Dream Again

This is the time of year when I’m reminded of the seasonality of things. The migrating birds have returned, the trees are starting to bud, and my work is beginning to pick back up to a comfortable pace. In the depths of February, when everything is bitter and dreary, I’m convinced it will never change. But even the coldest winter melts into spring.

I’ve been surrounded by so much hope lately that it’s hard not to absorb. The weather is warm, Alan and I have gotten our first vaccine dose, and I picked up a nonprofit project that was postponed a full year ago. 

On top of it all, Make Something Meaningful turned one year old this month. Fifty-some thousand words later, the site has settled into its own – guided by me perhaps, but never controlled. Like so many journeys, I ended up in a different place than I expected, yet one that feels right. 

After a year of worrying about the here and now, of constant risk vs. reward, Alan and I have had frank discussions about what life ahead looks like. We’ve started to shed the notions that were only ever on the periphery in favor of those that tap deep into our souls. 

And, we’ve started to dream again. To imagine a future full of possibility. To us, that means a farm filled with tiny houses, farm stays, and artist retreats, and days filled with making, growing, teaching, and writing. 

We’ve taken some small steps toward that vision, pulling some boards off the bee house and relocating the bees in favor of turning the tiny building into a writer’s retreat. Once it’s battened back up it will hold a bed and a desk where guests can fall asleep to the peepers, awaken to the sun rays, and muse about in between. 

Mostly, we’ve realized how much connection must be at the core of whatever we do. 

When we first moved to the farm, I wrongly assumed it was about getting away – from the city, from the car alarms, from all the noise and bustle. But now I realize how backward I had it. We were moving toward a more authentic (to us) life, and part of that involves sharing it with others. Now we envision it more as a creative hub. 

I don’t know what it will all look like, but then again I never do. The journey is the teacher. I just have to go along for the ride.