Profound Belonging
There is one thing we universally need and want, in the deep of winter, under the summer stars, for all the autumn sunsets. Home. The place we feel at home embodies so much more than the roof, walls, and the place we sleep. Home beckons our hearts and souls out of a place of longing. We should yearn to be home, savor the safeness, comfort, ease, and a profound sense of belonging. I recognize that not all have this safe place we call home, and those of us who do are fortunate. To be truly home is to be tangled in joy evocative of memories and anticipation of what has been and what is to come in the place that you are.
As many of you may know, and some may not, Zach and I left Oregon and moved to a farm in Missouri a year and a half ago, searching for home. The profound belonging, to a place, to a piece of land, to a community that we were searching for has eluded us here. That is not to say that we haven’t fallen deeply in love with the land we are on, or met some wonderful people here. Yet there is something more intangible we have not found in this place. We have faced unforeseen challenges of perpetual flooding and inaccessibility. It has been a valuable learning experience. What joys and lessons we have have experienced here. What beauty, brilliance, and growth. But the time has come for us to close the shop and prepare for the new season of life ahead. With a lot of agonizing over what the “right” choice is, we have decided to move on from here, and find a place that feels more like a home to us and for the work that we do. I have had two full growing seasons here on this land, and I am at peace with the way we have stewarded it. We are leaving it more lush with flora and fauna than the day we arrived, and passing these treasures of life to a new family’s story.
Autumn is a waning in-between time. Past the sultry summer light, holding on to dappled gold, before the shift into winter stillness. This in-between time is the most poignant metaphor for where I am. The end of one season is here, I am entering into another soon, which will hold the same rhythm as winter. Slow, but steadily inching toward full bloom once again. Because deep root systems, of plants and of community, are invaluable to me, this decision has been made with a lot of intention. A sense of not belonging somewhere is unsettling to the core of who we are, and we are so very sure this move is going to set us in a place where a deep sense belonging and community will flourish. The land is lovely and ready to receive the garden I will plant, and the community is already welcoming us with open arms. Moving a family, a farm, and a business is not a simple task, but one we are excited to embrace, as we are ready to watch the slow but steady bloom of new life around us.
Becoming an herb farmer has taught me endlessly about the cycle of goodbyes at the end of a season and the re-emergence of new life at the beginning of another. Life mirrors life. Just at the moment the garden is winding down for this season and the innumerable shades of green, red, orange, and violet are turning to deeper shades of sand, rust, and mauve, so is our season of life closing here on this piece of land.
As we tape closed the final boxes with the contents of our everyday, we tuck them into every nook and cranny in the truck and wave goodbye to everything that is familiar. We will see these humble belongings once again when we arrive on the doorstep of our new farmhouse in the North. Now our intentions and attention can rest solely on the promises we are going to make to last a lifetime.
Change can be daunting because it is universally full of unknowns and uncertainty. But I am certain that these big changes will only positively impact everything I work to do here at The Wilderness Maven Herbal Apothecary.
I can’t tell you how special it is to have you on this journey with me, to hear how you are invested in the plants I am growing, the work I am doing, and helping me to keep alive the knowledge of Earth’s healing power.
- Jenn
