I’ve hardly left my property in more than a week. Head underwater, I guess. Deep in homestead life and homestead planning. Projects every single day. But I missed you all. I thought I’d bring my head up long enough to say hello.



I had the worst homestead day and the best homestead day right back to back. When the neighbors came down the hill to say hello, I was trying to let the girls help me paint some trim for the goat barn. And failing, mostly. In theory I’m super fun mom who raises creative kids who are immersed in natural beauty and adventure, in reality I’m a little more like a control freak.

I don’t want latex paint in my ecosystem…” she says. To a two year old.

I was startled to see them. Two middle-aged good looking people I had never seen before, walking right down our hill. We didn’t hear a car because there wasn’t a car. They walked. See. They live less than a mile away from us.

The wife had asked the husband to stop in because she either saw or heard that we were off grid, and her husband had set up a whole home electricity system on solar. She wanted him to offer to us his knowledge and she was obviously not just a little proud. I know how she feels.

The husband drug his heels. He saw Nick running power tools on a generator and said, he doesn’t want to be interrupted. Which is true. Nick didn’t turn off the generator for the duration of their brief visit, but afterwards he did say, “Sometimes help just walks right up to your door and says hello.”

I’m trying to learn how to ride these waves. Drink water where I find it instead of thirsting over an empty cup that had water in it years ago. When we first got this lucky property it was part of a string of lucky happenings. Ask and you shall receive, except sort of literally. My brother-in-law said we should call our property Meribah, after where Moses drew water from a rock.

But Meribah also means “quarreling.”


This morning we went to the park. Caught butterflies. I’m not very good at lazing around, so while the children did their thing I found a left-behind plastic shovel and used it to clean up goose poop from the sand and grass. Call it obsessive, but it’s who I am. Don’t knock it. We came home tired out from our own play.

In the afternoon my children got lost in designing superhero costumes for themselves and for each other, lying on the trampoline, each with their special notebook. I used my new Internet connection to Skype with my sister. And then I did a puzzle with four missing pieces with my girls. My husband made my favorite dinner and we laughed about how just looking at Nature makes you smarter, so that explains why things are making so much more sense all of a sudden.

We have had plenty of times with no good luck at all. Some pretty spectacular, actually. The night of the crochet hook comes to mind. We’ve come up empty.

But I’m trying to learn how to ride these waves. Drink water where I find it. Not thirst at an empty cup that had water in it years ago…or never did. The truth is there isn’t much distance between the quarrels and the miracles. There they are together, in the same verse.

Our lucky times happen when we make space for generous visitors. Our peaceful times happen when we make space for one another. It’s the making of space that takes a kind of magic…or belief in magic…or belief at all.

Belief that the stuff of miracles is woven right into these ordinary days.


P.S. I hope you all received the email newsletter… (letter from a yurt, third spring) If you didn’t, and you want to, the sign up is in the sidebar by the picture of the yurt. As always, thanks for hanging out with us. Your company has made possible where there was only impossible. 

UPDATE ^^ Cancel that, actually. I’m having a problem with my subscription form. Sorry! I’ll get it fixed right away, I promise.