[A special message from Editor-in-Chief Priscila Barros]
For the past couple years, the little “farming” seed has grown in my heart. This seed started small, like most journeys of growth. At first, we just started growing our own vegetables in our suburban subdivision backyard, and this soon lead to us raising a few chickens. I loved the new sustainable freedom I found in growing my own fruits and vegetables, the thrill of collecting blue, green and brown speckled eggs, and how my boys were involved at every stop of this process.
As I learned more and more about what is really in our food, I longed for more open spaces and more homegrown food and more joy out of every day. The long days and never-ending cycle of deadlines is hard, and so I find the freedom of being outside — with the golden sun kissing my face, with nothing but the birds singing a sweet song — to be incredibly refreshing.
I am ready to jump on this little adventure. I want to turn to the path where where less doesn’t necessarily mean more, where my day is depicted more by the sun and moon than what my calendar or inbox says — and where we really realize we are more than just people trapped in the cycle of waking up, working, paying bills and sleeping.
These things do not define me or my family.
I’m looking forward to farm camps, community movie nights where my neighbors and I relax on colorful vintage quilts underneath dancing string lights. And I’m looking forward to letting my boys play outside until the sun goes down, watching them learn about critters and rivers and trees — but not through a textbook, oh no! — by actually finding, seeing and feeling and discovering the wonders of creation. And I can see us all catching lightning bugs, and watching them glow in our cupped hands, and gathering around the old wooden table set with jars of sweet grass-fed milk we will drink in the morning before heading out to the barn to begin chores.
But what I think I will most enjoy is a far cry from my life today — the silence. The freedom of stepping outside and not hearing a single soul, not a single deadline, not a single neighbor complaining or gossiping, not a single ping announcing another email, but only the sounds of the soft whisper of the grass and plants, or the rumbling purr of our barn cat, our boys playing (or disagreeing!) and through it all, the chance to sow into them the principles of real life.
I’m not sure exactly how I will do it, but the seed has been planted. I don’t want this one wild and beautiful life to pass on by without being intentional about slowing down and embracing joy. There’s a whole lot of unknown right now, but am loving every minute learning how to make this all come true. If you want to join our journey, we invite all Babiekins readers to follow us on @folkandflora, where we will grow wild and free, and get back to the roots of food and family.