People always tell me how lucky I am to have goats.

Goats are inquisitive, and kind, and cheerful (with that perpetual smile on their faces!)

They are also inherent mischief makers.

Which is why, after 1 1/2 years of tending to my girls,
I sat down at my computer and placed an ad:

"Saanan goats for sale: serious inquires only."

By the end of the day, we had payment in full.

In the end, it came down to a fence.
Our make-shift fence did the job for awhile, but
those girls eventually figured a way out and after that there
was no stopping them!

They feasted on the remains of our garden,
they ate the bark off of our 2 year old apple trees,
they nibbled away at my wild rose bush.
They decided that the best place to hang out was the 
front porch, so they could peer in at us through the windows.
I know that they were only doing what any respectable goat would do...

....so in the dark of the night, less than 24 hours after placing my ad, 
our recuse came in the form of a woman in a pick up truck hauling
a large horse trailer.

M. owns a 100 acre farm and is a seasoned farmer.

Ethel and Ruth were taken away to live in a big old dairy barn.

I will always have fond memories of my time spent in the barn with the girls.

I enjoyed the routine.

I enjoyed their company.

And even on the most brisk mornings, when I was forced away 

from my warm place next to the fire, I would smile with gratitude.

After all, how else would I have seen that flock of geese fly by in perfect formation?

Or listened the sound of an owl echoing up from the valley ?

Or have witnessed the light just so on the field as the sun was rising?

Thank you girls.

~ j

The full strawberry moon is just days away. June! 

The last time the moon showed her full face we were just beginning to taste the sun and feel warm grass under our toes.  

It was under that moon that we had our first bonfire fueled by the sticks and leaves we cleaned out of the muddy yard after the winds and snow of winter had littered them. We tilled and planted our garden.

The full moon this week shines on a much different landscape :: lush green trees, fields of buttercups and timothy grass full and swimming in the wind. Fireflies are just beginning to spark in the fields at dusk. 

The lilacs, plum tree, and apple blossoms have already come and gone. 

For this moment (brief!) the peonies and roses are showing their pink faces.

  I lean into each cycle of the moon welcoming new landscapes - new stories. The stories with each turning are always a bit different, yet the changing landscape comfortingly familiar.  

I know that by the next moon the roses and peonies will have faded - but then wildflowers of summer will appear, followed in time by purple asters and goldenrod. 

I don't look away, distracted - I may miss something delightful.

"There's always a sunrise and always a sunset and it's up to you to choose to be there for it," said my mother. "Put yourself in the way of beauty."

~ unknown

~j

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