Year after year, I welcome the Autumn season with alacrity, the wind blows in a crisp morning air that begs for unearthing our woolen wardrobes and settling into rituals like warm morning coffee by candlelight. This past week has felt no different. We hesitantly trade our bare feet for thick socks to keep us warm from the cold and creaky wooden floors, and prepare our home for the hibernation of the colder months, shelves lined with jars of the summer months, preserved. I spent the better part of two whole days earlier this week digging trenches, planting bulbs full of hope for the rebirth and renewal of spring. Without words, I can see that Michael doesn’t quite understand the labor of love that these florals bring- meeting the snowdrops under the trees, watching the crocus fight their way to the sunlight, a kind of resiliency that I relate to so deeply after the long darkness of the winter season. It really is medicine in those early days. And it seems this week that these rituals stirred up a very stagnant part of me, feelings so visceral that they poured out in the sweat that dripped down my forehead and soaked my feet in my boots. As I dug I unearthed rich, black soil and resentment, an abundance of earthworms and grief, all laying openly at my feet, uprooted and exposed. Exhausted and determined, bulb by bulb, I buried it all into the ground. Not to run from it, but rather to nurture it. Change is in the air. On this full moon in Aries, I am embodying the restoration + patience necessary for the growth, like the autumn bulbs. To understand that it is all a part of the beautiful process of learning and unlearning, and let the rhythms of the Earth hold my hand. I am carrying that patience with me into the broader dreams of our future home space.

I took a photo of the children climbing on a pile of rocks, the future of a driveway, the backdrop a large hill overlooking a pond and a great big grandfather oak tree, where we’re designing the plans for a house to be built, dreams we’ve been holding so close and dear, which are beginning to emerge. When we talk as a family about this blank canvas of land that we are so fortunate to steward, we see many varied pieces of the same dream. Michael sees a house full of bright, natural light and raw materials, Bodhi sees a pasture with a long horned cow and a tractor, Fern talks about chickens, chickens, and more chickens, and I see a large space to grow- a forest garden, livestock, and ourselves as the years go on. It is easy to get swept up in what we think we need to be happy in this life, the voice of capitalism echoes between our ears at a deafening tone if we let it. I oscillate between cynicism and awareness, learning to see things and people as they are. And each time I find myself between the waves of ‘enough’ I am led home by the people who remind me that the dream in our hearts is simply a safe place to cultivate our joy + our authenticity, our interdependence. I am leaning into the gratitude if it all.

All of this to say, I am here, soaking in the extraordinariness of the autumn season, checking off the list of preparations for the winter months ahead, and wishing you all joy in the remainder of these days. I’d love to hear what projects you are holding dear right now, and what lessons you are learning from them. Please share in the comments if you are feeling called! This dialogue of community and collectiveness fills my cup.

In gratitude and connectedness,

Holly