Leaps of faith are frightening. To jump completely uninhibited into the wide expanse of time and fate and faith not knowing if you will fall on your face, live in a cardboard box, or fly high and live your perfect life is…ahem…concerning. And sometimes it is not so much a leap of faith but that final nudge to get you out of the spot you’re in and into the next phase of your life. A door slamming, rent going up, obvious signs that force your hand and your jump into that void of uncertainty with only prayer and your glass of wine.
If you have been reading my posts for long, you see that we had such ordeals this year. Some uprooting changes, and some things stayed the same. It took the shop rent to go up for us to finally realize that the past year on a dead main street wasn’t doing us any favors. It took searching and praying for a new house to rent with less bills to realize that we are really good right where we are. It took working our tails off from pre-dawn to past dusk to establish new clientele that had never heard of us before to get us back on track. It took moving the shop to our house to see that business really is a personal and community affair. And it took rototilling the entire yard to see just how much food we can grow (and that you can find happiness in a pumpkin patch)!
Leaps of faith so seldom end up poorly if following your heart. I am living exactly how I envisioned. In the future we will have our larger farm, but for now with the kids and Maryjane nearby, I wanted to teach classes out of my home. Be able to prepare someone’s medicine on the spot by going out to the Apothecary garden and picking what herbs I need. I wanted to spend more time with Doug. To read in my garden. To have open doors for folks to stop by, grab a few veggies, a refill of Herbal Antibiotic, and a cup of tea.
The evenings here at Pumpkin Hollow Farm are lovely. Our garden watering time takes two of us by hand. Doug will start on one side of the quarter acre farm and I on the other and we meet at the pumpkin patch. We sip our micro beers in our frosted mugs and enjoy the cooler air while letting our minds rest. Customers and friends stop by throughout the evening to get what they need, to chat, and to tour the mini-farm. It feels like old time country. Visitors coming by to see how the crops are faring, and to catch up. Business run out of our home. Bartering. More time. More freedom. Homesteading freedom. (So, go dig up the front yard and take a risk to follow a dream. You won’t regret it!)