Unhelpful Companions

If I were to write a story about this summer, Humidity would be the antagonist. In the beginning, he might seem innocuous, a gentle reminder to slow down, maybe you would think he had your best interest at heart. And then as the story went on, he’d thicken his presence and pepper the days as sweat on your brow, condensation on your cup. Nothing more than a nuisance, still tolerable. The story would build and the climax would come when you realized what was holding you back was actually Humidity. He was behind the stiffness in your step, the ache of your joints. He was to thank for the feeling of general malaise towards the three-quarter mark of the season, causing you to crawl through the count down to autumn. In the end, just as you were gaining strength to fight him off, he’d vanish into the newly cooled and dry air. The epilogue would be dated the following June, just at the point where you feel a hint of stickiness in the air, and find yourself grateful for the opportunity to slow down and savor the long summer days…

~~~

The shift in seasons is one of my favorite things about living in New England.

We’ve been in our house now for a full cycle of seasons. We’ve seen the hay fields through maturing to harvesting, snow-covered and dormant to youthful in spring. We settled in through the fall, made it through our first Maine winter by staying cozy near the woodstove, planted our own seeds in the spring, and are enjoying the fruits of our labors this summer.

When we moved into our last home, over a decade ago, we knew it was going to be temporary. Of course, we thought we would only be there for a handful of years, which turned into ten. For at least the last six years we lived in our rental home we had our eyes set on the next move. The Next Move, like Humidity in the summertime, was a constant companion. It settled in our minds, lingered in corners, and was on the tip of our tongues, an often unasked question.

The answer finally came in a situation that we couldn’t even fathom at the time, and we’re just starting to fully grasp it now, a year on. We live on over thirty acres of land, which we share with my parents who also live on the property, in a house a stone’s throw away from ours. It’s a place where one can wander for hours, exploring not just hay fields but woods and trails, as well as a meandering river. Just yesterday we went for a walk and saw a deer grazing in our hay fields. It raised its head, acknowledging our presence, and then went back to its morning meal. We’ve spent a set of seasons knee-deep in learning about this place, our home, only to learn that we’ll spend the rest of our time here learning… growing… becoming.

Somewhere within the last year, it’s started to sink in - we’re not focused on The Next Move. It’s a strange feeling after a life of moving {or planning a move} every few years, to be settled. To not have The Next Move on the horizon. To simply allow yourself to be.

For so long I put countless things on hold, things I’d do “after The Next Move.” Well, it’s after. And it’s time.

Truthfully, waiting for The Next Move was always a bit of a comfort for me, like a safety blanket. I know I need to be careful not to shift from The Next Move to The Next Thing, and instead put The Next- to rest. Not to wait on something to do the things we’ve dreamed of, to finish writing the books I have in progress, and build the writing career I’ve talked about for years.

It’s time to take advantage of the fact that now is the time to create the life I’ve been waiting to live. The humidity is about to go poof, The Next Move is gone quite possibly forever, and everything that’s been just out of reach is now sitting at my doorstep… waiting for me to answer the doorbell.

Do you hear it, too?

---

FYI: I’ll be writing here the second and fourth Tuesdays of the month. It’s a bit of an experiment, as I’m unsure of how I want to use this space… maybe for journal type entries, maybe playing with some short fiction… however it turns out, I’m so glad to have you along for the ride. Thank you for being here, and for reading my words.

Home, again

It’s been a while since I’ve written on a blog regularly. Over the last few years I’ve written thousands and thousands of words, but not in one place. I’ve thrown them up over on Instagram, have dabbled on Medium, have shared through my newsletter, and wrote endlessly on first drafts. I’ve felt fragmented through it all, longing for one place that could hold everything together.

Low and behold, a website can do just that. So here we are.

Welcome to this space, my new online home. It’s similar to my previous site, but to me it feels a little more grown up, sophisticated, and professional. You’ll find access to my newsletter (a sign up as well as links to previous letters), Instagram, my books, the podcast on creativity that I host with my brother, as well as contact forms all in a central hub. It feels like home.

Since last posting regularly, much has changed in my life. It’s been over two years since Farm Girl made it’s debut, a pandemic has riddled our daily lives, and my family and I moved north two hours into Maine. I hope to write about it all, including how life has changed so much, and yet so much remains the same. Where we live now holds greater opportunity to slow down and savor life, as we’re surrounded by hay fields, a meandering river, and woods a plenty. Things move a bit slower here. It’s a more physical existence than where we previously lived. From gathering wood from the woodshed on snow-covered mornings to gathering lettuce from the garden for our dinner to walking home noisily after seeing a coyote in the field while on a dog walk in the fields, it’s all part of a life we didn’t know we needed, or even wanted, until a year ago. Every bit of life informs the rest and noticing that is part of living a creative life. I can’t wait to share it all with you here.

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Thank you for spending time with me and my words…

November rambles

November is here, and it came with it's predictable moodiness. Overcast weather, drizzles for days, and a foreboding sense of winter. 

I love it. 

For those of us who love quiet, and a slower pace of life, November is something of a treat. Especially early November, where it's nearly too early to start focusing on the holidays, but they're still in sight as a balm for when the grey gets to be too much. And let's be real, there does come a time when it's too much. But to stave off the dreariness there's fairy lights and glowing candles and before long the next season of The Great British Bake Off drops in the US on Netflix (the 9th!). 

These early November days I'm thinking about what I'm interested in and want to write about in this space, aside from writing about writing. I keep coming back to the idea of slow living, and I want to expand on that. Slow, intentional, minimal... all buzz words, I know, but they resonate deeply for me. In slowing down, I always learn about myself, and notice more about the world around me, and how I want to exist in the world. 

At the same time, it's a choice that comes with privilege, to slow down. I find it increasingly painful to read about minimalism and anything remotely to do with self help and the wellness industry because of how glaringly obvious it is that there's misrepresentation happening, cultural appropriation right and left, and a lack of self awareness and privilege. 

I'm not sure where that leaves me, except to share my own experience, acknowledging the privileges I'm afforded. 

And my experience? It's about how my body does not do well in a hurried state. A rushed state. A loud and noisy and stressful state. And how I'm starting to think maybe it's our society and culture that is troubled, and not me. 

Or at least, maybe our society could do a better job of accepting people who are not in it for the money, who aren't in it for the glory, who aren't in it to keep up with the Jones's, but who want to exist in a way that keeps them content and doesn't hurt anyone else in the process. 

I want to talk about living in a way that isn't exactly mainstream. About motherhood, but more so, about how someone who is extremely introverted feels about mothering growing children. About becoming more eco-friendly... in our kitchen and with our wardrobes. 

This season, there may be a shift in this space, and at this very moment I want to extend a preemptive olive branch: by speaking about any of these topics, I am not condemning your way of living. I will be sharing what works for me, in hopes that maybe a bit will resonate with you, or perhaps you could learn something new, or spark some interest. As with everything I write here, I write for myself, but I also write with the thought that maybe someone needs to hear what I have to say.. and that person might feel less alone after reading my words. 

That's what happened last week, when I shared about my roller coaster of emotions that comes with rejection. I'll tell you something, it helps me to hear that others are in the same boat. So it often comes full circle, and a bit of vulnerability can go a long way. 

Thank you for reading my ramblings, I wasn't sure what I was going to share today when I opened up a new blog post, sometimes my favorite bits of writing come spilling out without a plan or an outline, they flow as they see fit.

whirlwinds

A week ago, we were in Washington, D.C. Lucas had a conference to attend, and since part of the reason we homeschool is to be able to say YES when opportunities present themselves, the kids and I tagged along. We left early on Monday morning and drove down the coast, putting us in our hotel room by 3pm. The following two and a half days were a blur of sight seeing and walking and touring our nation's capital. We arrived home on Thursday evening, tired and punchy from ten hours in the car, ready to rest before the arrival of my brother and his wife the following day all the way from Switzerland. 

Much to our surprise, and theirs (it's a long story), they arrived a night early! Not two hours after we unpacked the car, I was back in the driver's seat on my way to Boston to (happily!) pick up the world travelers. We had barely any food in the house, the bathroom wasn't clean, the laundry wasn't done, but none of that matters when you haven't seen your brother in over a year. We fed them bits and pieces leftover from our road trip snack bag, and then hit the grocery store the next day. 

We visited and laughed and ran on fumes and bits of sleep until Toby and his wife left on Saturday morning for the next leg of their journey, and then Lucas and I crashed. I napped for three hours, and didn't feel like I woke up until just today. There were walks, and the new season of Doctor Who (we all LOVE her), a robotics class for Fynn and tennis for Paige and many loads of laundry folded, but it was all done in a sleepy haze. Yesterday was my birthday, and the sky was grey and the air cool, my favorite, and normally I have no problem waking up on even the most overcast of days, but yesterday we were all still sleepy, all still catching up. 

It's felt that way, the last few months, that there's spurts of activity and then a period of catch up. Consistency has been just out of reach. A week or two of that is manageable, but long periods of inconsistent sleep and activity make me grumpy. And it's not being busy. I don't buy into busy. It's inconsistency that wrecks me and my highly sensitive system. But there are times it's necessary, absolutely, and I try my best to lean into it, but there is a huge recovery period. And I always forget this. 

Thankfully, I'm looking forward to a bit more consistency, a bit more rhythm. We've hung fairy lights in our house and embracing all things cozy, I'm desperate to get a handle on the housework (and involve the rest of the family as well) so we're trying out The Organized Mum method, and our learning rhythms are back on track as of today and it all feels good. I feel awake. I've got my feet back under me from our whirlwind summer that feels as though it's finally come to an end, and I'm here saying yes please to it all. But first, the rest of my birthday cake is calling me...

~~~~~

Tomorrow I'll be sending out my monthly newsletter. If you haven't signed up yet and are interested, head over here. I'll be sharing a bit of an update on my writing life, and what I'll be up to next month! 

My favorite pumpkin bread recipe

The other day we were making pumpkin bread and one of the kids asked me where I got the recipe from. I shook my head, "I don't remember," I told them. It's a recipe that's been printed off and taped into a notebook. The edges are a little torn, the paper a little splattered. I've been making this recipe since both kids were in diapers, maybe even since before Paige was born. There's no website listed, and it's not one my mom, or my mother in law, uses. But it's my favorite. It's moist, makes two loaves which only ever lasts two days, and when I turn the mixer on and smell the pumpkin I can picture Fynn as a chubby toddler sitting on the counter with a mixing bowl on his head like a helmet, licking a spoon full of orange batter, his striped pajama pant clad legs swinging wildly. 

It's the recipe I'll send my kids off into the world with, the one they'll make and think of home. 

And I wanted to share it with you all. So here it is, my favorite pumpkin bread recipe. Origin unknown, but I most certainly didn't create it myself. My endless gratitude for whoever did!

Pumpkin Bread

Ingredients: 

1 1/2 cup sugar

1 cup oil of choice (coconut, vegetable, whatever...)

3 eggs

1 16-oz can pumpkin

3 cups all purpose flour (I use Bob's Red Mill gluten free one to one)

1/4 tsp ground cloves

1 tsp ground cinnamon

1 tsp ground nutmeg

1 tsp baking soda

1/2 tsp salt

1/2 tsp baking powser

1 bag chocolate chips (optional, but I always use them!)

Method: 

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. Butter and flour (or just use oil, like I do...) two 9x5x3 inch loaf pans. Beat sugar and oil in large bowl to blend. Mix in eggs and pumpkin. Sift flour, cloves, cinnamon, nutmeg, baking soda, salt and baking powder into another large bowl. Stir into pumpkin mixture in two additions. Mix in chocolate chips if desired. 

Divide batter equally between prepared pans. Bake until tester inserted into center comes out clean, about 1 hour (though I start checking at 50 minutes and sometimes that's all it takes). Transfer to racks and cool for 10 minutes. Cool. Slice. Enjoy!

Ritual

The fans are still working overtime. Hot cups of tea are relegated for first thing in the morning, and then by mid afternoon I'm so desperate for the ritual that I sweat through a steaming mug... because that's what it's really about, the ritual. I've never figured out how to make iced tea that pleases my taste buds. Then, even if I make a half decent pitcher, a glass of the cool beverage disappears quickly. A few gulps, and it's gone. There's no waiting, no patience required, no gingerly testing, risking burned taste buds and that bit of spilled boiling water if you wince and pull the mug away from your lips too quickly. 

We turned the oven on the other day to make a cake to celebrate our return to the school year. Our calendar is filling up with activities and field trips, indoor climbing and birding with the local Audubon, some road tripping and many weekly hikes. Chocolate cake so moist and spongy, it was worth the warmth in the kitchen on an already sweltering day. The ritual, the celebration, the return. 

The kids bake every week, every Tuesday to be exact. They take turns selecting recipes and baking (mostly) on their own, and then they select poetry to read for Poetry Teatime, and we celebrate the every day beauty of words and sugar and togetherness. It's simple, this ritual, but in it's own way it's just as meaningful as the first cake of the school year. 

Noticing the importance of rituals and routines, while honoring the unexpected and impulsive, and noticing the ebb and flow of each is part of my life's work, I believe. I am a creature of habit, an introvert who loves the comfort of home and seek out cozy nooks and sofas where I can tuck my feet underneath me wherever I go. Knowing this about myself is half the battle. Loving this about myself is the other half. 

And so, summer has made me weary. I've lost myself a bit. I'm tired. I'm waiting patiently for the arrival of my most recent order of yarn so I can cast on for a new sweater. I'm ready to pack up the swimsuit and the boogie boards and wash the hand-knits and dust off my boots. I'm ready to not sweat as soon as I take a sip of midday tea. 

But for now I'll take those beads of sweat on my upper lip, and know that my rituals are carrying me through until a bit of ease creeps in with a change of weather patterns, and I can tuck my feet under me on the couch and throw a hot water bottle on my lap while knitting as a child reads aloud next to me, and the change of seasons breathes new life into all of us. 

shifts in spaces, and perspective

We live in a modest two family house. We think it was built around the time of the Civil War. The wide floor boards are creaky, and you can fit several types of Legos in the gaps between. The floors slant and the ceilings are low, there are no hallways - one room leads to the next on both floors. Privacy is at a minimum,  but with exposed brick in the dining room and a built in bookshelf in the living room, the house full of character and charm.

Technically, it's a two bedroom apartment. The kids have been sharing a room since we moved in, seven'ish years ago. They've rarely complained, and it has suited them well. But now they're 11 and almost 10, and their heights and collections are rapidly growing.

Every year or so we start to look at this place a little differently. Notice corners we've under utilized, shelves that lend themselves to dishes rather than canned goods, the perfect wall space for a picture previously stored in the attic. This house has grown with us, changed with our needs, and met us where we are every single time. Whenever I get frustrated with the space, or lack of, I only need reminding that furniture can be moved, pictures rehung.

The other week the kids and I were undertaking a huge spring clean. With vacuum in hand, I looked at their bedroom, how the two beds were so crowded, and the landing we used at the top of the stairs for a playroom was overrun with unused toys and clutter. We'd talked in the past about how maybe it could someday be used for a bedroom, sort of loft style.

"Would either of you want to take over this space for your bedroom?" I asked.

Paige said no right away.

Fynn pondered.

Then he said no.

"That's fine," I told him. I began picking up, preparing to sweep the floors and dust the light fixtures.

And then I caught him pondering some more.

Ultimately, he said yes with excitement in his eyes.

Within the next two hours we moved Fynn onto the landing, reorganized Paige's room, and sorted all the toys and hid them away neatly in the shared closet.

We created space where it looked like there was none. In a way, it felt like alchemy. Everyone is happy in their new spaces, they've shifted bits of furniture around, taking pleasure in the freedom they each have in making their rooms their own. The creative energy has shifted into other areas of the house, we moved around the living room furniture to create more of a conversational area, and the dining room feels more spacious after we moved most of Paige's craft supplies up to her bedroom. We're settling in, again. I'm not sure how long we'll be here, but these shifts remind me you can make a home wherever you are. With whatever space you have. Little or big. It's partly about creativity, but mostly about perspective.

When I was growing up, there were many days when my father would come home from work and find the house rearranged. Bookshelves moved (oh my word... my mother, brother, and I still joke about moving books... all the books...), bedrooms switched, furniture rearranged. He always laughed and said something to the affect of "Your mother is at it again..."

If nothing else, I learned from those experiences to take control of my surroundings, that you can make a big impact in a space without spending much money, and that moving a bookshelf can change an entire room. My hope is that my children will learn the same lesson, and we'll all be able to laugh when they're older as we remember the bruises on our thighs and arms from moving furniture, and the weight of carrying armful after armful of books from one shelf to another. Fond memories they'll be, I'm sure of it.