Morning Chorus

The birds have returned, too--about the same time that we settled back on our farm, we were joined by many avian neighbors we'd been missing since last fall.  A few days after our move back, I heard the first prehistoric scraaawk of the Sandhill Cranes that summer in the cow pasture next door (still haven't seen them, but we've heard them).  And when the sun is hitting Blodgett Canyon like this, in the mornings, there is now a wild chorus of meadowlarks, blackbirds, sparrows, and (first one spotted yesterday), robin.  Welcome back, everyone.

We have officially landed.  After 6 months in the rental cabin 6 miles away, we have returned to the farm--not quite in the way we'd initially hoped when we started in on building a small strawbale house last fall, but in at least in a space we can make cozy, settle into, and start to make our own.  The transformation of the barn from a dusty, dirty, drafty storage space into a warm (mostly), insulated, sealed space with a  few new windows has been a crazy journey all of its own.  But here we are.  Mabel has laid claim to the space in front of the stove, as always.  Noah and I are each allotted a small corner on opposite sides of the upstairs hayloft-turned-bedroom-and-office, and are considering how to make our corners our own, once a few more carpentry projects are sorted and seeds are started.  Hershey has returned to patrolling the farm for mice and voles, and Malaya has graduated to being allowed general outdoor roaming, taking her beauty-sleep naps tucked under the dishwashing table in the outdoor strawbale kitchen.

There is not yet any running water indoors, but the simple ability to finish work and go to sleep without a commute, the ability to sit down at a table and write a few lines, the ability to walk out the door and be at our own place....they all feel like a good improvement and a good way to start what will soon be spring.  I hope this space, this coziness, makes space for more sharing and reaching out, too.

This morning, the first of 2015, came bright and clear and really, really cold.  Cold enough that I had to return to bed after the first stoking of the fire, before working up the gusto to leave the warm sheets and make coffee   This cold morning was the first back in the dry cabin, after three weeks of luxury living in t

Falling in deep snow on Christmas day.
Soft, forgiving, beautiful, and fun. 

he farmhouse while the tenants were away (luxury = hot running water, an efficient wood stove  and a shower, right there in the same building where we sleep!).  The day before had been another hard one, in a hard year, really, of trying to build, not just a house, but the life we are looking for. The start of 2014 saw us just beginning to move to this 10-acre farm in the Bitterroot, still trying to understand and recover from the disappointment of losing our land-access agreement with a landowner in Missoula, and trying to muster the gumption to start fresh.  2014 was, I have to admit, a very hard year.  

And so, maybe it was, in the cold morning cabin, at the start of another year that is without doubt going to stretch and pull and challenge...maybe it was the perfect time to see a friend post this to her Facebook wall as a happy new year greeting: 

 “I hope that in this year to come, you make mistakes.
Because if you are making mistakes, then you are making new things, trying new things, learning, living, pushing yourself, changing yourself, changing your world. You're doing things you've never done before, and more importantly, you're Doing Something.
So that's my wish for you, and all of us, and my wish for myself. Make New Mistakes. Make glorious, amazing mistakes. Make mistakes nobody's ever made before. Don't freeze, don't stop, don't worry that it isn't good enough, or it isn't perfect, whatever it is: art, or love, or work or family or life.
Whatever it is you're scared of doing, Do it.
Make your mistakes, next year and forever.”
― Neil Gaiman

My first thought was that wow, I certainly did that in the last year:  made mistakes, tried new things, learned, lived, pushed myself.  It's growth, and that is uncomfortable.  But it's also living, and it's not over yet.  Here's to more calm and sanity in 2015, but also to embracing continued growth, and more mistakes, all in the pursuit of that custom, hand-built life.