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.

Not perfect.

Not finished.

But here.

Here we are.

The birthday of my youngest, who turned 28. Twenty-eight! I have no idea where all the time went.

Here we are.

My daughter and son-in-law, who were just high schoolers...like last week, weren't they? Now they have my first grandchild, Elias. He is eight months old and very unhappy that he doesn't crawl well enough yet. He keeps trying to walk instead. There is something wonderful about that determination—the absolute belief that he can do something before he actually knows how.

Here we are.

Standing in the grass, looking at the one row of happy vegetables in the garden. Gardening has a way of keeping us humble. One row. One beautiful, thriving row. And honestly? I'll take it.

Here we are.

At The River Runs Through.

The farmhouse store is open. Coffee is brewing. People are sitting in the grass at our makeshift, almost rustic-chic table, with those chairs from Goodwill—or my mother—which very likely means they came from Goodwill too. Conversations are happening. People are lingering. The river is flowing by, just as it always has.

It's important to stop long enough to notice that what once felt impossible has quietly become ordinary.

There were days when this was only an idea. A dream. A thought that lived somewhere between "what if?" and "could this really happen?"

And now...

Here we are.

Not because everything is finished. It isn't. There are still gardens to tend, ideas to grow, workshops to create, and dreams waiting their turn.

But sometimes we need to pause long enough to recognize that we are standing in a place we once only imagined.

Here we are.

Genuinely happy to be together. Everyone is thriving. There are a few hiccups, of course—but what would yin be without yang? Life isn't about everything being easy. Sometimes happiness is simply noticing what is already here.

And then there was Kitty.

Kitty and I went for our usual adventure. He was wearing his harness, which means I was apparently expected to follow along with whatever plan he had created.

Kitty has a desire—no, a demand—that I participate fully if he is wearing his harness.

This can become slightly complicated when I get into a conversation with customers and Kitty decides that stopping is not part of the agenda. He pulls...PULLS...and then begins choking because apparently the harness is supposed to be a signal for him to stop pulling.

Kitty believes this is actually a lesson for me.

Eventually, though, he stopped.

He rolled—ROLLED—in the dirt, then settled into the sunshine. Customers sitting nearby watched as Kitty simply wagged his tail, leisurely and content, as if to say:

"This is my private park of 29 acres, and I'm not afraid of you."

And honestly?

He might be right.

Speaking of tea...

IT HAPPENED.

The first order for tea!

(Pause for polite applause from across the pond.)

Rob was not prepared.

They asked for Earl Grey.

Thankfully, I have Earl Grey. In a variety of ways.

Phew.

What I didn't realize is that Rob has never really made tea. Or perhaps he has made tea while watching someone else do it, but never paid enough attention to repeat it without coaching.

As I filled the tea strainers with loose leaf tea, he looked at me and said,

"That's beyond me..."

Determined to help, Rob attempted to fill two cups with hot water.

In his haste, he blew the surge protector in our kitchen.

I had to calmly look at him and explain:

"Go out to the store and turn on the kettle. The one that makes hot water. Then just pour it into the cup."

Problem solved.

And here I was, worried about the espresso machine operation.

Silly me.

Apparently tea was going to be our greatest challenge.

There are some new things unfolding here at the farm.

I'm exploring the possibility of a Moon Gathering Group—a time to gather, reflect, and connect with the rhythms of the moon and the seasons. If you feel even remotely interested, please send me an email. I'd love to know there is interest.

We'll also be offering workshops to decorate and paint your own drum and to create your own sacred rattle. All materials are included in both workshops, and no animals are harmed in the production of either item.

And a reminder that our coffee shop hours are "flexible." Farm life has a way of reminding us that schedules are useful, but nature usually gets the final say.

The porch, the field, and the river are always open.

Come for coffee.

Come for tea.

Come for a walk.

Come for conversation.

Or simply come to pause for a moment.

Come sit.

Stay awhile.

See what finds you.