The children and I returned from their week away, my half-week away, visiting my parents. We rolled in close to dinner time, road-weary and a tiny bit cranky. (Okay, only I was a little cranky.)

We checked in on chickens and cats and sheep and dogs and then set to unloading the car as Pete cooked dinner.

Lupine looked down over the garden and paused.

"Mama, I need to see what's happening in the garden. With you."

I declined.

There was work to do.

And I watched, an armload of detritus from the backseat in my arms, as she put on her boots and walked down into the garden to check on the tomatoes and kale, zucchini and beans.

What am I doing?

I emptied my arms and headed through the gate to find her.

We stood there in the fading light picking cherry tomatoes and eyeing cauliflower for another day, our shirts loaded with veggies like distended cloth shopping bags.

I looked out over the cut hay, the sheep, the bee hive, and the veggies. The light was the amber it can only be at dusk in August, and tiny insects like fairies sparkled and swirled about us.

Standing there, beside my girl, I felt my heart might burst.

And I kissed her on the head and said,

"Last year (and the many years before) this was our dream. We imagined this.

Everything we can see. It was what we were wanting.

It was our 'someday.'

And now it's our life."

And she smiled and I smiled and we crammed more tomatoes into our gathered shirts and laughing mouths.

 

And then I remembered writing this. Three years ago. (Look at that little Lu behind those blossoms!)

And while no, not everything we laid out is solid quite yet, so very much is.

We chose this.

And while the journey here was not without heartbreak, we never stopped believing in this dream.

We wrote this story and then closed our eyes and leapt across the void and into this life.

 

Love,

Rachel

 

Two thougths before I begin:

1. Talking about meat (and bees and keeping animals) has the potential to be a sensitive subject. Everything said below is based on my own truth. I urge each of you to seek out your own truth as well. Ask questions. Sit with the answers. And then live what feels best to you.

After a long and varied journey, this is the path I have chosen today.

2. Not everyone can grow their own food, much less their own meat. And not everyone can afford to eat sustainable, local fare. What I share below are reflections for those who have the means to consider different, more sustainable choices. If you are living too close to the line already and can't consider making the leap to sustainable food, I get that. In fact, I've been there.

I suggest picking up the book "Long Way on a Little" by my hero, Shannon Hayes. While you're add it see if you can get your hands on her book "Radical Homemakers". It might change your life. Shannon is amazing and knows how to make one chicken feed your entire family for days.

Blessings to all, whatever your journey may be.

~ Rachel

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

This week, like most in the summer, has very much revolved around the plants and animals with whom we share our farm.

The vegetable garden – though I has though of as a bit of a failure because of the abundance of thistle and bindweed, and the countless seeds that never found their way into the ground – is bursting with produce.

I went in to weed last night and emerged with more vegetables than I could carry.

How did this happen? Zucchini. Kale. Yellow squash. Peppers. Tomatoes. Cucumbers. Beans. Kohlrabi.

So. Much. Food.

And so so we can. We ferment. We freeze. We dry.

We put food by for the lean months of winter.

And we eat. Oh, how we eat!

 

And then this morning the phone rang at seven, a call from the post office to pick – peep! peep! – up – peep! – our chicks – peep! peep! peep!

While we have an adored flock of frisky laying hens and miniature fancy pet roosters (Um, yes. Really.) these birds will be a majority of the meat we enjoy for the next many months. (The remainder of our meat will be our two male lambs and some beef from the farm across the road.)

And while it might seem strange to some to hold these fuzzy – and yes, cute – animals and know that they will end up as dinner, to me it feels natural.

It feels honest.

Because if we're going to eat meat I want to know where it's coming from and ensure that each animal is treated respectfully throughout it's time on the farm. (The same reason we choose meat, eggs, dairy, and honey from small local sustainable growers whenever we can when purchasing.)

I think in our greater culture food is often something we don't give much thought too, much less weigh the ethical implications of. And I think that's vital.

Choosign to eating meat is a conscious decision for my family. And while it's not for everyone, it's the path we have mindfully chosen. And we want to be a part of that process from farm to table.

Because it's real.

When my children have chicken for dinner, they truly know what that means.

And that matters to me.

It's part of the learning that happens here every day.

 

So we'll spend our days caring well for the plants and animals that will sustain us.

We'll find gratitude for the abundance that surrounds us.

And we count our blessings one tomato, one chick, and one honey bee at a time.

 

Yesterday we took the leap we've been wanting to make since November. Or longer.

We bought the farm we've been renting since autumn.

It's finally ours. Our. Farm.

Eeek!

First step? Taking down the satellite dishes. Of course.

And then? It's time to paint and rip out some walls.

We're so happy!

(And in case you're wondering, the "bought the farm" jokes just don't get old around here.)

Now all we need is a name for this magical place. Any suggestions?

Love,

Rachel

 

Good morning, garden.

Good morning, hills.

Good morning, rain.

Good morning favorite tea in my favorite cup.

I'm waking up slowly today after staying up too late last night reading my favorite canning book.

A canning book. Until 11:30. Seriously. Who does that?

Me I guess.

Because it's zucchini season. And I need a serious plan. Involving summer squash pretending to be cucumbers in a whole lot of preserves.

Because yesterday at LüSa I heard a motorcycle roar up the sidewalk to our door. In walked a friend with a large cooler of summer squash that had been ratchet strapped to the cycle seat. 

Smiling big he said, "See ya!" and left – laughing – as fast as he had come.

Summer is like that.

And despite sharing those squash with the rest of our crew, I have a load of yellow squash to process. And that's not counting all the zucchini in my garden. Nor the green beans that are coming on fast. And yes, tomatoes are just around the corner.

And while I'm a spring and fall girl at heart, I do love the harvest and the process of putting food by each summer. So. Much.

And yes, I think I know what we'll be doing this weekend…

Love,
Rachel

What's your favorite way to enjoy the bounty of summer squash that comes each August? I think we all could use some fresh ideas.

 

 

 

I wake every morning to a valley filled with mist.

And every morning I stand in awe of the beauty before me.

Every day different.

Every day inspiring.

Every day more beautiful than the last.

This day found us walking to a friend's farm and his abundant raspberry patch.

He can't keep up with picking alone and invited us to help out. 

Who can refuse such an offer?

So he grows them, we pick some, and I'll trade him for his generosity with raspberry jam.

The day was hot so we headed to the creek in the afternoon.

The water hovers in the mid to high 50's (F).

It's cold.

But every time we go I dunk completely and feel myself heal a bit, awaken a bit, come to life a bit more.

And the kids always laugh with gusto when I come up, wet and cold and gasping.

And I laugh with them.

This creek is my medicine in so many ways.

And creek-side I realized we were running late! 

We had a date with some sweet goats and sheep at another nearby farm. Towels are grabbed, clothes are found, and the truck rumbles to a start.

And off we go, to fall in love.

These are the ladies we get our milk from for our four varieties of goat milk soap.

And two of them are looking for a new farm to call home.

Am I a goat farmer?

I don't know. I'd like to think so. But I really don't know.

So we're thinking it over.

Planning. Dreaming.

This sweet guy, however, is coming home with us. Guinness. Our soon to be guard llama.

A gift for our flock, or farm, and our family from a new (big-hearted) friend.

It was hard to leave her magical homestead, but Sage had dinner in the slow cooker waiting.

It was time to go.

Dinner.

Dishes.

Brushing teeth.

Finding pajamas.

 

Beauty.

Magic.

Fading light.

 

Lupine emerged from bed long after lights' out to say, "Mama – I can't sleep. There's just too much beauty outside!"

So we walked out to the hayfield in our pajamas to say goodnight to the world.

And our hearts brimmed with gratitude.

 

And tomorrow?

We will begin again.

 

Before I got sick I had an ever-growing to-do list.

Gardening, organization, putting food by, building projects… so much to do this first summer at our farm.

And then Lyme came.

And I put the list away.

(I kept it, mind you. But I've stopped looking at if for the moment.)

The antibiotics I'm taking require me to stay out of the sun. (Yes. In July.) So I'm carving out time and space to rest and heal while summer swirls around me.

So instead of working I'm knitting more than usual. Quick, easy, adorable baby things for all the babies coming into my life. 

And I'm sitting in the shade while the kids play outside.

I'm playing board games at the table during hours I would have spent pulling weeds and tending gardens and working my ass off.

I'm healing and resting and just being here. Now.

And truly, it's been so good for me.

What a gift it has been.

The pressure is off. I'm doing what I want, when I want.

And I'm healing.

: : :

But then…

the berries started to ripen.

And I imagined a winter without jam in the pantry.

Without a freezer full of fruit for smoothies and desserts.

And honestly I couldn't bear it.

So we headed out to the cherry tree and the mulberry tree and picked until our hands were purple.

And we stopped by Mary's farm and ordered all the strawberries she could spare. (25 quarts as it turned out.)

And suddenly we're elbow deep in summer sweetness.

And simultaneously: ack!/hooray!

If I'm honest I'd admit to craving this flurry of busy.

It feels like a little bit of July normalcy. A little canning jar madness in my sunny aftrernoon.

And despite the 16 quarts of berries waiting for me on the porch this morning, the pressure is off.

We'll accomplish what we can and the rest will get bagged and frozen and we'll call it enough.

I think I like this new plan. All the sweetness, none of the pressure.

Yeah. I could live like this.

 

Love,
Rachel

 

I'm joining Amanda again this week with This Moment. Feel free to link to your own in the comments!

I'm also over on Simple Homeschool today with a re-post on foraging with children. That post is here. Enjoy!

Happy Solstice, friends!

Love,
Rachel

 

I smiled on Sunday until my cheeks hurt.

Sunday. Which I referred to as "baaaaa-thers day" instead of Father's Day.

For obvious reasons.

Our small flock of sheep came home at last. They are nervous (as sheep are wont to be), but settling in beautifully.

From left to right I'd like you to meet Glynda (formerly nicknamed "the witch", for her passionate protection of her offspring) and her baby; Nutmeg (the black sheep of the family); Popcorn and her baby; and a bottle lamb we added at the last moment, named Catkin.

The children's passion and love is little Catkin. Being a bottle lamb Catkin is fairly imprinted on humans and seems more brave than her older comrades.

And so begins the taming, with the help of a handful of dry corn.

Oh my, yes. This is going to be fun!

 

 

Joining Amanda today with {this moment}.

(Oh, my. Those ears!)

Have a wonderful weekend, friends.

Love,

Rachel

Is it really Monday already?

Are you certain?

Oh.

Well then.

I suppose the week must commence.

I'm really not sure how Monday showed up so suddenly, but I do know I could use just one more day of weekend to button up a bit of what we started during the past few days.

Or to, perhaps, clean our house. (It's bad. Really bad. Leave your shoes on at the door so you don't get your socks dirty kind of bad.)

Really.

There are so very many projects we've begun over here – out on the farm, and in the woodshop, the sewing room, and the kitchen that are just begging for completion.

Goodness. Spring is certainly here. And it's feeling a bit manic this year.

For the first time in ages the sun was shining bright this weekend and it felt like we had a whole spring's worth of chores to take on before the weekend was through. The kids were absolutely wild with the freedom and summery feel of it all, running about like mad from morning until night.

As for Pete and I, we were running too, but in a different sense.

From epic kitchen marathons putting food by to plowing our garden to searching for lost ducklings to taking on not one, not two, but three sewing projects, to finally (finally!) getting the winter boots and coats out of our mudroom, well our weekend was… full.

And then Monday went and arrived when we were wishing for another Sunday to finish a bit of what we started.

But no. It's really Monday.

Come to think of it, perhaps the rest of a homeschooling week/work week at LuSa will be a welcome, relaxing change. A little less running. A bit of completion. That sounds like it might be a decent way to spend a few days.

Actually, yes. I'm sure of it.

And I do suspect those other projects will paitently wait.

Until next weekend.