Clean.

What if

If you could put aside fear,

and worry,

and everyone else's idea of who you should be

what would you become?

 

If you could set down "should" and "can't" and "too late"

and pick up hope and dreams and possibility,

what would unfold?

 

If you could live the life you choose to

instead of the life you fell into;

if you could greet each new day with eyes open wide and a hunger for possibility

what could you achieve?

 

(Inhale... exhale...)

 

More connection.

More peace.

More love.

More meaning.

 

Let's start today by breaking all the rules that don't fit us anymore.

The rules that never have.

Let's shed obedience and habits and obligations and instead dance with the substance of our dreams.

 

This moment.

This day.

This life.

It's all yours.

Seize it. Savor it. Devour it.

Live it.

 

Let's not squander another day on a path we never meant to take.

Because we can change it. Starting now.

 

Dig deep.

Dream big.

Trust.

And awaken.

 

The first step is the hardest.

But after that you'll never look back.

 

Because you life is waiting,

just beyond the next bend.

If only you believe it is there.

 

 

 

 

Everyday gratitude

(Because four broody hens in one box is always better than one.)

It's been ages since I've shared a "cultivating gratitude" post and I realize that I miss it - and need it - so much right now.

So here it is. A little thankfulness on this peaceful Sunday morning.

: : :

I believe that cultivating gratitude can transform not only how we view our (beautiful yet deeply imperfect) lives, but transforms our lives themselves.

Each week I will share with you seven things that I am thankful for.

I'd love to have you join me in your own post or simply here in the comments.

Because taking just a moment to appreciate what we have can change everything.

Today I'm thankful for...

1. My mom and the chance to spend most of last week with her. I treasure the laughter and conversations that we share.

2. A visit this weekend with a dear friend, her husband, and their beautiful, sharp (and hilarious!) farm-loving kids.

3. The magic of herbal remedies and their tendency to show up for when we need them most (if only we learn to listen).

4. Antibiotics (and taking my last dose of this morning of a 30-day round).

5. The new friends who helped our sick goat return to good health with their generous, thoughtful advice.

6. An epic garlic harvest and the guy who made it all come together (thanks, babe).

And 7. the promise, potential, and peace of a quiet day at home. It's exactly what we all need.

Link up to a post of your own in the comments, or simply leave your list there. I look forward to seeing what ordinary, extraordinary blessings you're counting today.

Love,
Rachel

Homemade cheese and (grain-free) crackers

Before I begin, there is something I feel compelled to share.

Not to make a big deal out of it, but just to put it out there and get on with it.

We'll call it the "whine" to go with that cheese.

I haven't been writing much. Because this summer (like last) I'm on antibiotics for Lyme disease. Yes, a new round, a new infection.

When I have Lyme I've found it's pretty tough for me to write, type, and spell. So pardon my (even more prolific than usual) typos. Thanks. 

So things have been quiet over here. I have lots of things I'd love to share but instead I'm focusing on family, farm, and health. Now you know.

I'm slowly working on some other projects and I'm writing here when I'm inspired and have the energy to do so. When I'm not or when I don't things will stay quiet.

Instead of writing I'm cleaning wool. Sewing quilts. Ignoring my garden.

Thank you for understanding and for being all-around the most lovely readers on the interwebs.

And with that, let's get back to our regularly-scheduled programming. You know. Cheese. (Something I probably shouldn't even be eating since I have Lyme, but to hell with it. I'm eating it. Because I live here and I have a cow. That's just how we're gonna roll.)

Love,
Rachel

: : :

Two weeks ago we weaned the calf.

Our more experienced farmer friends told us it was time for the calf to be moved to his own pasture. At three months old he was pretty rough on his mama, and she needed to reserve some of her energy for fattening up for winter.

After we figured out it was time to wean, we had to determine how. Being a sensitive "but-how-will-they-feel?" bunch over here (Okay, not everyone. Mostly it was me. Alright, alright. It was only me.) it was a process that took some time to work out. But we did.

After those questions were answered the next was: what will we do with all that milk?

Because immediately after weaning there is lots of milk. Lots. Weaning meant switching (for the time being) from once-a-day milking to twice-a-day.

And for the first few weeks Pete and I were in charge of all of the evening milkings and half of day milking.

Oh, the milk.

So. Much. Milk.

A really unbelievable amount.

We quickly ran out of gallon and half-gallon mason jars. Also of room in the fridge.

It got a tiny bit insane.

I started making yogurt a gallon at a time. (And I perfected my technique for crazy thick yogurt - new tutorial to come soon!) Finally, there was no more stalling. I had to make cheese.

And I made, um, a lot.

Last week I'm positive that I made whole milk ricotta, cottage cheese, ice cream, cheese curds, butter, garlic cheese spread, green onion ricotta spread, and a full half-gallon of tapioca pudding.

There were probably others but I've blocked them out.

This week is looking like more of the same.

I'm stocking the freezer with soft cheeses for winter lasagnas and I'm sharing it with friends. The chickens are pretty jazzed about the whey and the funky that-didn't-quite-turn-out-no-one-will-eat-this batches of cheese.

Seriously.

So. Much. Cheese.

Yesterday my mom helped with our morning milking (her first time in her seventy-some years) and I'm sending her home today with the milk she helped us collect. It was so very fun to milk with my mom!

But I digress.

Since we're so flush with cheese, homemade crackers and soft cheese spread have found their way into nearly every meal.

Recipes. Do you want recipes? I don't have it in me today to write down proper recipes, but at least I can get you started in a good direction. I'd love to write some for you in the coming weeks when I'm feeling stronger. Is it a deal?

Edited to add: an hour after I posted this I baked perhaps the two best cracker batches of my life, shooting from the hip with my own recipes. And I wrote down what I did so I can share them with you. Win! Take that, Lyme disease.

Until then, most of my cheeses are based on recipes found either here or here. (That's my starting point anyway.)

The garlic- and green onion-ricotta cheeses I made up as I went along. But I'm sure you'll want to make some too if you are dairy-inclined. Quick, easy and crazy delicious. I suspect this will be the first recipe I jot down for you. It's addictive.

The crackers have been an experiment. I decided a month or so ago (after reading this) that I don't want to buy silly processed foods that I can make at home. Like, say, crackers.

Crackers are easy. I'm just lazy and don't usually make them. But after reading that article I got pumped to make my own and have had some delicious (and so affordable!) batches that we've devoured.

Because ideally I want grain-free crackers I found this recipe to be an ideal starting point.

I keep going back to it and trying modifications of my own. We've swapped out the sunflower seeds with ground cashews and with almond flour and we've added sesame seeds, poppy seeds, and garlic. Whoa. Yum.

 

And with that, I have to go. There is a gallon of milk heating on the stove and it's almost milking time again.

 

(Yes. Really.)

 

 

 

I can see it

This week - like so many weeks - had it's share of goodness. Sweet still-warm milk in the morning and mist on the hills. Fresh vegetables, fresh flowers, and fresh cool air drifting in through open windows.

This week - like so many weeks - was also laced with it's share of rough patches. There was a fever and vomit for one of our kids and also some ordinary and not-so-ordinary concerns for a few critters (both pet and barnyard).

There was more talk of Lyme and more doses of antibiotics and more feeling the uncertainty that this life brings with it at every step.

So we danced - just a bit - with worry, concern, and fear.

Nothing crazy, just the normal churnings of an overthinking mind.

And then we got back to work and to the rhythm of our days.

 

But even in worry, even in fear, it was there.

Right before my eyes.

Always.

 

No matter how rocky a week may be, I still can see it.

Almost everywhere I look.

In the ripe black caps on the hill and in the faces of my family.

In warm eggs in a nest or leafy fairy wings in the yard.

In this quirky, imperfect place and this quirky, imperfect life.

 

I see hope and beauty, magic and love.

Everywhere I turn.

 

It's there.

Always.

If I only remember to look.

 

 

 

Getting real about my garden (or: embracing the chaos)

Can we get real for a minute?

It's about my garden.

And who knows. Maybe everything else that matters.

You see, I went through a major deer-in-headlights phase with my vegetable garden this spring and I think I've come out on the other side. Not because I "won" but because I stopped striving for perfection. For "pretty". For as good as someone else's.

For a while every time I saw someone's picture-perfect garden I cringed.

They have rich, crumbly black earth; I have a worn-out, compacted pasture. They have a weedless wonderland where everyone behaves; I have green anarchy - bindweed, and thistle. They have long, orderly rows of vegetables; I have chaos. They have prayer flags dancing in the summer breeze, I have 'rustic' pea trellises that blew over in the first storm.

And while I know that no one's pictures tell the whole story of weedy corners and countless hours of hard work, I also know that what we see can sometimes make us feel like we're not enough. Me, you, everyone now and then. So I thought you might enjoy seeing a little failure and chaos and imperfection from my world along with a few sweet lessons picked up along the way.

How does that sound?

Great. Then here goes.

My garden is big. The biggest I've ever had. And in truth I was completely overwhelmed this spring by how much earth was turned and waiting for seeds, and by how many thousands (yes, thousands) of weeds were quickly choking the seeds I put in regardless of how many I pulled or how heavily I mulched.

Everything went in late on account of the weeds, and I never felt like I caught up.

And now it's July. And the harvest has begun. And I still haven't caught up.

But I'm over it.

I no longer care.

I care about my garden, yes. But not about doing it "just so".

As you can see, it's crazy over here. And at some point - after freaking out this spring - I just decided to go with the flow.

Because even a weed bed can grow a wicked row of green beans.

So yes, weeds outnumber veggies here 100-to-1, and there are whole rows I've given up on. Rows I look at, laugh out loud, and then dive in to see if there might be a straggling kohlrabi in there we could have with lunch.

I literally crawl under the weeds to harvest things sometimes.

It's ridiculous and embarrassing and hilarious all at once. But you know what? I'm done fretting about it.

I'm over trying for picture-perfect. Because nothing in my life stays picture-perfect for long. And if it does there are probably tears involved by one or more people and possibly myself along the way.

And I'm positive that that cost out-weights the reward.

It ain't worth it.

So my garden in July is just not on the list of things I need to make pretty anymore.

What a relief that is to realize.

And so my weedy strawberry patch became the perfect place to watch a mama swamp sparrow raise her babies in the tall grass this June. Had I weeded we would have missed the chance.

And my overgrown lettuce bed is home to a giant mullein plant that I'm harvesting flowers and leaves from for both an earache oil and a lung clearing tea for winter. I'll be so glad to have it when cold season hits.

Lambs-quarters, chickweed, mullein, nettle, catnip, pigweed, plantain, parsnip, elderberry, and more. All volunteers taking root in my garden.

If you can't beat em, eat em.

 

I'm learning to embrace it for what it is and not freak out too much about the state of things.

And I'm thankful for the happy surprises that are growing from this acre of neglect.

This garden is a life-lesson for me if there ever was.

Lessons like: don't compare.

Perfection is a myth.

And use what life gives you.

 

Is it pretty? By conventional standards, no.

But will it feed us? Oh, my, yes.

Will it ever.

And that - I think - is downright perfect.

 

 

A few days alone (and a kitchen re-do on the cheap)

I spet last weekend alone. It was only the second such weekend I've had in almost twelve years, since becoming a mom.

Twelve years.

Always with someone.

I'm crazy about my people which obviously is a good thing considering this record. I guess I just don't pine away for a break very often now that my kids are past the up-all-night-nursing-and-or-crying/being-touched-all-day stage.

And when I do need a break an evening spent talking, knitting, and sharing a glass of wine with a friend normally does the trick.

But this. This was just me and the farm animals for three days. 

There have been a handful of weekends with Pete in that time time and one weekend with a friend at the cabin, but being alone is different. The space and the silence is deep.

I walked to the creek with the dogs, slept long, and ate well. I returned to the core of who I am, the things that bring me pleasure. Writing, making, baking, thinking.

I binged on podcasts.

And what I noticed was that as my family has grown up, despite our constant togetherness, the pang I'd experienced at parting before was absent this time. It was noteworthy. So my time was not squandered worrying about how everyone was, worrying if they needed me, worrying about worrying. Because they were fine. I knew it.

And so I wrote.

I dug deep into the project I'm currently engrossed in and was so thankful for a little space to begin working through the details.

And because everyone needs a break from writing for three days straight, I also organized my sewing room and finished painting my kitchen.

Yes, I suppose one blessings of not being a tv or movie person (or, I confess, a voracious reader) is productivity even when I "rest".

We haven't painted since we moved to our farm almost two years ago. Since we rented our farm for the first year painting was out and once we bought it there were other priorities.

But finally it was done. My almost-too-cheerful-to-bear yellow kitchen was transformed to serene grey over the past two weeks and the final touches were completed while my family was away.

Aqua door. Mod Podged outlets. Vintage travel plates. And of course my beloved globes.

And you know those "Amazing $2600 Kitchen Remodel!" posts you see now and then? I started doing the math while I was putting pottery back on the shelf:

Paint (used three gallons of white we had and paid the hardware store to tint it): $5

Aqua shelf (Goodwill plus a bit of the paint, above): $2

Two new tourist plates for the wall: $3

Old calender for switch plate covers: $0

The rest (Be clever. Use what you have.): $0

So in the end my "amazing kitchen remodel" ran me ten bucks and part of two weekends of my time.

Not too shabby for what feels like a completely new space.

The house was pretty spotless until my family returned and I lived in a twisted fantasy of clean dishes, swept floors, and no clutter for exactly three days. It was disorienting but nice.

And then yesterday they returned.

And now my serene grey and aqua kitchen is decorated with not only vintage globes and travel plates but also a Dungeons and Dragons board, two pairs of swimming goggles, one jar of mud, and eighteen thousand dirty pairs shoes.

I can live with that.

Because I'm so glad they're home.