Three Novembers ago I participated in Nanowrimo, aka “Novel Writing November”, and wrote a novel, which I never edited and no one ever read, based on 8 incredible women I’d met in recent travels. In realizing that another November has arrived, my fingers have begun to ache for the familiar warmth and safety of that time spent in solitude, writing. So I find myself here, writing myself a few layers of insulation and strength to withstand the coming winter, and the looming busy-ness of spring. This time, however, I’ll let someone read it.
Many young people I know are into projects. We learn to felt, we build canoes, we cook extravagant vegan dishes with way too many non-local ingredients, we take up birding, we make bands with our friends, we sew patches on our pants. I too, am into projects. When I decided to farm, I knew I’d found the right thing, an unending list of projects that require the mostly-healthy triad of intelligence, intuition, and physical exertion. But sometimes the physical exertion is too much, and sometimes it’s almost impossible to turn off the “farm brain”. And unfortunately, in trying to read my intuition, I often conjure up a few too many fears (out of thin air) and start to feel crazy.
Indeed, with farming I have started the project of all projects, and am doing lots of ambitious dreaming, but I’m also using my body more than ever before which is quickly getting sore. This season my go-tos for rest have been long baths, short yoga sessions, and bad netflix movies. With this blog, I hope to expand that list.
My hope is that I can blog in the way that my 15 year old self journaled: lots. Because it never felt hard, never felt forced, and always seemed to be a helpful way for me to navigate the every-day. If you care to read and join me in my meanderings, hopefully I can spark in you something good. Perhaps I will occasionally delight your ears/eyes/mouth/body with new songs I’ve written, with delicious recipes I’ve manipulated, with poems, with natural health tips, with colourful photos, and with the thoughts that grace my writing fingers asking to be expressed.
fall hues, and cow moos