It might feel easy to idealize life on a farm. Space. Animals. Days under the warm sun, surrounded by and cultivating beauty. Being your own boss. Owning your time. Zach and I certainly have idealized this kind of life. How do you think our butts ended up here? Idealism has its place—right? Couldn’t a person consider it one aspect of the dreaming? Isn’t it a part of the formula that drives us to something different . . . better than the reality we currently inhabit? And don’t we all want that—something better? It is part of the human nature, I believe. Therefore, I don’t chide myself too hard when life is less than idyllic. Just because we went for the dream, doesn’t mean we were under any illusion that it would be smooth sailing. Or sailing at all. But what is the point of ignoring the thing that pulls on you so hard, you can’t help but follow the yarn to the knot?
. . . even if it is just to see it unravel, in ways you never would have imagined. And then realizing that “better” is in your hands.
Over the last (almost) 6 years, I have found myself tugging at different threads in the yarn. We had clear reasons for choosing this path, and then there were all the other reasons that maybe weren’t so clear. The reasons that simmer and brew in the subconscious, the unconscious, the spirit, the body . . . wherever they choose to arise and dwell.
One thing that was clear to me from the moment we set foot on this place, was that it wasn’t ours, but ours to be in relationship with. That is wasn’t ours, but I knew it already, just the same. That is wasn’t ours and therefore, it was meant to be shared in some way. The more shrewd reader might ask: well if it isn’t yours, then it isn’t yours to share. Aha! Therein lies the paradox endemic in so many aspects of this life I am experiencing. Zach and I often lament the limitations our society places on the heart. And maybe that is a topic for another time, but the bottom line is that we recognize the privilege we have in “owning” this land and having the home that we have and trying to dig, grow and hammer out a living in the way that we choose. And, it isn’t all kittens and peonies, though you wouldn’t know it from our instagram page. But that is besides the point, because really, neither of us want to make our way in the world without helping others along. And each time I work at this yarn, teasing apart the threads, the one that stays strong, never frays, and always catches my eye, is refuge. (Which, by the way is the title of one of the most influential books in my own evolution—by Terry Tempest Williams. Happy Women’s History Month to another great one!)
Refuge. When you live on a farm, one thing that becomes abundantly clear is that everything is a refuge for someone. You stack wood, you get a whole metropolis of insects. You make a pile of brush, you get a boisterous park for sparrows. You leave anything on the ground for more than a day and the voles have moved in. Compost pile, skunks. Old trailers, fox naps. Uncovered pipe, wasp nest. Log deck, pregnant feral cat. Your heart, all the pain and joy of living, wrapped up in a daily truth bomb. Sure, that last one sounds a touch dramatic, but it’s sort of hard to sum up what has taken refuge in my heart, since moving here, and how I have taken refuge in the farm. It’s reciprocal. At least, that is what I am trying to weave in.
Those closest to me are aware that I experienced decades of debilitating, chronic health issues, that finally came to a head, and a conclusion, here, on the farm, just over a year ago. The best summary of that, if you want to know more, can be found at this link: No more migraines (and other crap). I am not inclined to dwell on that, except to say that I hope my story can provide hope to others and also, it played a part in how our business/life has evolved. Regardless, the thing I want to say is that this place and the time here has been healing to me in profound ways, and I certainly wouldn’t feel as well as I do now, if it weren’t for the farm. All along, I have wanted it to provide the same kind of refuge to other people. And, we have a handful of friends and family who have taken us up on invitations and come to find a sense of refuge in their visits here. Community is important to us, even though we moved out in the middle of a valley, where community wears all different kinds of clothes and squeezes itself in the crevices between haying, and farming and hunkering down for winter. Sometimes it feels like it doesn’t exist. But then, I just look at the refuge in my heart.
What I really want to say is that life is death and everything in between and refuge is everywhere, you just need to decide what that is for yourself and go seek it. And know that it is here, for you.
To that end, we will keep trying to invent times and spaces that allow you to explore what refuge is for you and to find it. If that looks like self-care (I would say it does), you might be interested in the initial offerings I’ve put together after receiving my reiki master (or level III) certification. Meridian Reiki Montana. If it doesn’t look like that, you might find it watching chickens peck endlessly at the tender green shoots of grass poking up all around you. Or by listening to your dog snore. I hope you find it. And if you do, please tell me where it is for you.