A Note on Gifts and Traditions

 

I’ve been thinking a lot about gifts and family traditions these last few weeks. I’d like to clarify these are two separate trains of thought but I’m combining them in this post as they somewhat dovetail, especially around Christmastime. 

I enjoy hearing the rituals that friends cherish from their childhood. Both my husband and I come from families that did not put much stock into birthday or holiday celebrations. My family was big on the actual origins of the religious holidays, and did not participate in anything they felt was of “pagan” origin. My husband’s immediate family decided when he and his siblings were young, after learning Jehovahs Witness practices, to stop celebrating birthdays and holidays. From what I’ve gathered, the material gift giving was what they wanted to avoid. I was told they felt all the lavish presents made for possible selfish tendencies. Both of us have decided to celebrate holidays to some degree in our own way, but not get too wrapped up in them- pun intended. 

My husband’s immediate family did not celebrate any holidays, and I can’t say I’ve really seen too much desire to change that, other than his wish to participate in his extended family’s holiday gatherings. His vision for our wedding this past September was “a large family picnic where we get married”- food, drink, a spontaneous game of football, and gathering around a fire. Presents for occasions are not his thing. This is not to say he isn’t a gift giver; on the contrary he is the most generous person I know, and he’s constantly getting me things or telling me “buy it” if I’m admiring or desiring something. I’ve had to remind myself of this when birthdays come and go; it’s not that he forgets, birthdays were never something to remember. To help make it easier for both of us, I’ve given him a place to go to create a tradition in gift giving for me. It’s a local Celtic jeweler where we got our wedding rings; he really can’t go wrong even if he picks out something at random. 

My mom has always been a thoughtful gift giver, creating many presents from her own artistry and craft, and my grandmother is a practical gift giver, always seeking to know what you really need or want before making her selections. I remember her starting to send checks in my twenties after being asked for gift receipts by other recipients. This broke my heart a little- she told me she felt she didn’t know what to get anymore. Now she’s nearly blind, but my mother and aunt guide her through thrift store sprees and Amazon wish lists to send thoughtful and personalized gifts to my children. She also sends cards for every holiday- St. Patrick’s Day and Valentines included- this is a tradition I cherish as mailed cards are not as common as they once were. 

But to me, traditions are something on a higher plane than gift exchanges. I feel that what makes a tradition special is its longevity. Hearing “my family always…” attached to a memory is what makes a tradition. Those special somethings you do for or with someone, and what makes it special is the remembrance. 

When you start your own family you have the choice to carry on traditions, or create new ones. My son and I share a few, and are now including Millie. First and foremost: watching A Merry Pooh Year at Christmastime. He’s a very sentimental person, and I see the nostalgia on his face when we settle in to watch it each year. I always make or buy him an ornament, and I have several of his handmade ornaments that get hung up in my houseplants during the season. I want to see them up close, and currently all my houseplants are clustered in the only semi-cat-free and well lit area by the kitchen sink. 

Now that I live the off-grid homesteading lifestyle, I’m trying to tie most of my daughter’s experiences to the land where we live. She is blessed to be surrounded by many acres to explore, a variety of pets and farm animals to love and learn about, which is my husband’s greatest gift to our family. We live on a portion of land that was his maternal grandfather’s farm, and he carries on the farming tradition. 

So what traditions have I come up with so far? Well, I carry on my personal tradition of growing an amaryllis bulb to bloom during the beginning of winter. The first flower stalk is currently in full bloom with the second close behind. Millie and I have gathered many acorns this fall that I plan to make nature ornaments with at the extended family Christmas gathering. Homemade nature ornaments are such a fun, special treasure, and thanks to a workshop at the Beaver Meadow Audubon Society years ago with Joey, I have some creative inspiration! Other than that I’m still thinking on traditions to create, not only for my daughter to look back on, but for me as well. Next year I’m planning to plant a fir tree with Millie to decorate each year and take pictures next to as they both grow.

 

When I mulled over how to end this post while making lunch, I thought of something I wanted to clarify: I don’t think traditions are just for Christmas- and wanted to share a few “other season” traditions I am looking forward to sharing with my daughter. In early spring before tree leaf out, I always take walks in the woods to look for bud burst and ephemeral flowers. 

I always plant a garden with plants I grow from seed. I used to have a lot of baking traditions, and I look forward to picking them up and expanding kitchen traditions with Millie in the near future. 

As I close I would like to ask you to share traditions you carry on with your family, and any back stories that accompany them. After all, what is this life without stories and friends with whom to share them? 

It’s That Time

It’s time to tidy up my garden. I always have a hard time with this chore; it’s an emotional task to say goodbye to all the plants I’ve tended to, that have also tended to me over the growing season. This year is especially hard to see my garden go as it was where Kellen and I exchanged our marriage vows. It was a perfect mid-September day, with zinnias, cosmos, and my hyacinth bean vine blooming on the wrought iron trellis around us. 

 My garden wasn’t “all that” this year, I had to reign myself in after a May freeze took most of my seedling starts and too many other important tasks (wedding preparations!!) took priority over my ever-expanding garden plans. This year, I focused primarily on “easy” cutting garden flowers and herbs. Most years I splurge on many vegetable plants that either get culled because they’re boring (it’s a thing) and I want to give space to something else or they lack vigor. 

 Another issue I have is over-abundance. I’m still off-grid with limited storage and cooking options so a large harvest of tomatoes or beans proves more overwhelming than beneficial at this juncture of life. So this year the only vegetables I grew were two varieties of heirloom tomatoes gifted to me by Kellen’s tomato aficionado uncle, Doug. Fresh tomatoes are a must, and these were both indeterminate types proving to be delightful coming one to two at a time over a period of a few months. 

 But if I’m honest, we gardeners never plant the total amount of seeds splurged on during winter dreaming that bolster us through the off-season. There are always big expansion plans, removals and additions, divisions and rearrangements that end up whittled down by the ever practical ticking clock. Despite all this, each year I’m always amazed at what certain things performed above my expectations and I try to document my yearly favorites as a way to end with a smile during an otherwise melancholy time. 

 

These over-achievers are usually not the plants I fawned over and gave extra care to; oh no- those usually wither in comparison, seeming to shrink in performance the more I hoped they’d shine. So let’s look at the shining stars of my 2023 garden. If I had to pick my top favorite of this year it would be the Apollo Orange Asclepias! I started these tropical milkweed plants from seeds I bought from Johnny’s Select Seeds the year prior and just never got around to sowing. I started about twenty seeds along with a host of other cutting garden selections, as they weren’t necessarily for cutting, but had bold color and were pollinator magnets; two qualities I sought to expand on this year. 

They were slow to sprout, and really didn’t look like much compared to the vigorous sprouts of celosia, galanthus, and other delights I was so excited to grow for my bouquets. I set all my starts out in early May, as I couldn’t keep the greenhouse going inside any longer. And then- you guessed it- a FREEZE warning. Not just a frost- temperatures were predicted to be in the low twenties, which causes far more damage than a frost- which can happen in the 30’s and be protected against with a covering. I had no power to my greenhouse as it was out by the road in my garden at this point, but I still rushed out that evening to cover everything with cardboard and newspaper in hopes to insulate them to some degree from the cold. 

 Long story (and believe me, I can make this looong) short, the only seedlings to survive were my Asclepias, and barely at that. I nearly tossed them as well, but I gave everything a chance to come back, tucking them in my garden to either thrive or return to the dirt. Mid-summer, these lovely flowers shot up from their hiding places between my zinnias and bloomed a fantastic orange-red that kept going until- well today is November first and they’re still in decent shape! These beauties have earned a permanent place in my garden and I’ve collected a good many seeds from them for myself and to share.

 Other honorable mentions this year include Calendula, Nasturtium, Borage, Feverfew, Violas- specifically the ones known as Johnny-Jump-Ups; all of which I started from seed. Under-performers, due mostly to the lack of heat units (I snagged that phrase from my corn farmer husband) and pervasive wet, were my cosmos, zinnias, and statice. All three gave a decent number of blooms, but they’re the type be bursting from the garden in the hot months. 

I’ve closed the garden up gradually this fall, mostly to give time for my dirt-loving daughter to tromp through as I slowly gather seeds. Gertie is also allowed to tromp through at this point, nibbling at will as I decide to let the plants go. Closing the garden may start as a melancholy task, but the joys of seed gathering, spending time with my daughter and my favorite goat, spreading compost, and reminiscing about the season’s performance make it a positive exercise in the end.

Let Me Hide Awhile

I wasn’t going to publish this work as a blog post when I first finished it for two reasons. One, I’m working on a book and I’m trying to save content I feel belongs in the book, and two, it’s probably not a popularly shared viewpoint. But I decided that the book will come when it comes; my words might need to reach someone now. And if it does reach readers that disagree, that just means I have a diverse audience. But understand my words are from my heart speaking for me, so they don’t need to ring true for you. That’s the beauty of free thought. So here goes. 

There’s a fair amount of empowering messages out there for those of us who’d like to fade into the shadows at certain times in our lives. For me, it’s currently: forty, mothering a nine month old with little time to care about my appearance, which has taken its biggest aging and weight gain blow so far in this life. 

Anything from, “you’ve got this mama!” to “you are a goddess, act like one” aimed to bolster our weary, sometimes discouraged spirits can really help bring us up from the dark. But sometimes I’d rather not be built up and told to get out there and shine. Sometimes I need to hunker down in the alleyway of life to collect the parts of myself I need to feel whole. Just let me hide awhile. 

Those booming encouragers would also sometimes have us believe that appearances don’t matter. I beg to differ, and what they might mean is appearances shouldn’t matter, but I prefer honesty above all the well-mannered lip services offered. So let’s be honest- everyone, to some degree, critiques themselves and others. Some may do it with more grace, but we all judge and compare, and we all stand in front of a mirror and wonder where the person we loved dressing up and taking out has gone. 

For myself, I avoid mirrors at certain times in life. I know what I look like, and I don’t care to be reminded so starkly on a daily basis, and certainly not before a morning cup of coffee. Never mind the stress involved when I do start considering my appearance, I have little time or energy to do the primping to improve the me I’m working with at present. The shadows aren’t such a horrible place, and can be a restful reprieve from the expectations of center stage. 

“Get in the picture! Some day that’s all they’ll have of you” is one piece of well-meaning advice laced with a touch of Catholic guilt. “Who cares how you feel! Do it for them!” Sorry folks, this admonition rings hollow and false when matched up with other broad advice in the self-love/self-care category. How can I feel good in my own skin when I don’t have the time for any skincare right now? How do I put myself first if I have to listen to advice that makes me feel secondary and out of place? 

My rebuttal, please let me hide awhile. Not forever, and not all the time, but let me hide awhile. I’ll pop in a picture when I’m feeling good and I’ve had the time to care for myself, and these times do happen. Other times a good friend will take a candid photo from an angle they know will be flattering because they’ve been in my shoes. These are the best kinds of friends. They take my phone and make me the decision maker, or send a photo to me after offering to take it, just for me. 

I’ll still be in life stories, and I’m integral to my loved ones’ memories- if there’s a little gap in the pictures, I know their heart has the memories to fill in, with a much softer lens than any camera. 

This is grace, to let those of us that need it the freedom to shy away from the constant parade of activities, outings, and pictures so many consider necessary to life. For me, life not only has ups and downs, but also degrees of private times where rest in the comfort of “out of view” can be the best form of self-care. If you love me, let me be, let me hide a while, I’ll feel better, and soon the whole me you’ll see. 

Here’s one such picture taken by those dear friends. 
Millie Jean and me berry picking.
Picture by Emily George 💗

Grown Home

There’s a patch of sunflowers towering over what was meant to be my cutting garden this season. I didn’t plant them; they’re volunteers from last year’s scattered heads that I managed to semi-organize into a cluster as seedlings. Unlike all the fancy cut flower plants I babied in our off-grid greenhouse this spring, they survived the May freeze with nary a browned leaf. 

While these towering beauties were not in “the plan” I’m a sucker for thriving, self-planted blooms, and so they crowded out a good portion of the eastern side of my garden. These golden blooms are at peak this week, and my adapted plan to have them blooming as a backdrop for my wedding in six weeks is also looking unlikely. If you drive by the farm, you really won’t get to enjoy them much either, as mature sunflowers face east- and that’s away from the road- towards home. 

The patch is a glorious sight on walks with my daughter. Her outdoor play pavilion sits just east of the garden, so we get a private sunflower wall to enjoy every day. Part of me, the part that likes to show off, was frustrated that from the road my garden is barely seen, blockaded by a wood pile and tall weeds that we leave to cut down on the wafting road dust. It’s hard to do things just for myself  without the urge to show the world- “See! I can do amazing things!” Right now, my amazing things are growing at home, and I have little energy or time to face the western side of the road to show passersby. 

I don’t need to be reminded that I can do great things, or maybe I do- but I do need to be reminded that who I do great things for is more important than wowing anyone from the roadside of my life. I raised a child in the fast lane already, and despite all the juggling of duty, career, and upheaval he’s coming into adulthood a truly remarkable soul, but not without a few scars that I can’t help but feel were inflicted by my way of life. 

I am cautioned not to compare the two lifestyles that my children- sixteen years apart, live. The best advice I was given was, when we know better, we do better, and I try to limit my introspection with that in mind. But I do know that I truly want to grow my home to be a place where I spend the most time, energy, and love. Growing a home is both hard work and a private joy, one that doesn’t need outside approval, because it is fashioned specially for me and my own. 

These two years so far in the farm we have had amazing growth, much of which can only be seen from the inside. While I get wistful looking at other gardens and homes, I am reminded that my home is one that has been grown from bare earth and seeds, much sweat, a little blood- and a few tears. And here and there self-sown flowers pop up and grow without a thought to where and when they’ll bloom, much less how many will see them. They’re grown for the home, as home grows around them. 

I have to, I want to; I should, I could.

 We’ve just passed the two year mark of living on the farm in Jasper. While social media has a lot of downsides and is a horrible time suck that I think about deleting at least as often as I check it, I truly appreciate the memories feature. Looking back at that post and taking a few moments to compile our progress photos really helped put into perspective all we’ve accomplished in two years. Lately I’ve been struggling with all the projects that remain either unfinished or an abstract sentence on my to do list. I don’t have the energy, time, or physical ability for most of them by myself, and by myself is where I find myself most days. 

Now, I’m not complaining about the “by myself” part, because in truth, I’m a loner that has adapted to enjoying people’s company. And I have a plus one, 24/7 these days. My eight month old daughter Millie has just mastered crawling, so she’s either strapped to me or within sight and grabbing distance at all times. That girl has so much curious energy; everything goes in her mouth, and I do mean everything.

 A few weeks ago I heard a crunching sound behind me and turned to see a spotted wing hanging from her grinning lips. As I dove to dislodge what I realized was a dragonfly her grin widened and she dramatically gulped, my finger only managing to grasp the one wing. I shuddered, and then I laughed. A few days ago we were at a friend’s house and watched Millie go after a pill bug (a rolly-polly if you will), snatch it up as it made it’s defensive armadillo pose and pop that poor sucker in her mouth. I dare say we were cheering her on in that endeavor. 

What? Is eating one of God’s creations any more gross than sucking on a plastic toy made in China? I’d argue it’s not. 

In any event, my daughter is a feisty explorer that I’m determined to keep wild and curious while minimizing her insect, rock, and cat food consumption. And yes, this piece is being written as she sleeps on my chest. I almost put her down to begin hacking away at the always growing “I have to…” list, but she was tucked so comfortably into my shoulder that I just couldn’t bear to move her. I want to enjoy these times. And I need to remember to be grateful that I can. 

So back to the so-called lack of accomplishments. I don’t like talking to most people about it because I’ll get a well-meaning yet cliché and over-used “cherish these times, they go fast” lecture or something similar. Yes, I know this Karen, but I’d still like to be able to weed my garden or work on my rock wall today. Add to that I live off-grid with animals so every day has “have-to’s” just to have power and running water. 

My over-ambitious cutting garden is so packed because I smartly did not widen the garden footprint but stupidly packed in the amount of plants to cover the unrealistic expansion. There’s no cutting garden stand or even a way to really sell them this year. I desperately want people to enjoy them, but I’m learning my lesson not to spend all my energy throwing my best at people who can’t make time for me. And yet, I have bouquets to make. I often wonder who reads these posts, other than my few vocal friends that comment. So, I’ll make you a deal, Reader. 

Oh, let me pause a moment and inform you that if you’ve noticed my voice change it’s because two-weeks-later Me has hijacked this unfinished post during another Millie lap nap. The deal is, if you’re local, come visit me (with a heads up you’re heading over) and I’ll make you a bouquet. They will be heavy on edibles and fragrant herbs you can cook and make teas with, and I’ll write you a little notecard to explain the bouquet’s contents. 

If you’re a far away friend, the same invitation is of course open to you, but I realize distance is a challenge. So- if you can’t travel, I’ll make you a virtual bouquet, and leave it on some random local person’s doorstep.

I don’t lack for things to do, as previously discussed, but making bouquets is a want. I would like to add that I have a partner that pretty much has super low expectations of me and always encourages me to just enjoy life while he himself works non-stop to keep money flowing in to support the farm operations AND do all the day-to-day farming operations himself. I know part of my anxious thinking that I don’t do enough is because I really can’t lighten his load at this point.

So in summary, I’m making one list, based on the title of this post, and I think it’s one I can look forward to accomplishing today, with a little help from a friend. 

Today: I have to… finish the load of bedding that stopped mid-wash because the generator died and we’re out of gas. (Off-grid world problems.) 

I want to… make a bouquet for the first person who reads this post and messages me.

I should… harvest a lot of my herbs to dry them, but I could (and will!) just enjoy every bloom as it grows and stop stressing about unfinished things. 

Crawling Forward

I’ve been itching to write for days. Truth is, I’ve started half a dozen posts or stories over the last month while my daughter sleeps on my lap, just to capture thoughts for future writing sessions that won’t have to be so short and inconsistent. While it’s not as productive as I’d like to be, it’s something. May vanished in a blur of planting season beginning on the farm. As I sit here in the lower hay field in my half-built shop, I can hear the rattle of the corn planter as Kellen inches towards the hundred acre mark for fields planted. I believe he has another sixty or so to go after that. 

We are a couple with grand plans, I’ll give us that. I’m having to constantly edit my “grand” aspects out to reflect reality. The cut flower plot has shrunk dramatically in size and species I’m aiming to grow this year. I’m reassuring myself that I’d rather have a well-tended plot of a few things than a weed-stressed and water deprived half acre I’d have to watch die by midsummer as I chase a soon-to-be crawling Millie around the farm. 

The heat and dry conditions have already begun; last year one of our springs dried up and made life a bit more challenging than usual for a few weeks until Kellen could reconfigure all of our hook ups to a lower spring on the property. One of my unfinished writing pieces is explaining our off-grid conditions. In a nutshell we’re a happy medium between the two extremes people seem to place off-gridders: we do shower and watch TV, we don’t lounge all day in hammocks and make amazing fresh-foraged meals from our woods. Life is full of little extra steps (Bonnie did you charge the inverter?) and a keen awareness of where our power, water, and heat come from. And appreciating just how precious these things are when we run low, or out completely. 

Other precious things we run low on are time and energy. As I sit here, two trays of unplanted flowers and herbs make a lovely display as they wait to be planted on the edge of the garden. Soon. My tray of seeds, pared down from the original pile, is splayed out in Millie’s pack-n-play, with three of the dozen or so things planted this morning. A few weeks ago I had boldly announced an opening day for my little shop as the first day of summer, but as I sit here in what is to be that shop, now turned into a shaded hangout for Millie and me, I’m reconsidering timing.

I’ve spent two days with Millie in this shell of a little building, and I don’t like the idea of adding walls, at least not yet. Decent bouquets will most likely not be ready until July at my current planting rate. I lost half of my seedlings in the freeze we had a few weeks ago. I’d already moved them and my little greenhouse to the garden area- a good six hundred feet from the house, and there was just not the time to grab them or space for them inside. When you live in a small space, if one item leaves, two seem to spring up in its place. In my case, the greenhouse and seedlings HAD to go because my first and second litter of kittens were beginning their exploratory phase. A lighted greenhouse is an irresistible fascination to a kitten, if you’re ever wondering. 

So back to the reality of planting. Currently I have several patches of voluntary dill growing quite well. I also have about two dozen voluntary sunflowers that I managed to transplant in a less haphazard manner than they sprung up. Johnny-Jump-Ups that I grew from seed are planted in little swirls between spots intended for herbs. My feverfew seedlings survived the freeze and are in two little clusters around a thyme plant that overwintered in the garden. The garden space we made last year is about a quarter planted, and I’m still deciding exactly what else will go where. 

I was telling Kellen this morning that in another time in my life that little garden space would be planted in one day, but in that time in my life I wouldn’t have a Millie on my lap. I also wouldn’t have this garden space of my own in that past time either. These things are all new to me. New space to plant is beyond exciting to a plant nerd like me. Add to that a partner who is willing to help me break ground on whatever size garden I want on this 150 acre farm. It’s overwhelmingly thrilling. I want to plant ALL the things. Everywhere. All at once. And yet, here I sit, with less than five different species planted in a space no bigger than last year’s garden. 

I can’t say I’ve been entirely grateful or even mindful for the slow pace I have to adopt for this year, and the foreseeable future. It’s frustrating and in a way humiliating- I’m a horticulturist for goodness sake and the most I’ve gotten in has been seeds that planted themselves from last year’s plants! Half my seedlings died after three months of care. And yet, I know I need to be grateful for the delay. I need to be right here for Millie’s first crawl, to run Kellen to get another part for the umpteenth piece of equipment that’s broke down, and to just keep our little sprouting farm from going backwards, if not progressing quite yet.  

No, Millie hasn’t been asleep this whole time; this is a three session post, but this is where I’ll close, as the sun is getting low in the sky. Going slow has never been my speed. It’s a major adjustment for me. Most of my life I can say has been a fast-paced marathon of accomplishment. Doing so much that enjoying most of it came by looking back at pictures after the fact. But this is a new life, and a much different way of living than I had. One in which if I choose to, I can enjoy the moments like this where a hummingbird zips up to my unplanted flowers and a cool breeze tousles my sleeping daughter's hair. It’s a journey after all, and maybe Millie isn’t the only one learning to crawl in this big new world. 

To-do or to live?

There are so many inspirational quotes we all like to sling around to remind us to slow down and live in the moment. I read them and breathe a sigh of wistful understanding as I share or “heart” them on social media. But actually applying them to the moments they’re addressing? A tricky thing indeed, sometimes. 

It is officially spring in my world, and this year in addition to the warming temperatures and opening flowers, I’m surrounded by kittens and bunnies to really drive the season’s message home. Before life on the farm, this would be serious go-time in my world. Landscaping in April is a mad rush of gearing up for the season and fielding multiple tasks along with juggling clients impatient to get things done. 

Warm days often bring back this anxious feeling that I need to “get to it” and I find myself making lists and looking about frantically at how far behind I am. Kellen often has to deal with my exasperation at how little is done and my spouting off a to-do list that MUST be done now. Thank God for that man’s patience and sense of humor. He listens, often laughs, and tells me to go play with Millie or pet a kitten and relax. “Enjoy life. We will get to it.” Even if he knows we won’t be doing whatever “it” I’m freaking out about any time soon.

The first year Kellen and I were together I left two jobs and slowly stopped my gardening service business; there was just too much life to live down here and working off the farm actually makes starting a farm harder, in our opinion. Sure, we might potentially gross immediate capital to do more faster, but there are only so many hours and four hands to work with. We believe investing our whole selves is the most important part of getting this farm going. Farming isn’t a job, it’s a lifestyle, and it takes all you’ve got: mind, body, and soul. 

I’ve traded a life of two or more jobs at any given time for one whole lifestyle of continuing growth. There’s just as much to do, with an infinite potential to do more everyday on the farm. Built in is the option to rest and not do anything- and sometimes it’s not an option, the weather, funds, or other factors slow down the process. It has been difficult for me to adjust and accept this gift of available time. Last year we spent carving out a space to live and function, but this year we’re really digging into the farming. Kellen’s got the corn seed en route to plant our 70 acres of tillable ground plus renting additional acreage from a neighboring farm. I’ve got cut flower and herb seeds sprouting in the greenhouse- we’re starting slow with the cut flowers as I need to establish a market and see how the growing goes. It’s hard not to get itchy feet to get out and weed my beds or plant more seed; the capacity to grow is there. But we still have much infrastructure yet to build which makes tending our current animals and crop load a challenge. We’re off-grid (more on this in another post) and building structures, amending fields, and fixing equipment falls squarely in Kellen’s shoulders, with a little assistance from me when it’s feasible with a five month old in tow. 

My main job in this new lifestyle is to live my life. Growing Millie up and making time to cherish her and not just pack her up to “get things done” is the mindset I strive for everyday. I can’t say I succeed at it everyday, but I try to get my head in that space when the habit of a “to-do” list looms. It’s a “to-live” mindset that matters. Kellen works tirelessly to make our life possible, all the while reminding me to enjoy life and these moments, and doing his best to take time enjoying a slow morning with Millie and me as often as he can. Today, for example, as I sit here with a sleeping baby on my lap and a mama Lucy nursing her kittens on the floor next to me, is the perfect day to live the life I’ve been given and do as I am able, all in good time.