August is here — a new month to hope and dream and capture the joy in life that is all around.
August also begins with the celebration of Swiss National Day, a big holiday in my household. But this year as I take to the hills of Vermont, I am reminded of a classic Swiss story — no, not Heidi — but one of a little Swiss boy who discovered that sometimes we need to step away in order to truly see the beauty in front of us.
And that sometimes, you can indeed return home — and appreciate what you once took for granted.
So, pull up a chair and celebrate with me! Invite a friend. Like and make sure to leave a comment.
The dog days of summer are here in Vermont, with many hazy, lazy days. But as I continue to seek a slower and simpler life, well, life continues to surprise me.
What started out as a typical quiet day turned into a lesson of the power of caring for those in need. Three little birds fell out of their nest and I had to figure out how to do my best to save them.
The story has a happy ending, but it led to a larger narrative that I began to explore as I wondered who would be there to catch me when I fall?
I soon realized that was the wrong question to ask. Helping hands are all around and often it is when we step out of our own needs and worries to ease the situation of another, well, that is when we find peace and wholeness.
In today’s world, what would it look like if we all committed to do our best to reach out and help another?
Lots to ponder.
So pull up a chair and join me at Old Stone Well Farm, where the welcome mat to my 18th century homestead is always out! And let me know your thoughts?
When was the last time you looked at your hands and realized they are not small at all, but have the ability to amazing acts of kindness and compassion?
Recent news headlines have been weighing heavily on me and so I’ve decided to turn my back on the world for a moment to do something that fills my heart with joy: I stepped back in time, wearing my new English round gown that I got for my birthday that I celebrated June 27.
I couldn’t think of a better way to start July than by embracing quiet summer afternoons and reflecting on the wisdom of days gone by. Mostly the wisdom from Benjamin Franklin whose thoughts on life and how to live it, reshaped how I intend to spend my days.
So come and join me for this episode of Old Stone Well Farm, where I invite you to step back from everything that is happening right now and find a moment of peace, of joy, of healing and of hope. It is a blessing to have you here with me! Like and leave a comment. And make sure to invite a friend as there is always room at the farm table…or as in this episode, there is always room around the old tea table. (You’ll have to watch more to see what I am talking about!)
Summer is in full swing for me as I just came back from an 18th-century upholstery class at my favorite place known as East Field Village — a community that teaches Colonial skills.
The class, though, created some stress for me as I came home with my project — a bench — and realized I had no room in my house for it. It just doesn’t seem to fit anywhere. That got me thinking about the things we accumulate in our homes and how it is so true that we can’t take it with us when all is said and done. And yet we are so attached to our things.
As I asked (and struggled) with the question, “What would be the one thing I would take with me if I could only take one thing?” I realized that true treasures are found in our hearts and that our true homes are not the ones we seek to furnish with things.
As C.S. Lewis writes, “Our true home is not a place, but a state of being.” So come, join me for a visit now on the old porch on a hot summer day here in Vermont and let’s discuss this concept of home, our possessions and what would the one thing you would take with you?
I would love to know what it would be. Comment, like and share with friends!
Here’s a question for you? Is it wrong that I just want to become a recluse? My recent work trips got me thinking how I want to retreat into the quiet and solitude of Old Stone Well Farm. And I realized, too, that I have been fearing this desire to become a blessed homebody (a better word I think than being “a recluse”).
I think the fear is that if I do give in to solitude, people will forget me when it comes to speaking engagements and writing assignments. Will how I make a living suffer? But where’s my trust in God? Isn’t it better to nurture our souls than run ourselves ragged?
We are always growing in the Spirit and, for me, each decade of my life has been marked by change. So why wrestle with letting go of who I once was and embrace the who I can be?
It’s time to enter into this new stage of quiet retreat in my life, for there really is no place like home. And so, my friends, pull up a chair and join me for visit today.
Make sure to like and comment and invite a friend, for there is room in this little 18th century home in Vermont for everyone!
My friends, I have recently found this sense of peace even amid my still chaotic days. It happened when I came across a reflection from Franciscan monk, Richard Rohr, who talked about living in “deep time” and not letting the ticking of the clock rule our lives. Yes, the clock will never cease ticking, but we can choose not to listen to it. Rather, we can live our moments listening deeply to the divine…those precious God moments that I love talking about! So pull up a chair! I can’t wait to share with you my latest adventures. Invite a friend. Like, comment, share. There is room at the old farm table for all! Blessings!
I recently visited Wilson Homestead in upstate New York. It’s a wonderful old bookstore and antique shop housed in 18th-century barns.
But it wasn’t the salvaged wood and old cookbooks I was after. I wanted to see the hundreds of daffodils that were planted over the years. It was a reminder for me in this season of Easter — 50 days that bring us to Pentecost — to not give up on my dreams of having such glory bloom here in Vermont at Old Stone Well Farm.
It was my reminder that life’s beautiful dreams can come true — with patience, hope and a lot of faith. It was my moment to embrace the truth that it is never too late to begin again.
So welcome to the farm! Pull up a chair, invite a friend, like and comment. I am especially eager to hear what your favorite plant is. Let me know in the comment section on YouTube, as I would love to include your favorite plan in the future dream gardens here at Old Stone Well Farm.
I really thought with a later-than-usual Easter this year that I would have a celebration filled with beautiful flowers and green leaves on the trees.
The cold weather, though, has made the daffodils slow to bloom, and the tree buds are only now shaking off their winter slumber and beginning to awaken.
At first I was disappointed by spring’s tardiness, but then today I realized what a beautiful sermon the yet-to-bloom daffodils were preaching to me.
For this is Holy Saturday, a day where we are called to ponder Christ’s death, sit with the grief, let tears of loss — no matter how fresh or stale those tears are — flow freely. We are being asked not to run so quickly to better, happier times, as our society tends to do.
There is much growth to experience in the mourning. There is something powerful in being able to patiently wait for rebirth, resurrection and renewal.
The daffodils have yet to bloom. And that’s okay. For they are whispering to me to have patience and are inviting me to simply sit with God and let God’s grace wipe away whatever tears I still need to shed.
For God hasn’t forgotten us in our times of loss, defeat or just sheer exhaustion. God is working on our new days — our Easter mornings, where the light of daybreak reveals the amazing truth we need to hold on to now and always: All is not lost. Death, destruction and doom do not win. God’s word of love for all will be the final word.
I really thought with a later-than-usual Easter this year that I would have a celebration filled with beautiful flowers and green leaves on the trees.
The cold weather, though, has made the daffodils slow to bloom, and the tree buds are only now shaking off their winter slumber and beginning to awaken.
At first I was disappointed by spring’s tardiness, but then today I realized what a beautiful sermon the yet-to-bloom daffodils were preaching to me.
For this is Holy Saturday, a day where we are called to ponder Christ’s death, sit with the grief, let tears of loss — no matter how fresh or stale those tears are — flow freely. We are being asked not to run so quickly to better, happier times, as our society tends to do.
There is much growth to experience in the mourning. There is something powerful in being able to patiently wait for rebirth, resurrection and renewal.
The daffodils have yet to bloom. And that’s okay. For they are whispering to me to have patience and are inviting me to simply sit with God and let God’s grace wipe away whatever tears I still need to shed.
For God hasn’t forgotten us in our times of loss, defeat or just sheer exhaustion. God is working on our new days — our Easter mornings, where the light of daybreak reveals the amazing truth we need to hold on to now and always: All is not lost. Death, destruction and doom do not win. God’s word of love for all will be the final word.
The journey to Easter’s new beginnings isn’t an easy one. It asks us to be with Jesus in his final day — to break the bread together, to go to the cross with him, to trust in the darkest of times. And on this Maundy Thursday, here at the farm we take part in an ancient ritual that isn’t very popular these days — foot washing.
For I have discovered, Easter’s new beginnings start with the basin and the towel. It is the ability to not only show love, but to receive love — no matter how hurt or rejected we feel sometimes in life — that helps our anger wash away to acceptance and for acceptance to ripple into widening circles of grace.
I pray you take time in your preparations for Easter to spend some quiet time with me here at Old Stone Well Farm. Let me know what you think…and how open are you to being vulnerable to others? Like, comment and share with others, as there’s always room here at the farm table.
accidental country pastor 