That’s where we’re at these days — defining, living, seeking out, and maybe lamenting the lack of intentional time. Time we spend intentionally being present in our lives, in the world we want to live, is a focus we are trying to pay heed to. It’s hard — because it’s so easy to swept up in the crazy of the day-to-day, in the insanity of our governmental turmoil, and in the erasure of history and community through media. And with the cliff dive of our financial security (however, tenuous it was before that), we’re trying to find the strength in multiple ways.

The baker is baking, that’s what he does for you and for him (it keeps him sane-ish, and feeds folks which makes him feel purposeful) and taking care of us, the kid is arting (always fruitful critical thinking and imagining for a new world), and I try and write/run a social justice center/take care of my mother who is very ill when I can (and she lets me) and be at the shop/running events. There is not much on the homestead that calls to me these days. I call it a success that we picked all kinds of fruit (which grew despite our neglect), made a little wine and foraged some medicinals (I add dried hawthorne berries and reishi to our coffee to help). We are packing up books and other goods so that we can clean up this house to hopefully sell next summer (though it is unlikely we can buy anything, we will just be out of debt on this place; it’s been an adventure having our own place for a bit).

We didn’t even put the garden to bed. We just one day, stopped going out there. Who knows the state of things or the clean up that I could still probably do (it really has only snowed one light snow so far)! I can still see fat red Wolf River apples hanging from the bare tree — the deer are going to love them all winter. And if it snows and they fall on the ground and get buried, they will dig them up. Most of even the tiny multiflora rose hips are gone from the birds getting their daily vitamins; Mr. Cardinal is just as red among them, keeping a nest deep within the thorny canes we can only vaguely see in the winter.

And so it goes that, like many others, our business and therefore our life struggles…and we were already on the cusp of concern, now we are on the precipice. Many things might change our world in the very near future, but we cannot rely on them nor gauge how they will affect us. We will just have to wait and see. If this were like a few years ago, when we were able to homestead full-time, I wouldn’t be as worried — in fact, we were pretty self-secure during the pandemic, at least how it felt food and house-wise. Time to put our heads down and muscle through, as they say. At least as long as we can. We get a lot of flak for spending what little funds we have (and our income has just been halved, so it’s even less) on organic/local/clean food but it is for our health — we don’t have health insurance anymore either (not that gov’t healthcare helped us at all, we haven’t been able to find anyone to take it in years).

Until then, we try and get most of our goods from the local farm, barter pig’s feet and ground beef for bread when we can, and stretch what is left in the pantry. We are likely to cancel our internet soon and ration our wood (a winter of many sweaters!! all at once!), as they are the only things we have left. I’ve squirreled away a couple of small gifts through the year so we’ll have a meager Winter Solstice but it will be a real testament to celebrating the hopeful survival of a lean season. The kid and I salted lemons yesterday so in month we can save up for olives and a roast chicken to have her favorite Moroccan Chicken with Preserved Lemons & Olives (djej emshmel) for our celebratory dinner.

The ‘holidays’ are always very stressful for us — at this time of the year, when there is always little money, we are ostracized by our families because we don’t want to celebrate colonial or christian lies, and they do their best to make sure we are not respected, and our own struggles with life traumas during these times. We used to have some great chosen families over the years, and we miss them terribly, though in order to see them or get them to gather we had to host — which we loved, but now that we are unable, there is no gathering. And we’re so worn out these days, it is hard to seek out a gathering that might welcome us.

This is not an uplifting post, but it is a reminder that we are trying to find the intentionality to go on. To live with intention is to notice the small things that do work and where we find joy. On grey days, it is a struggle, but we are grateful for our love for each other and that we have the three of us to make our days worth focusing on.

Someone walked into the shop the other day and before we could even greet them accusingly inquired, “Why are you closed on Wednesday and Thursday?!” and I get it, it’s the middle of the week but it’s just the two of us so we need to take some time off and since we are also part of the retail environment we would be crazy to take the actual weekend off. When we first started the shop we took no days off in order to figure out the best times to be closed. This is what we’ve worked out, and we might even add another day to our ‘weekend’ because we don’t really get the time off (especially the baker — he processes orders, sends out reminders for members, pays bills, etc, and then even comes in for a couple of hours on Thursdays to make sure we have a little something on Friday. He probably works about 80 hours a week). I know we don’t look like it, but we are literally a Mom & Pop spot.

So, what do we do on our weekends besides a little more work for the shop? We try and get our household together a bit (during our work week it really becomes a drop off, with minimal dinners or teen-made dinners, not that I am criticizing those — they are great, but limited and leave as much mess as they do feed us). We don’t really get to enjoy going out or going places (we both probably work a total of 120 hours and make as much together as he did on his own in a 40-hour job), so we try and focus on what we can do to keep us connected to our lives: homesteading, art/writing, family time together, and sometimes doing very little — just trying to relax a bit. We have no money, no time, and no community to hang out with so we tend to ‘cave’ in our little house.

Don’t get me wrong, our time is spent nicely together. We read and then talk about big ideas, we make food together and clean up gardens together, we do household chores and sometimes run errands, we try and spend a little time in the studio and sleeping in, and watching movies if we have enough oompf (though, honestly, we are generally more inclined to go to bed early and read). Though we have lived in Maine for 17 years and have never been to Acadia, Bangor, Rangeley, Moxie Falls, Peaks Island, MDI, and lots of other places we should’ve been able to go to at some point. I think we’ve even only been to Lewiston twice (and for very specific reasons, no lollygagging). We’ve never been to Vaughn Woods if that says anything about our life. We haven’t been to the beach in maybe 3 years and even then only once or twice a year before that. I like to say that I’ve lived now in New England for just over 30 years and I’ve only ever seen one moose butt (from Rt 7, just outside Bennington, VT). I think if we had a little more time, money, and wherewithal, we could seek out some spectacular places in Maine that might make us feel more connected.

Until then intrepid travelers, visit places for us and bring back all that good energy from wilds unknown.

There are all kinds of revolutions — astrological/cosmological/seasonal (all connected, of course, as similar engagements), political, personal, and ecological, as a few in mind. Our wytchy selves here focus on all of these as a piece — to be connected to ourselves, we have to be connected in nature (or aware of this nature, we’re connected either way) and work towards safety, health, and for the future of all. Teleological directives (those with a specified ‘end’) are not useful tools to foster diversity, care, and foresight. That’s where response-ability comes into play.

We can only respond appropriately when we pay attention; when we listen. Listening takes a selflessness (or a universal self) to be able to engage with the openness to someone else’s needs — this plant’s need, this family’s need, this community’s need, the world need. And we do what we can when we can. The world (especially the political one) demands compromise but rarely consensus and it is this place we need to find. Systems built on heirarchies only have teleological ends; they require that someone be on the bottom, and that there IS always a bottom. There is a bit of a kerfluffle about how democracy works but in a majority rules situation, there is always a minority — and generally one that is exploited, subjected, and their needs pushed aside. The Western world has been doing it this way for a long long time building an anthropocentric (human-centered) impact which disregards relational thinking and being. We have been taught/guided/misguided in the ability to respond to each other and the world we live in.

How can we get out of this trap and abide by a more consensus directive where everyone has a voice that matters? It is going to take a slow and careful consideration of how we do things — everything…because our foundations are flawed (all of them). I love how permaculture-warrior Looby Macnamara approaches the living well concept. I love how folks come together to find solutions in direct community action (and remember, community is not your neighborhood or town, it’s the people that show up for each other). I love how the baker spent the day fixing the kid’s sewing machine. I love the projects I hear about from other brilliant like-minds and care-full thinkers. I love a quiet pond with bobbing loons. I love the Ruby-Throated Hummingbirds who live in our Weeping Willow tree across the drive from the exploding Scarlet Bee Balm. I love the medicines and food, a real bounty, available at our little patch.

(R)evolutions abound.

Discovery is always a thrill, no matter the season, but there is something about the new tendrils of growth and baby shoots to invigorate the senses. Right up until the allergies hit, we can breathe a little deeper and feel that things are about to change. It feels like a shift we can translate from our wilder (and wider) environment to our human scales.

That is sort of the theme this year, we think: human scale. Focusing on what we can do with our direct care and responses, honing in on our small measures, while keeping our integrity and universal goals in mind. We won’t really have much choice in the matter, so it is good to prepare that ground — really get the regenerative juices flowing and the soil fertile, giving back as much as we take (if not more, because we take).

We’re finding that to do so, we need to spend a little more time on the things that nourish us. We want to keep our minds open and sharp and to do so, we need to not focus on the things that damage us. J is from VT and I’ve now lived in New England longer than anywhere else, the fundamentals of social justice for American society are questioned here (with many historical corrections to be made) — the pragmatism of ecological care is deeply ingrained, and direct discourse used to be encouraged. As many of you might know, we are connected with The Good Life Center, the educational homestead of Scott & Helen Nearing, and feel very strongly that there is good ground to grow from there. There is a lot to discover about the past to care for the present and prepare for the future. We’re Goddard College students, for Scott’s sake! (see what I did there — ha!). Fed from Bread & Puppet fires, wading in the waters of Lake Champlain, and traversing the Long Trail. And like the Nearings, we’re here now in lovely Maine — connected to the ocean and the mountains, hanging with the sturgeon, eating wild blueberry pie, and feeling like there is still moments and growth to be discovered and inspired by.

We live in one of the most supportive civil rights regions of the U.S. — which somedays is hard to remember. We have water (though yes, might need some care and cleaning up, but we have it!), we have fertile ground, we have all the geographical richness which means we have the tools to also have the most resourceful innovations to create community (both human and nonhuman). But we have to focus and not be distracted by the noise — the literal noise of negativity and energy-sucking regressions, by the pitfalls and setbacks (failures are opportunities to find new solutions). It’s hard. It’s hard every day, but we have immense privilege here — even in our everyday struggles and situational experiences. This human scale is our superpower because we can make community with each other, one by one. We can change many things that fall into our personal sphere and act accordingly in the world with integrity and care.

Spring. When the fullness of life reminds us of change.