In Pursuit of the Good Life
I'm excited and honoured to be guest blogging for the month of February over at Rhythm of the Home! This week I talk about the pursuit of the good life. Looking forward to seeing you there, and every Thursday following!
Welcome
- My name is Gwen. My days are spent mothering, crafting, walking in the woods or on the seashore, celebrating and dreaming. I'm inspired by ships and mermaids, pirates and misty seas, aran and celtic knits, mossy forests, swallows, swifts, folktales, farmland and rolling hills, barns and front porches, old houses, warm quilts, family feasts, woolens and snowfalls in the dark of winter.
contact me
- barnraisingblog(at)gmail(dot)com
why barn raising?
- Some of my most loved memories as a child involve family traditions and how they celebrated our togetherness. We raised a lot of barns as a family, so to speak, and continue to do so. I want that for my own family as well. I've also thought a lot about the togetherness of our communities given the quick pace of the world today. How are we to raise barns together as a village with the busy schedules of modern life? The answer, for us, begins at home- establishing rhythms and creating traditions that will carry our family through the busiest of times; grounding and connecting us along the way. I hope to share that journey here.
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rural life
11 July
where I have been
We are back from a trip home. It's been 18 years since I lived in Ontario, but I still can't help but call it home. Such is the way when a place works itself into your soul and being, and has formed strong memories of what we would these days call a "free range childhood". Ontario is rich in fields and farmland, cottage country, little deciduous forests and hedgerows, undeniably hot summers, and a countryside that tugs at my heartstrings. Where I am from the towns are small, the houses old, the antique stores abundant and, if you stand in the right spot, you can see all 7 church steeples in town at once. A few minutes drive away is the countryside I grew up in, the schools I went to, friends I've known long enough to say "back in the day" with, and land I know like the back of my hand.
The land is what I miss most, with names like "Candlewick Woods" and "Cornish Hollow Road". This, coupled with the intense desire to raise Coco in such wide, open spaces as I was. It makes coming home- as in my real and current home on the west coast- a little bittersweet. Bitter in my longing and sweet in all that I am blessed with now. It also brings with it the afirmation that we thrive in quiet, slow living and a reminder of an excitment for what lies ahead- the possiblity that there is land on an island in the Salish Sea patiently waiting for us to fall in love with; somewhere here on the west coast that will be Coco's own "back home" in her adulthood. A land of driftwood, kelp, sand and tidal pools, a crackling woodstove in the damp of winter, honey from our own bees, and an abundant crop from our own garden(s).
Yes, a new back home will come, and we will wait patiently for it also.
23 May
slow
On principle, I approach our days in a gentle and slow manner. I like breakfasts that sizzle and dinners that simmer. I love enjoying these meals with time enough to honour them. I love our weekday rhythm and watching Coco explore her world with little hustle and bustle. We pace ourselves and enjoy ourselves. We slow down, we connect. We watch the days getting longer as the crispness in the air fades away. It is all so very lovely.
And then, the weekend hits. Oh my. So much to pack in- a big grocery shop, work for me (in September I returned on Saturdays to my former job as an ecological interpreter and educator), soccer, appointments, errands, catching up on laundry, visiting with friends (this part we love) and various other runnings around. So much happens over two short days that lately I've found myself positively dreading the weekend. It always seems to be a fine balance and, lately, I've caught myself quietly reassuring myself- when we move to our island, things will slow down. When soccer finishes we will have more time. Things wouldn't seem so busy if we lived in the country. If we just bricked over the backyard, we wouldn't have to struggle with getting the grass to grow. Oh dear.
This past week, I've had a couple of not so subtle reminders to change what needs to be changed and that waiting until the external aspects of life are different is not the best answer. And so, over a chicken and black bean enchilada pie the other night, Sean and I made plans to change our weekends, including me letting go of my job position. Saturdays are to be ours, and ours only. Sunday will have moments of busyness, but Saturdays will belong just to us. No schedules conflicting, no appointments, no chores that require driving. Just us.
Sometimes the momentum of life misguides us. We get on a roll and we become used to it, no matter how the hectic days make us feel, and we often don't have time, or remember, to stop and re-evaluate things. We keep going and soldier on until one day you realize that family time and connectedness is suffering. And this, we decided, just can't be.
So today, on this Victoria Day holiday, we got a glimpse of our family day. No errands, just enjoying each other. A trip to the seaside, a walk in the sun, an afternoon in the garden. At the end of the day we all had sand in our shoes, dirt under our fingernails, and a lovely and peacefull still in our hearts. Yes, nothing is worth more than this.
