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Some About Me + Contact
Leonardo’s Coffeeshop - Steubenville, OH 2025
Then the old man, Abba Joseph, stood up, stretched out his hands toward heaven, and his fingers became like ten lamps of fire, and he said to him, “If you will, you can become all flame.”
Melissa “mel” Danielle Kummerow
I am a wanderer in this passing fray, hoping to shepherd the spiritual fire as I walk.
I grew up and currently live in the Northwoods of Wisconsin by Lake Superior.
Education: I received my bachelor’s of science degree in Criminal Justice (with Corrections emphasis) and a writing minor from Concordia University Wisconsin. I enjoy continuing my education however I can including:
Herbalism (books + local courses + local foraging group)
Psychology (books, including CG Jung, This Jungian Life, including part of Dream School for a time, Jordan Peterson)
Night Sky (Learn the Sky YT)
St Basil’s Writing Workshop with Deacon Nicholas Kotar, Jonathan Pageau, Paul Kingsnorth and others… coming up this August! (Can you tell I’m stoked?)
Among many other avenues of study!
Spiritual guides: Saint Theophan the Recluse and Saint Joan of Arc (my patron saints). The Philokalia. Native American wisdom. C.S. Lewis, G.K. Chesterton, J.R.R. Tolkien. My Grandma Donna Johnson. I became formally Catholic on April 16, 2022.
These ministries have also bolstered my walk; maybe you will find treasure here, too:
Meeting the Desert Fathers and Catholic mystics has been like meeting long-lost friends of another world. They lived with a “spirit of the desert”: stillness, solitude, silence, asceticism, prayer - the very spirit of Christianity, of the Eternal Shepherd Himself.
Hobbies: Chainmailling, crafting with nature and paper, singing, reading, writing, foraging, nature walks, photography, poker and tabletop games, drinking dark coffee and smoking pipe tobacco.
Lord Jesus Christ, Son of the living God, have mercy on me, a sinner. Amen. +
contact me
My Kindred Seasons
August - when sunsets feel like wildfire, when blooming meadows become destinations, when autumnal paint flecks the trees and skies.
November - when the hem of warmth becomes elusive, the colorful fireworks have settled into riverbeds and forest floors to pave way for muted golds and heavy maroons, when wood smoke gathers in the streets.
March - when winter is still majesty but understands that gardens must be sown, when snowy trails crunch underfoot, and the raven calls echo long.
Poem and Photo by Melissa Kummerow (copyright 2021)