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.
The Face We Wear
I love homework.
Yes, you read that correctly. I love homework. If I could have just done homework in school and never been required to show up for the mind-numbing, pedantic classes, where at best I was bored, I probably would have learned so much more. Instead, due to a combination of being highly sensitive and not yet understanding what that meant for me, I often sat in class feeling trapped. Trapped. Terrified, actually. My eyes were trained on the door while I glanced at the clock, which seemed to be my enemy because it never moved quickly enough. Eventually, we'd be let out of class, only to be bullied, teased, or generally made to feel less than. So yes, if school could have simply sent me the homework, I would have been happy. I would have learned. I would have done the work. I would have loved it.
Which is why it was a little surprising that, at the end of our first gathering at Anam Cara, I was given homework that I really, really didn't want to do.
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.
The Way Knows the Way
Have you ever gotten a call from somewhere deep inside yourself? A gut feeling that made absolutely no sense to your logical mind? Or simply known something without being able to explain how you knew it?
Have you ever wondered if those moments meant you were being irrational? Or worse, if you admitted them out loud, people might quietly wonder if you'd lost your grip on reality? It's an odd thing to worry about in such an "evolved" society.
But perhaps we're not quite as evolved as we'd like to believe.
Or perhaps our evolution has come at a cost.
This sort of thing has happened to me my entire life. When I was younger, I rarely spoke about what I was feeling or intuiting. Even into adulthood, I found myself making important decisions based on what I can only describe as a deep knowing. It was frustrating because I couldn't always explain those decisions in ways that satisfied other people—or even myself.
Take my divorce. I could give reasons, of course. Rational reasons. But they never told the whole story. There was something underneath the words, quietly insisting that it was time to go.
At the time, I didn't have language for that experience. No one had told me there was another way of knowing besides thinking. I hadn't yet learned that there are parts of ourselves we've slowly been taught to ignore—through education, culture, or simply the pace of modern life.
It was raining. I went anyway.
Over the last year, being surrounded by trees has led me to explore "tree bathing." I took a course, read the manual, learned about terpenes and how trees communicate, and about the importance of simply being with them.
Somewhere in all of that was the suggestion that I spend a night among the trees.
Technically, this is my backyard.
But our backyard is kind of big.
And there is wildlife.
I liked the idea of a digital detox, artificial-light detox, a night of silence, and a deeper relationship with this land.
I was intrigued.
I was also hesitant.
The hesitation wasn't about running water or using the bathroom outside. We lose power regularly here in Maine. I've adapted.
It was the coyotes.
And, if I'm honest, my limited experience sleeping outside.
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.
Artist, Interrupted?
I remember the yellow ribbon. It hung beside my picture when I was in second grade. It was my first art award. My piece, In My Backyard, elicited chuckles from my parents.
"Whose backyard is that?" they both asked, looking at the 11x14 sheet of red construction paper with black cut-outs of people and a swing set.
"Isn't that ours?" I remember thinking, though I never said it out loud.
Suffice it to say, it was my version of my backyard.
In sixth grade, I created my first acrylic painting. I used little glass jars of paint on a bumpy 4x6 sheet of paper that came with the kit. I painted poinsettias, and my teacher submitted it to the city's art competition—open to every student from Kindergarten through twelfth grade in Medford, Massachusetts. I was named Artist of the Month. My parents were confused. You see, I wasn't supposed to be an artist.
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.
When You're Going Through It
Rob has a definition for comedy:
Pain plus time.
Honestly, I find that almost as funny as the pain itself.
In time.
We all have those stories. Those moments that were absolutely, unequivocally not funny while they were happening.
Women, do we not all have a period story? And does it not almost always involve wearing white?
My only saving grace with my most embarrassing period story was that I was wearing black.
Trust me. It was still bad.
How Hard Could It Be?
With our first Moon Gathering happening tomorrow and my first campout—all by myself—tonight, I thought this morning, I'll take the day off.
No baking. No inventory. No setting up online shopping. No linking a new POS system. You know, the things one does when opening a Farmhouse Store & Coffee Shop in a renovated milk shed.
I really like the saying—although it might actually be a proverb—“You make plans and God laughs.”
Wow, was that ever true today.
What Gets Lost in Translation?
I remember reading that, in the 1970s, mainstream doctors were hesitant to use the word meditation. They worried that if they did, both they and the practice would be dismissed as “woo-woo.”
I rolled my eyes.
Even twenty years ago, meditation and yoga were still making their way into the mainstream. And most people didn’t believe you could make a living doing“woo-woo”.
Now, many of those same mind-body practices are evidence-based.
Go figure.
I find myself in a similar place now.
Although, to be fair, I am not rolling my eyes.
At least not outwardly.
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.
The Invitations We Don't Always Recognize
Yesterday, I invited someone into my office.
That may sound ordinary, except my office is a few steps away from our coffee shop, which is a few steps away from our home. Every so often, I look around and think, "This is a little unusual."
A therapy office next to a coffee shop? A farmhouse store surrounded by fields, woods, and a river? A place where someone might come for coffee, conversation, a workshop, a walk, or simply to sit?
And then I remember—maybe it isn't unusual at all.
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 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.