i've been a little quiet lately

but everything (here) is just fine.

It feels like months since I last wrote anything for this newsletter, but apparently it’s been about 3 weeks, which suddenly still sounds like a little too long. It doesn’t help that this week flew by and yet last Sunday feels like a lifetime ago, or that I can’t really tell the days apart anymore, or that it feels like we’ve been halfway through October every day since it began, and yet we’re still not quite there yet. But that’s time, these days. Moving quickly and slowly all at once.

Yes, things have been busy here. Our dog recently got a hot spot on her back, where all her long white hair had matted from lying in the dry dirt throughout these late-summer drought days. I nearly had a heart attack when I saw it - I thought she’d been injured and her skin was hanging loose (it wasn’t). We bathed her and shaved her and treated her twice daily. She’s better now, but when times feel crazy, it certainly never helps to have one more thing to worry about.

The day after that, I tripped and fell (again), only this time instead of spraining my ankle, I pulled a chest muscle I didn’t even know I had and have found it uncomfortable to do a lot of things (work, sleep, exercise) since it happened.

I also spent the last two weekends cooking and cleaning for two sold-out back-to-back retreats at the colony. Fridays were 12-hour days, Saturdays lasted for about 16, and Sunday I was up before dawn to make breakfast, then home by noon to finish whatever I’d neglected in my own household (i.e. laundry, dishes, clutter, dog, goats, cats), while still trying to enjoy some semblance of a weekend before it was back to the grind the next day.

Throughout all of this, I have still been writing. But not here. In mid-September, I resumed what I think will have to be an annual tradition of daily tarot draws and journaling every day leading up to my birthday. I thought I did okay last year, but this year I’ve gotta admit - I’ve been killing it. Showing up, every day, just for myself. And that’s been really important. I can’t say I’ve solved any of the world’s (or my own) problems, but I’ve begun to notice the increasing importance of presence - and lack thereof - in my life, and that’s something I’m working on. Taking space to just be, rather than taking on the pressure of creating something shareable out of it all of the time.

So yeah, life has been pretty insane for the last month or so. I haven’t been much for texting or talking or making plans because I’ve basically just been trying to get by on the bare minimum, engaging in the pleasures of a quiet walk with my goats and a glass of wine on a chilly afternoon before the sun sets, indulging in a DELICIOUS butternut squash pasta recipe from The New York Times, gathering my produce from farmer’s markets, watching a few creepy shows after dark to prepare for spooky season, and daydreaming about how long I have to wait before the Christmas music can begin to play. And all of these little moments have been incredibly life-giving. The weekends - although busy - have been, too. I have met over a dozen creative and inspiring women of all ages, learned how to think about my nervous system and tune it in times of stress, and laid in the tall grass of a field overlooking the colony, bathing in nature and apricity (a word meaning “the warmth of the winter sun,” which I really love).

I was a little sad when summer officially came to an end last month. The early days of fall didn’t feel too special until the temperature finally dropped and I remembered the joy of bundling up in a puffy jacket and a knit hat on a 45 degree morning. As I’ve settled back into some kind of normalcy this week, it’s been hard to ignore the bad news coming in from across the world. Turns out there are far worse things going on than achy muscles, ending seasons, and crazy schedules, and everyone is feeling sad, confused, and combative. I know that I’m privileged to be able to turn off my screens when I’ve had enough, to pretend as if nothing bad is happening so I can instead focus on something beautiful outside my window. I’m working through a few of Ross Gay’s books on joy and delight; he makes the point that joy must - and sometimes only can - exist alongside sorrow.

So while I can’t do anything about the conflicts in the Middle East, the changing climate, the houses being built across the once-serene countryside, I can watch a leaf hang from a string of spiderweb, dancing in mid-air, and I can pass that moment of recognition on to you. Now, I’m looking forward to a few weeks of pleasure - celebration and travel and more travel and holidays - and I’m appreciating this season for what it is and for all that it brings to me. Here in Tennessee, we don’t often have long to sit inside with the windows open, letting in the sounds of birds and bugs and rustling leaves, the smell of fresh air, the occasional caress of wind. But this time around, we’re getting lucky, and I’m taking it all in, offering tiny prayers of peace that might be swept up and shared by someone else who is tired, who is hopeful, who is scared.