year one at the grovestead


We just hit our one year mark. We've been in our new house now for 365 days. In lots of ways I can't believe we've only been here a year. But in other ways I clearly know that a year has passed. Because this six day old baby I am holding here, on the day of our move, is now climbing up the stairs and pulling herself to look out the windows.


Rory and I were throwing the frisbee around last night, reflecting on year one. He commented that his biggest learning this first year was the pace of time. He said that every project he worked on (his office in the woods, building the chicken coop, getting someone to plant our field, evaporating 90 gallons of sap into maple syrup, and tilling, planting and laying drip irrigation in the garden) all felt like projects that took forever. But in looking back, it is amazing how much was accomplished in this first year. Every item on the to do list looks like a huge mountain to climb, but day by day we kept getting to the top.


I think this year will go down in the record books for me as Most Personal Growth. I'd accept that award, bawling at the microphone, blubbering on about how a baby can really throw you off a bit. I'd talk about how the move from city to country was actually a way bigger adjustment than I ever acknowledged while in the midst of the transition. I'd talk about how this winter never ended and I thought I was going crazy, and how sometimes I really, really miss our cat Toonces. And then they'd flare up the get-her-off-the-stage music, because I would have just mentioned my old cat, which took it too far.


But the other thing that comes to mind when I think about this first year in our new home is this: We have learned so much. The knowledge that Rory and I have acquired from just one year in the country is vast and amazes me. Rory learned how to build a cabin this year. Which then translated into drawing up plans for a chicken coop. Last Saturday I came home with the kids and as walked into the kitchen Rory showed us two jars of blackberry jam on the counter. He had picked the blackberries in our woods and made the jam and then canned it. I was stunned. And so inspired that I made homemade mayonnaise the next day just to keep up with my husband.


And even more than practical homesteading knowledge, I am learning about me. More specifically, my limits and where I can't pull it all off. I'm reading my Bible again. And God is being so gentle with me as he reminds me that when I am weak, he is strong. I am weary and heavy laden, but he promises rest. I feel jealous and hurt and sad, but he is forgiveness, healing and deep joy.

If you haven't cracked your Bible in a long time, go find it. There is nothing more precious in my life than my walk with Jesus.


A few nights ago Rory and I went for a walk down our road and there were so many fireflies in the ditches that it seemed like someone had strung twinkle lights up and down the road. Once I got up in the middle of the night to see if there was a car in our driveway with it's brights on. But it was the moon, leaving moon shadows all over our lawn. And if we go out on a clear night, with no moon, we can see every star in the sky. There are no city lights to interfere.

Those are the moments when I feel the most settled.


I feel really grateful to be living here. It has been an adjustment, but I know we have made the right decision. I love our farmstead and love our new life. And if you give us another year, I think we will feel fully at home.

1 comment:

Rachel Brooke said...

Becca,
I love this heartfelt post...a beautiful and crucial part of your testimony! We are currently praying through the same transition as a family and it gives me great hope to see how God has carried you through each stage of change.