Jake and I are holding the homestead ourselves this week. The rest of the family is on a vacation they’d had booked for two years. They almost cancelled it after my uncle’s death, but we encouraged them to go —all of the funeral prep had already been taken care of and we could handle anything else that came up. Plus, it gives all of them time to rest and connect and grieve with each other, and spend quality time with my siblings before they head back to college.

I always forget just how many living things we take care of until we hold the homestead by ourselves. Between the dogs, cats, chickens, garden, and baby we’re kept pretty busy. I’m always impressed by homesteaders who also keep goats or cows or horses — the labor is not for the faint of heart. Maybe someday we will graduate to owning goats, but for now, we’re quite happy with our little menagerie.

My cousin Kelsey joined us for a few days this week. She stayed with us in January and February while she completed her rotations for PA school and spent a lot of time with Michael as a newborn. Now he’s twice the size and ten times as active, and he still adores his “Aunt Kelsey”. We’ve had a lot of fun knitting together and watching crime shows with a glass of wine (or two) once Michael is asleep.

The garden is continuing to thrive in its unkempt, beautiful way. We have some empty pots and space in the raised beds and are pondering how best to fill them. Our first frost date is estimated at December 15th, so we’ve still got a little time to plant seeds or starters. In the meantime, we’re enjoying the ripening tomatoes, basil, zucchini, flowers, and fruit trees.

In exciting news regarding our little cottage, the floors are in! It’s incredible how different the place looks now that it has actual floors instead of temporary sub flooring. Now Michael can crawl around on the floor safely while we finish different tasks around the house.

As the floors go in and the walls are painted, it looks more and more like the home we’ve had in our dreams for the past year. The water is connected and running smoothly, and our gas and electric hookups are ready and waiting for PG&E. We’re hoping to lay the tile in the bathrooms and finish the last little bit of painting this weekend.

It’s almost harder to be patient the closer we get to moving in. For the first time, our to-do list is shorter than the already-done list. We’re tired, but excited.

In a way, since we left our previous house, it’s been like we’re wandering in the desert awaiting the Promised Land. It’s been an extended time of transition. I won’t deny it’s been challenging in many ways, but I’m grateful for the growth that’s accompanied the challenge. God draws near to us in times of pain and death and transition, and it has been helpful to look for His goodness, truth, and beauty in the midst of it all. The temporary nature of our current living situation is a reminder that even our “permanent” home will pass away, helping us keep our eyes fixed on the eternal. While mourning the death of family members, we remember Christ conquered death and cling to the hope that gives us.

In the midst of all of it, He is there, if I look for Him.

One of the things we’ve experienced over and over again throughout this entire homesteading process is the blessing of community. Whether it’s consulting with friends about trenching or asking our farmer friends for advice on irrigation, each accomplishment has been a product of community.

One of our dear friends drove up from the LA area to help with some of the manual labor. Since both the gas and electrical trench passed inspection (praise God!) we are now working on filling them back in, and on leveling the driveway.

Usually we would use our tractor for both of these tasks…but a bird built her nest in one of the tractor roof pipes and now it’s home to three baby birds. So we’re sowing some more sweat into the ground instead of using the machinery. My sister even joined in for some of the shoveling, to “save the baby birds”. The mama bird watches us work from her perch on top of the tractor. As my mother says, this is part of their vision for the property: a sanctuary for man and animal.

When it gets too hot in the direct sunlight, we move indoors. We’re hoping to have our flooring installed by the end of next week, if all goes according to plan, and we still have a few things to do before then. The college kids have been leveling and scraping the floor by hand, since we don’t have electricity to use a sander.

We also continue to work on connecting our plumbing. We’re so close — just patching a few leaks. Jake and my dad have been working tirelessly under the house connecting pipes, though sometimes it’s a little disconcerting to hear voices echoing up from under the floorboards.

As we work, the animals are never far off. The dogs sit in the shade of the house, or next to my dad. Our adopted feral cat, Orual, considers herself a dog as well, and has taken it upon herself to supervise.

I personally haven’t been able to help much with the manual labor due to Michael (aka Adorable Barnacle). But my mom took him for a while to give me time to finish painting one of the rooms. One of the best balms for heartache is physical labor, and I was surprised by how much the painting process soothed me.

As we still process the sudden loss of my uncle, community has rallied around us and held us in their embrace. We’ve received countless condolences and hugs. My grandmother’s prayer group sent dinner for us. Friends have been present with us in our grief. We’re overwhelmed with love and gratitude for every person who has reached out, and we’re so grateful for the prayers surrounding us.

Life and labor continue on, grounding us through grief. I am reminded me of the Benedictine motto: Ora et Labora. Pray and work.

Community, work, and prayer. That is what holds us together.

Thy ‘today’ is eternity.

Saint Augustine

Since having a child, my experience of the passage of time has shifted. Hours have sped up; days have slowed down. Don’t ask me to accurately remember how long ago I ate breakfast: I’ll probably say an hour or so, when it’s really been four.

We buy items for a fraction of what it would cost to make them at a living wage. We have convenience at our fingertips: fast food, fast fashion, fast phones. We don’t think about the time that goes into the food on our table or the clothes on our bodies. And because of that, I believe we don’t think about where we’re investing our own limited, valuable time.

(I’m not going to argue that all of it’s bad and we should go back to the good ol’ Stone Age. But I do think we should pause.)

The newest Instagram update was the nail in the coffin for me. I’ve been a steadfast lover of Instagram since 2012. But now, gone is the slow scroll and quiet images posted by friends, almost reminiscent of a personal art gallery. Now it’s frenetic, text and image and music and movement jammed in ten to twenty seconds.

As knitting and sewing (and pregnancy) have taught me, it takes time to make things that are worth making. It takes me two seconds to post on Instagram. It takes more deliberate time to craft a blog post and curate the photos I’ll put in it. So for the month of August, I’m giving up social media. At the end of the month, I’ll determine whether I’ll go back. I won’t delete my account, and I’ll pop on every now and again to check out what’s happening in the lives of my dear ones. But for now, I look forward to the slow updates and meditations I plan to post here.

I’m not 100% sure what that will look like on a consistent basis, but expect to see recaps of quiet weeks on the homestead, and photos of baby milestones. I also plan to post many photos of things I find beautiful, and updates on my house, projects, garden, and life in general.

If you want to join me, please send me your info: I would love to read your words and delight in what delights you.

Pax Christi,

Rachel