Fullness

Getting sleepy. That's how I describe this season at Liberty Farm. Most of the trees have shed their autumn finery, the garden lies fallow and we're dressing her with leaves and rich organic matter. The last apples are dropping from slender branches and a settled feeling is creeping over the land.

We waken to morning frost and steamy breath pouring out of our nostrils as we tend to chores. How soon until the water freezes in troughs and we'll need to break it up? No longer do we just dash outside without a scarf or warm cap. Funny how as we're settling into something slower, we need to add more steps like making sure the chicken's light is on or gathering eggs before they get so chilly.

Electric blankets are at the ready-old farmhouses, no matter how renovated, have precious little insulation! Yarn and craft supplies lie in wait for afternoons of reading and listening to stories. Both crockpots are permanently on the counter.

It's like we're getting all cozied up. You too? I used to dread, I mean d.r.e.a.d., winter. Now I welcome it, well at least some of it. I welcome the rest, the intentional comfort, the quiet, and the slow. I look for the joy on my children's faces when they realize there's enough snow to ski or they've completed a Christmas craft.

So, while we get ready to pile on the blankets and snuggle down for winter we're coming into fullness. The fullness of many months of labor. Pantry and freezers are full. Full bales of hay diminish as the cows fill their bellies. Nesting boxes are filled with eggs each morning. And while life gets temporarily drowsy, hearts store up blessing, gratitude grows, and we are filled.