The Journey Between Seasons

snowy field and forest at Good Heart Farmstead

Yesterday the snow finally came in big flakes, turning the hard bare landscape soft and quiet.

This year’s transition from brilliant autumn colors to snowy winter was a long one.

This first snow reminds me:

We don’t know how long the journey between seasons will be.

We don’t know how many days will be the cold rain and bare branches of November before we get to the blank slate of a snowy landscape.

I’ve been in my own transition as of late.

On the surface it’s straightforward to say: I have a new job! One where I get to support climate-forward and community-forward dairy across the Northeast, write about farmers and projects they’re doing to support a resilient regional food system.

Below the surface, though…this year has felt like a churning inside that I don’t yet know how to write about.

I know just that I need darkness.


To remove myself into the quiet alone of a winter season.

I know that I need to write behind the scenes and rekindle my relationship with the creativity that has always nourished me.

What this means for you:

–> You can still access my website to read past blog posts, access resources, and learn about farm marketing, but otherwise…

–> I’m taking an extended break from these emails and consulting work.

–> I’ll be closing the Organic Emails course and transitioning it to a downloadable product rather than a course.

Whether you recently signed up for my emails or have been here for years, thank you for being in community with me.

I suspect the quiet retreat I’m yearning for will eventually bloom into a new iteration of sharing and engaging here. Until then, may you rest in the quiet of winter, be filled by what nourishes you, and know there’s a season for everything.

In good heart,

p.s. One more thing before I sign off —

Last Sunday I heard Rev. Simon Ruth deVoil read this Solstice poem, and I knew I had to share it with you. Wishing you a Happy Solstice and joyful holiday season~

In Celebration of Winter Solstice

by Stephanie Noble

​Do not be afraid of the darkness.
Dark is the rich fertile earth
that cradles the seed, nourishing growth.
Dark is the soft night that cradles us to rest.
Only in darkness
can stars shine across the vastness of space.
Only in darkness
is the moon’s dance so clear.
There is mystery woven in the dark quiet hours.
There is magic in the darkness.

​Do not be afraid.
We are born of this magic.
It fills our dreams
that root, unravel and reweave themselves
in the shelter of the deep dark night.
The dark has its own hue,
its own resonance, its own breath.
It fills our soul,
not with despair, but with promise.
Dark is the gestation of our deep and knowing self.
Dark is the cave where we rest and renew our soul.
We are born of the darkness,
and each night we return
to the deep moist womb of our beginnings.

​Do not be afraid of the darkness,
for in the depth of that very darkness
comes a first glimpse of our own light,
the pure inner light of love and knowing.
As it glows and grows, the darkness recedes.
As we shed our light, we shed our fear,
and revel in the wonder of all that is revealed.

​So, do not rush the coming of the sun.
Do not crave the lengthening of the day.
Celebrate the darkness.
Here and now. A time of richness. A time of joy.

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