thoughts

a nurturing life

/ Rachel Fenton / 4 Comments

This tech detox is kicking my butt. I didn’t realize how addicted I was to social media until I deleted it from my phone and realized how restless that made me. I must admit, I’ve fallen away a few times, finding myself scrolling or mindlessly watching things. Each time, however, I’ve pulled myself back on track.

But man. It’s been hard. If you see me liking your Instagram post or watching your stories, feel free to yell at me to get back on track.

Anyway.

I’ve been reading a lot during the in-between times of the day when my son is playing quietly or distracted by something else. It’s my alternative to staring at my phone, and it’s worked well. I’ve been surprised by how quickly a few pages here and there add up. So far, I’ve read eight books of varying lengths and topics. I’m also currently working through two books, one fiction and one non-fiction and both by Wendell Berry: Jayber Crow, and The Unsettling of America: Culture and Agriculture.

I was deeply struck by what Berry said in the very first chapter of Unsettling America, outlining the difference between those with an exploitative mindset and a nurturing mindset.

The exploiter is a specialist, an expert; the nurturer is not. The standard of the exploiter is efficiency; the standard of the nurturer is care. The exploiter’s goal is money, profit; the nurturer’s goal is health — his land’s health, his own, his family’s, his community’s, his country’s…the competence of the exploiter is in organization; that of the nurtuerer is in order — a human order, that is, that accommodates itself to both other order and to mystery.

Wendell Berry

Berry describes modern agriculture as dominated by this exploiter’s mindset, using technology to take all it can from the land and pouring in chemicals and fertilizers to make up for the depleted nutrients in the soil. I can’t help but see the similarity between this and our love of expediency and productivity. As a culture, don’t we do the same with our lives and our time? Sleep deprivation is a badge of honor, as is overtime. We constantly are told to look for ways to improve our performance and utilization. We live through to-do lists and measure our days by the tasks completed. We take all we can from every second we are given and pour in coffee or alcohol or pornography or social media to make up for the depletion we feel.

But what else does that remove from our lives without us noticing?

In the same chapter, after he speaks about the difference between the exploiter and the nurturer, Wendell Berry addresses our attitude towards work.

But is work something that we have a right to escape? And can we escape it with impunity? We are probably the first entire people ever to think so. All the ancient wisdom that has come down to us counsels otherwise. It tells us that work is necessary to us, as much a part of our condition as mortality; that good work is our salvation and our joy; that shoddy or dishonest or self-serving work is our curse and our doom. We have tried to escape the sweat and sorrow promised in Genesis — only to find that, in order to do so, we must forswear love and excellence, health and joy.

Wendell Berry

We are a culture obsessed with work and yet, ironically, we are also a culture that abhors labor. We look for faster, easier, “better” ways to do things, turning our noses up at once-sacred professions that often refuse the shortcuts: farming, parenting, and the list goes on.

As people who’ve grown up in a society full of an exploitative mindset, perseverance is hard. It’s easy to feel like something’s wrong if we run into difficulty (I touched on this idea in my last post). We have grown accustomed to instantaneous results available at the push of a button or exchange of a dollar: clothes, food, entertainment, etc. We’re used to technology removing discomfort and wait times and inconvenience.

We have produced much comfort and convenience, but at what cost? What has been leeched from our lives by technology?

Cultivating a nurturer’s mindset in an exploiter’s society is not easy, and Berry doesn’t mince words when he describes the the cost of our complacency and the difficulties it entails. But humans are made for a nurturing life. We can restore the goodness and virtues that have been sucked from our lives while we were blinded by the charm of the exploiter.

What does this look like?

We must ask the questions of the nurturer, looking to health and wholeness over expediency and profit. Practicing resurrection, as Berry says in his poem Manifesto: The Mad Farmer’s Liberation Front. Learning to labor and to wait, as Wordsworth says in his poem A Psalm Of Life. Serving by only standing and waiting, as John Milton says in Sonnet 19. The list goes on — the importance of nurturing, of patience, of embracing slowness without visible progress — all themes which show up time and time again in poetry. Perhaps because poetry itself fights the exploiter’s mindset.

(I take comfort in the fact that is one thing AI still cannot do, and may never be able to do: write real, good poetry.)

I have been impatient to get our front yard perfectly cultivated, exasperated by how unfinished it looked. But as I read Wendell Berry, I realized how backward that approach is. Now, I’m working on embracing the slow, messy process. Yes, our front yard looks like a weed-infested patch of barren land. That’s what it was until we built our house. Life and beauty and order don’t come at the push of a button. They come with sweat and labor and love. With watering and weeding and shaping.

And slowly, life and beauty and order are taking shape. My garden boxes are alive and verdant with herbs and vegetables. My zucchini and tomatoes are both growing well. My peppers are flowering. My chamomile and roses and marigolds and lavender are all blooming and fragrant.

This approach to gardening should translate over my approach to my life, too. I am nowhere near the person I aspire to be, in holiness or intelligence or skill. It’s easy to get frustrated and beat myself up for where I’m at, telling myself I should be better. Yet that will get me nowhere, just like looking at the weeds and uneven dirt of our yard and getting impatient will accomplish nothing.

Yes, I’m not as patient or disciplined or holy as I’d like to be. But instead of getting impatient and shrugging off the idea of growth and change, or wasting time and money on the latest self-help fad, the only thing that will produce life and beauty and order in my life is the same as what cultivates that in my garden. I should approach myself with the same nurturer’s mindset of wholeness and health.

The only way forward is to put on my gloves and pick up the shovel.

P.S: for those who may be interested, I also started a Substack. It feels a little redundant given this blog, but I enjoy the ad-free, creator-centric nature of Substack and see it as friendlier than WordPress when it comes to owning and distributing my work and my words in the future, with the way social media is changing.

I currently plan to publish the same posts on my Substack as I do my WordPress blog. However, eventually, I’ll probably post some a few extra essays on Substack with my *spicier* takes on Orthodoxy, gardening, technology, parenting, and other varied topics.

Please subscribe if you feel so inclined!

graduation and growth

/ Rachel Fenton / 7 Comments

It’s been a busy time: both my siblings graduated from the University of Dallas this weekend, and we flew out to be there with them and cheer them on. It was so wonderful to see them again.

They both have awesome jobs in Texas, and the beginnings of flourishing adult lives. I’m so proud of them, and all that they’ve accomplished and the ways they have grown in wisdom and virtue. They are both truly remarkable human beings. I’m delighted to call them my brother and sister.

Michael did amazingly well during the graduation, and my incredible husband wrangled him the entire time so I could watch my siblings graduate. However, my mom did snap a pretty hilarious picture of his grumpy face I had to share:

I felt something bittersweet as I watched them walk across that stage. It seems like only a little while ago I was graduating college and they were graduating high school. It seems like only a little while ago I was moving into my dorm freshman year and they were helping me carry boxes from the car. It seems like only a little while ago we were all kids running around outside and building fairy houses and jumping on the trampoline.

It’s a new chapter of life for them, and for us. Things are changing. For the first time in decades, none of us will have the rhythm of the school semester woven throughout our year. Now we are all adjusting our concept of home, and strengthening our concept of family.

Michael with his godfather and uncle

The twins’ graduation made me realize just how much Michael has grown too, with another pang of bittersweetness. He turned sixteen months over the weekend, and it made me think of all the ways he’s changed and grown over the past month.

This tech detox has extended to the whole family: he has had no screen time (except for during the plane ride, which was a necessary exception for all of us). Instead we’ve been reading a lot of books. While parenting without screens has been much harder, it’s been delightful. He usually brings me a stack of books and snuggles next to me on the couch, turning pages for me and echoing his favorite words.

His favorite books are currently Little Blue Truck and Brown Bear Brown Bear What Do You See? We read them several times a day, and we have them memorized. He loves chiming along with “beep” or pointing to “brown bear”.

Another thing the tech detox has helped: instead of seeing me stare at my phone, he has been seeing me read much more often. During the in-between times, I sit with my book instead of my phone as he plays with his trucks or kicks his ball around our porch. Now, if he sees me sitting with a book, he often comes over with a book of his own.

We’ve also been playing in the garden quite a bit. He loves stacking planting containers, and putting dirt in his dump truck. He found out he can eat strawberries straight from the plant, and promptly consumed all ripe berries (and unripe ones too, when I wasn’t looking).

His language and comprehension has exploded. He’s fascinated by the names of body parts and loves to point out eyes and noses and mouths and toes, on us and on himself and on pictures in books. His newest favorite is “belly”, which means I have to keep an eye out when we’re in public, because he might decide to suddenly lift my shirt and triumphantly shout BELLY! for all the world to hear (and see).

He’s tall enough to reach things on the table, and has started using chairs to climb onto the table and reach the countertops. Nothing is safe. He also discovered the fun game of emptying bookshelves.

On the flight to Dallas, I was touched by my son’s tender heart and sensitivity to Christ. While we were sitting on the tarmac for almost an hour waiting to deplane, everyone’s patience was thin. Michael, sitting still on my lap for a few rare seconds, suddenly saw my cross necklace and with a big smile leaned forward and kissed the cross with a resounding mwah! He did this several times, pausing in between to look at me, or look at the figure of Jesus on the cross. We kiss the priest’s hand cross every Sunday at the end of Liturgy, and I hadn’t realized how deeply that had become engrained in him.

I forget how often I fall into the trap of equating hard with bad. It’s so easy to let comfort and ease dictate my choices. However, parenting has helped me veer away from this tendency. It is the hardest and most exhausting and difficult thing I have ever done, and it is the most delightful and fulfilling and rewarding thing I have ever done.

Sometimes the hard, difficult thing truly is what’s best and good and makes us holier people: tech detoxes, or working out, or life changes, or growing up.

living presently

/ Rachel Fenton / 4 Comments

This homestead update will be a little different than usual. First, I wanted to share an article that unsettled me and pierced me with conviction regarding my technology usage.

From Feeding Moloch to Digital Minimalism by School of the Unconformed.

I strongly encourage you to read it. The statistics she quotes are harrowing: enough to make me look at my toddler and realize he watches me stare into my phone much more than I would like. I think of the technological landscape he’ll have to navigate as he gets older, and I realized my modeling isn’t setting him up to deal with it well.

It also reminded me that our use of technology is not spiritually neutral. It either hinders us in becoming more Christ-like, or aids us on our path to sanctification. And my passive scrolling has not helped me become holier.

So I’m on a tech detox, and it’s been great. I’ve felt more present, more grounded, more whole than I have in a long time. I have many thoughts that will probably make their way into a future blog post. But until then, I simply encourage you to read the article above, and put your phone down a bit more.

I recognize the irony of writing about tech detoxing on an online platform, where it’ll be linked across social media. I’m not quite anti-technology, but I do believe its insidious presence in every facet of our lives is not as harmless as it may appear. The older I get, and the more I see the effects of technology on my generation and the generations after, the more I understand the Luddite movement and agree with Wendell Berry.

I have been filling my reclaimed hours with reading and gardening and music and making. We’re all still on the very end of our colds, but thankfully the brain fog has lifted.

My dear friend from college was in the area for a work conference, and spent Friday through Saturday with us. It was lovely to catch up, eat good food, play board games, go to thrift stores, and laugh together after nearly 6 years of being apart.

I found a wooden sword at the thrift store for $4. Michael is thrilled.

Our two shipments of bees came in, and my dad and I did the “bee drop” to put them into their new hives on Sunday evening. Jake was amazing and took photos for me.

The bees come in wooden boxes with the queen in a separate compartment. We prep the new hives and carefully remove the queen compartment from the wooden box without letting the other bees out.

We replace the cork stopper in the queen compartment with a marshmallow and set her in the new hive. Then, we open the wooden box and gently shake the bees out into their new home.

The bees quickly get to work exploring their new home and eating through the marshmallow to free their queen, while my dad and I put the finishing touches on their hive and make sure they’re nice and comfortable.

This brings our total number of hives to four. They seem to be healthy and thriving, and we’re hoping for a robust honey harvest this year. Bees are such fascinating, beautiful creatures…I could sit in front of the hives and watch them dance forever.

Michael and I picked up a flat of fresh strawberries from our local stand and canned eight half-pints of strawberry jam. As I hulled the berries, he stood next to me with his head tilted back and mouth open, waiting for me to feed him pieces of strawberry.

As I was cooking down the berries, he was being awfully quiet. I then realized the table is no longer a safe place out of his reach.

We still have quite a few berries, and for our next batch I may try out an alternative pectin that requires less sugar.

In knitting news, I’m enjoying this simple DK sock pattern by A Wooden Nest. I needed something simple and practical and easy on my hands as I continued to recover from this cold. I finished a pair for Jake, and now I’m starting my own pair. For Jake’s, I used KnitPick’s Stroll Tweed held double in Sequoia colorway.

I’ve taken to sitting on the porch in the mornings while I drink my coffee and Michael plays. The oak tree sways in the breeze, and the killdeer hops across the driveway, and the red tail hawk calls in the distance, and the morning sun crawls across my lap with its Midas touch. It brings to mind one of my favorite poems: the Peace of Wild Things, by Wendell Berry.

When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

The Peace of Wild Things, by Wendell Berry

Current Reads/Listens

spring has sprung

/ Rachel Fenton / 4 Comments

It’s been an interesting week. A few days after Pascha ended, we got hit with another cold — worse than the others we’ve weathered this April. Two weeks later, we’re both still popping cold meds like candy to get through the day. The amount of cough drops and tissues we’ve been through is ludicrous. We’re hopeful we’ve finally hit the tail end of it.

A flock of geese in the early morning

Then last weekend, I had a nasty fall over a dip in our gravel driveway — while holding Michael. Thankfully, Michael walked away with a single scratch on his arm, and I took the brunt of it. My legs and palms, however, are a different story. They’re pretty gnarly-looking. I’ve gotten some concerned looks when I wear shorts or skirts in public.

Some wildflowers ready for pressing

So because of all these things, it’s been a different type of week. My body is healing from the fall and my mind is fuzzy from the headcold. I’ve still been moving forward with homestead tasks, slowly doing my spring cleaning and reorganizing while my knitting and spinning are on hold.

Our little cottage had its HVAC system installed, and just in time for some 90 degree weather. It’s been oppressively hot the last few days, and the new air conditioning system keeps our cottage a little oasis.

The warmer weather has turned my focus towards the tasks that prepare for the bounty of summer. Spring cleaning is in full force: so far I’ve organized and deep cleaned our garden shed, the fridge, the closet in the guest room, the master bathroom, the laundry room, and several cabinets in the kitchen.

The biggest task so far has been organization. Our storage is pretty limited, so I’ve had to get creative with the ways I organize the kitchen and laundry room to make room for the canned goods I hope to preserve this summer. It’s a goal of mine to have a robust, shelf stable pantry that I’ve put up myself.

My garden is set up to help me achieve this goal: I’ve got a handful of tomatoes, zucchini/summer squash, strawberries, and pepper plants happily soaking up water and sun. I’m hoping to add cucumbers and beans shortly. I know I’ll also be able to take advantage of the bounty of my parents’ fruit trees to make jams and sauces.

My little garden helper

I have big plans for the garden eventually — but the most pressing thing right now is controlling the native ground cover plants that threaten to choke out my garden beds. You can see them in the photo above. While the wild look is endearing in its own way, I desperately need to borrow my dad’s weedwhacker.

Beets!
Strawberries!
Tomatoes!

I grew up processing tomatoes and apples with my mom in the kitchen with a water-bath canning method. I pressure-canned for the first time, and I’m absolutely obsessed. I make chicken stock from the carcasses of any rotisserie chicken we get for dinner, and I was tired of it going bad in our fridge before I could use it. So I faced my fear of the pressure canner, watched some YouTube videos to figure out how it works, and now I have two beautiful quarts of shelf-stable stock. It will be perfect when soup season rolls around again.

Also, inspired by my cousin and one of my favorite YouTubers, I’ve started to brew my own kombucha. I drink enough of it that it makes sense to start making it instead of buying it, plus it seems like a good place to start exploring fermenting. So far my scoby seems happy enough, but only time will tell.

Knitting and spinning, as I said, have been mostly on hold. However, the warmer weather and Michael taking longer naps (2 hours!!) gave me some inspiration to sew a few quick garments. I updated an old maxi dress I never wore to a midi skirt I love, made an airy blouse, and finally finished a skirt I’d had on hold for a while (no photo of that one yet).

Even though the past two weeks haven’t been what I’d planned or expected, I’m still grateful for the different ways spring has entered into our lives, brushing out the last of winter’s cobwebs. I hope however your spring is going, you get the chance to spend some time in the sunshine, or feel some dirt beneath your hands, or make something beautiful.

my perfect dishcloth

/ Rachel Fenton / 3 Comments

How do you know you’ve truly reached adulthood? You get really excited about new kitchen dishcloths.

More accurately, I’m really excited about THESE dishcloths: I finally came up with the perfect combination for my kitchen needs.

Most people are already familiar with the “grandmother’s dishcloth”: knit on the bias with a little lace around the edges. I’d knit several of the basic dishcloth using this pattern I found on Ravelry (linked here for those interested), but it wasn’t my favorite. For one thing, it had a tendency to warp and not be square after a few washes, which drives me nuts. Also, the single strand of cotton yarn made it rather thin for tougher kitchen scrubbing.

My well used “grandmother’s dishcloth”

Inspired by two of my sisters-in-law, who were both making their respective kitchen cloths when we visited in Ohio, I began thinking of ways to make a dishcloth that was perfect for my kitchen.

I’d made scrubbies with three strands of yarn in the past, but those were too hard on my hands as I knit. One strand was too thin. Two strands of worsted weight cotton was then my Goldilocks choice. I wanted it to be flexible enough to fold easily, but thick enough to work as a potholder in a pinch.

I needed something textured as well: garter and stockinette stitch were too smooth and didn’t scrub as well as I wanted. I also admit I’m a knitting nerd: I have a favorite stitch pattern. I love the way seed stitch looks and feels, and it was perfect for this dishcloth.

Putting all these things together, I came up with my favorite dishcloth pattern. I’ve made it in three sizes, and I’m absolutely obsessed. I’ve already made five, and I don’t see myself stopping any time soon.

I’m not a pattern designer, nor do I ever see myself pursuing designing: but if it helps to see my process written out, I’ve shared it here! It’s not fancy by any means, but I’m thrilled with how well it fits all my needs.

little hobbit update

/ Rachel Fenton / 2 Comments

Michael is 15 months old now, and he’s an active, adorable, mischievous, precious toddler.

The chickens were wondering where he got that egg

His language and communication has exploded — he has too many new words to record here. However, he has definitely learned “no”, and uses it exactly as often as you’d imagine a toddler would. He mimics words back to us often, and interacts with “Miss Rachel” whenever we have screen time: clapping and singing and dancing along. His current favorite sound is “VROOM” — he will enthusiastically make it whenever he sees anything with wheels.

His favorite person is still grandpa: whenever we’re at church and he sees my dad in the choir, he shouts GRANDPA over and over and immediately runs over to him. He does the same with DADA. It’s adorable, but makes participating in church services a little difficult — if grandpa or dada are busy (as they often are), his protests usually increase in volume until I drag him out to the narthex.

Matching with dada on Lazarus Saturday

Even with all the difficulties that come with having a toddler in church, I love watching Michael at church. He has a reverence for holy things that surprises me, given his age. Even if he’s upset or exhausted or fussing, whenever he’s in line for communion and reaches the cup, he immediately settles and is quiet as he receives the Eucharist. Even though he runs around the sanctuary, he stops before he reaches the solea (the platform in front of the iconostasis).

We’ve started weaning: day weaning is basically complete except for a short nursing session before naptime. We were going to wait to start weaning until after Pascha, but Michael went that way naturally with the help of nicely timed distractions from Jake and my parents. Night weaning is a different story…hopefully we’ll have progress to report next month.

Sleep is still abysmal. He’s always moving, always talking, always doing something — getting him to stop and be still enough to sleep is an exhausting wrestling match that we often repeat several times a night. Once in a while he sleeps for a three hour stretch, and we were elated and shocked when he slept from 9 pm to 3 am a few weeks ago. However, that hasn’t happened again. We’re hopeful might weaning will give us a little more sleep.

Being outdoors is Michael’s absolute favorite pastime. Now that the weather has warmed, we’re out in the garden and on our porch every day, soaking in the sunshine and spring. He loves his own set of garden tools (gifts from a dear family friend) and I have to keep a careful watch to make sure he doesn’t behead my plants with his zeal.

If there’s a puddle or standing water or any kind, he will find it. He loves putting rocks in puddles, or trying to climb into the dogs’ water bucket. We’re hoping to get him swimming lessons this summer to continue to foster his love of water.

He’s absolutely fearless — he plays with my parents’ dogs even though Max is twice his size. He loves sitting on my dad’s lap and throwing the ball for them. If left to his own devices, he would explore forever and never come back. I’ve often looked up from my gardening to see him halfway down our driveway to my parents’ house. I’m grateful we’re further back from the street.

Max making sure he doesn’t wander too far
Walking to dada’s office

Thankfully, he seems to have outgrown his hatred of riding in the car, and will happily play in his car seat without complaint for most drives. Longer drives are still a gamble, but overall our daily errand running is much more enjoyable for both of us.

A Pascha gift from my parents: he’s obsessed

He remains an adventurous eater: he recently had a bite of my spicy sushi and returned for more. His favorite foods are currently raspberries, mozzarella, grapes, pinto beans, bread of any kind, and blueberries.

I recently knit him a pair of socks from a limited edition self-striping yarn I purchased from a small business: they’re absolutely adorable and a tad bit big for him. However, I didn’t think about the fact they don’t have grips on the bottom…he took one step on our hardwood floor and promptly wiped out with a screech and a glare of betrayal. Good thing I made them large — we’ll have to wait until he’s a little steadier on his feet.

Watching him grow over the past month has been delightful — I look forward to seeing what sixteen months brings us.

holy week

/ Rachel Fenton / 2 Comments

Although Catholics and Protestants are already in the Easter season, we Orthodox are in the middle of Holy Week. Lent is ended, and it’s the final push to Pascha.

There are a few small ways I’m bringing my attention to Holy Week for the next few days. Inspired by Kh. Destinie from The Ascetic Life of Motherhood, I’m playing music quietly in the background while I do my daily chores. My current choice is also from Kh. Destinie: Apostolos Hill English Orthodox Chant.

Palm Sunday Shenanigans
Matching for Lazarus Saturday liturgy

I’m also taking a few moments to read main passages from the services I’ll be attending this week. I know my attention will be divided between worship and making sure Michael doesn’t accidentally throw a toy at the priest: it’s helpful if I’ve looked at the service beforehand so I can recognize the snippets I hear while distracted.

Today is suspended on a tree He who suspended the earth upon the waters.
The King of the angels is decked with a crown of thorns.
He who wraps the heavens in clouds is wrapped in the purple of mockery.
He who freed Adam in the Jordan is slapped on the face.
The Bridegroom of the Church is affixed to the Cross with nails.
The Son of the Virgin is pierced by a spear.
We worship Thy passion, O Christ.
We worship Thy passion, O Christ.
We worship Thy passion, O Christ.
Show us also Thy glorious resurrection.

Antiphon Holy Thursday Evening

I love the church’s Holy Week hymns. It was hard to choose just one to feature as a quote for this post. They’re profoundly moving, and I find them running through my mind as I go about my day.

Even with the daily church services and the preparation for the Paschal celebration, the homestead still requires attention. Plants need to be watered, lawns mowed, garden beds assembled and filled, meals made, eggs gathered — the list goes on.

Happy in their new coop, our chickens continue to lay beautiful eggs. I love the variety of colors we get, and look forward to dying the brown ones with onion skins to make red eggs for Pascha. My dad also hung the signs that my mom ordered for the coop — I think they’re absolutely adorable.

I’ve been taking advantage of the warmer weather and doing what garden and yard work I can with Michael following me. I have 1.5 more beds to assemble, and a handful of seedlings waiting to be planted. I’m wonderfully sore from all the shoveling as I moved dirt into these beds — the physical labor is so satisfying.

Two beds are filled and planted, the garden shed is organized, the bird feeders are installed and filled, and my dad mowed down the weeds for us. It’s so exciting to see it look more like a yard and less like a construction zone.

My evenings after our church services are still filled with knitting or mending or sewing or spinning. I’ve even knit up a little of my hand-spun yarn, and I love it in all of its beautiful imperfection.

Once upon a time, I would’ve wondered if my daily work was a distraction from the holiness of this week. Somehow though, the presence of these daily chores doesn’t lessen the solemnity and profundity of Holy Week. If anything, they make it even holier.

I go from chasing a toddler through my house to chasing him in the narthex of the church. I go from gardening to doing prostrations during the Lenten Prayer of Saint Ephram, dirt still under my fingernails.

O Lord and Master of my life, take from me the spirit of sloth, despair, lust of power, and idle talk. 

But give rather the spirit of chastity, humility, patience, and love to Thy servant. 

Yea, O Lord and King, grant me to see my own transgressions, and not to judge my brother, for blessed art Thou, unto ages of ages. Amen.

Lenten Prayer of Saint Ephram

This is what I love about liturgical living: the eternal meets the mundane and transforms it. Even the simplest tasks can be pierced through with holiness, if we let them.

spring fever

/ Rachel Fenton / 4 Comments
killdeer nest

I recovered from strep throat to immediately fall victim to a nasty cold, and Jake and Michael and my dad joined in on the fun. My mom is the sole survivor of this illness so far. We’ve been lying low at home, trying to regain health. It’s given us the chance to work on some spring projects we’ve wanted to do for a while, though progress is slow.

For the first weekend in a while, we’ve had clear skies and bright sun, though there’s still a chill to the air. The spring fever has hit all of us, and there’s much to be done to prepare the garden for all we want to do.

Jake began building the fence for our front garden, citing that the fresh air and exercise would help him kick his cold. Given we’re still hacking our lungs out, I don’t think it worked. We all seemed to regress in illness after our weekend in the fresh air, but it’s still nice to see the progress. I’m looking forward to having a contained outdoor space for Michael to explore. He has a tendency to go as far and as fast as he can if left to his own devices outdoors. I’m glad he has such an adventurous spirit, but I’ll feel better when I can garden for a few minutes without being worried about him.

I built two of my four raised beds, and filled and planted in one of them. I have drooping seedlings waiting to be planted in the others, and plans for many other vegetables and herbs. Given this is my first solo attempt at a robust kitchen garden, I’m trying not to aim too high — but I’m excited to plant and cultivate as much as I reasonably can.

My dad finished building the larger chicken coop and we shifted our current hens over to their new home. Too bad we didn’t have anyone getting video footage of that process: my mom and I chasing and catching very unwilling hens was quite a sight.

Ultimate farm girl selfie

Michael loves the hens and isn’t afraid of them in the slightest even though they’re half his size. He calls them “bawk bawks” and loves opening and shutting the coop door. They are not his biggest fans.

The hens have settled into their new place quite nicely. We also have a handful of new baby chicks to be introduced to the flock when they mature. They’ll bring our chicken count up to sixteen.

As the days grow lighter, the hens have started laying eggs more frequently. There’s nothing better than fresh eggs: the yolks are so golden and vibrant. My favorite treat right now is a yolky latte: I put a fresh yolk, cream, and honey in a mason jar, shake it up until it’s foamy, and pour it into my morning coffee. I also enjoy doing the same with matcha instead of coffee. It’s a great energy boost that doesn’t leave me feeling jittery.

We installed a baby gate on our side porch, cleaned it off, and organized the various items stored on it, thereby extending Michael’s playing space. He loves having an outdoor space to kick his ball or throw things over the gate with a cheerful “uh oh!”.

The porch was important to us when we chose the design for our home. We wanted a place sheltered from the heat of the day, where we could sit and listen to the birds and watch the owls swoop over the trees at sundown.

While the majority of the porch space is focused on being a play space for Michael, I’d had a vision in mind for the corner ever since I saw it. I wanted a peaceful space to knit and drink coffee in the early mornings, or sit with a cocktail and talk with my husband or friends on summer evenings. It’s nice to see that vision becoming a reality.

My mother bought Michael a water table for the porch as well, and he adores it. We haven’t actually put water in it yet, given the temperature has been in the low 60s, but it’ll be perfect for when the warmer weather rolls in. I’m grateful he has a nice outdoor space to safely play in right now — while we’re all sick, we’ve had more screen time than I prefer and this is a much better alternative. Parenting while sick is probably the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I’m very ready for all of us to be healthy again.

So please pray for us, dear friends. Lent has taken its toll on us, and the exhaustion is heavy. Holy Week services are coming up for us Orthodox Christians, which will require both energy and health (something we are all currently lacking). I usually look forward to these services, but I find myself wondering how we’ll make it through this year. Pray for a swift recovery so we can throw ourselves back into the choir and service preparations!

To all my Catholic and Protestant friends: may you have a blessed Holy Week and Easter! To my Orthodox friends, press on! Palm Sunday is near, and so is Pascha.

galavanting and gardening

/ Rachel Fenton / 6 Comments

I’ve been rather quiet because we’ve been galavanting across the country and recovering from illnesses that hit as soon as we made it through our front door (isn’t that always the case?).

This post will be full of photos, be warned!

We traveled first to Southern California, where we spent some lovely time with Jake’s parents and younger brother.

Michael got to go to his first baseball game, and he absolutely loved it. He spent most of the time holding onto the fence or Jake, shouting “ball!” at the top of his little lungs.

We then headed to San Diego for my best friend’s bachelorette party. It was so great to see her again (and some old friends too)!

We had an amazing day full of food, drink, and companionship, and then went to the Safari Park for a mimosa safari. It was quite a weekend: perfect for celebrating one of the smartest, funniest, and kindest persons I’ve had the pleasure of befriending.

I needed a black cocktail dress for the bachelorette, and I didn’t have any that I really liked — so I decided to make one! I have a new, handmade little black dress for fancy occasions and you can see it in the photos. I’ll write a post with more details on my sewing projects later, but I’m really pleased with how this one turned out.

We drove back home and then flew to Ohio to visit more of Jake’s family — all but one sister was there! (Sorry Jillian, we’ll see you next time!). For his first time flying, Michael did a really good job. There were a few rough spots, but all in all, not as painful as we were fearing.

It was so lovely to see everyone for the first time in quite a long time. Michael adored meeting all of his cousins, and was never bored or without a playmate.

Playing with Aunt Jacque
Playing with Aunt Justine

We played games, knit and crocheted together, ate amazing food (courtesy of Aunt Johannah!) and had a wonderful week catching up and enjoying each other. So many babies, so many laughs, so many delightful people under one roof.

Michael was confused between Uncle Joe and Dada for a little bit
Allllll the cousins!
Birthday cake decorating
Stretching with Uncle Jacob
Nighttime crafting
Playing with Aunt Johannah

On the plane trip back, I began feeling a bit under the weather, and then the next morning I woke up with the sorest throat I could ever remember having and a 101 degree fever. Urgent care confirmed I had strep throat. I’m still making my way through the antibiotics, but feel much better. Thankfully, only one other person of the whole group seems to have gotten it, and Jake and Michael escaped without strep. However, now both of them are fighting colds, so all three of us are laying low and resting as much as possible.

While we were gone, my small garden efforts sprung to life.

I planted daffodil bulbs back at the beginning of the year: they were 60% off at the store and I figured I would see some nice blooms next year, since it was too late for them to bloom this year. I was mistaken! They grew anyway! They have the most beautiful blossoms. It was such an unexpected source of life and beauty, and I delight in them every time I walk in my front door.

They’re one of my favorite flowers. I memorized the poem Daffodils by William Wordsworth as a child, and it still runs through my head every time I see one.

More of my beets survived Max’s munching than I expected! I’m hopeful I’ll have some homegrown beets in a few weeks. My little strawberry plant has also been blooming.

My lavender has been soaking up all the rain we’ve been having recently, and I plan on harvesting some of the blossoms to dry for tea and tinctures.

Even my onions, planted hastily in a grow bag, have pushed green fingers out of the soil.

There’s still much to do, especially as the weather warms. Beds to assemble, fences to build, seedlings to harden and plant, and so much more. I’m hopeful we’ll have more garden updates in the near future.

handspun

/ Rachel Fenton / 6 Comments

If you follow me on Instagram, you already know: a few weeks ago, my amazing husband surprised me with a belated birthday/Valentine’s Day gift:

A spinning wheel.

We had talked about it before, and I’d told him my dream wheel as we discussed future purchases and goals in the upcoming months and years. So imagine my shock and delight when he came in from work with an Ashford Kiwi 3 in his arms.

He even spent his evening assembling it for me while I watched YouTube videos on using a spinning wheel for the first time. I’m absolutely in love (with him, and with my spinning wheel).

I had been greatly enjoying learning how to use my drop spindle, but often found my arms and wrists fatigued at the end of a long spinning session. Also, it’s very slow. It took me a few weeks to spin a skein of yarn on my drop spindle: after the learning curve of my wheel, I’ve completed three skeins. While I delight in slow crafting, I only have so many minutes in a day to dedicate to my crafts, so I’m excited to practice my spinning and have more handspun yarn to knit.

My trial skeins were rough, and I think they’re some of my favorites. I love that I have physical, visual progress: I can look back at my first warped and uneven work, and see how much I’ve improved in just a few short weeks.

My first spin after my trial skein was using Nest Fiber’s Cabin Fever, a BFL (Blue Faced Leicester) fiber. It’s a good wool for beginners. I decided to do a 2 ply, which means I spun two bobbins of singles and plyed them together for the final yarn.

I also decided to do a fractal spin: first, I split the fiber in half. I kept one half as it was, and then split the other half into quarters. I then spun the half end to end on one bobbin and the quarters end to end on another bobbin. This means one bobbin is a long, stretched out color pattern, and the other bobbin is that color pattern repeated in much shorter segments. Plying them together gets you a beautiful mosaic where you rarely have two of the same colors in the same place.

There are places where it’s overspun, and places where it’s underspun. It varies in thickness in many places, anywhere from a fingering weight to a light worsted weight. There are places where a stray blep of fuzz sticks out. But I’m really happy with the way it turned out, despite its flaws. I have plans to make a color-work cowl or hat, pairing it with a natural cream yarn.

Chai isn’t quite sure about my wheel yet

I’m in the process of my fourth spin, using another Nest Fiber product: Andromeda, a Targhee fiber. My sister fell in love with the sunset colors, so I’m spinning it for her. I’m halfway through the plying process.

I have always been mesmerized by the act of spinning yarn. There’s something incredibly ancient about it: since the dawn of human history, people have been spinning fiber for cloth and rope: a necessity for survival. The cloth that clothed the poorest farmer and the tapestries that hung in the halls of kings: each and every thread was spun by hand.

There’s also something deeply feminine about spinning. Though I don’t think fiber arts should exclude men who want to participate, it would do a disservice to our forebears to ignore that this is the work that historically fell to women. This is the art that gave our ancestors power and agency when they had none: we get the term “spinster” from an unmarried woman who could support herself through her skills with fiber.

According to the ancient source the Protoevangelium of James, the Virgin Mary herself spun the red and purple thread that became the veil in the Temple. Many icons and paintings of the Annunciation depict the Theotokos with a spindle and distaff in her hand.

We have become so desensitized to thread and cloth we take it for granted: work done by machines or by invisible hands. But since learning how to spin, I’ve begun to notice cloth all around me: from the rugs underfoot to the garments we wear.

I’ve also begun to see cloth referenced in the Gospels in a different light: The swaddling cloth that Christ wore at His birth, and the tunic the soldiers cast lots for at His crucifixion. The hem of His robe touched by the woman with the flow of blood, a conduit of His healing. His grave clothes and face covering in the empty tomb. All made by women, some by women He knew. Perhaps even His mother.

It brings to my mind how Christ does not work through the grand and lofty, but rather the humble. The humblest people, women, the first to behold His resurrection. The humblest items such as hems and grave clothes, used for the holiest of purposes.

He has cast down the mighty from their thrones,
and has lifted up the lowly.
He has filled the hungry with good things,
and the rich he has sent away empty.

The Magnificat, Luke 1:51-53

I’ve had some people ask me why I got into spinning. To many, it may seem an obsolete and unnecessary art. I started it because I wanted to better understand the fiber I knit with, but from there I grew a whole new appreciation of so many things: fiber, history, women, the Church. A casual curiosity has branched into a joyful passion. I’ll be spinning and knitting for the rest of my life, as long as my body allows it. Above all, I am grateful for the ways spinning draws my attention to that which is often overlooked, and the ways it keeps me humble.