Sometimes it feels like we’re faking it. We’re still very new at this “hobby farm” or homesteading thing, yet at the same time, it feels as comfortable as a favorite pair of jeans. Just the other day, I told a friend that every day feels like we’re on vacation, and he gave me the most confused look. I get it. It doesn’t make sense. There’s more work to be done here than we can get to in an entire season and everywhere you look there are visible disasters (the shooting fence, for one). Even so, we have an envelope of calm and peacefulness covering us. I guess that I keep waiting for it to feel difficult, but it just doesn’t. It’s good; good work, good family time, good friend time, good food, good rest…just good.
It makes life feel earned, and there is grace in that.
This weekend, we woke up to snow. It’s still early enough in the season that we know it won’t last for a more than a couple of days at most, but we didn’t miss out on the magic. As the sun started to peek up over the horizon, there was the familiar contrast of warm and cold showing through our bay window.
That apple tree is my favorite welcome in the mornings. It stretches out both toward and away from the house and casts an incredible dappled light into our dining room. I have an affinity for trees…this one has stolen my heart completely.
The boys started tucking themselves in the nooks of couches and chairs as they slowly woke up to the day’s possibilities.
And I snuck outside while Hank made breakfast to see what our new world looked like under a snow’s dusting, always under the watchful eye of our pup.
I’ve put a lot of faith in this house and our new lifestyle, hopefully not misplaced. So far, it’s been very healing. We’ve dived into slow living and I don’t even want to come up for air. It fits.
Know what else fits? French toast made from a fresh loaf of bread, courtesy of Hank. That’s right. That hunk-o’-love of mine bakes fresh bread. A lot. I think I’ve hit the jackpot.