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.

Actually, it has been true for most of the days this past week.

It reminds me of when Rob and I moved to Maine to renovate an old farmhouse. Really, how hard could that be?

Yup.

A lot harder than we expected.

My days would start the same way they do now. I'd get up to make coffee, notice that some trim needed painting, and before I knew what happened, I'd be an hour into a project, ruining my sweatpants, T-shirt, and sometimes my socks.

I'm that kind of artist, baker, and maker.

I really get into it.

So, this morning, I was determined to take the day off.

My latest batch of brownies are cooling on the stove.

I'm still determined to make healthy baked goods—these are low in sugar and packed with protein from garbanzo flour, plus chia seeds, walnuts, and oat milk.

I'm getting to the inventory.

Just after I finish writing this blog.

This is where a laughing emoji goes.

One of those full-belly laughs with tears.

How hard could it be?

I may have to put that on a sign. It could become our inside joke.

Yesterday, I just wanted some oat milk. Unfortunately, all of it had somehow ended up in the store.

I walked in.

A car pulled in.

I don't know where Rob was, although I later learned he was over in the orchard erecting a yurt.

By the time he got back, the women who had arrived had told me all about the magic they felt as they drove by—and how they had to come back.

One of them pointed to my Moon and Tree of Life drum.

I had secretly believed I was never going to sell that drum.

She asked if I had painted it.

I nodded.

And she rushed in with:

“I'll take it!”

I'm not sure if I've admitted this before, clearly I haven't here on the store's blog, but I'm not entirely convinced I'm an “artist.”

I love creating. I love making things. But artist?

I'm not sure.

Maybe that's part of the unexpected.

We make plans based on who we think we are and how we think things are supposed to unfold.

And then life laughs.

And somewhere between a Moon Gathering, a first solo campout, brownies cooling on the stove, inventory waiting to be counted, and a yurt going up in the orchard, I find myself thinking about the unexpected.

Maybe that's what this blog is about.

The unexpected.

And embracing it.

Because we don't actually have control over very much.

We can make plans. Set goals. Try to organize the store, the coffee shop, the farm, the baking, the yurts, and our lives.

And then someone drives by, feels a little magic, turns around, and buys the drum you were sure you would never sell.

Or you decide to take the day off and find yourself baking brownies instead.

Or you get up to make coffee and end up painting trim.

Or you move to Maine thinking, How hard could it be?

And then you spend the next several years finding out.

Maybe we don't get to control everything that happens.

But we do get to choose how we meet what happens next.

Sometimes with determination.

Sometimes with frustration.

Sometimes with a paintbrush in one hand and coffee in the other.

And sometimes—with a full-belly laugh and tears in our eyes.

So, here's to the unexpected.

To plans that don't go according to plan.

To creating before we're sure we're artists.

To Moon Gatherings, first campouts, yurts in orchards, and brownies that are somehow healthy.

And to all the things we never expected to be doing when we first asked:

“How hard could it be?”