Good evening all!
It’s the eve of the winter solstice as I write this. The fire is crackling. I’m sipping hot tea out of an old mug, and watching the candles dance. Everyone else is asleep – tender children, restless dog, and beloved husband all breathing softly in the winter dark.
I’m awake. I’ve been feeling a pull back to old-style blogging. A desire to write without word limits or censorship; and I think this new year is the right time to be even more intentional – about everything – and if that sounds exhausting to you, you’re not alone.
But not that sort of intentionality – or, not just that sort of intentionality. I do care too much about all those socially inappropriate things, and of course that leads to being exhaustively intentional about those things. We’ll probably talk about a lot of them later, revisiting old topics and circling around old dreams. This year’s intentionality though, is a bit gentler. It was revitalized in the darkness of 2020. It belongs to stillness and silence and solitude.
So, in this new year, which began with Advent and begins again in January, I’m becoming intentional with my time – what to do and what to let pass my by; with my words – what to share and who to share it with; and with my solitude – embracing the home-y-ness and hospitality offered by a shifting world. In essence, I’m recovering some of the intensity and focus. But to do so I need more time with ‘books, flowers, and the moon’, and less time in conversation, however good.
Still, I must write.
But Who Am I?
I have no character limit here, so I can ramble all I want. Sorry if it’s scattered:
I’m Masha: wife & mother, traditional Catholic, over-educated housewife, inconsistent homeschooler, lover of trees & moonlight. I like to consider my homestead a domestic hermitage – but in reality, we’re not as isolated as I’d like to be. I can hear logging trucks drive by on clear winter nights, small planes pass overhead often, and a census worker showed up once – trying desperately to pry information from me. But my land is too much of a joy to think of moving further north into unreachable territory. It’s brambly and overgrown, birches bend across the road, and beavers play in the pond they made for us.
I’ve recently trashed my smartphone, and our little yurt is now the low-tech haven it used to be. We’re blessed with close family though, which makes it possible in this age of closing cafes for me to log on , update this blog, and send off any freelance writing as well.
My husband works from home as an artist, and often picks up construction work as well: masonry, painting, drywall, carpentry…he can do practically anything. Our life revolves around Christ, His Church, His seasons, and all the beauty within that wide expanse.
On this blog, I write about our life: tiny house living, off-grid homesteading, homemaking, herbalism, baking, fasting, feasting, recipes, homeschooling, and the occasionally controversial thoughts kicking around inside my head.
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