Slow

Things slow way down on the farm in winter.  The pace settles into a gentle, determined rhythm... and to that steady beat, you do all that you must... and, sometimes, little else.

It is time to pull close to the fire.

It is an introspective season.

This year, winter is at my doorstep and has been for several weeks, despite what the calendar proclaims, and yet, I am still a bit frenzied and frantic.  I have learned over the years that I become scattered and unfocused if I do not maintain certain practices.  Because of the demands of the farm these past few seasons, I have sadly neglected the following healthy habits:  a daily walk in nature, yoga and meditation.

Sometimes, people suggest that I have been "shot out of a canon" because I spring to life each morning and tackle my tasks with energy... but without the quiet moments of reflection so abundant in walking, yoga, and meditation, I notice that I can be quite busy, scurrying about, and yet not accomplish much.  Sometimes, my thoughts dart about as I try to listen to someone I care about, which troubles me greatly.  I need to take a deep breath.

This winter will be my season to re-establish my commitment to quiet moments, to slow food, slow living, and deep listening.

Note to self:

Breathe slowly and listen.

Breathe and slowly consider.

If you must speak, 

speak slowly and gently.

Then be quiet.

Be still.

Listen.

Wherever you are, whatever the weather, I wish you peace.

A Farm Style Fairy Tale

Before she moved to the farm,

She did not know whether she was made more of

Daisies and dreams

Or mystery and moss…

Or perhaps mostly of midnight and memories.

She came to the farm so that she could sprinkle radish seeds on cool soil

And then pull them up a few weeks later with the joy of a child opening a gift,

And then roast them slowly and stir them into a soup to feed to her loved ones.

She came to the farm so that she could sing native water songs

To friendly chickens as she fed them. 

She came so that, when the world became too tangled and complex,

She could walk through the quiet forest and slowly unravel

Then sit un-moving on a sun-dappled slope

And listen as the wind whispered endearments to the Earth.

After a while, she realized that she was made of 

Much more than just daisies and dreams;

She was an elemental,

Undefinable,

Sweetness 

In the song that Life sings.

by Aisling, December 10, 2013

Snapshot

I see snow falling... bright bits of lace falling on an eastward angle.  One large flake rolls upward a few inches and then drifts to the east while another soars in a long lazy arc, like a shooting star.  I make a wish... just in case.

I hear wind against the windows and fire crackling in the woodstove; the sound of cold and the sound of heat. A log falls with a rustle.  Another snaps.  I hear my son sorting through his papers, as he sits on the warm slate close to the woodstove, looking for a blank sheet to start a drawing.  His pencil scratches across the page energetically.

I smell chai in my mug, as I take a break from deep cleaning the kitchen.

I taste the vanilla spice of my tea.

I feel comfortable... happy... blessed.

It is bitterly cold here today, as it must be in many other places.  It feels good to be tending the fire indoors... out of the wind and yet listening to her song.

Wherever you are, whatever the weather, I wish you comfort and joy.