Note from Me: A Wintering Heart

January has always felt to me like a time made for wintering—a return inward, a slowing of the pulse, a space to simply be. No big plans. No urgency. Just rest, reflection, and still intention, the way nature itself does beneath the snow.

This is my first note to you here. A gentle introduction. I want you to know me better—not just through what I share or teach, but through my inner world, my reflections, the quiet rhythm of my life. I want us to have a relationship, and this feels like the most honest place to begin.

Right now, winter asks me to stop. To dream. To think. To rest. And lately, my reflections have gone far beyond the coming year. I haven’t been asking myself what I want to do next, or who I want to become. Instead, I’ve been listening for something deeper: what kind of life will nourish me over the next decade? What purpose do I want to tend at a core level?

Winter has always been that space for me. Not complete stillness—life still moves—but a slowing down

deep enough that distractions fall away. The holidays are behind us. There is no garden to tend, no outward momentum to maintain. Just me, the cold, the dark. And I love it. It is one of my favorite times of the year.

The cold season—the grey season—has always fueled my soul. It feels as though the world gives us permission to rest, to think, to simply be. These mornings are my favorite. After breakfast, I step outside into the backyard, letting the day meet me slowly. At the bird feeder, little chickadees come each morning, offering their gentle hello.

I love the cold on my skin. The fresh air filling my lungs. The silence. There is no silence like winter silence. Snow softens everything, smoothing the edges of the world until sound itself seems to disappear.

Winter is also my most sacred season for journaling. I love writing in summer, sitting in the garden surrounded by flowers and green abundance. But winter carries a different depth. At night, by candlelight, my pen moves closer to my soul. I feel more intuitive then, more connected, because I’ve allowed myself to slow down enough to listen.

And in January, I let my dreams begin to breathe on the pages of my journal.

When I look toward the next decade, what I envision is simple. I dream of homesteading—nothing grand, nothing sprawling. Maybe just right here in my own backyard. Growing more of our food. More medicinal plants. Keeping bees. Planting flowers everywhere, because nothing brings me more joy than freshly cut blooms resting on my kitchen table.

I envision a life rooted in service—helping others feel healthier, more connected, and more at home in natural, sustainable ways of living. Not a life of constant productivity, but one that honors the rhythm of my body. A life where rest is respected, and creativity is welcomed when it arrives.

I hope that my husband and I will, in this coming decade, finally complete the restoration of our home—a 150-year-old beauty we began working on fifteen years ago, before my chemical sensitivity asked us to pause. Today, we are learning about ecological and natural renovation, slowly transforming our house into a safer, more sacred home. You can already read about The Sacred Home series on the blog, where I share our journey toward creating a safe and natural living space.

Mostly, I hope we will find our rhythm.

I don’t envision much more than that. Baking bread more often. Making jam in summer with blackberries from bushes not yet planted. Living simply. Living nourished.

I hope that you will be part of that journey with me.

Thank you for being there, for reading me—because even without knowing it, you are a part of my dream. With Love, Nancy