Waking up from hibernation. 

After a long, dark, and sleepy winter 

I’m stepping out into the light - 

squinting, stretching my arms to the sky, 

and ready to begin another cycle of the seasons. 

This grateful heart is smiling as I shake off 

the cold grip of an icy winter, 

shed some layers, and soften a bit. 

Unpretentious March!

Your raw, earthy beauty grows on me the older I get.

I appreciate your stripped-down authenticity:

No flowery offerings - you show me true grit.

I wouldn't want to live here with you forever,

but a few weeks with you teaches me resolve.

It is a humbling and necessary acquaintance.

A few days ago the warm sun was my companion!

 Now, I look out my window to see the snow is falling again. 

 The snow isn't as fierce, the cold isn't as biting. 

And along with the Equinox I feel inner momentum - 

 a sap rising within myself.  

Gumption has returned!  

All of the  seeds I planted during the 

dormant, sleepy winter are manifesting - 

no rush, in due time. 

Today I am building a fire 

and am once again sipping tea - 

but I have daffodils on my table to cheer me, 

and tomorrow will bring another story all of it’s own.

~j

happy inside

So much about this season is beautiful and comforting.  

Maybe it's because I have a warm home and hearth - 
plenty of food packed in freezer and pantry - 
sweaters and hats and scarves to keep me warm. 

Maybe it's because I love being at home - 
warm inside looking out.

 This season offers me plenty of time to be with my family 
(who is also staying close to home). 

Right now, the kitchen is the place to be: 
close to the wood stove, 
chairs spontaneously pulled up to the warmth, 
conversations begun -
 an effortless and comfortable connection 
that is diluted when the warm sun pulls us outside and spreads us thin.

Come into the kitchen and you will see a pot of soup bubbling on the stove,
 or a loaf of bread coming out of the oven - 
you will smell the woodsmoke mingled with broth, herbs and yeast.

Life this time of year revolves around the preparing and eating 
of the hearty foods that sustain us: 
breads, soups, stews, strong coffee, warm tea.

Sustenance.

 I'm not lost to the "hassles" of winter - 

 but, if I am mindful, I allow the hassles to become reminders: 

: take more time
: be in the moment
: breathe into discomfort
: sleep more
: eat nourishing food to feed my body
: create color and beauty inside my home to feed my soul.

 I am that much more grateful when the peepers and sunshine appear - 
only a couple of months away.  

For now,  the the view looks good from right here by the fire.

~j

Snow.

A necessary pause in the cycle of the seasons.

The talk around town is:

"It's cold out there!"  
"I'm not ready for this!" 
"More of the white stuff this week!" 
 "Ugh!!"

Simply

Nestle

Or

Wither

A friend of mine said to me the other day: 
"I was never really well until I aligned myself with the seasons."

Yes!

Spring invites us to create, plan, hope

Summer is our time to celebrate and bask in abundance

Autumn asks us to let go, mourn, remember

Winter is the time of darkness; turning inward; quietude; rest

The flowers know this,
the trees know this,
the animals know this,
 -  we can't always be in celebrate mode.

Submerge 

Noiselessly

Ordain

What is inside



~ j

To write about the anticipation of spring and the celebration of summer is easy- there is momentum and energy carrying the words forward. 

The letting go in autumn is harder to summon words for.  

In living in harmony with the seasons we are invited to embrace both the light and the dark, activity and dormancy, warmth and cold, outwardly expanding and turning inward. 

Not to cling to one and reject another - but to be open to all manifestations of the seasons, with all of the moods that accompany them. 

This is truly living, no?

So this is the moment we are in. 

 Porch swings are taken down and gardens are cleaned out. 

The sun has turned a warm golden - losing the glaring intensity of summer - softening. 

  

Laundry is hung inside now. Wood is stacked.

We begin to come in. 

 Projects forgotten since last winter are remembered.  

A half-knitted scarf is picked up. An old book is rediscovered. 

Wood stoves and candles are lit. 

And now when the sun is shining and the wind is down, 
a walk in the fallen leaves is exhilarating
 - and coming in to a mug of warm tea feels just right.

~ j

Every Wednesday morning I drive my son Caleb 
to our local CSA farm so he can pull weeds and harvest veggies. 

This he does grudgingly as a barter for our weekly share of veggies. 
We head out around 7:30am, bleary-eyed, a cup of coffee under our belts.

I smile as we head down our hill. 

 Brooklyn Valley rests at the bottom of our hill.  
It is green and lush on this mid-summer morning,
 and clouds of morning mist rise from the rolling hills 
reminiscent of Appalachia. 

Truly a postcard-picture with the small white church nestled 
in the nook of the valley and the red barn on 
the side of the hill surrounded by contently grazing cows.

Turning down County Rd 12 heading toward the farm, 
we drive through a small Amish community. 

 The first homestead is already awake: 
a small fire has been built outside and I spy 5 sheep lazing 
outside the worn barn, chewing contentedly, framed by the thin white smoke.

 An Amish man is carrying buckets to bring to his cows 
who are waiting eagerly in the adjoining field. 
He is dressed in customary blue, straw hat placed neatly on his thick hair, and he nods in friendly acknowledgement as we pass.  

I scan the roadside in anticipation as we near the bend up ahead.  

Every week on our journey to the farm we pass him, 
rain or shine, 
so I'm sure to be vigilant as we approach the curves.  

We rumble over the metal-deck bridge 
and I spy him just ahead: 
a boy of about 11 atop a beautiful black horse,
 galloping down the road with one hand behind him cowboy-style. 

My heart never fails to brighten at this sight. 

 I pass slowly and give him a wide girth.  
I can imagine how different his journey down this country road is from ours.  The misty morning air in his face, 
the smell of the woodsmoke from the fire down the road, 
the obvious joy of riding his companion -
 one hand lifted jauntily behind his back.  

What is it in me that is stirred- always -by this sight?  

It is not uncommon around these parts to hear 
the clip-clop of horses hooves or see a buggy pass by.  
In fact, it surely is a daily occurrence if traveling from point A to point B. 

Some say it is a reminder of simpler times, yes. 
But, I also believe it is something more. 

It stirs a memory of a past we have long forgotten
 but still hold on a cellular level. 
Deeply.
 In our very bones. 
It reminds us of all that we have lost in our quest for more. 

I drop Caleb off and drive back the way we came. 
 The boy is still galloping up the road and this time I am heading toward him. 
 I can see his wide smile as I rumble by (embarrassed) 
in my gas-guzzling Honda Pilot.
 He gives his horse's rump a little slap for effect and I hear him say "Haw!"

I thank him silently for the gift he unknowingly gives me every week. 

~ j

Back in April I wrote about tilling the garden - predicting that soon it would be overflowing with plants and weeds. Here we are in July our garden is full and lush! 

We eat veggies with our dinner fresh picked - and some we freeze for another day.  Summer greens and lettuces, fresh scallions, radishes and cucumbers are refreshing and light in the warmth of summer - a welcome treat.  Peas and beans are in abundance - the tender young peas lightly steamed with a dollop of butter and a dash of salt...(yum)!  

  
I am always moved by the unique beauty of each plant, and the packaging nature has provided.  I smile every time I unzip the sturdy jacket on the peas to reveal a row of perfectly formed little green circles.

I am still actively pursuing my weeding - row by row, day by day (every other day?). Happily, my goal is not to have a "perfectly" weeded garden (although they are lovely to look at in magazines). No - I just want to be able to see the rows, to see the individual veggie plants, and if there are a few weeds mixed in - well let them be. I call this the "Middle Path" of gardening!

The chickens are in full egg-laying-swing! We gather about 4 eggs a day and keep them on the counter until the basket overflows. 

 I've come to realize that eggs do not have to be refrigerated unless washed - in which case the protective coating is removed. I find the eggs are mostly clean when gathered - for the few that are not, they are washed and go in the fridge.

I am always moved and little surprised every time I uncover a smooth, warm egg left in the hay.

 "For me?!" I say to myself.  

"Thank you mama hen!" I say to her.

Mama Ethel is providing us with more milk as the babes are not nursing as frequently.  I freeze the milk immediately in mason jars and take them out as needed.  We are still drinking the milk raw and unpasteurized. 

"After dinner with the goats"  (as it has come to be known) is always an amusing time of day.  Most often when the goats are "let out" whoever is in the house at the time gathers on the lawn for the fun. Who can resist the attraction of romping baby goats?

Abundance comes in many forms. 

An evening walk in late July provides all the beauty a soul can hold.  

Sometimes the beauty of it all takes me aback, and my heart breaks a little - but then that is a gift too isn't it?

~ j

A walk in June

A Summer Day

"I don't know exactly what a prayer is.

I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.

Tell me, what else should I have done?

Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?

Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?"

~ Mary Oliver

~ j