Clean.

Family

There is something so beautiful about watching your child's circle of family extend out to include the people you hold most dear. This sort of family is chosen, not born.

And yet - in a way, I suppose - for my kids it is both.

Last weekend my lifelong friend Ami and her family came to visit. I have know Ami since we were teens, our easels pulled tightly beside each other's in painting class our junior year of high school. We were instantly best friends, graduating a semester early and traveling abroad together for a month at a time (on more than one occasion). We have stood up for each other in weddings, loved each others babies, and held each other up when our foundations have been shaken.

Sage's only request for Ami's visit was that she teach him a new recipe. They share a love of cooking and he has a serious love of her cooking. Classic and reinvented Indian food, he could eat it for every meal. (And does when she visits.)

And so a plan was made, a recipe was chosen, and some homegrown lamb meat was thawed.

And then I simply stood back and watched.

The two of them standing side-by-side at the counter, the scent of garlic and ginger in the air; I was reminded of a moment when I wasn't much older than Sage and it was her mom teaching me. Though I lacked Sage's skills and confidence in the kitchen I matched his interest as she patiently taught me how to roll out puris, start an all-day batch of onion masala, and (the one that really stuck) how to make chai.

(At 21 and 42.)

This is family. And I am grateful.

 

 P.S. My chai recipe, inspired by the batches the I made with Ami's mom Usha when I was just a teen, is here.

Those days

We all have those days now and again.

You know the type. An off day. A "bad" day. A nothing's-going-my-way day.

To use a farm metaphor those days begin with manure in the milk pail and end with a herd of naughty goats jumping the pasture fence.

Yesterday was that day over here - both literally and figuratively. By the end of the day I was cranky, overstimulated, and just done. Even my dreams were restless.

But I woke this morning to a gentle rain on the pasture and another chance at clean, sweet milk.

Literally and figuratively.

So I put on my boots and headed to the barn.

Thankfully the goat didn't kick this morning.

Thankfully the milk was abundant and clean.

Thankfully the air was cool on my skin and the mist was thick on the hills. I paused, inhaled, found my center again.

 

Thankfully things fell into place this morning, if only for a moment.

 

And as I carried the pail of fresh sweet milk into the kitchen and strained it - still warm - straight into my coffee cup I felt gratitude. I felt blessed - even if I am still a little off my game.

I felt thankful for small everyday blessings.

 

Each day is another chance. A fresh start. No matter what yesterday delivered.

And with luck, my friend, today there will be no manure in your milk pail.

(At least that's the way it went here. Thank goodness.)

 

Love,
Rachel

 

Free (boy's or girl's) sunhat pattern

Since Sage was seven I have made and remade this hat for my kids every summer it seems. Plain or fancy, detail patchwork or all one print, it's fast and easy to stitch up, year after year.

I sketched the original pattern back in 2010 and am sharing it with you once more today.

Sewing hats sounds hard. But this pattern? Easy-peasy. Seriously. You've got this.

Love,
Rachel

 

After a long, dark spring the sun is shining once again.

To celebrate, I sewed a new sunhat for each of my kids last week.

Sage's is identical to the one I made for him when he was seven. (That boy knows what he likes!)

Lupine's is a spunky, patchwork incarnation of the same pattern.

To modify the pattern for Lupine that I originally designed for her brother, I mixed up the colors and added a narrow patchwork strip to the side.

The patchwork is my favorite small detail on this hat. It is a simple addition, but takes the hat to a different level of cuteness. I created it with scraps from her baby sling and several outfits I've sewn for her. It also allowed us to use a favorite but barely too-short fabric for the main hat piece.

She is thrilled with it and proudly announces what each fabric was from when she shows it off.

The hat is reversible and lined in a single print (from another mama-made outfit), so it's two hats in one!

Want to make your own? Of course! The pattern and instructions are below. I've simplified them a bit since I first shared this pattern, including PDF files that should be easier for you to print to scale.

Enjoy!
Rachel

Summer Sunhat for Girls & Boys

Materials:

• Pattern - three pieces (below). To print, follow the instructions below. 
• Outer fabric
• Lining fabric
• Timtex or other stiff interfacing for brim (afflink)
• Matching thread

All sewing was done with a 1/2 inch seam allowance. This is sized for my 6-8 year old. Adjust as needed to fit a younger or older child.

1. Print out pattern pieces.

To print, click on the PDF files below.

Save files to your desktop.

Open and print each file without scaling. (The Sunhat Crown should measure 7 3/8" across.) 

Download SunhatCrown

Download SunhatBrim

2. Cut Fabric.

You will need to cut the following pieces:

Sunhat Band (No pattern piece. Rectangle 21.5" x 4")

Cut two (one lining, one outer fabric). This can be a sold fabric or pieced fabric as shown above.

To add a patchwork band as above, cut your main fabric rectangle 20" long. Sew a 2" wide patchwork band that is 4" tall. Join patchwork and main color and trim to size.

Sunhat Brim

Cut three (two outer fabric, one interfacing.) Note: When you cut out your paper pattern fold and cut so you have the entire 1/2 moon. I only copied down 1/2 of the pattern to make it fit on a single sheet.

 

Sunhat Crown

Cut two (one lining, one outer fabric)

 

3. Sew Brim

Cut interfacing brim down by 1/2 inch on all sides.

Sew outer curved edge of brim, right sides together.

Turn and press.

Insert interfacing and trim if needed to fit smoothly inside.

Top stitch outer curve through all layers to hold interfacing in place.

Sew Crown

Fold hat band so that the short ends line up (right sides together), creating a flattened cylinder. Sew.

Pin cylinder shape carefully to hat top (also right sides together). Sew.

Turn right side out and press.

Repeat with lining.

Pin brim to hat, centered opposite of back seam with top side of brim flat against front of hat (it will look like someone flipped the brim up, 1980's grade school style). If you added a patchwork or vintage embroidery detail, align this with the edge of the brim or place it wherever you like it best.

Sew into place and flip down. It should be starting to look like a hat now!

Press under 1/2" on bottom edge of hat and hat lining.

Insert hat lining into outer fabric hat and top stitch together very close to the edge.

You did it! Bravo, friend.

 

Originally published in 2010.

 

 

 

 

 

Sweetness for miles

Lupine saw the photos in this post and said, "Mama, why are you writing an Easter post?" I scrolled through and sure enough, it looks a good deal like a spring celebration over here.

It's a good fit for me, since as I child I was obsessed with all things spring, including rabbits. And chicks in tea cups? Well who could resist that?

The point of this post is that we have a lot of new babies over here right now. Forget about goat kids and lambs! We have smaller babies to snuggle at the moment.

 

I suppose every season has a theme, be it plant or harvest; work or rest; life or death.

Clearly we've entered the season of "adorable" over here, with fluffy new life for miles.

 

(Those chicks in tea cups only because I don't have small enough tutus.)

First, the chicks.

A few weeks ago Pete put a clutch of chicken eggs in one incubator and quail in another. They began hatching a week ago, and at this point I've lost count of new babies on the farm. Six quail and seven? eight? Pete reports eleven new chicks to freshen up our laying flock. I was lucky enough to have a quail hatch out right in the palm of my hand.

As of yesterday they have all been moved from the living room to the barn (thank goodness) and I'm reveling this morning in a full night of sleep, uninterrupted by rambunctious peeping from downstairs.

And second, the rabbits. Oh, the rabbits!

We were gifted two gorgeous angora rabbits. (For your rabbit people, one a Satin Angora Chocolate Agouti and the other is French Angora Opal.)

It all came about quite unexpectedly after I chatted with a friend at our homeschooling potluck about fiber dying, handspinning, and fiber flocks. We had both spent the day dying wool a nearly identical shade of plum; my fiber from my sheep and hers from her angora rabbits. I was fascinated and chatted her up about her rabbits. A week later I ran into her at the coop and she offered me two bunnies - rabbits that she loved but needed a good home for to make room in her hutches for new genetic stock.

What a generous, amazing gift. How could I resist?

And so Violet (formerly Susie), shown above, and Baby (formerly, well, Baby), shown below, came home for keeps this weekend.

We're learning so much and enjoying the process of caring for the newest - and arguably most cuddly - members of our fiber flock.

Sage is truly taken by Violet, the more cautious rabbit of the pair, and is working daily to make her feel safe on our farm. Lupine is fond of the slightly more predictable and gregarious Baby, so everyone is happy.

Myself included.

 

I truly can't think of a better addition to our farm or our family than these. 

 

 

 

 

 

Deep roots

There is a simple presence that comes from living here, with roots growing deep in this land.

A connection. An awareness. Memories taking form.

It comes in the echo of my daughter's laugh as the leopard frog I caught slips out of my hands into the creek.  I catch it again and again and her eyes are wide, taking it all in, her laughter getting higher and wilder with each escape and recapture.

When we let the frog go my son, watching it swim downstream, remarks that it "looks like a tiny person" swimming there.

Indeed.

We see ourselves in this place.

It comes in the way his eyes sparkle when he runs to me, fishing pole in hand, announcing that he caught a fish in the creek and that it got away but that it was amazing.

A love for fishing, his father's passion that he has never shared. I saw a twinkle of it there as the sun slipped low.

A new sparkle. A new way to love this place. 

His first sleepy words upon waking today were, "That fish was amazing."

And it came in the way she paused, climbing a tree, to smell the bark and announced that it smells "exactly like the water in the Wolf River". She urges me up into the high branches and I oblige, sniffing the orange lichens there.

She's right. It's a dead match.

How does one notice the scent of a lichen and the scent of a river and draw an invisible line between them?

I am awed.

Already her roots are deep.

These days our bird feeders explode with hummingbirds, oriels, finches, and the others. We fill the seed and sugar water diligently, as connected to these wild birds as to the chickens in our coop. Perhaps more.

The same for foods foraged and foods gardened. Both nourish us. Both belong on our table but the wild food brings extra delight.

The children picked wildflowers for our breakfast on Mother's Day. Lupine chose violets for the fruit salad while Sage made dandelion fritters. Bouquets from garden, field and marsh were arranged throughout the house in tea cups, vases, and bottles.

Before we ate Lupine went out alone to pick plantain leaves. She wrapped her violet salad inside like a wild food burrito. Plantain is immune boosting and good for people on antibiotics. (Yes, she is.)

I foraged too, nettles to saute and to dry for tea in the winter. My fingers still tingle this morning a prickly memory of last nights gathering.

Tomorrow we'll go for ramps. Watercress. Morels. And the song of the birds in the hills.

Spring is abundance.

And we're watching it all with eager eyes and deep roots.

Last night when the moon rose over the hills and we listened to the barred owl in the woods, Lupine perched high in that box elder tree that smells of a river racing toward the sea, hundreds of miles from here. We saw a halo around the moon through the brances.

"Will it storm tomorrow, mama?"

"It might," I said.

And in the early morning darkness I woke to the sound of thunder and rain. I smiled.

As I drifted back to sleep I felt my roots sink deeper still into this place.

This place where we belong.

 

Originally published in 2014.

 

 

Evidence of spring

Thankful for a quiet walk in the woods, searching for signs of spring.