January Update

This is my winter image. The one in my mind. Where things are bright white and cold wet. The one where quiet overtakes you, catching you and making you listen: Deepen, Rest, Swell. . . Ready to Burst forth. But. . . along this coastal edge the snow barely specks the brown. Ice still glazes our farm road, making walking a bit challenging; warning that the woods are protected from those not fully dedicated to arriving there.

We are readying, all the same, in our minds, our bodies, and our hearts for next steps-- both on and off the homestead. Our November trip to Standing Rock transformed itself to voice-- all the knowings collected over endless time suddenly flow into song and prose. That voice hasn't gone unnoticed, so we find ourselves off the farm, here and there, sharing our words and hearts.

At the farm is a mix of the unfun: taxes and fafsas, budgets and orders; the adventurous: woods walks and neighborhood gatherings; the to do's: carpentry, seed and chick orders, preparations and BEST: the dreaming-- flowers and colors, improvements and tweaks, music and meditation, hopes and dreams.

Soon, we'll take a last break before the B.U.S.Y. sets in. We will breathe in smells and hold a new place in our hands until it flows into our hearts. And we will carry its Hellos back to our place, The Nancy Place, and hope those hellos ripen into fruit that feeds our soles and souls during our busy season.

January Windows

I have come to love January. On the surface, its weather and temperatures are predictably unpredictable and people and animals (read: CATS) can become irritable and boxed in. Although really that could be just the detox from December's sugar and catnip. Still, January has a special hopefulness about it. It is when we first see, and really feel, the light returning. In December, it is just a silent prayer-- this light-- but in January we see it manifest.

In this month, we look back at what was and into what will be. It is a month of turning, of inner change--of deep, subtle, meaningful movements. Like a deep ocean current or a low winter wind, it is a game changer. January is a threshold month-- it holds a balance of light, seasons, years, past and present. It is a thin window-- a light veil between future and history-- and sometimes between hope and dismay.



Saved pole bean seed-- a mystery variety from Fedco and our treasured Scarlet Runner Bean.



Ella helping with some soybean.

We boldly keep circling this sun; we keep hoping for our utopian future in the face of our endless mistakes. It is this tendency toward hope that makes us unique-- and maybe a beautiful disaster. January reminds us to chin up, give it a go-- what is hard truly makes us. We have to decide how or what, exactly, we will be.

As the garden sleeps, January offers itself as a balance. It gives us a little time. Here, on this little homestead, we usually finally catch up on some of our seed-saving tasks, with a nod of gratefulness to our past. And -- with a little prayer for our future, we peruse the seed catalogs and inventory our saved seed as we plan the garden beds. What does January bring to you?

Finally getting our tomato seed dried. This is Cherokee Purple-- a heritage variety. We also saved Red Zebras and SunGold this year. To save tomato seed, you need to let them set in their tomato goo for a bit-- a little ferment. Waiting until January was really too long to wait, but it worked out just fine!

Routine Break

We live here! In this amazing little earth niche, within reach of water and all sorts of amazing mini-scapes.

 

 

 

 

                                                                          We. Live. Here. 

 

 

Sometimes we need to take a break from the routine for it to truly sink in. The gratefulness for this piece of heaven fills us and will sustain us as we work through the seasons.

 

 

 

 

 

When working on a homestead, the feelings of creativity, necessity, and passionate drive can take over. Almost all of the time. Taking little breaks of breath and joy can be so healing. Spirit fuel.

 

 



 

 

 

 



up for air. . .

To think that I was waiting for the sinking in, back in winter. . . feeling so busy, even then, and like a mother forgetting the pain of birth. . . not realizing that I really WAS in the slow sinking in time. Now, so busy that finding time to write is laughable. . . Thankfully "the spring wind blew my list of things to do away" (Greg Brown, Spring Wind) and the kids got me out for a hike last Thursday. I hiked up the little hill by the blueberry field, just past where we got married-- up to the ledges and view of Hothole Pond. Gorgeous. Not without getting side-tracked to the old dilapidated junk car (filled with glass and other dangerous things, yes)-

Its been important to remember to take these moments. . . life changes fast sometimes. In spring, it seems more natural and being outdoors watching it all unfold so quickly-- it helps the human spirit to adjust as well, if that makes sense. Here, at our little corner of heaven, changes are always afoot-- surprises always bounding forth in such abundance, its a wonder that magic is dead to so many-- its alive here, in the water flowing, the chicks surpise hatching, little surprise bunnines, a mishap of mud here and there. . .discoveries that never grow old. As I have time and as the muddied waters clear, I'll blog about all the changes that may be coming here. . .Hellos, goodbyes. . .