Dare I say… We’re back at it this “homeschooling thing”. And dare I say, this may be the first year I actually have any sort of clue what I’m doing? I probably shouldn’t confess that considering I am my child’s teacher, but heck man, it’s the truth. Years ago I sat wide-eyed, paralyzed in fear,
If you feel as if I’ve been quietly absent from the blogosphere, you’d be correct. I simply cannot fight the urge to play outdoors when the weather is this crisp and frankly, spectacular. It’s been in the high sixties here this past week and the air is crisp – the long shadows undeniably speak of
In reality, this age on the farm should have ended long ago. But like most young families (especially those who farm), we’ve spent the last decade building dreams and raising babies – hardly an environment that breeds organization. Yes, my friends, I’m talking about “stuff” or “piles of you-know-what” (as I often refer to them).
I was awkward as a teenager – though, let’s be honest, who isn’t? Heck, I was awkward in college. And early adulthood. Maybe I’m still quite awkward, but at least I feel more comfortable in my skin these days. It happened somewhere in my mid-twenties. I began to understand who I was and what I
One of my greatest frustrations as a blogger has been the inability to welcome you into my home. I enjoy sitting belly-to-belly with other individuals and hearing their stories over a cup of hot coffee. I enjoy talking about projects, paint colors, celebrations, and new recipes – and most importantly, sharing that in a community.
Though perhaps more thoroughly demonstrated over on our YouTube channel, where we walk through the gardens in a more in-depth manner, I simply can’t help but photograph the Cottage Gardens at Le Chalet this season. As any gardener can relate, the number of hours poured into the garden are beyond calculation, and yet, remarkably, leaves
I quickly scooped up the pile of clean laundry from the dining room table, pushed in the chairs, and grabbed a dirty diaper from one of the seats. A quick run over the soft, cedar floors with the well-worn broom kept guests from popping rogue blueberries with their steps. I quickly turned on the diffuser
It’s ironic, isn’t it, that the time of year when the earth is giving more than we can possibly enjoy, I can barely find it in my strength to cook. While the charming, straight rows of the market garden bring all manner of produce to the kitchen countertop, it’s often around 4:30 pm that I
“That’s totally uncharacteristic of a homesteader.”, a neighbor stated. “To what?”, I replied. “To garden in red lipstick.”, he boldly proclaimed. “Says who?”, I laughed back. I’ve never been one for stereotypes and while I may get dirty in the garden, spend my afternoons making cheese over the stove, and milk a cow each morning, I
I’ll never tire of Django Reinhart and the way his melodies trickle through the thick summer air. The slightly French tunes vibrate throughout the house during these long, hot days and spark all manner of creativity. Much like rhythmic music makes your body move, at times even against your will, so it goes with Django and