It’s been raining steadily for hours, and the grass seems to be growing before our eyes. Puddles dot the yard and little streams meander down the lane past fallen leaves and branches tossed hither and thither by wild winds yesterday.

The air smells so good, clean and fresh and earthy, and I smile as I hear little bleats and grunts from under the house where the sheep and goats are keeping warm and dry out of the rain.

This morning I took a break from writing to check on my gardens, thrilled to find everything flourishing in this damp, cool weather. The herbs are flowering like mad, asparagus spears shooting up over a foot tall, tomatoes and peas blossoming perkily.

I also discovered that the goats had broken into my kitchen garden, happily devouring everything in sight. I shooed them all out, Bear found a strong rope to secure the gate better, and I forgave the little blighters for they had thoughtfully only eaten the leaves of all my plants, so most of them should come back.

It’s been a quiet couple of weeks around here as Bear and I recover from a particularly dreadful virus that knocked us both flat, snatched our voices, and had us hacking and feverish and exhausted. Poor Bear got it twice. Needless to say, we are more than ready for it to skedaddle and leave us in peace.

The good side of this misery is that we’ve had lots of quantity and quality time together, watching movies, listening to audio books, just sitting and listening to the rain fall. We enjoyed those moments immensely.

I’ve been writing a lot, tucked up in bed with a giant mug of tea and a candle flickering beside me. I’ve watched the raindrops run down the windowpanes in our bedroom while I untangle thoughts and hopes and goals, letting go of what doesn’t fit anymore, embracing what is good for me now.

It’s funny how the habits we make in times of crisis no longer serve us in times of peace. I’m becoming more mindful in how I live out my days, more purposeful, less reactionary. I’m getting better at scheduling, guarding my play/rest time as jealously as I do my work time, and not letting them get muddled together. I’ve been prioritizing time to learn new things, create art, sit quietly and do absolutely nothing, burrow under the covers and chat with a dear friend. Work is lovely, essential, and I’m deeply grateful for it, but these other things are equally vital, and I’m no longer letting them play second fiddle. I’m making sure I look after me, no matter what.

When I started feeling better, I made good things for us. Elderberry Licorice Cordial to soothe our raw throats, wintergreen massage oil to reduce inflammation and ease pain, and this lovely calendula and lavender oil which will be done infusing in a few weeks and feel so wonderful on dry skin and insect bites. (To make it yourself, just fill a jar with fresh calendula and lavender flowers, cover generously with grape seed oil, seal, and shake once a day for 6 weeks. Strain and bottle.)

I picked mulberries, our very first mulberries, and have them infusing in vodka to make a delicious liqueur for the holidays. Each day, as the berries ripen, I pull them off and add them to the mix. It will be ready the end of November, just in time for my birthday.

I received my monthly order of dried herbs and spices, and couldn’t help but smile as I poured each bag into big glass jars and lined them up on the kitchen table. Astragalus, hawthorn berry, hibiscus, rosehips, elderberries, and cinnamon bark. In the months to come they’ll be turned into teas and tinctures, syrups and pastilles, all sorts of nourishing things to help us feel better no matter what life throws at us.

It felt good to finally have the energy to do chores today. I mended our favourite flannel bed sheets that one of our dogs decided to play with when they were drying on the line, cleaned out the fridge, swept the house, and remade our bed with those oh-so-cosy sheets that will be bliss to sleep in on this cold, rainy night.

I’ve started getting things out of storage that always bring me joy. Favourite books that I never tire of rereading, a lantern my brother brought me from Morocco, a basket of pretty stones, a painted tile I found in Portugal, silver bell earrings I usually reserve for medieval events. I love seeing them on side tables and bookshelves. Little vignettes that make me smile.

Now it’s time to wind the cuckoo clock, put away the green ginger wine we’ve been sipping for our sore throats, close my journal, and climb into bed.

It’s not often I get to fall asleep to the sound of rain on the roof, and I don’t want to miss it. xo