On our flight home from Ireland I could hear someone just a row or two ahead of us coughing incessantly. For eight hours. Initially I talked myself into believing she had just inhaled some pretzel crumbs, but my resolve wavered around hour three. I tried my best not to think about recirculated airplane air, and before we knew it we were home.

Two days later both kids were sick. (If not from the coughing person on the plane, from the veritable snow globe of germs that is airport travel in general. Honestly, we may as well have licked the handrails.) Sore throat, cough, headache, the works. As soon as they pulled out of it three days later, I was in.

Aside from our trip (which, I suppose, is stress of a different sort) I've been pushing myself like mad since May. It's a wonder I didn't catch something sooner. So I'm doing what I can to rest up and recuperate and be ready and back on my feet in time for the October retreat! 

I thought today was the perfect day to share once more my method to bounce back, in hopes that it might help some of you in the coming weeks as well.

I think I've taken only four or five photographs since camp more than a week ago, aside from those for LüSa or the project I'm busily completing. This is in stark contrast to my usual dozens of photos per day.

I suppose that's a decent representation of the focus of my life at the moment – no time to tarry! – as we rush about preparing for our departure, while simultaneously buttoning up many big projects around here.

I just keep reminding myself to breathe. 

We leave for the first leg of our Ireland trip on Friday or Saturday (depending on how much we can accomplish before then), detouring for a quick family visit en route to the airport on Monday.

And all the loose ends of farm, family, home, and business are rapidly presenting themselves for tying up before we go. New fencing for the cows, a quick chicken coop clean-out, housekeeping, basement tidying in case of a flood, washing the bedsheets, brushing the rabbits, on and on and on. And that's only at home! There's much to be done to prepare other aspects of our life for departure as well, most notably LüSa. 

But don't think that I'm complaining. Quite the contrary! I'm eager for this adventure to begin, and grateful for our friends, family, and LüSa crew who are making it all possible – from caring for our farm and home while we are away to keeping LüSa humming along smoothly during our absence.

And I'm so grateful for those surprise flyer miles that are making the whole thing possible.

Tomorrow Sage turns 15 (fifteen!) and then we'll be off, headed across the globe on our first oversees family adventure. I'll aim for one more post here before we leave, and after that I'll be sharing the journey both on the blog when I can and via my Instagram. I hope you'll follow along with us as we go!

And with that, I think I have a bit of work to tend to this morning. Have a wonderful Wednesday, friends.

Slán!

Rachel

Thanks to each of you for your kindness and sensitivity when I shared Charlie's story with you earlier this week. So many of you shared your own experiences, commiserated, or otherwise empathized with our loss. I wish I could give each one of you a huge hug and a say thank you in person.

Here's to the healing power of time and to the very worthwhile risk we all take when we choose to love.

Hugs all around.

Rachel

Every morning, before we get down to the business of farm chores or work or breakfast, Charlie and I take a walk.

It's short and slow (because that's what he needs these days), but it's usually a nice way to frame the day for us both. Charlie will only drink from the creek (a strange side-effect of being sick for so long), so we head there together three times a day in an effort to keep him moving and hydrated.

And for the most part I truly love this new rhythm.

It's quiet and peaceful and gets me moving shortly after I wake. But there are also days when it's so hot and humid that I'm soaked through before we make it to the creek. And I've been home alone for just over a week, so when I get back to the house all of the farm chores fall to me. Which is a lot.

And so this morning I was preoccupied.

It would be my last day of doing morning chores alone before my family finally returns from their ill-fated journey up north. (They left for what was meant to be a four- or five-day trip, but ended up having significant car troubles and were stranded up north for over 10 days.) Add to their absence the fact that we had a small flood two days ago; that Charlie has been seeming sicker again; that we have a costly car repair to pay for; and that another flood is on its way tonight and my heart wasn't in our walk this morning.

I was in my head, not in my body. I was thinking about my to-do list, not our path to the creek.

Just general fretting, I suppose. At which I am a master. (Not to brag, but, yeah. A master.)

And as Charlie drank I finally looked up.

I glanced alongside the creek where our trail winds down to the water, and I noticed a string of jewels hanging from a web. Dew drops – mist from our daily morning shroud – hanging delicately before my eyes. 

And it took my breath away.

I didn't expect to find something so lovely on a day like this. So busy with worry was I, that I forgot for a moment the beauty that surrounds me. 

I looked further down the creek and realized that they were everywhere. Jeweled webs and spider silk everywhere I looked. It was magical. 

I turned and looked back at the way we had just come, and sure enough, lining our entire path was a series of masterpieces I had walked by (and likely through) and never seen. 

And I realized then how fleeting this fragile beauty is. One gust of wind, or a few more moments in the hot sun and their beauty would be lost. Is that impermanence part of what makes them so splendid? Maybe so.

And to think – they were there all along. I only had to step out of myself for a moment to notice. 

Back at the house now, the rain has begun again.

Those fragile webs are gone, for now. And I'm grateful that I noticed them while they were here. 

And tomorrow? Tomorrow there will be more beauty to discover.

If only I remember to put down my troubles and look. 

Gearing up for another full day of prepping for summer camp and working on the project I have tucked up my sleeve this season. (I promise to share more about that as soon as I can!) There are sure to be wayward ducklings and one big sweet dog to distract me, but otherwise it's just me, a car-load of herbs to move through the dehydrator, and my keyboard to keep me busy until sunset. 

And a head's up to my foragy friends: Monarda (wild bee balm) is in it's full glory this week! This is one of my favorite medicinal plants to keep on hand, and it's not one you can readily purchase. If you have a spot to forage for your medicine chest, now is the time! Don't miss it. 

Have a beautiful Wednesday, friends!

Just popping in for a quick hello – and an apology for the silence! So many wonderful things brewing that aren't quite ready for sharing yet, but are filling my days from morning until night. I promise it will be worth your wait!

Life, of course, keeps humming along and unfolding, just as it is meant to, no matter how much we have to attend to. The photos above, a peek into our last week or so over here, will testify to that. 

In the meantime I hope each of you are enjoy the bounty that is June, and finding a moment to pause in your own busy season to savor the view.

Love,

Rachel 

When my kids were small I put together a packing list for them so that they could pack without much assistance from me. It turned out to be a great way to build independence at an early age, and encourage participation in preparing for a family trip. It turns out mom and dad really don't need to do it all. Who knew?

The post below (from 2010) and includes a downloadable packing list for you to use with your own kids during this summer's travels. Enjoy!

* * *

Sage is nearly eight years old. Until recently I still packed for him whenever we traveled. While I rarely take the do-it-myself-because-it's-easier-that-way approach to parenting, when a trip is involved I do. Travel freaks me out. I tend to start a last minute sewing project (that abstractly pertains to the trip) when I should be packing food and underwear, based on some perception of an unfulfilled need. Really.

For our last trip I created a kid-friendly packing list so that the kids can help with their own packing. It is simply a checklist with drawings of all necessary items and a line for quantities that you can update for each trip. It contains all the basic clothing needs (for summer and winter), books, toys, and snuggle-buddies. I did not include items like toothbrushes and winter or rain gear because I still pack these myself.

You can print a copy of mine (there is a link to the PDF below) or create your own personalized version with clip art, stickers, catalog pictures, or your own drawings. Then tuck into a protective plastic sleeve, find a crayon or wipe-off marker for checking items off, and get packing! With this list even non-readers can participate if given a little assistance.

(Worth noting is that on Sage's copy of the packing list he wrote the quantity 0 in the blank beneath undies and added the editorial comment "Dumb." We all have our biases.)

Here is the link to the PDF. Just scale to fit page for your printer and you'll be set. Happy summer vacationing!

Download Ourpackinglist

Originally published in 2010.

I don't recall when it began, my obsession with spring. As a child having an April birthday helped, but it was always more than that.

Spring is the opening of a present you've been looking longingly at for weeks. Spring is the arrival of all the things you love most, in one delicious cascade: songbirds, lilacs, spring peepers, bare feet.

Spring, to me, is happiness incarnate. And I never want to miss a moment.

I remember a change that happened in me in early adulthood – a shift in my relationship with spring. It happened after the eternal free time of childhood had melted away, but then (like now) my love of spring remained. I recall noticing with surprise mid-spring how long the fresh shoots of grass were along my drive to work. I saw them with equal parts excitement and sadness. Excitement, of course, because it was spring, my favorite season of all. But sadness because I realized how much I had already missed. Spring, like peak color in fall, is fragile and fleeting. And seeing those tall shoots of grass I also saw countless opportunities to be out in the awakening season that I had missed; moments of discovering one sleepy unfurling plant at a time as the season came to life around me. 

Ever since then the shoots of grass along my driveway and the roadside are my litmus test to a spring well lived. Am I surprised by how tall they have grown? Then a walk is in order – right away! When I'm not surprised by their height, well, then I know I've been living this spring just the way I want to – with mud on my boots and sun on my face.

I don't want to miss a moment of this delicious season. Not this year; not when I'm eighty.

And so we've been heading down to the nettle patch nearly every day and harvesting fresh tips for breakfast and dinner. We set up a new creekside campfire ring, and though it's only been a few days we've already had two fires there with more sure to happen this week.

Spring also breathes life in stalled projects I've had on deck (or in mind) for ages. When we're not outside eyeing up the nettle sprouts and the grass shoots we are dreaming, doing, and making.

I guess the part I'm falling short on is the story sharing. Oh, I have such a backlog of stories for you! About life and death on the farm; about knitting projects and beeswax cloth; about nettle soup and goose egg waffles. 

So many stories, just waiting for me to jot them all down. But this broken arm slows us all down a bit, and my writing time is now divided with other tasks, like caring for animals and tending things around the house. I think it's time I find my groove. 

One by one I'll tick away at these stories, this week and next. (There is no expiration date on sharing completed knitting projects, is there? Because goodness. I have them going back to October, when there was no broken arm to blame for my lack of writing rhythm.) I'll work up a simple nettle soup recipe for you and teach you how to patch your jeans. Some of you have asked me to share how we manage kids and chores, and it's been too long since I've taking photos of a lamb in a tutu.  And maybe – if I can find it in this tender heart – I'll share another story or two of the hard lessons of farm life.

Yes, I think that's just what I need. Will you join me? 

I'll be back soon, with lots to share. Until then, if you need me, I'll be down by the creek catching frogs.

Love,
Rachel

We had a rough day on Friday.

A day where Pete – home alone with the kids – managed to break his arm.

After Sage and Lupine ran for ice packs and and arnica and the hurriedly made phone calls to me and various neighbor-friends (I was at work, some 20 minutes away) we managed to get him to the emergency room for x-rays and splinting. 

After several hours, plenty of pain (and even more worry), and lots of support from our friends and community, Pete had his bones more or less back where they belong and a temporary splint in place until the swelling reduces enough for a proper cast in a couple of weeks.

On the way home we picked up Rescue Remedy, pain pills, frozen pizzas, ice cream, and more arnica. 

(Because sometimes a crisis calls for the whole gamut, don't you think?)

We debriefed as a family, talking through the big feeling that the event stirred up for us all. And then we fell into a fitful sleep, exhausted from the day but still full of adrenaline from all that had unfolded.

And then, just like that, it was Saturday. 

And like magic, like always, the sun came up once more.

The sun came up on a scruffy little farm with animals that still needed food and water and care; meals that still needed preparing; dishes that still needed washing.

And so we put down our worries and picked up our boots and got to work.

We worked together, the kids and I, without complaint. It took longer than usual, but we got it done. Even without Pete. Even worried; even tired; even overwhelmed.

We managed.

And somehow between the doses of pain medicine and doses of herbs; between ice packs and experiments with arm elevation strategies; between dishes and hay bales and water troughs, we exhaled.

It was a long and slow (though still unsteady) exhale, but it was an exhale none the less.

And then we started crunching numbers. Because sometimes a crisis calls for that, too.

As you likely know, we're self-employed. As you may not know, for us (and many other small business owners) that also means we are uninsured. We live in a strange no-man's land, making too much money to qualify for affordable healthcare, and too little to afford any healthcare all.

And so a trip to the ER is something that I worry about almost constantly (along with lots of other things). And month after month, year after year we bite our lips and throw the dice, hoping to come out on top. Usually we do. But not always. Like on Friday for example.

We hung out with our Amish friends this weekend and they gave us an idea of what to expect from the bill that is soon to arrive. We shared some much needed laughter as they described their reply to the hospital when they were told they had to pay their bill online. ("Well, we have a clothesline. Should we hang the check out back?")

I was so grateful for the diversion of laughter and the feeling of kinship we shared – despite our obvious differences – as we discussed hospitals, payment plans, clothesline humor, and herbal remedies for bone healing.

So for now, I guess, I'll just keep digging in on farm chores, distracting myself with making of every sort, and keep hoping for a gentle landing when that bill arrives.

Mostly though today I am grateful for a husband who is (more or less) still in one piece, helpful friends who cared for us in our hour of need, and Western medicine.

Because when you break an arm, hot dang if Western medicine isn't the most marvelous thing.

And would you look at that? Pete's already helping out with farm chores again. 

Love,

Rachel