Be rooted & Live Buoyantly
Recently, we spent a day on the farm. My morning began with packing snacks, gathering little bodies, and setting out with intention before the sun fully rose. Farm days always feel like more than tending the land; they feel like tending ourselves. Hands in soil, faces to the sun, laughter mingled with quiet focus—.
“there is something deeply regulating about slowing down and moving in rhythm with the earth”.
We are a small sweet mix of adults and children— some seasoned, some very much learning—but all of us side by side tending to Mother Earth. It is always a gift to leave with a harvest or something living to care for— a reminder that growth and feast continues long after the day ends.
This time, little Saint—our curious three-year-old— left with a soursop tree. Though it ultimately withered away, we turned our attention to what was happening beneath the soil—to the squirming worms, the hidden life, and the simple mystery of growth.
Unexpectedly, we soon noticed a small patch of shoots not too far on the horizon. These were watermelon vines, grown from seeds saved from our snacks. Somewhere along the way, we had fallen into the habit of tucking seeds from our meals into the soil—without planning, without expectation. Despite the dismay that lingered after the loss of the soursop tree, the children beamed with excitement as the shoots emerged, quiet and determined, reminding us once again that new life always finds its way forward.
This small family project now asks for only what all living things do: the right balance of sunlight, water, and nourishment. It is a simple, intuitive process, much like the way our bodies and hearts heal when given safety, rest, and care. Nature teaches us that growth cannot be rushed, that loss and renewal often live side by side, and that something new can emerge when we make room.
In the same way, we are invited to slow down and listen to our bodies—and observe where our bodies carry tension, where care is needed. When we allow ourselves to be tended with patience and compassion, something steadies within us.
This month, may you step away from the noise, place your feet on the soil, and stay curious about what is quietly taking root in you, trusting that—like the garden—your becoming is already unfolding.
