When the kids were younger writing here was an easier task.

There were lambs in the barn and homeschooling projects on the table; art on the easel and tea in my cup.

And all of that felt worth sharing.

Lately though, I can’t bring myself to share the day-to-day like I once did.

In the early years of writing here, my children’s lives and mine were so intertwined, it was easy to share their stories and my own in one breath. As they grow older, however, their stories have become very much their own, and I am more selective about what I want to bring into this space–both out of respect for them and, indeed, respect for this fragile silence in which we may savor our time together.

I keep rereading that phrase: “respect for the fragile silence.” It feels deeply resonant right now.

With children 11 and nearly 16, I’m cultivating presence as a mother more than ever before.

And yet I keep circling back to this space, this blog, and wondering what I might create here in this new chapter of life and love and learning. I have more to give! Of that I am certain.

Life in our world is certainly not all herbal remedies, nor is it all homeschooling or peaceful parenting or kitchen magic. It’s complex, it’s rich, it’s messy, and delicious.

And, indeed, it is sacred and ours alone.

So I’m stumbling through, figuring out the gifts of sharing here–gifts for me, for my family and, yes, for you as well.

I am still strongly called to come here and share, so I ask you to bear with me as I stumble through rebuilding this space energetically, and determining what it may become. Determining just what it is that I have to offer.

Is this a midlife crisis, perhaps? Nah… it feels more like choosing a gorgeous new knitting project to cast on. Embracing the new while celebrating what came before. A transition.

The stuff and substance of life.

A new season, if you will.

But perhaps before that’s all sorted out, we simply circle back. Back to the basics. To this day, to family, and the simple things that bring meaning and pleasure to our life.

To the things that light a spark in my heart.

Yes… that feels like just the place to pick this up again.

The mornings here have been thick with a blanket of chill fog. Today was no exception. We’ve pulled out the lap blankets again and snuggle up on the couch with hands around tea cups until our bodies and minds are warmed back to life.

I don’t recall the last time it was hot enough for a dip in the creek (by my standards anyway), though Lupine and I did take a wade in that spring-cold water earlier this week. It jolted me into presence, from the soles of my feet to the top of my head. Such good medicine.

I can’t help but feel that we’ve turned the calendar to September, not August.

It has the kids and I thinking of the upcoming homeschooling season, and planning our studies for the coming year.

Reminding me to slow down and savor late summer without rushing headlong into autumn is blue vervain. She is in full bloom in the pasture, and goldenrod is not far behind.

I keep meaning to pick a bit more vertvain, but the blossoms are wet with mist so late into the morning, and by then our day has come to life and I forget to hike to the creek again to harvest.

Perhaps today.

I will make a fresh tincture for stress, headaches, and anxiety, and would also love to make a flower essence of it, if the sun comes out today. Better yet, I’d love to set up my copper still and make a hydrosol of fresh vervain. That sounds magical, indeed.

 

 

And with that, a walk to the creek is calling.

Thorough the mist we go, physically or otherwise, then out the other side.