Happy holidays, dear ones!

I hope you are enjoying a joyous holiday season, however and whatever you choose to celebrate.

As many of you already know, our family’s big, annual celebration is the Winter Solstice. While we both grew up celebrating Christmas, Solstice always felt like a wonderful match for our family, and in the past 20-some years, we have woven our own traditions around this celebration of the returning light.

The four of us gather and celebrate the longest night beside the fire, spending our time playing board games, often dipping candles, and exchanging small handmade gifts with one another.

I look forward to our quiet, meaningful, joyful celebration all year.

This year (like last) we spent our holiday at my parent’s cabin alongside the Wolf River. It added so much to our celebration, to step away from the day-to-day of laundry and to-do lists (and Wifi!) and just sink into the silence of the long, dark nights.

This cabin was built by my grandfather’s and my great grandfather’s hands. Even the smell upon unlocking the door each time we visit is as familiar as home.

This river, where I learned to navigated sharp rocks and swift currents; where I learned to tie on a hook and cast for trout is familiar as well. I know which rocks offer safe purchase, and which ones wobble, which are slippery and which will safely hold my feet. My parents and grandparents before me knew the same, and my children have unlocked many of her secrets as well. This river where we spread my grandma’s ashes, and where Pete and I–both clad in leaky chest waders–became engaged, and later married (arguably better dressed on that latter date).

It’s the river from whom we borrowed our name, and the place where we return again and again.

And so, for Solstice, we returned once more.

To rest, to celebrate, to savor. While this place isn’t home, it really is (if that makes sense).

We arrived at the cabin a couple of days before Solstice, allowing us time to finish gifts and preparations for the holiday. On Lupine’s request we didn’t cut a scraggly balsam from my parent’s woods as we have before (and as is always my first choice), but instead visited a nearby tree farm to purchase something fuller and, well, a little less “Charlie Brown”. Lupine was over the moon, of course, and I was happy to accommodate.

Back at the cabin strung up twinkle lights, hung our favorite homemade ornaments on the tree (some made by me, and others by my grandmother decades ago just for me, and right next door to where they now were displayed), and  we set to work baking cookies and gingerbread for the coming dark, and wrapped up gifts to exchange throughout the day.

The gifts we exchange are small and simple: Lupine knitted a cowl for Pete, and I made him a hat; he is carving me a wooden kuksa cup. The kids got a windfall of mama-made Totoro creations on their request (t-shirts, hand knits, and ornaments).

One stand-out handmade gift was the gorgeous burl wood shawl pin that Sage carved for me, after hearing me express my wish for one for years. So thoughtful, so beautiful.

We played board games and nibbled cookies and gathered by the fire long into the night.

It was a lovely celebration.

After Solstice we packed up and headed to visit my parents for Christmas eve.

More handmade and thoughtfully chosen gifts were exchanged (like the towels my sister printed for my mom and I, below–gah!–), too many cookies were eaten, and lots of time was spent knitting and visiting beside the wood stove in my childhood home.

And now? We’re home again.

And after a busy season and a full week away, there has never been a cozier sight than that of our farm. This hardworking, scrappy, weathered home—messy floors, worn paint, and all.

It’s home.

And no where else feels better than that.

Wishing you and yours a joyful winter season, filled with peace and patience, self-love, and kindness for all.

Love,
Rachel

When my great, great grandmother Anna was just 16 years old, she and her sister said goodbye to their parents, their community, and their homeland, then boarded a boat in Norway destined for America.

I wonder what she thought about on that journey across the sea at such a young age.  Was she fearful, hopeful–both?

And I also wonder–at any moment on that long, 6 week journey did she pause and wonder about the people who already called the “New World” home?

I don’t mean the other European immigrants who had similarly embarked in search of a better life, but the indigenous people of this continent. The people who already occupied the land she now planned to make her home.

This world, of course, was only new to the newcomers.

On the long timeline of North American human history, my great-great grandmother’s arrival on this continent wasn’t all that long ago. I still have her spinning wheel; her stories of the seven waterfalls of her childhood home in Norway are still shared in our family today.

I’m a fourth generation life-long Wisconsinite. My great, great grandparents arrived here from Norway and Eastern Europe, chasing the dream of a better life that the “new world” offered. These hills looked like the home they had left behind, and so they stayed.

And a brief four generations later, I am keenly aware that I live on stolen land.

State (or national) pride will only take us so far, and what we’re left with is a tragic and violent legacy that as a collective we often choose to ignore.

Growing up in Wisconsin, I remember tracing my hand on brown construction paper each November, then affixing colorful paper “feathers” with paste to create a turkey in elementary school. I also remember cutting a strip from that same shade of brown, and affixing those paper feathers into a mock-headdress as our teacher explained the friendship between the pilgrims and the non-specific Indians of lore.

Most Americans grew up hearing a similar story (if not making similarly culturally inappropriate crafts).

The land beneath my feet in my childhood suburban Milwaukee home was Peoria, Potawatomi, Menominee, Miami, and Očeti Šakówiŋ (or Sioux) territory. The hills where my dad grew up in the Driftless (and where my family now calls home) was the homeland of Očeti Šakówiŋ, Sauk, and Ho-Chunk. And the northern Wisconsin land that my mom (and her parents before her) grew up was that of the Menominee. 

My mom grew up in a predominately white community just across the county line from the Menominee Reservation. She has a lifelong friend to this day grieves never having learned the traditional Menominee ways.

Despite growing up on the remnant sliver of her people’s tribal land, thanks to colonization, neither her cultural traditions nor her family tongue were passed down to her.

Not because she left her homeland, but because Europeans arrived.

And each year as Thanksgiving approaches, I think more and more of America’s true history surrounding this holiday. I sit with increasing discomfort at our table laden with food and steeped in myth, struggling with the story we have painted of the first Thanksgiving.

I feel a strong pull in two conflicted directions. The first is to find deep gratitude in this day that we devote to family each year. This is the Thanksgiving I have convinced myself we are celebrating, with our gratitude tree, homemade food, and time shared as a family.

The second pull, of course, is to acknowledge (and begin to heal) the historically accurate version of what we celebrate.

This more important tug is rooted in a need to decolonize a holiday whose traditions run deep in our cultural belief system.

If America focuses on Thanksgiving as simply a day to celebrate the people that we love (as I personally have done for most of my of adulthood), we are conveniently overlooking the bloody handprint that exists upon this day, and upon our place here in North America if we are of European decent.

To be clear, I’m not here to take your turkey and stuffing away; rather I ask you to dig deeper than modern traditions to understand the backstory of what we celebrate. And then (when they are old enough to be ready) to share that truth with your kids.

I acknowledge that there is discomfort in sitting with these stories, in opening ourselves to the implications. I’m certain in even opening this conversation here I will make some missteps. But putting away the myth and picking up history is our responsibility–as parents, as the descendants and benefactors of colonists, as Americans.

Sure, the tidy history that we learned in elementary school (had it been factual) carries a greater appeal. But learning the truth, and peeling it back layer by layer to realize how it affects indigenous and non-native peoples to this day is crucial for deeper healing.

And sitting in our own discomfort is one small first step along this healing path.

I have a few links to share today if you, too, are interested in decolonization, putting away the paper headdress-perpetuated stereotypes, and playing your part in acknowledging the generations of violence done to Indigenous people across this continent.

As a white person, what I have to bring to the table is to simply acknowledge that we have work to do, then digging in and beginning to educate myself and my children with facts instead of myths. From there I hand the floor to the people below who know far more than I, many of them indigenous.

I hope you will spend some time reading what they have to share, and reflecting on the true story of the America that we call home.

If you have additional resources to add to the list below, I invite you to include them in the comments. 

Thank you for stepping into this uncomfortable space with me. It’s not easy to change traditions, or to acknowledge that our own actions may cause harm. Healing generations of trauma is no quick fix, but–like so many of you–I’m ready to show up and do what I can to begin moving in that direction.

Decolonizing Thanksgiving: a few links to get you started:

American Indians in Children’s Literature’s list of good Thanksgiving books for kids

This list includes:

 1621: A New Look at Thanksgiving (afflink)

Four Seasons of Corn, A Winnebago Tradition (afflink)

Thanksgiving: a Native American Story

The Native-Lands Map and (as importantly) the accompanying Teacher Guide

With Thanksgiving: a Native American View

The Future is Indigenous: Decolonizing Thanksgiving

Racial Justice Resources for Thanksgiving

Decolonizing Thanksgiving: a Toolkit for Combating Racism in Schools

“Kill the Indian, Save the Man” Indian Boarding Schools

Special thanks to my friend Shawn Nadeau for editing help with this post.

Few things are more of a pleasure than celebrating birthdays and holidays with my family.

Our birthday traditions have been pretty well cemented since my kids were small. Yet time continues to catch me by surprise as our need for the candle spiral and birthday buntings seem to grow closer together year after year.

What is the saying when our children are small? “The days are long but the years are short.” And each year they grow shorted still.

This weekend it was Lupine’s turn to celebrate as we marked her twelfth trip around the sun.

In lieu of a friend party, she had requested that we go as a family to a trampoline park an hour or so from home. It was a ridiculous amount of fun for all of us, and a quiet follow-up day on her actual birthday was just the ticket to rebalance that crazy energy. (And rest our collective sore muscles!)

Have you been to a trampoline park with the people you adore the most? It’s madness, I assure you. And totally not our day-to-day jam. But honestly, I can’t recommend it enough. I can’t remember the last time I laughed so hard, or jumped so high.

Her desires for her birthday itself were simple: a quiet day at home spent eating favorite meals, wearing PJs, and playing board games together. (Yes, please on all counts!)

She pulled out her favorite games, and we whiled away the day drawing one box after another off the heap. I think we got halfway through the stash below before the day was done.

In the evening as we set out candles and dessert, I found the birthday crown that my sister and I made for her when Lupine turned 2.

It was buried at the bottom of the birthday bin where we keep the buntings, candle spiral, and other celebration necessities. She hasn’t worn it since she was small, having preferred a newer, less juvenile crown that I made her when she was five, or – more recently – none at all.

I jokingly offered the bluebird crown to her last night, and, surprising even herself, she enthusiastically agreed.

I gave her mittens for her birthday the first year she wore this crown. Carefully snipped and sewn from an old cashmere sweater, she adored them. Yesterday, a decade later and with her crown again in place, we repeated that storyline.

New mittens, a beaming smile, and a birthday story by candlelight.

Life changes, children grow, and childhood is fleeting. Yet there are things that – if only through magic – remain poetically the same.

Hang onto your hearts, parents of wee ones. You’re in for a beautiful ride.

Postscript: If you’re curious about our family’s longstanding birthday traditions, there are a zillion posts in the archives if you search “birthday Lupine” or “birthday Sage”.

I also wrote a two part series some eight years ago about our favorite traditions. You can find them here and here. Many of the customs I outline (from the spiral to the story) are still in joyful use. And my free bunting tutorial is here, and my birthday crown pattern is up in my Etsy shop.

Birthdays celebrations are my jam. Whether marking milestones for my kids, Pete, or enjoying my own birthday celebration, I love a simple and meaningful day centered around time together enjoying our favorite things.

The way we celebrate has changed little through the years, except, perhaps, finally dialing in our game. There is a birthday bunting to hang (I shared instructions for making your own here), favorite meals to make, and a day to take off of work, no matter what’s on the usual agenda.

Even in my teens and 20’s I took my birthday off of work, and now my team at LüSa is given the same, a day off to celebrate family, friends, and life.

Yesterday was no different except: pottery!

This year my birthday brilliantly conceded with our weekly pottery lessons, and I convinced Pete decided to join us. For his first time at the wheel he was fantastic! (No surprise there.)

We spent the morning throwing pots, making messes, and enjoying ourselves thoroughly at the pottery wheels.

Back home there was ample time to knit in front of the wood stove (clay still on my jeans), hike to the spring to forage some watercress, and soak in some needed sunshine.

In the evening I even set to work exploring the herbalism course I signed up for (mentioned yesterday). It seemed like the perfect day to begin!

The best part of the day was that Pete and the kids managed all the birthday prep work, cooking, and clean up while I gluttonously relaxed by the fire. The food was incredible. Perhaps partially because I did zero to prepare it; perhaps because it was made with love; or perhaps because these three are fine cooks and bakers!

Likely all three.

And the day wouldn’t be complete without some small, thoughtful gifts handmade by my loves. We have never gotten into the habit of buying gifts, and I’m glad. That means the fabric, paints, hammers, and saws are pulled out for each celebration and the gifts are made with heart.

This year Lupine freezer paper stenciled some t-shirts for me from her own art (at 11 she can do every step herself, a tutorial for those is here). Sage took apart and rebuilt the gearbox of my stand mixer (wha?!), something that has been broken for the three or four years and sorely missed.

And Pete carved me two mind-blowingly beautiful wooden spoons from wood he harvested in his prairie restoration project. Whoa. They are amazing, and the ladle even has a little heart carved into the end of the handle.

And just like that, I’m 45!

So far this year is off to an excellent start.

Lupine is all about the celebrations. I mean seriously all about it. Is professional party-planning a life goal? If so, she’s already there. Each year she goes full out for Valentine’s Day, friends’ birthdays, Winter Solstice, and our spring celebration. Me? I only have so much holiday juju to give, so each year when she asked if we would have a St. Patrick’s Day celebration I did my best to evade her request.

This year, though, felt different. Exactly a half-year since our month-long road trip around Ireland, it felt like a wonderful excuse to celebrate. If not St. Patrick himself, at least the most memorable trip our family has ever taken.

We spent a week planning our menu, since we decided that the holiday would be pretty much all about the food: muesli, Irish brown bread (baked by Sage), and our best effort as a traditional Irish breakfast in the morning (black pudding, white pudding, rashers, and sausage. hello.) plus fried eggs and brown bread with Irish butter on the side. And cups of Irish Breakfast tea in our mugs, of course. For lunch Lupine baked a loaf of bread and we made sandwiches, something we almost never eat in our normal life but that made up the bulk of our cooler-lunches in Ireland. For dinner, I made my best effort at a classic Irish stew (eaten with more fresh bread, because if you’re going to go, go big) to mimic our favorite meal from our favorite Dublin pub, and honestly, for my normal stew-snubbing family it was a win. As in: eating seconds and wiping the bowl clean with their bread kind of win.

Beside the fire after dinner, we pulled out a photo album that I had printed of favorite photos from our trip, and relived our most memorable moments of the month.

The day left us feeling grateful, wistful, and – of course – oh so full.

Perhaps we’ve added another holiday to our annual list after all. (Lupine will be glad!) And this one I think even I can handle making a habit of.

On something of a whim, we headed to my parent's cabin up north to celebrate the Winter Solstice. We spent nearly a week there, tucked in among the cedar trees. In that old cabin, build by my grandpa and great-grandpa back in the 1950s, we snuggled up beside the fire, watching the snow fall, playing board games, and carving, knitting, and reading – together. It was exactly what I needed after the busiest season I can remember in recent years. To simply slow down, reconnect, and savor what life (and family) is truly all about. 

Here are a few highlights! 

Though we had a tree at home, Lupine felt it would simply not be Solstice without a proper Solstice tree at the cabin as well.

And since my favorite trees have always been the scraggly balsams found in my parent's woods, that was our first priority. Lu decided that a tiny table-top tree was in order as well, and, since my dad is clearing this woods of balsams anyway, we indulged.

A three-tree holiday? Why not…

Back at the cabin, two old-fashioned wooden tree stands were crafted from scrap lumber, and we decorated with trimmings we packed from home. Then there were all of our other Solstice traditions to attend to. There were gingerbread houses to bake, assemble, and decorate (one gluten-full and one gluten-free, each made completely by their respective child). There were our favorite holiday cookies to bake, homemade gifts to wrap, and a Solstice fire to prepare.

Our small (but meaningful) gifts ranged from a pair of knitted gloves to a wooden bird feeder; homemade nut brittle to an upcycled leather bag. I managed to steal an evening to make the kid's annual handmade ornaments, as well. They are the simplest (and possibly homeliest!) yet, but the kids got a kick out of them anyway. They are pickles because we're part German and love this bizarre tradition that I'm sure many of you are already familiar with!

The stone buttons, pictured below, were Pete's thoughtful gift for me. After I mentioned in passing while we were in Ireland that I wanted some, he gathered them up on the Irish beach, then drilled them for me after we returned home. I was utterly surprised and delighted.

And then outside we went, to watch the sun sink low beyond the river. We played, listened to the eagles, watched a mink romping through the snow, and worked on the quinzee we were building in the yard. As the sun set we lit our Solstice fire, and settled in for an evening of sparks and stars.

(Bottom two photos above, plus photos of me, thanks to Pete.)

Thoroughly chilled, we headed inside long after dark for candle-making and the simplest of dinners beside the fireplace.

Because honestly, who wants to stop all of this merriment to cook? None of us, it seemed, so stuffed baked potatoes were all that we managed. Everyone decided it was the best Solstice dinner yet, and that – along with celebrating at the cabin – it should be a new annual tradition.

In all we spent just short of a week at the cabin – a few days before, then a few days after our celebration. It reset us in the best way possible, slowing down like we rarely manage around the holidays.

Because all of that doing and buying and rushing about? It's not for us, we've decided.

And a slow, old-fashioned celebration is certainly more our speed.