1692, The Year of the Witch – Mount Misery, The Novel

Rebecca Nurse's Homestead“The cries from the gallows reached out across the lands and fell on ears far and wide. Martha heard them from hundreds of miles away as she crouched down over the hearth sifting for embers to start the morning fire. Ashes lifted up and kissed her cheeks as the cries made their way to her heart. She wondered how they could continue without anyone strong enough of courage and sensibility to make them stop. A little seed of glow emerged from beneath a chard piece of wood and begged for Martha to reach down and breathe life into it.” Mount Misery, The Novel

Linda suggested I pick up the book, A Storm of Witchcraft by Emerson Baker, at our library in South Berwick. I brought it home and placed it on my nightstand and waited for the house to quiet, wanting to be able be able to open it’s cover and find myself submerged in the time period and climate of the days of Mount Misery.  I should have been surprised or even astonished to discover how large a role Reverend George Burroughs played in the hysteria of the trials and their cataclysmic outcome, but I wasn’t.  In every direction I turn lately there seems to be another sign pointing me deeper into the connections between South Berwick and Salem in the year 1692. This book, which found me, just happened to be one which laid out all the details complete with an index. I had begun putting the pieces together for writing Mount Misery when I came upon another writing project unexpectedly. It was one which promised to carry parallel themes throughout. The notion of writing the story of a local medium and psychic seemed incredibly intriguing, yet a little bit risky.

What some people in our time might consider to be a little bit like witchcraft, is also being embraced by a growing number of souls wanting to reconnect with loved ones who have passed. People are also wanting to make sense of lives they live which seem nothing more than chaotic and uncertain.  At first, I believed that I would somehow be able to keep these two writing projects separate, compartmentalized neatly in different areas of my mind. I’ve never been so wrong. The same fear which invoked and fueled the seismic events and experiences of 1692 is the same energy that seems to entwine itself in and among the belief of some when it comes to the world of psychics and mediums.  Throw in the fact that we recently purchased a 1600’s reproduction farm in South Berwick feet away from the Lord’s Homestead of that day where Martha and Nathan Lord resided and you could say I have landed in the center of a perfect storm.

A door to our past - Hamilton HouseI’ve opened a door to a new adventure in my life which both fascinates and scares me. I will be immersed in a time period and world which is still considered taboo by some even in our modern times.  The two projects have already intersected in many ways and it will be interesting to discover how they will do so in the following years as I complete them.  When Anne Donnell came out to our farm to do a clearing I had just begun putting together initial thoughts for the novel, Mount Misery. It was only our third meeting and she had never been to our home, yet almost immediately she begun receiving images and messages that connected my writing to the 17th  century. She spoke about my writing with such clarity, citing places I write and objects and things around me that I stepped back for a moment.  While she made her way through the rooms of our home she encountered the spirit of Sarah Jayne, a young girl who has taken to watching over our family. She is somehow connected to me and the land on which our farm sits from hundreds of years ago. I’ve embraced Sarah Jayne and written her into Mount Misery as a neighbor to Martha and Nathan Lord who acts as a conduit in the story. Maybe she has come to our home to help me tie all the pieces together, maybe I’ve just simply lost my mind. Whichever it is I’ve never been more determined to breathe life into a project as I am with Mount Misery, the Novel and The Psychic, The Healer, & Me.

I’ve written the story of Mount Misery in my head in its entirety, the theme I have chosen for this piece of historical fiction set in the late seventeenth century is one in which is very much alive today. Hopefully it is a theme that  will be embraced and enjoyed by anyone who comes across it and decides to open its cover and stay awhile. I’m still wrestling with the format that The Psychic, The Healer, & Me will take and even what to title the book that will share the story of Anne Donnell. There’s a certain amount of faith and courage needed to be a writer. On good days I am charged and ready to push forward at lighting speed with both of these projects, on others fear always seems to creep in questioning the validity of each and never hesitates to ask me what other people may think about my decision to move forward in two worlds of taboo. I guess I’ll just have to find out.

 

 



  • It’s Easy to Fear What We Can’t See – The Psychic, The Healer, & Me

    I pulled into the small parking lot in York, Maine and turned off my ignition.  My pulse quickened in anticipation of the new journey I was about to begin as a writer.  I noticed the tall snowbanks covered with dirt and debris as the warm Spring sun beat down on them.  I was early, I was always early, something my mom had ingrained in me from a very young age. The building looked dark and empty but I went to the front door anyways to see if someone was there. I reached for the knob but it wouldn’t turn, ten minutes till we were supposed to meet so I ventured back to my car. The sun felt warm and comforting, my body seemed to relax in the waiting and I almost forget what I was about to embark on.

    There was a quick tap on the passenger window and I looked up. Anne bent over and smiled in to let me know she had arrived. I smiled back and thought to myself, “I can do this.” There was nothing really left to fear, I had met Anne on three previous occasions and had grown a certain level of trust with her. This wasn’t going to be the first book I had  written and published and I had been going to psychics, mediums, and healers since I was a teenager, yet there it sat securely inside of me, fear.  It’s been sitting with me for as long as I can remember, a fear of the unknown, a.k.a. a pit lodged somewhere between my throat and stomach depending on the day.  I’ve let it sabotage many things throughout my life; job promotions, a relationship in Vermont, businesses, and friendships.  I know it all too well and even at my strongest times in life I somehow allow it to take a hold of me. I pushed the pit down further and grabbed my laptop. After I locked my car, I caught up to Anne and stepped through the door to her office. You could say this is where our adventure truly began.

    Anne Donnell - Blue Tree Reiki

    Anne Donnell – Blue Tree Reiki

    We climbed the beautiful wooden center staircase and entered her space where she holds medium circles, reiki sessions, and psychic readings.  I slipped off my sneakers and hung my coat on a hook to the right of the door.  The room was small but bright and accented with pillows, crystals, and an antique table with two chairs. It was a typical space you might expect in a quintessential old  New England building, quaint and charming. I placed my laptop on the table  and let my eyes wander the room for an outlet, Anne noticed and quickly pointed one out. I slowly sat in the seat with my back towards the door and opened the cover of my laptop thinking silently through the notes I had made about the book we were about to write and how it might be organized and brought to life. Anne spoke as we settled into the room and from that first word came an uncontrollable stream of conversation, questions, and goosebumps.

    I occasionally stopped typing notes for the book and looked up at Anne. Her words often provoked deeper thought and stroke such an uncanny chord with something or someone I had experienced in the past that I needed to remind myself of where I was and what we were trying to accomplish. Inevitably as we allowed our conversation to move through uncharted territories we came upon little tidbits of serendipity and synchronicity. These moments were filled with an electric charge that delivered an endless supply of energy. My mind worked busily as the time moved forward picking up random pieces of newly learned information and tried to begin to wind them together. My mind wanted the outline of the book finished by the time our meeting that day had ended.  I had sent her a text a few days earlier asking her what she wanted the theme song of her book to be. She had replied with various moments in her life that led up to her becoming a medium and psychic. When I explained to her that I needed something much broader, a universal emotion or life challenge, she paused and went inside.  I asked her if she had ever watched Ally McBeal. Ally had a theme song that played whenever she found herself in a similar life situation that challenged her. She nodded and her eyes twinkled, it was a good show. I quickly blurted, “Fear is my theme, or at least trying to overcome it.”My example of fear being my theme  then led us on an all encompassing conversation of what fear is and how it can both motivate and cripple us in our human experiences.

    What struck me most was our discussion of working together on this project, creating the story of Anne Donnell, Psychic & Medium, and how it could be impacted by fear if we allowed it. Fear has existed since the beginning of time. We seem to fear the things we cannot see and certainly cannot understand. We fear change and differences, whether they are positive or not. Perhaps more than anything else we fear uncertainty and  the inability to control our own destinies. Maybe that is what brought me to Anne at a time and place in my life that I least expected it. Anne voiced that in some circles her profession is still considered taboo, something that few are willing to discuss in public. I tilted my head and questioned if I felt that if that were still true in the year 2015. I answered with confirmation that in the time of Salem Witch Trials, fear ran rampant and fueled the hysterical outcries of witchery and dealings with the devil.  Then I wondered, would some consider it taboo for me to be writing and blogging about a psychic and medium in our day and time? Would I be judged for openly sharing experiences, testimonials, and feelings evoked from time spent lifting the veil to the other side as it is often referred? Even more importantly would I allow the fear of what others may think and say block me from moving forward in writing Anne’s story?  Would this project turn into a modern day witch trial of its own? I let my ego spin for just or second or two before reason returned and reminded me of what matters most in life.

    Anne reached across the table for a small velvet bag and a gray cotton clothed book. She gestured for me to pick from the bag. I knew immediately what they were, Rune Stones. I had been introduced to them in high school by a counselor.  I reached in and let my fingers fall upon the first one they came to. I laid it carefully on the table in front of me and accepted the book from Anne as she sat across from me.Blue Tree Reiki

    The rune that I had chosen was Inguz and represented fertility. I quickly made a joke that Kyle and I were shut out from the world of fertility, another baby was out of the question. Anne smiled and motioned for me to read.  I lowered my eyes on the page and slowly but steadily began to lift the words from their places on the paper up into the air. This is what they had to say,

    “This rune allows us to spread our energy out far and wide. It is a protective rune mainly for the protection of our homes. To use Inguz effectively we must learn to build up our powers over time and then release the power all at once.”

    As if the bag of Runes had been sitting patiently listening to our banter and discovery of our newly found relationship, it spoke up with determined intention that we were in the right place at the right time and had no other choice but to move forward in sharing Anne’s remarkable story both in blog posts and also in a book, or perhaps a series of books.



  • It’s only ink – Medillia’s Lament, The Novel

    unnamed (2)I’m sitting here with my blue folder opened while it demands that I get busy and get these edits inserted into our final version of Medillia’s Lament, the Novel.  As I sat with Linda reviewing her suggestions for word choice and grammatical changes my head nodded exuberantly as it welcomed the edit marks and knew that it meant the novel would be in a much better place, polished and more presentable. My heart however has regressed a bit and feels a bit like it did when I got back a paper from my English Professor in college needing to be reworked, restructured, and sometimes rewritten. I’ve landed at that daunting place of self growth where you know that your “good enough” can be much better if you only embrace it with both your head and heart in the same moment and take action.

    I couldn’t be more thankful and appreciative of the time and expertise Linda has graciously given this project.  In an unexpected turn of events the novel has received the opportunity of developing into a place of a refined manuscript from my first attempt at a work of fiction. At this point in the project I’ve begun to feel less like its my writing and more like that I’m a part of the process, a cog in the wheel. Now it’s a hurry and get it done task, which with working full time, taking care of a small farm, and four children, it can seem cumbersome at times. More than anything though, I can’t wait for the characters to make their way out into my world and become points of interest and conversation starters.  It’s been an incredible journey of learning how to collaborate on a creative level and I can’t even begin to imagine what comes next.



  • Look Up – A New Farm

    As soon as we all jumped in the car to bring Anna to cheer, Libs asked to see my phone. I handed it back to her and pleaded that she didn’t use an app that required data. The radio was playing and two separate conversations were going on at once, but somehow I discerned Libby’s voice whispering to herself wondering if there was a full moon tonight.  I paused for a moment but quickly became distracted and refocused my attention on the road as we pulled out of the driveway onto Witchtrot. We dropped off Anna and headed back to the farm, the goats needed to be mucked and put to bed.  As we finished, the moon had begun to rise in the sky. We turned off the barn lights and headed back up to the house. Libby asked to see my phone again. I wondered outloud what she was so busily looking for as we made our way up the icy path. “Mom, I’m trying to find out if there is a full moon tonight.” I gently took my phone from her and whispered in her ear.

    “Libby, just look up.”

    moon



  • There’s a Ghost in the House – The Pyschic, The Healer, & Me

    In almost a whisper voice I turned to Kyle and asked what he thought about having a medium come to our home to do a cleaning.  He looked up at me, eyes wide, and asked, “what?” He had never spoken with a medium or even a psychic for that matter but since I’ve known him he has never turned down an adventure with me.  He raised his brow and put down his phone.  I’ve been able to read his mind since we started dating just a few years ago. I began to rattle off answers to the many questions forming in his mind, speaking as fast as I possibly could until he said that sounds cool.  We booked a date and time that Anne would come out to the farm and do a cleaning.  Snow fell, pets passed, and not till the third attempt were we successful in getting together.  I tried to prime Kyle in what he could expect from the experience but I didn’t want to give it all away.crystal

    I had met Anne on two previous occasions, a medium circle and a reiki session. We had no past history or any ready knowledge of one another except that when I mentioned her name, Kyle remarked that he thought he might have gone to school with her but he wasn’t positive.  Not sure of how a cleaning would play out like in real life, I nervously awaited the day trying to keep a calm facade. Kyle seemed interested and curious at times but he took the upcoming event like any other new adventure we have had in the past, with a quiet calm. Ruby was the first to greet Anne, all eighty two pounds of her standing strong on four legs at the door, barking with a loud ominous call for attention. I noticed Anne’s warm smile and twinkling eyes first as she allowed Ruby to smell her and get quickly acquainted.

    Hours quickly passed as we led Anne through each of the rooms in our home and sat back and listened as she shared messages and information about the pieces in our home as well as each of our children and selves. When I asked Kyle what he remembers most about her visit he answered that it was when Anne showed us goosebumps that had formed on her arms when we were able to confirm one of the messages she had delivered to us. I’m not sure now which message brought forward the bumps but I do remember when Anne shared that a young spirit name Sarah Jayne was living in our home how Kyle and I both exchanged glances. Neither of us wanted to consider that our house may be inhabited by anyone other than ourselves or five children but somehow when Anne shared the little girl’s story and her connection to me it seemed less of a Saturday night thriller and more of just part of our story.wheel

    Anne sat on the front staircase in the library on the third floor and listened as Sarah filled her ear quickly with tidbits and follies.  She shared how she loved being with our family and was careful not to disturb us but then announced that it was her job to gather the eggs.  She had a bunch of eggs gathered up in her apron and proclaimed that her fingers were cold. Just a couple of days earlier, Kyle and I had questioned where all of our eggs had gone.  The chicken had magically stopped laying eggs and there were none to be found. The barn was cold as the temperatures had plummeted so we attributed the loss to an extreme winter.  After Anne had shared that it was Sarah’s job to collect the eggs on the farm, they began to appear again the very next day. Mere happenstance, coincidence, certainly a possibility but as each little sharing seemed to connect the dots of previous conversations and experiences on the farm and in our home, goosebumps began to appear on both of our arms as well.

    As Anne commented on certain pieces of furniture throughout our home, I held my breath. I didn’t want to give anything away but each piece that she picked out as having negative or dark energy was one which had come from my childhood home and family. She was reading the happenings that had occurred around and on them without possibly knowing they had been mine or that my childhood had been turbulent at the least.  Undoubtedly each time she came to a piece from Kyle’s family or past life before me she would say this one is fine.  She not only shared which pieces needed to be cleared but also helped us with positioning  the pieces in our home to help with better energy flow.  When we came to our bedroom Anne laughed and then commented, “have either of you gotten any sleep in this bedroom since you’ve moved in?” We looked at each other and shook our heads no.  We followed her suggestions and the next morning Kyle proclaimed that it was the best night sleep he had gotten since moving in. Maybe it was a placebo effect, the power of suggestion, but whatever it was for once in a very long time we are both getting some really good zzzz’s.

    There were personal messages for each of us, including our children. Suggestions, questions, and introspection that could serve as ways of changing our perspective and perhaps fine tuning a bit of what we call our normal life as a blended family.She spoke to Kyle and I and suggested that there was a reason that we fell so hard, so fast in love with another, we’d been together many times over many lives. A romantic feeling washed over us both and intoxicated our senses as we continued to follow her and take note of her readings as she moved forward throughout the bedrooms and finally downstairs in the basement. It wasn’t until a week or so later when a co-worker shared a story that had happened years ago on our road that Anne’s cleaning seemed to sink in a little deeper. The coincidental sharing of the story validated the presence of a spirit in our house down to the physical description and the time that it had passed away. Goosebumps flooded my skin, yet all I could do was nod. I rarely ever get the opportunity to speak with her and the shear serendipity that she would pick that moment to share that story made me wonder just a little bit more.

    Since then, ideas of writing Anne’s story into a book and somehow documenting our journey to do so, has overtaken me.The response from those who have read the first couple blog entries of The Psychic, The Healer, and Me have been encouraging and inspiring for continuing down this path with someone I barely know but seem to be connected to in ways I never could have guessed. I’ve always loved telling my story and now I’m excited to be sharing the story of someone else.



  • Arduous Process – Medillia’s Lament

    unnamedI sat across from Jody in his living room. He had a pad of paper which seemed to be filled with notes and ideas of how we should move forward from this point.  I came with nothing except for the edits Linda had so beautifully added to our manuscript and my keys. The book is done and is well underway the editing process by a third party. Book cover discussions continue and as we try new ideas and flush out old ones, we are grateful to Jay Arbelo Photography for allowing us to use his artwork. Once the book is in our hands, then the arduous process of getting it into people’s hands to read begins. If we have created an incredible book and no one reads it, is it still incredible?

    As the discussion picked up momentum and Jody’s wife, Erika, joined us excitement and anticipation filled the room of the possibilities that lay just in front of us. Realism would creep in every now and then but I tried to squash it quickly and swiftly. This is the part in the creative process where it is demanded that you dream and dream big. When you are brainstorming the ways in which your product and or idea will meet the world you can not be limiting. Every thought, notion, dream, desire, and idea must be communicated out loud so that the groundwork can be laid and the road to success begin to be paved. I’ve been in this spot a few times now, the sweet quiet moments before a product launch. It’s  one of my favorite places in the journey, anything is possible and if you are courageous enough to believe something will happen and have the guts to say it out loud, it most likely will.

    We are still most likely a few months away from Medillia’s Lament being available for sale online and  at local outlets but the momentum is building and it feels good to be apart of this project.



  • Gone Numb – Mount Misery, The Novel

    Bloodroot“Martha watched the edge of the wood closely. Her hands had long since grown numb from weeding the gardens earlier in the morning and her chest ached from a daunting cough that had set its roots deep down inside of her. She had asked Sarah, the neighbors little girl, to go out into the wood and bring back Molly. Nathaniel had warned Martha to keep her distance from the old Abenaki woman, feeling her ways of healing with plants picked from the ground, would do nothing but bring their homestead under unnecessary suspicion and harm.  Martha nodded in agreement to the master of her home and her life but knew that Molly was the gentlest, most caring, and wise soul she had ever made peace with.”

    Mount Misery, The Novel, has begun to plant its own roots within my psyche and being. I’ve only just begun developing this project, my first historical novel, but somehow it seems as though it has sat with me for a while.  As the story begins to unravel in my mind, and the characters and conflict are building, I’m wondering how much of it will include historical facts and what pieces of it will only allude to personalities and happenings from this area in Southern Maine in the late 1600’s. It is a time of great unrest fraught with conflict with the Indians and dreadful whispers of the trials overtaking a distant neighboring town in Salem. The bloodshed from both must have spilled over into the daily lives of the newly settled families here on the same earth that my family and I walk and live as we make our way through our own days in the 21st century.

    My goal and reason for tackling this project is to hopefully show that familiar themes that still challenge each of us today were very much at the heart of struggle and strife in the 1600’s and that unless certain cycles are broken, history has no other choice than to continuously repeat itself. Fear seems to be at the heart of matter in all conflict and what better place to dive deep into what causes it than a time when people were accused, tried, and murdered for witchcraft and an entire race of people being touted as nothing more than savages who should be eradicated in order to make room for a new proper civilization of people. It’s not to say that reason didn’t exist and that its voice had no affect during the dark days in the late 17th century. There were seeds planted to hopefully break the cycles that fear so often creates and empowers to survive.  The character of Martha Lord in the historical novel of Mount Misery will hopefully become one of those seeds for change and might represent the courage and strength needed when darkest of times fall upon a people.

     

     



  • A Shift in Perspective – The Psychic, The Healer, & Me

    Q. What did you want to be when you were a little kid?

    A. “Ha…I”m laughing…I always wanted to be a clown, like a professional clown. No joke!

    clown_B26X1491When I was younger, I remember clowns representing cleverness and a certain mystique.  They also made people laugh and smile…Which if I think about it now, was very healing. I always talked about how serious a job it was to be a clown too…LOL! I was always drawn to their painted faces.  I think it transformed them to be whomever they chose to be..And that was so fascinating to me.  But, if I think about clowns now, they creep me out.  Ha! But back in the 70’s clowns were just cool…And fascinating, at least to me anyway…Wow…I haven’t thought about that in a while ”  Anne Donnell, Psychic & Healer

    After Anne had responded to my request of writing her story, it came to me that since we were both working mothers with crazy schedules that we would have to devise a system to gather the spine of the book in a way which was unobtrusive into each of our daily lives. At first we thought that it might be Anne emailing me specific points she wanted to cover and somewhat like Medillia’s Lament, I would paint around her thoughts and create her story.  In just a day or two it became apparent that the approach might not be the best option so again in the shower one morning it came to me that what we needed was a simple, clean platform for a question and answer series.  Within a few hours we knew that sending quick snippets back and forth via texts would be our best bet.

    The seeds of our journeys are planted long before we become young adults, maybe before we even take our first few steps, but somehow in the great scheme of things everything is connected, even when it doesn’t appear to be so.  When I asked Anne what she wanted to be when she was a little kid I was wondering out loud if she had even an inkling that one day she would wake up into a new life, way of living, and be set off on a spiritual path of connecting and healing those who wanted to become something they knew they might be. When I was a little girl I had many dreams; I wanted to be a teacher, a lawyer, part of a family that didn’t hurt, and a writer.  I wanted to write books and travel the world speaking about them, sharing my stories. And then there were times that I wanted to get married and be a mom.  As I read Anne’s reply of wanting to be a clown it made me stop and wonder. How could something that seemed to frighten many appeal to what I’m sure must have been a young, spirited, and giving child?92b3883f96b39daa955df3f585fc692d.1000x750x1

    I let the question ferment and seep into the deepest valleys of my mind. It’s possible. Each of us have our likes and dislikes and a certain way of seeing the world as it is. We are in different places at different times and our perceptions seem to reflect the vision of our situations and experiences. What is one man’s trash is another man’s treasure, just one of the many cliches I was fortunate to grow up with.  Anne painted a beautiful memory of her childhood based upon the classic occupation of making people smile and helping them to laugh for a bit and at the same time bringing them some immeasurable amount of joy. I on the other hand, could only muster up the horrifying image of Pennywise from Stephen King’s It.  To be able to write about Anne’s childhood I knew that I needed to let go of my deviant perception of clowns and investigate a more loving vision of what so many have grown to adore about them over the past centuries.

    1a2942593c6de1f631daea3efa728a24It’s usually somewhere in the middle that we happen upon balance and discover a  feeling that is safe and comfortable allowing most of us to live a life we value and deem worthy.  With just a simple shift in either direction you can start to see a different version of what may be before you and how someone can possibly treasure what you once only assumed to be trash.  I have a feeling that in getting to know Anne’s story and writing her book, a lot of my perceptions will be shifting a little to the left or right and hopefully a few of you will be right there beside me as it happens.

    To contact Anne Donnell and or find out more about booking a reading or a healing, click on over to Blue Tree Reiki!



  • My Giving Tree – A New Family

    7e5e23bc0924bf982f46dd172272f0ffMy phone buzzed as I lay in bed watching a documentary on Netflix the other night.  I was avoiding the time change and thought that if I escaped from the day and night it would be as it had never happened and I would be unaffected by the loss of one hour’s sleep.  Aaron’s name appeared on my screen.  My heart quickened and I quickly touched accept. His voice was a welcomed friend and as he assured me that everything was okay my body relaxed back into my pillows.  He’s been away from home since right after the New Year but it seems like it’s been a lot longer.  As I listened to his words fill my mind and paint a picture of his new adventure and life in college, I marveled once again at how life always seems to work itself out and find the path that is most meant for each of us. As he continued to share of his many experiences, likes and dislikes, new friends, and life in a dorm on the side of a mountain, I made my way downstairs to make a cup of tea.559400_10201828727112438_2128369177_n

    I reached for the brown sugar up in the cupboard to the right of the stove and opened the refrigerator to search out the cream that never lands in the same spot.  I held my phone against my ear as I nestled into the corner of the counter and waited for the tea kettle to whistle. My boy had grown up a bit and sounded like a man I had just met.  He spoke of big ideas, contemplated new concepts, and worked out the next few years of his life while I was excited to relax into the notion that he had found a certain amount of peace and connectivity that seemed to have escaped him while he was living at home with us after he had graduated from high school.  The house was still and quiet around me and I was thankful for this stolen moment to be able to reconnect for the first time in a long while with my son who had been with me for half of my life.  He is such a part of me that I’m sure he will never quite understand what it has meant for me to grow up with him over the past two decades as life has unraveled, twisted, and turned with us both in its path.1452232_778983332127463_94381805_n

    I turned off the stove and poured the steaming water over my teabag and placed the kettle on another burner to quiet its gentle rage. My son had left the nest and seemed to be telling me that he planned to make a home for the next bit of his life thousands and thousands miles away while he continued to discover and explore what matters most to him, to uncover the truest essence of his being, and create the life he was always meant to live.  In his sharing of finding a new place to call home I somehow felt more connected to him than I have since he hit double digits and met puberty head on.  Our time on the phone grew into minutes and then an hour and as I became sleepy I felt content in the knowledge that Aaron was okay, that he was engaged, and safe, but most of all he was happy. I giggled as his college anecdotes tickled my senses and brought me back to the time in my life when every experience I encountered was new and fresh and tested which direction I would turn when faced with uncertainty, as if every moment was a quest of its own.1009746_4558876824620_1856170397_n

    We said goodbye and I told him I loved him not as a mom does by habit or without thought but with a deep sense of conviction.  I placed my finished cup of tea in the sink and turned off the low lights in the kitchen and made my way up the back stairway to bed. Kyle was snoring lightly and Ruby had claimed her space on my side of our bed. Our puppy had last weighed in at 82 pounds during her check up at the vets. I squirmed my way in between them both and yanked at the covers from beneath her weight to keep the cold at bay while I settled into what would be a quick jaunt to sunrise.  Worry and speculation had loosened its grip on my heart and in place had left a warm sensation that my little boy had grown up and was becoming a man I had always dreamed he would be.1525736_789573527735110_1371278220_n



  • Mindy, The Rooster – A New Family

    roosterI closed the barn and put the animals to bed yesterday sometime after four o’clock in the afternoon.  The sun hadn’t set but the wind chill was plummeting and the idea of the door being open as the skies grew darker sent shivers down my spine.  Libby carried the chickens water down and I had the goats steaming bucket.  The rooster and chicken met us in the main bar as we opened the door, Libs grabbed the wide plastic rake as she put their water down and gently ushered them back towards their stall.  I picked  up the warm plastic water container and placed it in front of their crib  that we had fashioned and then locked their stall door behind me.  They still have all their feathers, they’ve gone out little since the first snow has fallen and their lack of exercise and abundant feed has given them a rather nice plump appearance. The rooster and chicken looked healthy and beautiful sitting a top of their crib as I backed quietly away.

    The rooster is the first animal on our farm that has brought with it a bit of fear. Most of us have been pecked and although it didn’t really hurt except for when it drew blood from Kyle’s foot, we still have become cautious around it and developed a need to keep the rake handy. The more he has become familiar with each of us the more he has been able to disregard our presence in the barn.  As he becomes accustomed with us mucking, changing out water, and filling feeders his nerves have relaxed and his body given us space and time to do our daily chores from which he greatly benefits.  As we all begin to calibrate our bodies and minds to letting go of Daylight Savings his constant crowing is a pleasant reminder that Spring is just merely weeks away and soon our farm will become spacious again for all the animals to enjoy with us right beside them.

    I found this abandoned post this morning not yet published, nearly a few weeks old I sipped my tea and began to add new thoughts and feelings about Mindy and how our days have grown longer since Sunday.  Yesterday it was just me left in the house and as I went down to the barn to check to see if Kyle had opened it, the snow still crackled beneath my boots and the low lying wind nipped at my calves. I opened the door and was met with something that seemed so incredibly hot and out of place that my cheeks blushed and I felt a bit turned on.  Kyle and I are the first to admit that neither of us are very handy when it comes to home and barn repairs but as I stepped into the main barn I was met by a bit of ingenuity.  My non handy husband had fashioned a perfectly measured and cut piece of chicken wire and attached it over the missing plank in the barn stall door to keep Mindy and her hen out of the main barn. A smile broadened across my face and a warm appreciation rose up into my senses.  Kyle has become my farmer and I love him even more for it.