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.
Halloween on the Farm
I’ve had mixed feelings about Halloween my entire life.
I was always eager to imagine who I could be—or what—yet Halloween itself always seemed to fall short of my aspirations.
Trick-or-treating became scary at some point in the 1980s. Razor blades in candy. You didn’t have to tell me this more than once.
I tried Halloween a few more times in my teens, but it wouldn’t be until my kids were old enough to pick out their own pumpkins that Halloween became something I really looked forward to.
Our policy was simple: you could have as big a pumpkin as you could carry.
It was a great policy until about age 13. In fairness, no one ever tried to take advantage of it, and the pumpkins could always fit in the car.
The excitement of costumes began long before the actual trick-or-treating yielded much candy.
My eldest son was Buzz Lightyear for three Halloweens—and he slept in his costume between those years!
My youngest son was Woody. He slept with his boots on and wore that darn red hat to preschool.
My daughter, although excited about Halloween, was less impressed about dressing up. We would reimagine her recital costumes instead. Much like a wedding dress—you pay all that money to wear it once?
Then we discovered, quite by accident, speed trick-or-treating.
Scotland Odyssey: The Final Chapter.
I was in my caravan.
Yes, caravan. That's what they call a trailer or manufactured housing in the UK. Yes, we all sleep in trailers—aka caravans—in little bitty rooms more conducive to a hobbit than a full-sized person. We share bathrooms. We eat family-style. We take turns washing the dishes. We make our own beds, sheets and all. We sing. We dance. We hold overnight vigils. When I walk across the nine acres of land, every inch of which has been cultivated, I get a mixed feeling of college and camp. Kids' camp. The kind of place my kids longed to go to all year. Only this isn't kids' camp. We're adults. And we're here because we've chosen to be here. There is a rhythm to the place. We gather together. We open our morning circle together. We have tea together. And there are so many tea breaks in the UK. No. Americans will never understand. We drum together. We sing together. We learn together. We spend time together.
Eventually, I made my way back across the land to my little caravan.
I had just settled in when I heard my name.
I ran to the door.
"...Is your case green?"
Scotland Odyssey Continues: What Lies Beneath the Layers?
I had made it.
It took several more days than I expected. There had been stress shopping, cobblestones with a rolly bag, and an epic graveyard I couldn't get to because, although it was behind the cathedral, neither the map nor I understood that it was separated by a fairly big road.
Glasgow. Check.
Even though it had taken more time than expected to get to Anam Cara, I still arrived a day before the training started. I had even adjusted to my jet lag!
I did need to do more shopping, as my case, although FOUND in the tracking system, was curiously still not in Inverness.
My Scotland Odyssey: Returning to Anam Cara
I did tell those who needed to know that I was going to be away. I even told them I would be in Scotland. I emphasized that this wasn't a vacation. Everyone nodded, and a few looked like they understood.
Of course, what I couldn't have told anyone, including myself, was the full Odyssey the trip would become.
Getting myself ready was surprisingly easy. A big case. A little case. A backpack. For me, this was a win.
I was dropped off at Bangor International. If you've ever flown out of Bangor, you understand the blessing this little airport offers. No lines. No waiting. Sometimes ridiculous security screenings—admittedly, that happens everywhere. I sat. I waited. I boarded without incident.
Then I arrived in Philadelphia.
What Is It With Lawns?
It's not that I don't appreciate a well-manicured lawn.
There is something lovely about a wide expanse of green grass that feels soft and cushy under your feet. In the spring, dandelions can create an impressive sea of yellow—although I know many people respond to this natural phenomenon with considerably less enthusiasm.
The dandelions, apparently, are winning.
As Kitty and I were outside today, I was pulling weeds—or, more accurately, pulling grass—from one of the garden rows we planted this summer. I noticed leaves, dried branches, and various other things scattered through the row.
Including a hose.
It Looks Like It's Happening...
The River Runs Through's first Moon Gathering.
Of course, I shouldn't get ahead of myself. There's interest—granted, not the same interest as a Coldplay concert. 😊 But interest...and not just from our family members!
Clearly, there is something about getting together.
And getting together to give a little time and attention to observing the ebb and flow of the moon.
I remember the first time I truly observed the moon. Not that I hadn't seen it before (and, of course, believed it was following me everywhere—I'm still not entirely convinced it wasn't.), or noticed how bright it could be. But it wasn't until my first year of college that I really paid attention. One of our assignments was to track the moon through all of its phases. It was the first time I realized the moon shows up in the morning—and even in the afternoon. It was also when I first heard the words waxing and waning. I was captivated.
How I Accidentally Became a Wedding Officiant
Long before this became The River Runs Through, when it was simply twenty-nine acres, an old farmhouse, and a dream, I had already decided this was going to be a place where people gathered.
Some people dream about gardens.
Some dream about horses.
Apparently, I dreamed about weddings.
I've always been fascinated by them.
The dresses.
The flowers.
The invitations.
The table settings.
The old barns transformed into magical reception spaces.
The traditions.
The symbolism.
The promises.
That's a rather long list, which probably tells you two things.
Hummingbird
I was reminded of Hummingbird today.
A lovely woman came by with a man who has become a regular here at the coffee shop. We love seeing him enjoying the space, coffee in hand, just being here. She shared some of her experiences with Shamanism, including an immersive trip to Greece, and somewhere in the conversation she mentioned Hummingbird.
"For me," she said, "Hummingbird represents joy."
I smiled.
Here We Are
Yesterday was busy.
And, to be honest, stopping and noticing was only momentary. Still, I did it. I stopped. I looked around. I reflected in that moment, and thought...
Here we are.
It's funny how we spend so much of our lives working toward something, wondering if we'll ever get there, and then one day we look up and realize...
Here we are.
How the River Taught Me to Listen
There was a lot of baking today. Or perhaps more accurately, there was a lot of creating pieces that will eventually become something whole. Mixing dry ingredients. Preparing fillings. Letting dough rest. None of it looked like the finished product, yet every piece mattered.
It reminded me that life has unfolded much the same way.
Before I understood psychology, before I understood trauma, before I understood healing, I was simply a little girl who paid attention.
Moon Circle Gatherings
What if, once each month, we simply paused?
Paused long enough to notice the moon overhead, the changing seasons around us, and what is quietly changing within us.
Moon Circle is a monthly gathering to reconnect—with ourselves, one another, and the natural world. Together we'll reflect, meditate, create, share (if you choose), and honor the rhythms that have guided humanity for thousands of years.
The Magic of a Quiet Day
Yesterday was wonderfully busy.
Today was wonderfully quiet.
I imagine that's how the universe keeps us humble. Just when you think you've figured things out, it hands you a quiet day and says, "Go make something."
So I baked.
I'm not entirely sure where my love of baking began. Maybe it was my Easy-Bake Oven, which somehow convinced an entire generation of children that a light bulb was a perfectly reasonable heat source.
I mostly remember what went wrong.
The frosting that somehow became marshmallow.
The cakes that could have doubled as coasters.
The pizza dough came from a box because I hadn't yet learned that yeast can't be hurried. Bread has its own schedule, and it has absolutely no interest in ours.
Come to think of it...neither does life.
The First Truly Magical Day
We've had good days at The River Runs Through.
We've had surprising days. Rainy days. "What were we thinking?" days.
Today was different.
Today was the first day that felt...magical.
Ironically, it began with our bathroom.