Seasons & Reflections
As the last bits of Summer blossoms continue to bloom, evidence of Autumn’s presence surround us in a swirl of falling leaves.
In effect, my hands transition from tending soil to tending the inner parts of the home, and with such, I imagined I’d have time to catch up on all my writing and the many, many things I have long wanted to share. I was so deeply encouraged by the number of messages and comments that came to me from my last entry. I only wish the clock would tick a little slower between the hours of 8pm-10pm so that I may accomplish my ambitions and have time to sit down over tea and share the inner joys of my heart with my kindred spirits. As the clock spares not a second for anyone of us, I am reminded (again and again) that if I am to do something, I must choose to use my limited time and in turn, I must choose not to do another thing.
For tonight my sewing will stay to the side while I sip my tea and allow myself a moment to lay a bit of my heart on the pages of my journal. (But just you wait until you see the sweet things I’ve been stitching!)
Recently I was reflecting how this has been the third summer that I was so sure I would share all the joys of and trials of our garden journey. It is, after all, the central part of nearly all my conversations and undoubtedly one of the most well documented portions of life and home. And yet, here I am rounding out toward the end of year three and I have shared so very little, though I have felt so very much.
Time is of course one of the factors. In high summer after the children are off to dreamland, I slip back out and lend myself to any amount of work that can be accomplished until the dark pushes me back indoors. By then the hour is so late I scarcely have any energy to pour into writing.
But I know time is not entirely to blame, for I could have mustered the energy and prioritized the time if I had truly meant to. I feel something deeper within me has always kept me from sharing too much in the moment. I think it’s the same tug that keeps me from sharing too much about my children as well.
Such parts of my world, though outside of my own body, feel as close to me as my own heartbeat. And because they are vessels that draw me deeper into my earthly purpose; stretch me when it is time to grow, teach me when it is time to learn, encourage me when I am in doubt, and captivate me in every possible way—It is all too sacred to be let go too soon.
In truth, the very idea of sharing something publicly stirs up a hundred doubts and trivial worries of inadequacy. And for that alone I have felt unwilling to allow myself to give any part of my joy over to a place that would cause me to question if it were enough.
As such I have three + years of pictures and memories and words stored up on my computer, in boxes, and scribbled on the pages of notebooks that I had always intended to share and think maybe I still will one day (though I’m uncertain as to how I’ll ever find the time to catch up). I’ve reconciled myself to this with the idea that if a thing is good, truly good, it will remain so beyond the immediacy of its shining moment. And if it loses its luster over time, then perhaps it wasn’t such an important thing to share to begin with. Sometimes I imagine that I might be holding onto these notions for as long as my children are home. And when they are grown and my days lonesome for them I’ll have a lifetime of words and pictures to keep me company and a great deal more wisdom to go about sharing. Either way, whether they are good enough to share, or just something to make me smile (okay, cry—let’s not kid ourselves here), I’m certain I’ll be glad to have them.
I’ve gone back through my archives of photographs and writings from time to time and there are a handful that repeatedly draw me in. Those moments have helped me to see what I value in my pictures and words and why. And even if they never “went viral” (as seems to be modern evidence of “success”), which nothing I have ever created has, it does not change the imprint it has left on my own life, and what I hope it will mean to the lives that it has been created on account of and for.
My tea cup is now empty, and the clock ticks on to an hour whose company I do not prefer to keep. But I am very glad to have given this evening for my thoughts and to think of you dear kindred spirits who find enough satisfaction in these pages that you choose to give a precious moment of your time to share with me. I am always grateful and I’ll leave you with a few little snapshots of our days as Summer and Autumn mingle together for a short while before bidding one another adieu.
If anything stirs in you that you wish to share, I hope you’ll write. I dearly enjoy every word that is sent to me. Your companionship is a gift I cherish.
A final note in support of the small shops we are deeply grateful to partner with and show our support to; a list and links for your convenience.
*Many of the girls wardrobe staples can be found at Luralu— who is very generously offering readers of Ivy & Tweed a 20% discount using the code IVYANDTWEEDBLOG
* Our favorite Merino Wool base layers are from our dear friends Chasing Windmills Kids
* Seeds in our garden were planted from Halden Gardens
* Knit hats from our dearest friend @mama_endo
* Additional wardrobe staples, including Jane’s most beloved brown dress, from our friends The Simple Folk
* My dress, designed and sold by my lovely friend Rodellee at Adored Vintage