In my greenhouse this morning, I sit sipping coffee and reading my bible. The sun is coming thru the large catalpa tree and the sky is the perfect shade of blue. 

Something about the smell of freshly planted lilacs and the sound of my hens caught me a little off guard. I suddenly feel a deep sense of connection to my home…. to its roots, the paint and the heavy beams.

I’ve never not valued my home. In fact, it’s what I love to chat about the most, next to my family. Yet, this fine spring morning has me thinking about how blessed I am. THIS is MY farmhouse. My home. My shelter. It deserves my absolute best because it gives me its very best.

This old farmhouse has truly watched this valley grow-up.  It has churned our butter and grew our wheat at the turn of the century, fed generations of families, weathered the rains of uncertainty and has now withstood two pandemics. She has lived through no less than eighteen sitting US presidents, two world wars, sickness and disease, a stock markets crash, grievance of death and brilliance of life. The ticker tape running thru my mind of her accomplishments is remarkable. 

Its hedges are a pillar of biblical strength that God said in that moment, I have a literal hedge of protection around you my child. I just began to let myself feel all this steadfast our home has seen and endured and now she’s here with me sheltering my dearest loves and keeping us safe. I am one blessed being to have one of the most curated and decorated homes of a lifetime. I look again at its structure and sigh— what a piece of remarkable history. I am honored to call her my very own.  

A poem to my home:

You’re a steadfast moment that stands still in a time of uncertainty.

Your foundation solid, the pitches in your peaks just enough high reaching to let the rains stroll down your sides.

Your brilliance of white, pure. Holy. Reverent. 

You’re keeping us sheltered, we honor that and think fondly of all the families you’ve kept within these walls safely for 110 years.