by Krista | Nov 6, 2017 | Spring
The sun has set, and cool breezes are billowing gently through the open windows into the kitchen.
After resting awhile, the goats are up and around again, nosing about for a few last minute chews of grass before bedding down for the night. Our resident green frog, who lives in the old-fashioned pump on the veranda, is croaking loudly. This usually means rain is on the way, and I hope he’s right.
The two ganders continue their patrol of Mother Goose who is nestled on a clutch of 8 eggs nearby. They don’t let anyone near her unless distracted by a handful of grain or pellets. It’s a good thing foxes don’t hand out pellets.
We had gorgeous rain last night, and even a bit of hail – though not enough to cause damage. It rained again this morning, lovely, misty rain, as if the clouds were squirting us with spray bottles. The air is so fresh and cool now, and the earth smells deliciously green and loamy.
We had a good weekend pottering on the farm and meeting up with medieval friends to make plans for the new season that’s coming up just around the corner. It was so lovely to see them and remember all the things that make medieval life so special to us: campfire cooking, using all our beloved medieval gear, and, most of all, the people, laughing and talking for hours around the fire over cups of mead and spiced wine.
Yesterday, our Canadian friends, Sallie and Marshal, spent the day with us. It’s always so grand to see them, to have them understand every word that comes out of my mouth and let Bear be the baffled one for once when we talk about butter tarts, poutine, and this strange holiday called Canadian Thanksgiving.
We had the jolliest day, Marshal and Bear clambering up trees like monkeys to hang new bee boxes in the hopes of catching swarms, me and Sallie cozied away in my granny flat cave, talking a mile a minute over wine glasses full of iced elderberry tea.
They brought us a load of sand for my gardens and other projects, and they filled the back of their pickup with rocks that shimmy their way up from the bowels of the earth to cover our farm and make digging holes a real delight.
Sallie and I harvested armloads of pink and white yarrow, then sat on the shady back veranda for ages, filling bowls with tiny blooms and feathery leaves while we chatted and listened to the guys make plans to get or build a still so we can brew spirit and make our own herbal tinctures for healing and fruity liqueurs for sheer pleasure.
After cold drinks and lunch of homemade bread rolls filled with our very own molasses cured smoked ham, we went out again, moving trailers, loading stuff for the dump, and shifting the smoker to a better spot. It’s so great to have friends come and help us do the things that we can do by ourselves, but are so much easier with assistance.
It was a great day. We were all tuckered out by the end, but it was that good kind of tired that comes from working together on good things.
After they left, a fierce storm blew in, knocking out our power and sending down a torrent of rain and hail. Bear and I cuddled on the veranda and watched them fall. It was cozy and companionable out there, smelling the rain-washed air, watching our paddocks soak up the water, enjoying the novelty of not having to do anything or be anywhere.
I’ve been thinking a lot about life lately, about the choices I make that contribute to how I experience life on a day to day basis.
Last time I wrote about vulnerability and change, and the things I’m doing to cultivate and nurture both of those things in my life. But those practices for me are much more than just enabling healing work in my heart, they’re leading me to what I cherish: life in myself, life with my loves, life in my interactions with the world. Life, not death. Life, not numbing. Life, not disassociating or escape or denial. Life.
And I chuckled to myself about how those things that lead to life are so individual. The things that lead to life for me would be sheer torture to many of my closest friends. Gardening? Heaven forbid. Writing? Not a chance. Art? Are you kidding me? They have other things that lead them to places of thriving and connection, and I love that. We get to pursue those things that lead to life for us, just us, and that looks beautifully different for everyone.
Today I hiked through our bush, one of the life-giving things for me, and marveled at shimmering buttercups, wallabies bounding just ahead of me, and horses meandering through the trees to come and say hello.
After I got home, I changed and went out to my gardens, picking nasturtiums, silverbeet, lettuce, red carrots, and fresh basil to make a salad for lunch with a luscious, garlicky dressing, and nabbed two small artichokes to steam and eat with cold mayonnaise.
After lunch I worked with Bear for hours on a medieval project, then put the sheep and goats away, patted the dog, and went to the granny flat to doodle.
They’re such little things, walks, picking vegetables, working with my hubby, scribbling on a notepad, but they are life to me, and I treasure them.
What are some things that are life-giving to you? xo
by Krista | Nov 3, 2017 | Spring
Healing can be downright sneaky, for it not only mends us, it changes us. As wounds are scrubbed clean and heal, old fears dissipate, and crippling shame heads for the hills, we are left different. The old places don’t fit anymore. The old work, the old ways of relating to others, of relating to ourselves, they all change.
I’ve been so focused on healing that I was unprepared for the massive changes that would take place as I healed. I thought healing would mean security, steadiness, strength, and it does, in myself. But the other places, and my relationship to them, become shaky.
I wondered why I no longer fit in the vocation I’d been in for years, why my old ways of doing business and managing the farm and being married and being a friend and dealing with myself just felt wrong and wretchedly uncomfortable. Nothing felt right.
I had a choice to make. I could either go back to the old ways to keep those old places steady and familiar, or I could celebrate my healing, dig deep for renewed courage, and forge new pathways in how I interact with myself and the world.
So that’s what I’ve been doing the last few weeks, one hand holding tight to Vulnerability, the other clinging to Courage.
I started with a lot of letting go. Letting go of a steady paycheck and knowing how I was going to pay bills and put food on the table, letting go of an image I had of myself and my place in the world, letting go of relationships as they were, so I could invest in them and make them as beautiful as possible.
It’s been terrifying. It was way easier to start a new life in Australia than to start a new life with myself.
It’s also been the most wonderful thing I’ve ever embarked on.
I’m sitting here now, at my little yellow desk in the granny flat, teary and smiling, so overwhelmingly grateful for all the events and people and choices that have led to this place and this time.
I mostly don’t know what the hell I’m doing, truly, but I’ve never felt so secure and so safe. I think that’s mostly due to knowing that I’m now 100% on my side. Whatever it takes, I’m here for me for the long haul. To heal, grow, learn, and thrive, to do the things that help me be my very best, healthy, strong, loving, and loved self.
I’ve slowed way down, only taking steps forward when I know it’s right for me. I’ve put new habits into practice which give me daily strength, courage, and understanding, as well as continued healing.
Some of the things I’m doing:
- Every morning I go down to the granny flat and do Stream of Consciousness writing. All that means is, I sit down with a notepad, and write whatever comes into my head for three full pages, then stop. That’s all. It does wonders for taking all the tangled, crazy thoughts, smoothing them out, and giving me a calm brain to start the day.
- Every morning I read good things. This month it’s: “A Little Bird Told Me” by the Brave Girls Club, “The Gifts of Imperfection” by Brené Brown, and “The Artist’s Way” by Julia Cameron. Wherever they take me, and they always take me somewhere, I go there, and stay there, facing what needs to be faced with love and patience and compassion.
- Every day I draw something. I have a notepad and a pack of markers and I just draw something, anything, whatever is in my head. I draw because I’m TERRIBLE at it. 🙂 And that helps me let go and just do it. Just doodle and sketch and get my feelings out into pictures. Lately they’ve been the pictures I drew as a child: house in the woods, house in the Alps, oddly shaped flowers, wonky looking mountains. I haven’t thought of those pictures in years, but drawing them again connected me with Small Girl me, and it’s been lovely to remember her wild imagination and adventurous spirit. My friend, Jane, encouraged me to draw from the present as well, to make that connection between Young Me and Now Me. I started that today, drawing our campfire and trees in the backyard. I show my pictures to Bear every day, which, I must say, takes great courage on my part since he’s a fantastic artist and can draw, paint, sculpt, you name it. But he’s been awesome, cheering me on, finding beauty and meaning in my scribbles, and even taking me out for lunch to celebrate my first drawing.
- Every day I do something physical outside. It’s usually three things: work in my garden, hike in our bush, and go for a bike ride with Bear. I love them so much, being out in the wind and sunshine and sometimes rain, though my pelvis is shrieking at me for the whole bike-riding thing. Whoever invented the non-pillowed bicycle seat was a sadist. 😉
Those four things are so little and simple, but they’re doing wonders in me, giving me the wisdom, strength, and courage I need to build a new space for myself in the world. I’m living from a place of strength and self-worth these days, and what a difference it makes.
I’m still a writer, still a photographer, still an artist and farmer, but I’m doing these things differently now. I’m only working with people I trust and enjoy, and who trust and enjoy me. I don’t let myself get bullied anymore, or let my work go unpaid or unvalued. I’m building slowly, one client here, another there, adding in projects that are good and fulfilling and allow me to tell stories that matter to me. I’m poor as the proverbial churchmouse while I build this new business of mine, but I am content and grateful and at peace. I’d so much rather be poor and working with good people than where I was before.
I’m loving my marriage and relationships so much more now. It’s astounding to me how much nicer it is to love and be loved when you believe you’re worthy of being loved, when you’re content in and of yourself. Nearly every weekend we’ve had friends come to visit, and my heart is full just thinking about our campfire chats and treks through the bush and watching the sunset with a glass of wine glowing in the firelight. We’re building a good life here, and all those years of wrestling with the past so I could heal have truly been worth it.
Today is quiet and still, hardly a breath of wind. I did my morning bush hike and watered the gardens, planted elderberry bushes, yellow French beans, and sugar snap peas. Soon I’ll find my big straw hat and go out again to harvest pineapple sage to dry on the veranda where Bear is busy hammering and sand-papering and painting his beautiful medieval chair.
Tomorrow we go to a medieval meeting to make plans for our medieval village at Abbey Medieval Festival next year, and on Sunday dear Canadian friends are coming over for fun projects and a whole lot of visiting by the campfire. It’s going to be good.
What are you looking forward to this weekend? xo
by Krista | Oct 23, 2017 | Spring
Thunder is rumbling and rain falling gently, making our farm feel like a cozy island.
I’m down in my granny flat office, snug under a fuzzy red blanket, listening to the goats rattle around under the house as they stay nice and dry out of the rain.
It’s been quite a week for me, and I’m so thankful for this day of rain-drenched peace and solitude to reflect and remember and celebrate.
Last week was rough. The #MeToo conversations triggered a reaction to things I thought I’d already worked through. Molestation, assaults, abuse – I thought I’d plumbed the depths of those experiences and healed from them, but there was an aspect I hadn’t addressed yet.
Me.
It’s strange and deeply sad to me that when we’re violated or abused by others, we still manage to blame ourselves, believing that if only we’d been strong enough, brave enough, wise enough, those people wouldn’t have harmed us.
That blame breaks the innate trust we have with ourselves, and leaves us open to manipulation and abuse by unscrupulous people who will prey on that brokenness.
Over the past week I’ve been healing that relationship with myself.
I revisited those times of abuse and forgave myself for not being able to keep me safe and protected, for disconnecting and numbing in order to get through it, for not knowing how to heal and thrive.
I wrote and spoke to myself about what it really felt like. How scared I was, how I believed no one could ever love me after those things, how I couldn’t trust anyone because I couldn’t trust myself.
And I praised that younger self for being so brave and strong and resilient.
It was an exhausting week, but a beautiful one. With each memory revisited, those broken places were healed and strengthened, and I felt myself come back to life in ways I didn’t even realize had gone dormant.
I was able to ask for help and comfort without feeling shame.
I was able to care for myself without false guilt or anxiety, because I’m worth caring for.
And I was able to look to the future with courage, because I don’t feel alone anymore. Whatever happens, I have me.
I’ve mended and rebuilt relationships with others, but now I’m doing it with myself. It’s rather strange and rather lovely, and I’m so thankful to be here mending and building instead of breaking.
For many years I’ve had a hard time answering the question: “What do you want?” It’s a difficult thing to know when you’re disconnected from yourself. This week has brought beautiful clarity. I can answer that question now, with ease and assurance, and it’s quite a thrill for me.
Knowing what I need and what I want is also rather strange and rather lovely, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything.
Seven years ago, Bear said I could have the granny flat as my spot, to do with as I wished. Several times I cleaned it out and set it up, but I didn’t know what to do with it, so it became a storage shed instead.
Healing my relationship with myself changed that. I know what I want to do with it now. I had such fun opening the door this weekend and starting the process of making it mine, truly mine.
“A nice little cave” is how Bear described it when he came in, and it made me smile because that’s exactly how it feels to me too. I’ve been sorting and organizing, throwing out so much stuff that simply isn’t me anymore. I’ve got a lot to do, but already there’s so much happiness in here, pictures that inspire me, books that delight me, quirky little bits and pieces that make my heart grin.
It’s amazing what can happen in a life with a bit of truth and a whole lot of tenderness. xo
by Krista | Oct 11, 2017 | Spring
This week I interviewed and wrote articles on six business women from California. I loved hearing their stories about the incredible difficulties they faced on their business journeys, their moments of doubt and wanting to give up, the people who gave them the love they needed to keep trying and press on.
One woman told me that she has a group of friends who always remind her:
“It will get hard, but you’re not alone.”
I love that so much.
The truth is that providing for ourselves and our families, earning a living, finding the money to pay bills, they’re all difficult and exhausting and can leave us feeling very much alone. Especially when things go wrong and we can’t provide or earn a living or find the money to pay bills.
In those hard times, the easiest thing to do is pull back from others, hide our fears and insecurities and self-doubts, pretend that everything is peachy. But, for me at least, that only deepens the feeling of being alone, and intensifies the fearful belief that maybe this time we’ll fail so spectacularly that there will be no recovery.
This year I’ve been practicing truth. Sharing my reality with those I trust.
Being that vulnerable has scared the hell out of me. Every single time I’m sure that this time, this situation, this failure or fear, is going to mean rejection.
But I do it anyway. Because I want real connections with my loves. Not pretend ones where I let them think I’ve got it all together and don’t need them. I DON’T have it all together, and I DO need them. So much.
I need them to make me laugh when I’m freaking out.
I need them to assure me that yes, it really can get worse, but I’ll still love you and think you’re awesomesauce.
I need them to let me cry without attempting to fix anything, and then try to fix it with outrageous suggestions that just might work.
I need them to say, “Me too.” “I get it.” “babe, I’m so sorry, that really sucks.”
I need them to hug me tight and remind me that I’m worth loving.
And they need those things from me.
So I do it anyway. I keep the Skype meeting and pick up the phone call. I answer the text message and send the email. I invite them over and I go to their place. I keep those lines of connection open even when it terrifies me, because I want real relationships and real love based on reality.
I do it anyway most of the time. I still have my moments where I let shame and fear override my love and trust.
The past few months have tested me as another job fell through and I got further behind on paying my bills. I felt foolish and small and not good enough. I hid out for a bit, believing the lie that people would only want to spend time with me if I was successful and savvy with all my ducks in a row.
A friend found me in that sad place. And dragged me out. We talked and cried together and shared how we were actually both in the same sad place, but didn’t know it until we opened up. We felt so much better. Still poor, still scared, but better because we weren’t alone, and someone understood.
So, comforted in our not-aloneness, we press on. We keep trying – because that’s our superpower – we keep loving and letting others love us – because life isn’t worth living otherwise – and we keep hoping against hope knowing the hard times won’t stay forever.
“It will get hard, but you’re not alone.”
by Krista | Oct 8, 2017 | Spring
It’s a beautifully dark and cozy Sunday, my favorite sort of day for pottering in the garden, baking bread, and snuggling under a blanket with a British murder mystery.
We’ve had such beautiful rain this week, and our farm yard has transformed from dry, crispy, and brown, to soft and supple with a luscious green shimmer as new grass shoots up everywhere.
When I knew rain was coming, I set out buckets and tubs to capture as much as I could. This morning I ladled it out into my watering can and gave more precious rainwater to my cucumbers and lettuces, then planted rosellas and capsicums and gave the last of the rainwater to them.
Once everything was planted I dug up the last of my new potatoes, they smell so good, and brought the chipotle and poblano peppers I’ve been drying upstairs.
I’d never grown chipotles until this year, and am delighted by their shape, like tiny old-fashioned Christmas lights. I smoked a few over winter and added them to chili, but these ones I’m using both for seeds and to flavor vinegar.
I like how flavored vinegar and oil add greater depth of taste and fragrance to salad dressings, sauces, and especially slow-cooked meat to make it extra tender. You can even use the flavored vinegar to make quick pickles like these pickled beets or these plump pickled cherries.
And, frankly, I like them because they’re beautiful. It gives me a happy little thrill to see glistening glass bottles of deliciousness lined up on my pantry shelves, filled with fresh herbs, colorful peppers, and whole spices.
While I gardened, I put bread dough on to rise. Cozy Sunday afternoons are made even better with fresh bread rolls slathered with butter and our very own honey. Add a cup of hot pineapple sage tea and a good book, and I’m a thoroughly contented soul.
I’m thankful for this beautiful weekend, for visits with dear friends, reading by lamplight, and good food to nourish our bodies for a busy week ahead.
What do you like to do over the weekend that restores you for a new week? xo
Chipotle Pepper Vinegar
Ingredients:
1/2 cup fresh or dried chipotle peppers
2 cups vinegar
Directions:
Combine all ingredients in a sterlized glass bottle, seal, and set in a dark, cool place for 1-2 weeks until it reaches the flavor you like. Strain and use.
by Krista | Oct 3, 2017 | Spring
It’s been a long few months of drought here in Queensland. Every day we looked up into clear blue skies and wondered when the rains would come, hoping it would be soon.
The storm clouds came this week, heavy and dark, and dropped gentle, steady rain upon us. Water soaked into the cracked earth, softening grass browned and crisped by the sun, cleaning the air and washing dust from every surface.
It brought life back to our little world, and hope to my heart. Watching the rain fall reminded me that no matter how desolate the situations we find ourselves in, relief and life will return one day. We have no control over when it will return, but we can make the waiting easier by caring for our dear selves, connecting to those amazing people who love us, and finding something good each day to keep us going.
I spent much of Sunday on the back veranda, watching the rain fall while I read books, wrote in my journal, and took a nap. I’ve been reading “The Gifts of Imperfection” by Brené Brown again. It’s one of those books I like to read regularly to realign myself with wholehearted living, a life of courage, compassion, and connection.
This read-through showed me how I’d slipped back into self-sufficiency, the wonky kind, the kind that makes you believe you have to do everything by yourself, that asking for help or being in need makes you a bother, an annoyance, instead of just a regular ol’ human being. And I closed my book and went inside and pulled a chair up to Bear’s desk and we had a good chat. I told him the fears and stresses I’d been keeping inside so I wouldn’t annoy him, and he laughed and shook his head and pulled me in for a cuddle and reminded me that he actually likes hearing about my fears and stresses AND happinesses and successes. That’s what love is. That’s what friendship is.
And I cried and hugged him tight back because when you’ve been keeping stuff bottled up out of fear or shame and you can finally let it out and realize that you never, ever had to keep it stuffed in after all, well, it’s quite a relief. And you feel both foolish and inestimably comforted at the same time.
It’s funny, isn’t it, how much comfort there is in letting your guard down and being weak and wobbly and messy, and discovering you’re loved anyway?
And funny how we can’t find that comfort until we’re brave enough to reach out and connect with people. To let them see us with all our doubts and worries and spectacular stuff-ups.
It’s a risk, always. But one worth taking. And bit by bit, person by person, we build a little retinue of people who love us anyways, always, no matter what, and let us love them that way in return.
I’m grateful for that kind of love from Bear, from my friends, and for the comfort and strength it provides.
I’m also grateful for the non-people comforts of life, the rainy afternoons and good books and bowls of homemade soup.
We had lots of soup this week, drawing inspiration from what’s growing in the gardens: onions, carrots, potatoes, fresh herbs. Sunday was a creamy Curried Carrot with lots of fresh ginger, while today was Beef Vegetable with carrots, onions, peas, and a rich, savory broth fragrant with thyme.
Tonight I posted my first newsletter in a loooooong time, talking about what happens in life When Healing Changes Us. Click here to read it, and click here to subscribe to future newsletters.
Now I’m going to settle in with a cup of elderberry and hawthorne tea and read a bit before bed. I have a big day of wood-working ahead of me tomorrow, and an early night is sounding rather wonderful.
What are some of your favorite non-people comforts? xo
