Oh, where to begin.

As I cooked lunch today I looked at how much of my food was grown on one single farm outside of Viroqua. My friend Mary's farm. (I have talked to you about her from time to time.)

My onions and squash, my potatoes and beans, my milk and yogurt, my beets and raspberries. (Click on my "Nourishment" category and almost all the food you see there was grown by their family. I grow a little of our food. Mary grows much of the rest. Heck, even my garden starts are from her farm.)

Mary is a certified organic farmer. She is the mother of nine boys. She is Amish. She is a soapmaker.

And she is my friend.

We come from different worlds but we share so much in common and I look forward to our weekly visits when I come to her farm for groceries. She looks forward to it too and sometimes stops by my house, hitching her buggy to the power pole across the road.

Last night there was a fire at Mary's house.

While she, her boys, and her husband are okay, the damage is significant. A part of their house is destroyed as is the new produce packing shed they worked so hard to complete last year.

When I left her house today I had tears in my eyes. So much is lost and I simply can not imagine the feeling of seeing flames lap the walls of my home. Or seeing the devastation that remains in the days and weeks following a fire.

I can still smell the smoke in my hair and I was only there for twenty minutes. My children sat in the car, wide-eyes staring at a house they know well that was now smoldering. Staring at these kids they know well, shoveling up smoking debris from what was once their home.

Dozens of friends, family, and neighbors from their Amish community were there, removing debris and scrubbing soot from the walls that still stand. Some of the house is lost (their kitchen, mudroom, and upstairs bedroom), but much what remains can be saved.

And standing there among Mary's true community this afternoon I wanted so much to help, too. Because she belongs to our "English" community as well. She grows our food, makes salves for us, and is a kind neighbor.

And we want to help too.

Mary is also an herbalist. That shared passion was the beginning of our friendship. And so in that spirit I would like to invite you to support my friend and her family in this time of need.

Mary has taught me a great deal about herbs. I am putting together a small PDF of six winter recipes for you, for sale for $6.00. (If you want to donate more you can buy more than one PDF. I'll only email you one copy per order, so don't fret about getting extra emails.) It won't be anything sparkly or elaborate, just a simple workbook of basic recipes. That seems appropriate, doesn't it?

Buy one or buy 100. All of the dollars that I raise by selling the booklet will be anonymously donated to her family. (If you are local and know this family, please don't tell!)

You can read a description and buy the PDF here.

Since I'm still putting the finishing touches on the recipes, I will email it out by December 15.

When the kids and I got home from Mary's I asked them if they could find
anything to be grateful for today. Sage paused and said, "All of those
people. Helping them." And then he added, "And that no one got hurt."

And he's right. Even in a crisis there is much good to focus on.

I believe that with all of my heart. 

A very happy Halloween to you from our family. (The evil fairy princess, the impromptu gnome and hipster, and the shadow.)

From my sweet little town where apple cider is served to excited trick-or-treaters who – amazingly – slow down and embrace the stillness as they wait in patience and gratitude for their cup.

Oh my goodness I love this place.

From my community, where the costumes are mostly kid-made. (I counted no less than six wool felt masks, hats, or crowns at one stop alone. Okay, Lupine and I were two of the six but still. These kids are seriously rad.)

And from me. The dork in the gnome hat (sewn spontaneously in the ten minutes before we left for our celebration). Because I'm never too old to dress up for Halloween.

And with that, I think it's time to extinguish the pumpkins and call it a night. Sweet dreams everyone.

Love,
Rachel

Edited this moring to ask: did you invite the Pumpkin Fairy this year? I'd love to hear how it went!

Even rain couldn't dampen this day.

Thank you, Viroqua. For being so freaking fabulous.

I can't imagine being anywhere else.

Sometimes we get so hungry for cold creek water on our skin and the wild earth beneath our feet that we scrap our dinner plans, pack a picnic, and head to the country.

As soon as we pile out of the truck I stop noticing the tick of my watch. Time and worry cease to exist. We laugh, hike, wade, (knit), forage, and stay out past bedtime, and come home happy and sleepy in the pickup truck after the fireflies come out to do their dance.

Last night was one of those nights. And it was perfect.

Love,
Rachel

I started today early, just my puppy and me. A one-hour walk as the sun came up.

And I feel fantastic.

Just a walk. Alone. Without my kids to negotiate just-a-few-more-blocks with, without Pete to hold hands and talk with, without the trick-kite-flying gig that is walking two dogs at once. Withouth distraction.

Just me. And Olive. And the songbirds.

My days have been getting away from me lately. Somehow I look up every afternoon and it's four PM and I still haven't hung the laundry, if washed it even. And the sink is full of dishes and there are books everywhere and… well, you get the idea.

I needed – and wanted – to restart my daily rhythm. To find my groove again. Early seemed like the place to start.

Also, I've been feeling lately a serious lack of time for me. At night I'm too tired to make it quality. So I found it in the morning.

I set my alarm for 4:45. (Okay, typing that I now see that that looks insane. But it didn't feel insane. As you know, I don't have a baby waking me to nurse at night anymore, so please if you have a little one don't even think about it. Get all the sleep you can. I've been falling asleep with my kids before 9 for the past week, and every Saturday I get up at 3:45 for the farmer's market. If I haven't set an earlier sleep-wake cycle that is completely insane.)

Olive and I walked through the small town quiet that is the early morning. Through the dew the birdsong and the chill damp air, the rest of our town asleep. We went to a woods where I let Olive run off leash. Bliss. For us both.

She is asleep again at my feet as I type. But me, I'm energized.

What a change it made just to get my heart pumping and my body moving and my head cleared first thing. I feel fantastic. (Is this why other people exercise?)

I could make a habit of this.

And now I hear the patter of feet beginning to move around the house. Looks like day has begun for at least one of my loves.

And so the day begins.

Wishing you all a wonderful weekend. I'll have a guest post up over on Whip Up tomorrow (Saturday), discussing my creative process. Take a look if you are interested.

Love,
Rachel

Birds

People

Colors

Homes

The rural corner of Wisconsin where I hail from, Vernon County, is the second poorest of the 72 counties in the state. Poor in dollars, maybe. But not in creativity, vision, magic, or art. In those I suspect we'd come out on top, per-capita. 

Take these quilts. They are fantastic, if I say so myself.

Handmade for the Viroqua Harvest Moon Celebration (I blogged about that experience here), the quilts were crafted by four groups of amazing, artistic, passionate women. The quilts represent weeks of creative collaborative work.

They also provide a bit of artistic parade fund-raising.

All four quilts are all being auctioned off in a silent auction at Ewetopia, our local yarn shop. All proceeds will go to support the future of the parade for years to come. For those of you with the means, will you join us? The starting bid is $200 on each quilt. The sale of these quilts will really help make the parade happen in the coming years. Considering the time that went into each, that's a steal for starting bids. LuSa Organics bid on one to hang as art in our new production space. I'll let you know if we win!

As for sizes, a call to Ewetopia can answer your questions. Place a bid by phone (Ewetopia Fiber Shop: 608-637-3443) or email (info@ewetopiafibershop.com). Quilts will be delivered to the winning bidder in the coming weeks.

Have a blessed weekend, everyone.

Love,
Rachel

P.S. In case you were wondering, I made the wren (bottom left) and bluebird on prayer flags (top right) on the bird quilt.

 

 

 

 

Viroqua. I love you.

Our little town of 4,500 is unlike any other small town – in Wisconsin if not the world. Our quiet agricultural community holds a mix of people. There is the old Viroqua – the real, honest, rural folks you'd expect to find in any sleepy country town. But then there are the newcomers. The kind of people you're more likely to find in artistic corners of hip cities rather than out here in the sticks.

The "new" Viroqua community (which we joined five years ago) has come here for just that – community. A safe, quiet place to raise our families while not feeling like outsiders. I live in a small town, and yet I blend. I'm normal here. After being rural for most of my adult life I find this amazing.

Viroqua has an established Waldorf grade school, a student-run Waldorf high school, a charter high school, a new Montessori pre-school, and a vibrant homeschooling community. I don't know many cities (much less small towns) with so many options within just a few city blocks. Add to that the greatest concentration of organic family farms in the country, and we've got a good thing going here. Viroqua also boasts a vibrant natural foods coop and several fantastic local shops peppering our Main street.

Viroqua is brimming with creative free spirits from musicians and viusal artists to puppeteers, a circus performer or two, and those focused on spoken word. Last year some of these creative minds dreamt of and created Viroqua's first Harvest Moon Celebration. Looking around before the parade began last year I was amazed and the talent this little town brought forth. The quality of the giant puppets, the creativity of the story, the presentation.

This year it was even better. The giant puppets wove down Main Street spinning a story that connects us all – both Viroqua's locals and her many newcomers. This year's story was that of the grandmother. The story from birth to death, of creation and dreams, and hope.  And of course that the event featured quilting and knitting elevated the whole day for me!

As for the expectation of candy being thrown to observers, our town opted for local organic squash (rolled, not thrown) and flower seeds. Awesome. As I looked over the faces in the park during the post-parade performance, I saw the faces that make this place home. This is my community. This is my home. This is our story.

Thank you, Viroqua, for being this place. For being the home where I fit in in every way, and where I couldn't be happier to raise my kids and someday grow old. Thanks for bring art and magic to our sleepy little town.

I am Norwegian. And German. And Russian. And dozens of other European descents (including "Italian Gypsy" if you asked my Grandma Lee). But mostly I've always felt Norwegian. The Norwegian stories were the stories I heard often as a child. The Norwegian spinning wheel (belonging to my great-great-grandma, made by my great-great-grandpa) sits next to my modern spinning wheel in my living room. Holidays since childhood have brimmed with Norwegian foods and customs, and I, personally, am in charge of lefse (yes, me, gluten free and all) for my entire family. I am Norwegian. Even if it is less than 1/2 of my blood.

This weekend we headed to a nearby Norwegian heritage center for a fall celebration, the "Threshing Bee". Lefse. Brown cheese. Threshing. Flailing. Rope-making. Grain-grinding. This place, suspended in time and space, feels somehow like coming home. And while we may already know how to blacksmith and make butter and cheese and keep animals, it's still a perfectly magical day brimming with wide-eyed learning. We feel normal here in some strange lost-in-time way.