week 34: fascinated by the little things

this week on the little dream farm

We sat down to make our Fall farm checklist this week and I’d planned to tell you all about it in this week’s Farm Note. It’s made up of all the many things we’ll be knocking out in the coming weeks to close down the growing spaces, prepare some new ones for next year’s season, button up the farm for the winter months, and get ourselves ready with the much needed and much anticipated rest that comes with the winter season.

Then I came across a word the other day that I’ve never heard before…a word that gives meaning—a name—to a feeling I’ve had so many times…just the other day, even, and I want to share with you something totally different instead.

The word was Komorebi—the Japanese word for the interplay of light and shadow as it filters through the trees.

Can you picture it? Can you think of instances where you’ve seen it? Did you just feel somewhere within your soul an acknowledgement? Ahh, yes, you may have thought. I know just what you mean.

I see Komorebi almost every morning here on the farm as the sun comes up over the Green Mountains in the distance in the direction of neighboring Vermont. I see Komorebi in the forest through the trees on my morning walks. In fact, I was just noticing Komorebi last evening when the sun reemerged bright as ever following a rainstorm that passed through.

In doing a bit of searching on the broader meaning of Komorebi, I found this:

The concept of Komorebi reminds us to look for positivity in little things that can help dispel the shadows of doubt or anxiety. In every situation that appears grim and dark, there are little bright spots that can make the situation more tolerable. Komorebi is about finding those little shafts of light and pausing to get re-energised, before going on.

Komorebi is about weaving your passions into your daily life, learning to look for the light while passing through the shadows, and having faith that each little shaft of light will continue to light up your path.

It reminded me that lately I’ve been caught up in the commotion of things happening off in the future that’ve kept me from being more present here and now. Perhaps you felt a little pang as you read those words. Maybe you’ll recognize ways you’ve been doing the same.

It’s a lesson I’ve needed to re-learn over and over and over again thus far in my life. I imagine I’ll be re-learning it many more times, too. Somehow it’s so easy—so tempting even, to be so focused on the road up ahead, though we know we only have today…this moment, even.

One of the many reasons writing this weekly Farm Note was appealing to me, outside of sharing our weekly goings on with all of you, was for the ability to go back and review our year and see what we’ve learned, how we’ve grown, how far we’ve come, and what we were doing and thinking about week to week.

Last week I took a few moments to go back to the beginning of the year to re-read some of those thoughts and I came away with the recollection of how everything felt our very first year here on the farm—even before there was ever a weekly Farm Note.

That first year everything was fascinating. Not only did we move our lives from the fifth largest city in the US to a farm in the country and a village of about 2,000 people, but we also became first-time home buyers, first-time growers, first-time chicken and donkey caretakers (re: parents 😊), and first-time country folk, among so many other firsts.

Fortunately I took boat loads of photos and we chronicled our days on our farm’s Instagram account…through photos, videos, the captions, and our IG Stories, so I can go back and piece together the days and the feelings and where our heads were at, what we were thinking about, and what was going on a the time. And thankfully it’s still quite fresh in my memory the way everything felt that first year here—going to the laundromat in the next town over while we waited to have water filters installed for the very smelly sulphur water we have here on the farm; the excitement and apprehension of digging, storing, and replanting dahlias for the very first time; the first snowstorm we had the day after Thanksgiving that coated the farm and everything around us in five wondrous inches of snow; watching everything come alive all around the farm during that first spring; and the way it felt when Chris and I would walk to the top of the big back hill, grab onto one another’s hand, spin around, and take in the view of this farm.

Surely we can’t live our days lost in our memories but we can use them as a reminder of what matters in the present moment. One of the many gifts this farm has given me is a greater appreciation of the little things.

One of my very favorite little gifts to share with all of you is the noticing of those little things.

I often think about this Mary Oliver quote while I’m out walking:

Instructions for living a life: Pay attention. Be astonished. Tell about it.

―Mary Oliver

This week has been somewhat of a nudge to me to get (re)grounded in the present. It’s the recognition of something I tell my personal training and nutrition clients weekly: it doesn’t matter how many times you must begin again, it only matters that you do.

And so, I’ll leave you this week with the thing that stuck out most to me from my going back to those first Farm Note’s of the year. Fittingly, it’s our vision for this farm that captured my attention and lured me back to the present. Maybe in some small way, sharing this with you today might help you do the same.

Our Why:

I dream that this farm is a beacon of peace
A lighthouse of possibility
Where dreams are not simply frivolous whimsies
But the secret ingredient for realizing more joy, beauty, and love in real time
Where hope can be found
And true meaning restored
Where nature is the captain of the ship
And we, her faithful stewards
Where kindness, hard work, grit, determination, an open mind, a willingness to try, and a humble heart guide all daily doings
And where pausing and being still long enough to take it all in and be blessed by it is how ‘more’ gets done
Where the bounty and blessings of this farm are paid forward, passed on,
shared, and thus multiplied
And that those who grace this farm—and those who this farm graces—come away feeling something in their hearts
As the Real Work is to leave this farm better than we found it
I dream this little farm is and will be
A beacon for us and for others
For cultivating lots of little dreams

Ann Lamott, in her book Bird by Bird, said: “E.L. Doctorow once said that 'Writing a novel is like driving a car at night. You can see only as far as your headlights, but you can make the whole trip that way.' You don't have to see where you're going, you don't have to see your destination or everything you will pass along the way. You just have to see two or three feet ahead of you. This is right up there with the best advice on writing, or life, I have ever heard.”

So this week, here’s to the little things like Komorebi and to living within the light of the headlights and being astonished by what’s just two or three feet ahead. 😘

Komorebi on the farm.