When I was a child summer meant inner-tubes in the river, camping in the woods, and campfires beneath the stars. It meant chasing fireflies, picking wildflowers, and catching toads.

Summer was endless sunny bike rides, tangled tree branch forts, and calls of "be home before dark!" as we raced down the driveway.

But summer today – like much of life – seems increasingly busy for so many.

And while my family's life here on the farm feels pretty slow and old-school, I recognize that we're not the norm.

The norm, I suspect, is summer school and soccer league. Overnight camp and enrichment activities. Full schedules from June through September.

And when you add to this the constant allure of our glowing screens, an old-fashioned summer feels like something that went extinct generations ago.

But what if…

What if we made a choice to resurrect that old-fashioned summer break?

What if we brought back just a little of the slowness, the magic, and the dirt-under-your-fingernails experience of a hands-on, real-live summer?

No, you don't need to give away your IPod, shut off the WIFI, or cancel your child's slot at camp (we won't be anyway). Because those things have a place in modern life, too. But what do you say we embrace our fast-paced lives while we remember what's worth keeping from slower days gone by?

And if you did, what would your kids never forget about this summer?

Below are 25 simple and free ideas to make summer a slowed-down, pulled-back, just-right experience.

Dig in for an afternoon, a week, or the whole season and delight in what unfolds.

Because these are the moments you will savor and remember.

 

25 Tips for (a delightfully old-fashioned)

summer vacation

 

1. Slow down.

There's no hurry to get anywhere, so let's savor where we are. You only have one chance at this day, this season, this relationship, this childhood.

2. Under-schedule.

Less on your calender means more space for the people you love. If your kids are accustom to a pretty full plate it might take them a bit to adjust. But when they do a whole world of possibilities will open up before them.

3. Make space for simple play.

I can't say enough about the magic that this brings.

4. Invite friends over for a picnic.

And don't clean first. Spread an old blanket on the grass and dig in. Memorable, real, and unplugged in the best way.

5. Have a campfire.

If only because it's high time you teach your kids what "I hate white rabbits" means. (Or as my kids say it (between coughs), "I don't like white bunnies!")

6. Build a quick and easy backyard fort.

It'll take you ten minutes and keep your kids entertained for the summer. No Pinterest perfection required. Just a bedsheet and some rope. Boom.

7. Make a habit of saying "yes".

Can we go swimming? Can we have dessert? Will you read me a book? Embrace the yes and see where it takes you.

8. Stay up late chasing fireflies.

Because what could be better?

And besides. Bedtime is over-rated. (Just ask your kids.)

9. Blow some epic bubbles.

I mean honestly. How could you not? These bubbles will captivate everyone, young and old.

10. Go swimming in a lake.

Or the ocean. Or a creek. But get your feet wet in nature. And if the water is cold I double dare you to dunk!

11. Sleep out in your backyard.

With or without a tent. Under the moon and stars, just you and your family. Summer was made for this.

If you want to take the sleep out even further, plan a road trip to a National Park. Because the Parks somehow feel like everyone's backyard.

12. Explore without agenda

Your block, a city, the forest, your home state. Make an adventure of it. On bike, on foot, by car, or by train, get out there and find new places to love.

13. Listen to your children's stories.

As Catherine Wallace brilliantly put it, “Listen earnestly to anything [your children] want to tell you, no matter what. If you don't listen eagerly to the little stuff when they are little, they won't tell you the big stuff when they are big, because to them all of it has always been big stuff.”

Don't wait. Start today.

14. Have less rules.

The world is safer now than it has ever been. Safer than when I zipped down the driveway with no helmet and was told to "be home before dark". Children learn best through freedom, and we adults thrive with less "should" and more "want to" in each day.

15. Churn some ice cream.

Tonight, tomorrow, everyday. Always churn ice cream. It's one of summer's simple pleasures.

16. Go outside and play.

Games without rules, just you and your kids. Sword-fight with pool noodles or toss the softball, grab your rollerblades or find that dusty bucket of sidewalk chalk.

Play feeds our souls. Especially when we do it together.

And remember, we deeply need nature. Let yourself go into the calm bliss of biofilia. It will heal you in so many ways.

17. Prioritize joy.

So often "joy" takes the backseat. Work? Yes. Commitment? Always. Responsibility? Bring it!

But joy? Oh. We forgot about joy.

Joy fills us in ways that nothing else can. Put it first this summer.

18. Dance in the rain.

Barefoot. With your kids or alone. It can't help but transform you. Note: dancing in the rain will cause epic laughter as well (which spins it's own healing magic).

19. Make some play dough.

Because you might not want to dance in every rain storm this summer. Play dough will fill the leftover rainy days quite nicely.

20. Do something you've never done before.

Dye your hair pink, head out without a plan or a map, or cook some Thai food. Surprise yourself and find joy in the unexpected.

21. Get gloriously, unapologetically dirty.

When was the last time you made mud pies or jumped in puddles? Feel this summer in every possible way. In the garden, the woods, or the river, be in it. Without hesitation.

As an added bonus, getting dirty builds healthy immunity. Who knew?

22. Fear not the unscheduled days.

For they are the most delicious days of all.

23. Unplug.

For an hour, a day, or a whole juicy week. Unplug.

Make eye contact with your loved ones. Play board games. Bake cupcakes. Tell stories.

And do it all without the distraction of technology. You'll leave your media fast feeling open, free, and deeply grounded.

No, technology isn't bad, but a break now and then can be a wonderful thing.

24. Fall in love with simple pleasures.

Because an old-fashioned summer is really about a return to simple. Simple priorities, simply joys, simple pleasures.

A meal on the porch, a bowl of hand-churned ice cream, a walk at sunset.

Make these your priorities this season.

25. And be nowhere else but here.

Because – honestly – where could be better than this?

This life of yours is more than enough.

 

 

This is a repost from last August. It's a post I think of a lot, actually, as I find myself doing (or not doing) the suggestions I shared with you. Because for me they make all the difference in the outcome of my moment, my day – likely my life.

It's worth a moment to re-read. It might just change everything.

Love,

Rachel

: : :

 

Want deeper happiness? What more ease and joy in your parenting?

I think we all do.

This morning I jotted down ten tips that will get you there. Practicing these every day will transform you.

I promise.

I picked these ten because they came easily for me, but there are hundreds more that will work as well.

Each tip contains a link to another blog post for those who want to dig even deeper.

So today, listen to your heart.

Choose joy.

Seek peace.

Be kind.

And watch your life transform.

Love,

Rachel

Ten Tips for a Happy Life

1. Slow Down

"Hurry up!" "Let's go!" "Not today – there's no time."

But there is. There are as many hours in the day now as ever – it's just a matter of how we fill them.

Pare back your schedule. Cut something from your calendar that you are doing because you think you should. Because this is your life. You get to call this shots. Set a pace you can not only live with, but thrive in. Slowing down just a bit lets us breathe deeper and live with more meaning.

Slowing down as a parent means putting down your to-do list and picking up your baby. It means letting your child linger on the walk home, lost in a world of spiderwebs and moss. It means letting them wander, explore, and imagine. It means making space to just be with your older child, sharing their passions and dreams.

2. Be Authentic

Pretending to be something or someone you are not guarantees less joy in your life. Don't push your true self under the surface. Parent, teach, live, and work from your heart. It can change everything.

Being authentic as a parent means parenting from your heart, not from the advice of an "expert". It means remembering that you are the expert on your child. It means honoring your inner voice and parenting with your heart wide open.

3. Release Judgement

The greatest gift I ever gave myself was moving beyond judgement. I see others (and even myself) more clearly now. When you see someone parenting differently, loving differently, or worshiping differently instead of judgement reach for love. Everyone will feel uplifted.

Releasing judgement as a parent means letting your child be who they truly are. It also means allowing others to follow a different path than you. There are as many different ways to be as there are people on earth. Allow. And find beauty in our differences.

4. Enjoy Simple Pleasures

Life if full of simple, quiet riches. A soft pillow and a warm bed, the sunrise and a cup of tea, a meal prepared at home and a loved one to share it with.

Our lives are full and we are blessed.

Enjoying simple pleasures as a parent means slowing down and truly enjoying our children. It means holding hands and taking walks together. It means laughing, coloring, and cooking – side by side. It means letting your teen teach you how to play their favorite game, and laughing at yourself with them. Nothing fancy, nothing expensive. Just time. Together.

5. Relax Control

Letting go of control means allowing others to choose a different path. It means taking control of yourself and releasing your need to control others. It's big. It's challenging. And it's a game-changer.

Relaxing control as a parent means choosing your "battles." It means asking yourself what really matters and reacting wisely. We don't need to always be in charge. And when we let go of that need everyone opens more to joy.

6. Count Your Blessings

When you look at your life do you see the messes or the magic? When your kids come home do you notice they are loud and dirty or do you notice the way their eyes shine and their voices sing after a fulfilling day? When your partner comes home from work do you notice that they are late or that they are helping pay the bills?

There are blessings at every turn. Make it a habit to notice. And let the rest go.

Counting your blessings as a parent means remembering every day that this time is brief and magical and will never come again. Savor the sweet spots in every day.

7. Practice Kindness

There are countless ways to practice kindness. Let's start with being mindful of the power of our words. When you have something harsh to say, breathe. Breathe in peace, breathe out frustration. Speak your truth, but speak it gently.

Speaking kindly as a parent means practicing peaceful parenting. It means pausing before you react. It means apologizing when you loose your cool. It means finding a way to be heard when you use the softest voice.

8. Be More Present

We live distracted lives. Choose presence just a little more today. Be aware of the feel of the wind in your hair or the sun on your skin. Look into the eyes of your loved ones. Notice the colors, scents, and textures of your life.

Look up. There is beauty all around.

Being present as a parent means making time to just be with your child. To play their games. To look into their eyes. To hear their dreams. It means being nowhere else but here. If only for a moment.

9. Seek Connection

Connection is possible. In fact, it's vital to our emotional well being. Connection with family, with friends, with strangers. Seek it. Cultivate it.

Connection means recognizing that we are not alone. It means there are people there to catch you when you fall.

Seeking connection as a parent means sharing a word of empathy with another parent in the thick of a hard day. It means finding your people (in person or even on-line). Find your community. It can change everything.

10. Embrace Imperfection

Everyone is a mess and perfection is a lie. Trying to live in a perfect world will do nothing more than make you crazy. Let it go. Breathe.

Embracing imperfection as a parent means having friends over depsite the piles of laundry, dishes, and dirt. It means accepting your own flaws and those of your partner and your child. It means remembering that everyone has rough days and tomorrow is a chance to start again.

I'd love to hear from you. What would you add to the list?

What is one of your keys to happiness?

 

You have a superpower.

And every day you get a chance to use it.

It's the power to change the world.

 

By choosing play over pressure.

Peace over violence.

Kindness over power.

Compassion over neglect.

Forgiveness over blame.

 

Every. Single. Day.

 

As a parent you possess the power to change the world.

One day at a time,

one child at a time,

one interaction at a time.

 

And the world transforms.

 

But that does not mean you will be perfect.

You will falter.

You will yell.

You will curse.

You will break.

 

You will forget just for a moment how amazingly powerful you are and you will return to shame, anger, manipulation, and control.

It happens.

To all of us.

In our own way we each create own reasons for regret.

 

And then?

And then you have the chance to choose forgiveness again. This time for you.

Compassion. Understanding.

Second chances.

Unconditional love.

 

No one is perfect.

Not your partner, not your child, not your mother. And not you.

We're all stumbling along, learning as we go.

Doing our best.

We are all flawed.

It's part of the plan. It gives us good work to do with our time here on earth.

Allow yourself your imperfections.

Allow them to your child as well.

And yes, allow them even to that other mother you see on the street who's come undone and is yelling and pulling her little one roughly along.

She needs it most of all.

 

And then, remember your power.

Your superpower.

To shape the world, for good.

 

It takes courage to forge a new path.

To reach for peace when you were taught reach for power.

To reach for compassion when last time you faltered.

To reach for understanding even in frustration. Or exhaustion. Or anger.

 

You have the power to change the world. And also to change yourself.

And the harder that is for you, the more deeply I honor your work.

 

Onward, mama. Onward.

You carry the world in your arms.

It's your superpower.

Love,
Rachel

 

This is a repost from 2014.

When I said goodbye to the dog-of-my-heart Jasper, last autumn, I didn't realized that he'd leave such a big hole in my heart.

A hole that is approximately the size of a Golden Retriever.

 

Fortunately my our new friend Charlie is a perfect fit.

Charlie!

 

 

 

 

We're really just not vacation people. I'm not sure why.

At least we weren't.

Maybe it's because for us vacation is synonymous with camping. And when you live on a farm camping has less appeal then it did when you lived in town.

Maybe it's because the planning is epic. Food, clothing, shelter, fuel, reservations, gear.

Maybe it's because we're homebodies and leaving just doesn't have the draw it could.

Or maybe it's because it's a big deal to arrange for care of farm and home while we're away. And it's hard to leave the animals in someone else's care.

But this trip? This place? This quiet little island in the sea?

For our first-ever family road trip I'm pretty sure we struck gold.

Yes, a vacation like this could become a habit.

The idea of sneaking away each cold and windy February (or what I think of as the month-that-really-should-be-spring-but-never-ever-is) sounds pretty fantastic as I check the weather up North and pack our gear to head for home.

Yes, February, I could love you if I spent you here each year.

More like fab-ruary.

Island time for us began with a one hour ferry ride to a remote park on an island with just us, our gear, and a few other campers. A place with no power, no cars, no roads, no distractions. Just our tent, our family, and beach as far as we care to wander.

It fit our budget, our personality, and our desire for a few quiet days with our feet in the sea.

I think the lesson of this week was to be in the moment, to go with the flow, and to live "island time".

It was an effortless lesson to learn.

We fell asleep when we were tired (often before 8 PM) and woke when we were rested. Our days were spent shelling, walking, knitting and swimming. I never worried or wondered about things like email, phone calls, or life beyond the next wave.

 

One foggy afternoon as we set out to look for shells I asked Lupine what treasure she was seeking.

Starfish? Sand dollars? A dolphin dancing in the waves?

"I'm seeking a wonderful time," she said.

And that, I think, is the treasure we all found here.

 

P.S. Thank you, reader Dawn for sharing this gem with us when I asked you for suggestions of a quiet place to visit this winter. You were so right – it is worth the drive and then some. x Rachel

 

Today's theme? Expect the unexpected.

Like a troupe of grown men wandering down a small town street dressed as French voyagers.

Or this bizarre and happy detour.

On the road adventure is a guarantee. As long as you're looking.

Don't be afraid to toss the schedule, make a U-turn, and explore – no matter the weather.

 

What will tomorrow hold?

I can't wait to find out.

As we drove home from my parents' house at Christmas time the kids and I reminisced about the trip to the Outer Banks the three of us took when they were younger.

A 2,500 mile road trip with me, a three year old, and an eight year old.

At the time it didn't even seem gutsy, though looking back I'm kind of impressed. That was pretty bad ass. And none of us will ever forget the time we shared out on the open road. It's on our short list of best adventures.

At now – at eight and twelve – the kids were longing for another adventure like it, and so was I.

And I thought to myself – he's twelve already. In a instant he'll be grown. 

How many more chances will I get?

 

I didn't want to make excuses. I wanted to pile them in the car again and see a bit more of this amazing world.

As homeschoolers we aren't bound to the the time constraints of our school-bound friends and could pick up and go wherever we chose.

And what better place to learn than on the road for a while?

 

But with a farm, slipping away for a few days (much less a week or more) isn't quite so easy.

House-sitters.

Farm-helpers.

Dog-watchers.

It seemed too hard.

 

Maybe we could go in the spring, I reasoned. No. Spring means lambs, kids, and planting time. Summer then? No. Not with the garden, the harvest, and the canning. How about autumn then? No, autumn is our busiest work season, plus the customs of hunting and holidays to honor.

 

This year, we decided, it was February or never.

And so the preparations began.

 

Vacation or not, we had a budget. So Pete, the kids and I spent weeks cooking, canning, and drying food. Sewing up stuff sacks, seat back organizers, and treasure bags. And searching for the best free or affordable adventures to take as a family.

And then – after weeks of obsessive list making and hard work it was finally time. We piled into our little VW and at -18F early one winter morning, we hit the road.

I'll be sharing postcards with you from the road over the next couple of week. Where will we end up? And what adventures await us? Come back and find out!

Love,
Rachel

P.S. If you're contemplating you own family road trip I shared some trick and tips for success here.

Lunch was finished, the dishes were done.

I had sent the kids outside to burn off their copious energy in the snow.

I poured myself some tea and settled in to a little undisturbed knitting time. A rare treat.

 

A few rows in the door opened.

"Mama, will you come outside and play with me?"

 

I sat, silent, mulling over her request.

 

Because I was relishing my "me time". My selfish time. My tea and my yarn.

 

A small part of me wanted to be there. For her.

For me.

While she still wanted to play with her mama in the snow.

That part of me that was content to put down my needles and go out to play with her.

Right now.

While she is still small, for one more day.

But then there was the selfish me that wanted to stay right where I was.

Cozy, inside, and alone.

 

I really wanted that.

Shamefully so.

And it was a dirty truth, like somehow taking care of me is less acceptable than caring for her.

The martyrdom of motherhood.

 

I was torn between two truths, two selfs.

The loving, giving, mother-self and the dark and greedy "me-first" self.

(The one who cooks their favorite meals and the one who hides the chocolate.)

 

But that's rubbish, I decided. Neither was bad; both were authentic.

Both were vital.

 

So first I would knit. Just a few more rows.

She could wait.

Then I'd give her fifteen minutes.

Because even if I wasn't feeling it I could play for fifteen minutes.

 

I would finish my tea and then go outside.

For just fifteen minutes.

After that I could come back in and knit.

If I wanted to. Which I was certain I would.

 

Just fifteen minutes. An easy commitment.

Surely I could muster that.

 

And so I savored my tea and when it was done I knitted up an extra row, stalling just a little.

The door opened.

"Are you coming, mama? Are you done with your tea?"

Her eyes were bright. She was waiting.

 

Just fifteen minutes.  I could do this.

Yes.

I was on my way.

 

Out, into the snow. The fresh air. The togetherness.

 

We cooked pine needles and bittersweet in her play kitchen.

I pushed her on the swing "all the way up to the sky".

We raced with the dog and then wandered down to the marsh and the creek.

We laughed. Held hands. Pushed each other down in the snow.

Connected.

At first I was going through the motions, thinking about my knitting and all the work that awaited me back inside. But soon I had lost track of time and lost myself in this pink sky and these blue eyes.

 

As I found joy in our play I never wondered if the fifteen minutes had passed so that I could go back inside.

Not once.

Immersed in the moment, I forgot completely about knitting, and tea, and time.

How long did we spend? An hour, maybe two. Even now I'm not sure.

We watched a coyote, an eagle pair, the sunset.

I watched her.

Growing taller before my eyes.

We crossed the creek at dusk, heading into the hills as the light faded.

And I marveled at how I had bought the best part of my day through a bargain with myself to give her fifteen minutes.

 

Do you have fifteen minutes to spare?

For a story, a walk, a game, a conversation – for connecting deeply with those you love.

 

What would you find in that sliver of time?

Presence.

Laughter.

Connection.

Peace.

Memories.

Time.

 

This child.

This day.

Just for choosing to be present, completely, with these precious ones we love.

 

Just fifteen minutes.

 

See where it takes you.

I'm certain you won't regret it.

 

And with that I'm off. I have a cup of tea and some knitting to attend to.

Because, yes. Caring for myself? That matters, too.

 

 

I think I'll let my sharp-humored friend Mary caption the past year for us.

When I came to Mary (an Amish farmer and frequent source of farm-wisdom disguised as humor) torn up over the losses of lambs during the bitter winter she said flatly, "Yep. If you've got livestock you've got dead stock."

Goodness was she right.

2014 has been a hard year. One of the hardest that Pete and I have seen in our nearly twenty years together.

I'm ready to hang a new calender on the kitchen wall. And I'm even more ready to throw the 2014 edition into the wood stove. Tonight. (Except out wood stove isn't hooked up yet, which rather proves my point about 2014.)

Because the past twelve months have been thick with loss, death, disappointment and failure.

The tragically unproductive garden. The prescribed burn that jumped the fire break. The Lyme disease – again. And mostly the loss of so many pets and so many farm animals. Far too many.

It's been hard. Very hard.

This fall as I dug up our potatoes (decimated by a cold wet summer and a hungry mole family) I burt into tears and sputtered something dramatic like "If we were the Ingalls family we would die!"

I think we found more farm debris and broken glass in the soil than we did Red Norlands.

It was depressing.

"The potatoes are a metaphor for my life," I said self-pityingly.

And that was how I viewed 2014. And exhausting effort for a pitiful yield. We tried. We did. And mostly we failed. Or that's how it felt anyway.

But then this morning as I sorted through the past twelve months of photographs I was struck – and struck hard – by the realization that my life is rich beyond words.

It took my breath away.

Perfect? Of course not. Far from it.

But rich and beautiful and blessed beyond measure? Yes. Oh my, yes.

This. This is my life.

Not that other story I keep telling.

The truth of this catches in my throat.

This life is foraging and hiking and toes in the creek. It's watching these kids grow up vibrant and alive as they write their own stories. It's sleeping in the yard and campfires in the woods and home-cooked meals. It is raising our own food and falling in love – one farm baby at a time. And it's friends and family and the best neighbors around.

It's the four of us, happy, healthy, and very much alive and we scratch out the best life we can.

This is what this year was about.

 

And yes, there were tears.

There was heartache, fear, grief, failure, and regret, followed by the promise to do better and know more the next time.

And even that is worth something.

So as I remember 2014 I will remember the grief and the abundance.

I will remember love, connection, and the line of these hills against the sky.

 

Happy New Year, friends. I count you among my blessings as I pin a new calendar to the wall.