent updates, visit my sister page Fermentation on Wheels.