When time stood still

And I sat down to think

Tiny dog, bit impact.  For three years now, I’ve been recalibrating my life, seeking balance after straying from what I think of as “The River Me”. I’ve lived on our farm for nearly 20 years, and during that time, I have expanded my creative pursuits in numerous ways, but most meaningful is writing. Writing has been my calling since childhood, but oddly, it wasn’t until I came to our farm that I discovered the stories I was meant to tell and, more importantly, why.

I recall in my 20s having a deep ache inside to write, yet being emotionally tortured by a lack of time and clarity as to what I should write.  After learning of the struggles and wins of successful writers, my perspective shifted to a healthier place when I realized I needed to focus on living life fully in order to fuel my stories with actual lived experiences a little later in life. 

In living fully, I raised my children (adults now) as a single mom, created a successful market research company, did volunteer educational work in inner cities, taught myself watercolor painting, took many road trips and business trips, learned to design websites, became an Internet marketing consultant, and then eventually remarried and moved from the stressful hustle of Los Angeles to this quiet farm in New York.

Since moving here, I taught myself oil painting, became a blogger (the original I Live on a Farm blog, 2006 to 2015), designed and published more than 80 knitting patterns, became a cow farmer and farm manager, started and ran a successful Indie yarn dyeing business (Lucky Violet Color Co, 2016 to present), and tried my hand at both pumpkin and flower farming (candid confession:  I am not a good pumpkin or flower farmer).

While the many and varied adventures on the farm have been both exciting and fulfilling, they did come at a cost.  The business boomed, employees joined, and I juggled farm life, family, finances, designing knitting patterns, hosting Knit-Alongs, and hand painting and dyeing yarn for eager and loyal fiber enthusiasts.

My once-peaceful farm life became a stressful leviathan I couldn’t seem to escape from.  As the economy waned beginning in 2021, I had to let my employees go one by one until I found myself working 24/7.  At the beginning of 2022, I was exhausted, my knees and feet ached from endless hours on the go, and I had drifted far from The River Me, although I didn’t see it clearly at the time.  

Then, a puppy entered my life, and suddenly the world stood still. Someone placed that little guy in my arms, and he snuggled against my heart, pleading, “Take me home.” I did, and I named him Charlie. Caring for Charlie—training him, playing with him, navigating his rambunctious Labrador teenage years—forced me to slow down.

Misadventures, like a sprained knee from a chaotic dog park incident and a pulled rib from my own stubbornness, grounded me further. I had no choice … I had to sit down, be still, and think: recalibration.

Charlie, my injuries, and the pause they demanded, were the pressure points I needed, I suppose. They guided me back to the flow of The River Me, where I am mindfully creating new balance in my artistic life while ensuring room for the writing I love.

It has taken many hours of quiet contemplation, study, and reorganization to tame my overactive impulses and create a workable blueprint for a more balanced life as an artist, not a farmer, and a more relaxed businesswoman. And I certainly have, yet again, fulfilled my intention (for it is my intention that truly feeds The River Me) of living a full life to gain grit and substance for my stories.

With writing as my primary focus, I will continue to paint, garden (flowers on a small, manageable scale), design floral arrangements at times, design and publish occasional knitting patterns, and create micro batches of luxurious yarn several times a year at a pace that doesn’t overuse my knees and feet.  This mix of creativity (in just the right doses) will satisfy my spiritual artistic hunger and provide plenty of material to share with you, dear reader.

And of course, I will share my days and evenings with my sweet, dear—sometimes crazy—Charlie boy.

Until next time, this is …  ~firefly, out.