THE RIVER RUNS
THROUGH
A Midcoast Maine coffee shop, farmhouse store, and gathering place where coffee, baked goods, community, and healing come together.
The River Runs Through
The River Runs Through is a farm, farmhouse store, café, and gathering place in the quietly magical town of Monroe, Maine.
Come for coffee, tea, baked goods, local produce, books, art, and handcrafted goods. Stay for conversation, community, workshops, retreats, and opportunities to reconnect with yourself, the land, and what matters most.
We also offer shamanic therapy, transformational retreats, and nature-based ceremonies focused on embodiment, healing, and meaningful change.
Part working farm, part gathering space, part nourishment and healing—The River Runs Through was created as a place where people can slow down, connect, and experience the possibility of transformation.
Come by. Stay a bit. See what finds you.
Upcoming Creative Workshop: The Face We Wear — A Samhain Mask-Making Workshop
Explore the masks we wear, the parts of ourselves beneath them, and what may be ready to emerge as you create your own ceremonial mask.
Beginning Friday, October 2nd - 5:30-7:30 pm
Spaces are limited! This four-week journey won't be offered again until spring.
Beginning October 2, 2026 - Over four weeks, explore the Eight Sacred Directions and deepen your relationship with the natural world through the Celtic Spirit Wheel.
Connect with the wisdom of Father Sun, Grandmother Moon, Mother Earth, and Grandfather Fire, while exploring powerful archetypes such as the Wise Salmon, Great Bear, Eagle, and Stag as guides for healing and transformation.
Together, we will explore what it means to be In the Thick of Things—to meet yourself honestly in the middle of life's challenges, shed what no longer serves you, discover your own personal guides, and begin becoming who you have yet to become.
This runs on consecutive Fridays during October - 2, 9, 16 & 23rd - 5:30-7:30 pm
Cost is for all 4 weeks - no experience in Shamanism needed.
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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?"