Stories from The River Runs Through
Coffee. Creativity. Ceremony. The land. Becoming.
And the occasional story about something I probably should have known better than to attempt.
There are stories about the things we make, the things we inherit, the things that surprise us, and the things that change us.
Come wander awhile.
Where the Blackberries Grow
Remembering Anna and Jake's wedding on the land at The River Runs Through
This summer, Anna, Jake, and their eight-month-old son, Elias, came to visit. At some point, Anna remembered sitting on the bench beneath the arbor, now fully enclosed by the blackberry bushes her twin brother, Niles, had planted just days before her wedding. She mused, almost to herself, we’re going to get another picture there, referring to her, Jake & Elias.
I looked at the arbor bench and thought about how much had changed in those four years.
The Sound of Remembering
People often ask me about the drums.
Or the rattles.
Or why I hold Moon Gatherings.
Sometimes the question is spoken.
Sometimes it's simply the look on their face.
"Isn't this all a little...different?"
Maybe.
How Ceremony Found Me
I did, sort of, become a wedding officiant accidentally.
Although maybe it's more accurate to say I had a dream and decided, why wait?
The truth is, ceremony found me long before I ever signed the paperwork.
I've always been drawn to ceremony and ritual. They are a big part of what kept me tethered to church long after I'd decided the book of stories was, well... mostly a book of stories.
But I loved what happened around those stories.
I think I first discovered the power of ceremony while preparing for my own First Communion. It wasn't just about wearing a white dress or standing in church. I had a speech to memorize. I learned how to say the Mass. I practiced reading in front of others—skills that felt incredibly important at the time and ones I would rarely ever use again.
Although, looking back, life has a funny way of preparing us for things we don't yet understand.
More than anything, I remember the feeling.
I remember knowing this wasn't just another Sunday. Something important was happening. A moment was being marked. My family would gather. I would step into something new.
It was my first experience of ceremony—the first time I understood that some moments deserve to be witnessed.