Several weeks ago Colin Kopp and I visited Kristy Hanson at Yess Yoga in South Minneapolis to talk with her about her yoga practice, being a teacher, and a dream she had about touring the country by bicycle collecting stories of yoga in America to put into a book.

I love Kristy's yoga philosophy, "Keep it simple, and keep it creative," but also the ebullience with which she lives life. In her classes she focuses on mobility, ease of movement, and alignement;. I'm especially drawn to her dedication to playing while practicing yoga; if we can play and discover joyfulness and new ways of moving while on the mat, like mobility and alignment, those lessons move with us beyond practice and into the everyday world.

A week ago Kristy launched her Kickstarter campaign "Raconteur Yogi" and after surpassing her fundraiser goal of $2,000, she will embark on the tour she was dreaming of, to the western United States and back, in search of yoga across America.

To support and follow Kristy on her journey find her on Instagram.

Minnehaha Creek travels twenty-two miles eastward from Lake Minnetonka through a riverbed of earth 10,000 years old—sediments and gravel left over from the last great ice age—to converge with the Mississippi River. Less than a mile before the confluence the creek abruptly falls fifty-three feet past 450 million years of geologic history characterized in three distinct rock layers formed during the Ordovician Period—Plateville Limestone, Glenwood Shale and St. Peter Sandstone.

I take great pleasure walking the frozen waterway downriver of the falls and crowds of people. Outfitted with a pair of waterproof boots I climb over rocks, crouch below fallen trees, and stand at the edge of open water framed by velum-like ice; even in winter there is much to be enchanted by. I walk on what was once an unremarkable spot on Earth located near the equator and covered in a warm sea. Its floor was made of the erosion of Cambrian sandstone formations, followed by the accumulation of decaying life matter and shells which, by pressure alone, became solid rock covered and uncovered by four glacial periods, over time becoming (details left out) a creek with a waterfall upstream, revered by local humans as the perfect place to make engagement and family photos mailed to friends as magnets wishing them, “Happy Holidays from the Stalvig’s” and used to hold up pizza delivery menus and yoga class schedules on refrigerator doors. I feel disoriented following these rivers and rivulets of thought that I find abundant in these natural places. Considering my life as statistically miraculous and against the astronomical odds of the universe, I answer with a seemingly unappreciative and trite, “Huh…That’s crazy…” I sing Jóga, a song by Björk, its words I once saw printed onto a window that looked out to the dreary tarmac of Keflavik airport:

"All these accidents that happen follow the dot. Coincidence make sense only with you. You don't have to speak, I feel emotional landscapes they puzzle me.

The lowest elevational point in Minneapolis is also the end of Minnehaha Creek. In the St. Peter Sandstone rock face lovers have carved their initials and hearts into the 99.4% pure quartz sand formation—G+J—H+N—T+B. This very deposit is the reason Ford made a factory on the other side of the river in 1925 and is perfect for glassmaking and windshields yet so delicate I can carve into it with a stick. Professions of fleeting love make deep impressions in a seemingly infinite and immovable medium revealing glittering crystals that have not seen the sun for 450 million years—what an intersection. C + S captures my attention and I wonder if they are still cozy in bed next to one another this crisp Sunday morning, as I scratch three fresh lines with a key and make a remarkably different statement—€ + $, and yet no more significant to the Canada geese watching from the open water or geologic history of this ravine that is constantly in motion.

I climb steep zigzagging steps to the top of the hill and can now see the cars passing by on the freeway and experience their Doppler effect. This soil is only 10,000 years old but might as well be a billion for all I’m able to understand. In the distance the skyline of Minneapolis sparkles and I’m reminded of a saying I once heard: “it’s only a matter of time before a plate breaks.” I wonder how long will it be before the steel and glass of those majestic skyscrapers erode in the wind and rain to become sediments bulldozed away by glacial flow and resettled thousands of years and miles away before being pressurized into rock. Perhaps a ravine will be carved out of it after 300 million years and something passing through will stop to engrave into the rock face a declaration of its love, right next to the wheel of what was once an office chair. I’m overwhelmed by the relative equality of all things when considered on geologic timescale, by the miraculous turn of events that have lead to this moment, to the moment which is my life in concert with others and this earth.

I learned to make lanterns from my friend Mitchell four years ago; a brilliant fabricator and thinker, every year he brings the gift of light and warmth to our New Year celebrations on the frozen shore of Lake Superior in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. At midnight on the last day of the year under the stars and constellations, our community of friends gathers together waiting for the

SPARK!

Instantly the small bundle of fabric soaked in wax and alcohol becomes engulfed in a small flame. Tied beneath the balloon, it the causes the paper of the lantern to be rustled open by the rising heat and our faces to be illuminated in the night.

It’s impossible to not hold my breath at this moment. My heart feels as warm and expansive at this balloon I am holding and is saying a mantra, ‘’please fly. please go. float. float. go.” When it starts to pull away, my fingers anchoring the balloon to earth simply let go and the lantern made of tissue paper and propelled by fire floats into the sky.

Silence…

And then humans howling, laughing, and celebrating--it's a wave that erupts wildly upon the beach. To watch a lantern sail higher and higher, to see it be taken on a wind and carried into the darkness of the lake until it is so far away that it blends into the milky way, feels like a good omen. Even the balloon that goes up and catches like a miniature Hindenburg feels recklessly beautiful and is cause for celebration.

Last week Maggie came over to learn how to make these simple constructions. We brought them with us to a gathering of friends in Wisconsin and watched them float across the St. Croix River and far away over Minnesota.

I love them, and I love how letting one go feels like a gift to whoever witnesses its graceful ascent toward the heavens. This tutorial will get you started. My only tip is to use as little glue as possible.

Last week long time friend Kristy and I went on a frigid morning adventure to take photos to promote, "Courage," the theme of her yoga classes for the month of February. For the next month, all of her classes focus on developing “courage to find balance and take flight, as well as to challenge ourselves to do things we don’t think we’re capable of.”

Yesterday, STALVIG visited Kristy at Yess Yoga in South Minneapolis to film her dynamic teaching style as she led a morning class. She emphasizes strength and mobility in her teaching practice while leading with ebullient grace. A signature yoga movement in her class called "Jelly Fish," a modification on boat pose, playfully engages both while making the whole class laugh--a rare sound in yoga practice.

“I like to think of my personal yoga practice as playtime. It doesn’t follow the dominant Sun Salutation vinyasas - there’s so much more to a practice than moving forwards and backwards. My practice is about exploring what my body is capable of and the infinite ways it can move, in recognizing what my body needs, what I’m scared of. When I teach, I encourage students to think about more than their own bodies on their mats. I encourage them to connect their bodies to their minds to their breath - but more so, to connect to the humanity around them. The community we’re creating in our classes.”

— Kristy Hanson, Yoga Teacher

Keep a look out for our interview with Kristy Hanson coming in early March. In the meantime, follow her yoga practice on Instagram, try a class of hers at Yoga Sol, or a private class with your closest friends through Yoga-lu.

In 2013 I moved to Berlin for three months with the singular plan that I would "learn something new." Somehow I found my way to Electronic + Textile Institute Berlin and instantly knew I would dedicate my time to learning how to knit on a machine. I have never learned so many skills in such short amount of time. Aside from knitting on a machine, I learned about fibers, machine hacking, bulk sourcing of materials (aka soliciting spinning mills for free yarn), how to film and edit a video, create a successful Kickstarter campaign, and tons about resourcefulness (being fleißig) in another country while using a different language.

This was also the summer that I discovered Queen, and while my Icelandair flight was making its way to land during sunset over the Minnesota forest of autumn, I was feeling full of accomplishment and appropriately listening to "We Are the Champions."

It took some searching, but eventually we found a statuesque white pine to bring home to Minneapolis as our Christmas tree. Our quest took place in Osceola, WI at Buttermilk Falls CSA and Folk School, a farm perched on the prairie above the St. Croix River. The landscape in winter is stark and desolate, from afar it appears lifeless, but we walked through the fields, the forests, and along the river and discovered so many magical moments of life past and present.

Green watercress in the creek, shriveled red berries in the trees, and golden oats that escaped the fate of the scythe appear like jewels against the snow--colors of life. Six sunflowers standing high and alone in the field, reminded me of the relic Apadana of Persepolis, and spoke of how this land had once existed in a golden age.

I love this about winter. I love the contrast of life and seemingly lifelessness. The white-noise "shhh" of snow falling in the trees. I love creating refuge from the cold in a warm home, steam on the kitchen windows. I love how beautifully lights illuminate the December darkness. I love walking down the block and seeing Christmas trees in peoples' homes--a little nature this time of year brings a lot of life to the heart.

After celebrating the advent with friends on the farm, we drove an hour of country roads back to Minneapolis and hauled the tree to our second floor apartment. I wonder what can be more heart warming in this land of 10,000 lakes than decorating a tree, drinking hot cocoa, eating chicken soup, and laughing with friends while listening to the croon of Bing Crosby singing the seasonal standards in mid-December?

Happy Holidays friends! May your season be merry and bright.

Kristy Hanson Raconteur Yogi

Walking Minnehaha Creek

Sky Lanterns

Yoga with Kristy Hanson

Throw back to September Collection--Kickstarter 2013

A Christmas Tree Hunt