Clean.

All good babies.

It's hard to believe it's been eleven years since I became a mother. What a journey it has been.

I'm over on Mothering today remembering those early days and reflecting on the difference between an easy baby and a "good" baby.

Won't you join me?

My post is here.

Even if you don't have children it might make you re-think they way you talk to mothers about their little ones.

Love,
Rachel

 

Book Giveaway : : A Kid's Guide to Sewing.

Sage turns 11 at the end of this month.

Eleven. Is that even possible?

And while I stood there, jaw agape in wonder at just how old he's grown, Lupine had gifts to plan.

(See? Even she's growing up.)

Since we are a family of makers through-and-through, buying a gift never occurred to her.

Funny. It never occurs to me, either.

But what can a six year-old make for her eleven year-old brother that he'll love?

We tossed around some ideas and thumbed through a few books. And then she found her inspiration in a sweet children's sewing book that had just landed in our craft room with a little help from Sew Mama Sew and the FunStitch Studio Summer Camp. 

A Kid's Guide to Sewing is written by Sophie Kerr, the young lady pictured above.

She's close to Sage's age.

How amazing is that? A kid. Who wrote a book (with a little help from her crafty parents). Go, Sophie and your crafty self! I'm 40 and can't seem to pull it together enough to get a book to print.

Edited to add: Sophie's mom left a lovely comment here in an attempt to curb my enthusiasm a bit regarding Sophie writing this book. Because technically her parents wrote it. But it was a project she participated in and learned new skills throughout, and her words are peppered throughout. Eh, whatever. I'm still way impressed and giving Sophie all the props.

The project from the book that inspired Lu was a pillowcase, made of just three pieces of fabric. Simple, but plenty of "pow".

It's practical, cozy, and unlikely to embarrass him in front of his friends.

Since we were unsure as to how long it would take Lupine to cut, iron, pin, and sew the pillowcase we skipped the optional embroidery.

As it turned out it took her less than an hour!

The directions were simple, kid-friendly, and easy to follow. Lupine wanted help with only the cutting and the lining up of the edges before pinning. If she were a year or two older she would have been able to do it all on her own.

Lupine chose fabrics to match the quilt that I am really hoping to   am doubtful to  am absolutely certain to finish in time for Sage's birthday. 

To make it even sweeter she chose a strip of his baby sling for the narrow accent band.

I think this is where I'm to cry some sentimental mama tears.

Yup. It is.

So much sweetness.

But the sweetness doesn't end in my sewing room. Because the kind folks at FunStitch Studio were generous enough to give me a second copy of the book to share with you. Whoot!

So. Who wants?

Just leave a comment here to enter! I'll choose one winner before the week is through.

Comments are now closed. I'll announce our winner soon!

Our winner is Fiona who said:

"My daughter would love this! thanks."

(U.S. shipping only, please. Thanks for understanding!)

Love,
Rachel

 

 

 

First we dreamed.

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

 

On the farm.

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.

 

Releasing perfection.

We started a needed shift in how we view ourselves - and others - in my messy kitchen last week.

Let's keep this conversation going.

I'm over on Simple Homeschool today, embracing imperfection.

My post is here. Won't you join me?

Love,
Rachel

Surrender.

Sometimes we're starving for it.

Time alone.

With ourselves.

With our partner.

With our thoughts.

We hunger for a break.

For a breath.

For silence.

 

We're desperate to remember who we were.

Before. 

Who was I before?

We wrestle.

We grieve.

We struggle.

 

And then somehow, through grace, we let go.

We journey from resistance to surrender and let it all fall away.

From pushing and fighting what is, from trying to claw our way back into what was,

to peacefully laying back into today - eyes closed and smiling, heart filled with gratitude.

 

This.

Only this.

 

We become.

We grow.

We embrace.

We allow. 

We find peace in acceptance and our life blooms as we embrace today.

Surrender.

Presence.

 

This.

Just this.

 

We fall in love with the messy here-and-now and that dull hunger for something else subsides.

And they grow.

Always they grow.

And each day we're blessed to bear witness.

And soon they, too, dream of a journey all their own.

 

And then they venture out into the world.

Without us.

Even if for a moment.

 

And that breath that we once hungered for so desperately falls silently upon us.

And suddently everything is new again.

And we try to recall what it felt like before.

 

And then we remember:

Surrender.

 

Always surrender.

 

Because again

and still

there is only this.

 

Ever-changing, ever perfect this.