… a little glow

Waking up with warm lights, nutcrackers on the shelf, and a little spark of inspiration I haven’t felt in years.

I’m genuinely excited about the blog again … ready for “want / need / hear / read” gift guides, thrifted finds, and (once the land goes fully dormant) a whole lot of farm-before-and-after moments.

For now, here are a few soft glimpses of my morning - my kitchen, my workspace, Poptart keeping watch, and my plants wrapped in Christmas cheer. I am loving this new era.

Now off to work my dream job - hiking with dogs. 

xo

-s

love in sepia tones…

How two completely different experiences of the same word sparked my own curiosities around ‘attachment’. 

Now that I’m navigating single life with clearer eyes, I’m starting to see what I truly need in a relationship. Room to roam, yes, but also someone who actually shows up. I’ve been chewing on the idea of attachment after a convo with a friend - and not the flimsy therapy-talk version where everyone diagnoses themselves with “avoidant tendencies”. I mean real-life attachment. The kind that shows up in the way I feed animals before I feed myself, or how the hay gets hauled every single night whether I’m tired, it’s uncomfortably cold, or I’m just mildly lazy that day.

Last night, I was talking with a close friend about what “attachment” means to me.

I associate it with consistency.

He associates it with being under someone’s thumb.

So naturally, we butted heads in our personal definitions.

I see attachment as how everything survives.

How everything thrives.

How you show you actually show up.

(This last one is huge for me in this new chapter, because I’ve learned people can say whatever they want, but how they behave is everything.)

So of course that’s how I see it in relationships too.

Not as control.

Not as surveillance.

But as being present like an adult who knows how to care.

Then there’s the other perspective…

the “attachment equals control” side,

the “consistency feels like a trap” side.

In the moment, it was hard to understand, hard to articulate my view without accidentally implying his was wrong. It isn’t. It just comes from a different history, a different wiring, a different set of experiences where “showing up” (in his experience) used to come with strings attached.

For him, attachment sounds like pressure. Obligation.

A creeping sense that if he’s too consistent, someone’s going to hand him a clipboard and assign him emotional chores, and honestly, I get that.

After sleeping on it, I could see his side more clearly. This is the beauty of understanding different perspectives and being able to relate to others - even when it seems so foreign. 

Life hands all of us wiring we didn’t ask for. Still, it’s wild how two people can use the same word and mean entirely different things.

My definition of attachment felt right, but was rooted in my experience with it. 

Be reliable.

Be present.

Don’t vanish like a magician when things get real.

And if you say you care, act like it.

His definition also felt right due to his experience of it meaning entanglement in unmet expectations and then the fallout wrapped in shame.

So in the moment, it felt like we were talking apples and oranges. But after coffee this morning, I landed on a clarifying little epiphany:

I equate consistency with attachment.

Because the opposite - detachment - often looks like inconsistency. And I have a lot of experience with that, and let me tell you, it never feels good. Healthy relationships absolutely require consistency.

Not clinginess.

Not 24/7 access.

Not someone checking your phone.

Just good old-fashioned, grown-up reliability.

And if consistency feels like control, that’s not compatibility. that’s trauma, overwhelm, or something else entirely.

And I’m not here to drag anyone. Truly.

But let’s be clear…

Consistency is not a cage.

Consistency is a kindness.

Consistency is adulting with feelings.

Two people can genuinely care for each other and still be wired for wildly different rhythms. One reaches for steady, grounding connection. The other keeps a fire escape propped open in case feelings start feeling too…

feeling-y.

Neither is wrong.

But one rhythm is definitely more conducive to a healthy relationship.

I guess the takeaway is:

Some people feel safe with space.

Some feel safe with steadiness.

And some of us need a balance. the freedom to roam, paired with the comfort of knowing our person will still pick up the phone when things get hairy.

If that’s too much for someone, then they’re simply not your person.

Have thoughts or opinions on this? Bring ‘em! I’d love to hear them. Comment below (or DM me on the ’gram). :)

xo

- s

slow afternoon…

Ello…

Me and the dogs are making up for lost time after last week’s long holiday work stretch away from home. After the pack hikes today, I came back, took a long hot bath, and then did what any sensible human would do on a cold December afternoon - climbed into bed for a little work (yes, that’s the other phone) and a snuggle with my girl. I’m endlessly grateful that my “office” is either a trail in the woods or my own bed, depending on the day and what my body feels up for.

This afternoon’s agenda consisted of a few hours of warmth, blankets, and soft Poptart-breathing before shifting into farm-work mode.

It’s been cold here - the kind of cold where the evening hay rounds become the biggest chore of the day. I don’t mind it, though. I take my sweet time and there is something comforting about the rhythm of it all, and the quiet crunch of winter settling in around the farm.

Oh, and did I mention this little miracle?

After 11 years of living out here without reliable internet… I finally have fiber. I repeat: fiber optic internet, all the way out here in the sticks. I could honestly cry happy tears. It feels like someone hand-delivered a tiny piece of civilization wrapped in Christmas paper straight to my front porch.

So for today?

Dog hikes (and a newly signed-up pup!)

Warm bed. Warm dog. Warm heart.

And a connection to the world that actually works for the first time in over a decade.

We’re thriving.

xo

– s

Hello, December…

It’s been a while since I’ve written here - like really shared.. I still toss little snippets onto Facebook, but this space gives me room to stretch out, to add a little depth and texture to the things rolling around in my head. It’s why instead of letting this blog die, I just gave it a new name when I let my domain get canceled….tee hee. Ooops. Enjoy some snapshots of Christmas pasts before I dive into the current holiday feels…

It’s hard to believe that it’s December already. I think the holidays hit differently when your life finally steadies itself. Not in a dramatic “life flipped upside down” way, but in that quiet, grown-up way where you suddenly start choosing things because you want them - not because it’s tradition, not because it’s expected, not because it keeps the peace, but simply because it’s what feels right.

This year, I found myself thinking about the pink Christmas tree. My little cotton-candy riot of color that’s been my holiday signature for years now. And I honestly toyed with putting it up for weeks last month. But then… I decided I wasn’t going to. I wasn’t going to put up a tree at all. 

I looked over at my plants. the ones I brought home this summer on a whim, fully expecting them to be seasonal residents at best. And there they were, thriving. Big leaves, bright green, reaching for the light like they had every intention of sticking around. Thriving because I finally am. 

The trouble is, the Christmas tree only fits in one place in this little old farmhouse. If you’ve ever been inside, you know exactly what I mean. This house was built in 1905 and has the sweetest little circle layout: you walk in the front door into the living room, pass through the kitchen, then right into my sewing room/closet situation, then another right into the bathroom, then through my bedroom, and a right back into the living room. No wasted space. Just a simple loop, made for someone who doesn’t mind walking in circles every day.

And in that entire loop, there is exactly one spot for the tree.

Which means all my plants would have to find a new spot outside of the space they’ve been growing and thriving.

So I sat with that for a minute.

And decided this Christmas was making way for new things.

Not out of sadness. Not out of avoidance.

Out of alignment.

Out of the simple truth that my little forest of thriving indoor plants brings me more joy than anything pink, sparkly, or tinsel-ly could right now.

It also dawned on me that I have never actually done Christmas my way. Not once.

Sure, the pink tree was my idea, but everything else? The timing, the style, the expectations, the shoulds and shouldn’ts … they were always shaped by someone else’s preferences, someone else’s schedule, someone else’s idea of a “real” holiday.

The longest-lived Fraser fir in North America was probably in my living room in years past, pre-pink tree. But the real-tree tradition wasn’t really mine. I just rolled with it. We always had fake trees growing up. It’s Georgia. Real trees that grow here aren’t that pretty.

The fake pink tree came into our lives because of Eddie, our beloved old Golden Retriever I inherited when my dad died. Bless sweet ol’ Eddie. he never could grasp why a real tree inside the house wasn’t meant to pee on. So we switched to fake, and that solved that issue. But even then, how it all happened still wasn’t really my vibe.

Last year was the first Christmas I ever spent living alone. I put up the pink tree, turned off all the lights, and let that soft glow fill the whole room. It was beautiful. It was peaceful. It felt like a rite of passage. A gentle reclaiming.

This year is so much different and feels less about reclaiming and more about refining.

And I feel good about it.

It turns out that choosing not to decorate a certain way can be just as celebratory as going all out. There’s something freeing about letting the holiday shape itself around your life instead of shaping your life around the holiday.

I’ll still decorate, just differently. A wreath here. A candle there. A few twinkle lights to honor the season. But this time, I’m decorating without feeling obligation.

And in a strange, lovely way, skipping the tree feels like a quiet declaration.

I am allowed to let traditions evolve as I do.

I am allowed to choose what feels good now, not what felt good then.

I am allowed to grow and let the holidays grow with me.

No tree this year.

Just warmth, light, plants, and peace.

Which, honestly, might be what I was needing all along.

I guess the best Christmas gift is realizing how much you already have. 

xo

-s