Decorating for Christmas of 2021
I thought I would share some photos of Wildflower, as it has managed to do most of it’s transformation for Christmas already. Oh, there are still a few little finishing touches to be done, but most of it has been set up. We like to get it together early so then we can sit in it till January second and spend some time enjoying it.
Mud season is starting to ice over. The sky is often grey. The smell of cold is all around outside now, and my world here on my little New England salt box colonial homestead farm grows ever more like a Norman Rockwell in appearance outside. Inside, the fires are lit and a sense of Christmas cozy is taking over. The air smells of a Christmas mix I cook up in cast iron kettles every year atop the wood stoves. It smells like a tantalizing and enchanting mix, of sweet oranges and fir forests, with a high note of warm spices. It wafts in the air all over the house creating a glorious environment full of magic, complimenting all the christmas visuals such as the old fashioned rustic style swags, and other lovely Christmas visuals that accent a very old fashioned interior.
We made a decision this year to go big for Christmas. Not so much on gifts. But on the gift of Christmas ambiance. We kind of felt a need for some warmth and cheer. A need to put ourselves in the middle of the brightest light we could create, and in the middle of the celebration of that light, during the darkest time of the year. There is a Tolkien quote, “may it be a light to you in dark times and in dark places when all other lights go out.” It is Galadriel, giving Frodo, a magical sword. Wildflower Farm, is my magical sword. My light in dark times and in dark places, and as I sit here forced to watch as over 700 thousands lights just in the US alone have gone out of the world… I find my need to expand on the magic of this space has become a bit of an obsession. To light the world, everyone will need to shine brighter. So that is what we are doing here. As difficult as it is, we are shining brighter through the season to celebrate the hope of a future in which normal returns, and we are hoping for a better next year. We are standing in our power of hope no matter what kind of storms the winter sends our way. We are announcing our permanence here among the living, and on this planet. Announcing we are here to fight for hope. Fight for a better world. So this year, we are shining brighter. We will out shine climate change on this farm. We will out shine this virus. We will stand our ground against the cold, and the snow, and the darkness of the winter, and a world sadly lacking in compassion it seems these days. We will do this for the 700 thousand people who have fallen. For us that is what it is about this year.
We honor those who found meaning in these traditions and in this hope at the darkest point of the year by continuing the tradition to the fullest we are able. I won’t lie it isn’t easy to celebrate hope in a world where the president is making announcements about the shutdowns and lock downs he says he will not do no matter what the new variant holds for the population he represents and has a duty to protect. Ahead of all science on this new horrid strain. I have to say, I find it highly irresponsible leadership to say what we will and will not be doing before the information is in and before the advise of science. And yes, hope is so much harder to find for this season when a nitwit, is promising things that may be inadvisable while over 700 thousand have already died. I could let that fill me with hopelessness, but not this month. Not when everything is at it’s winter darkest. Not when the bleakness and cold surround my little old fashioned homestead farm house.
For all those that have been lost… For their memories… And because we are not alone. Many are gone but so many are left. And though finding the joy this year is hard, all the more reason to find it, build it, or create it. Because, without hope, we render ourselves useless in the dark times. I won’t relegate myself to something so shameful. That simply isn’t who I am. And if it was, I would have rolled over and died in a hospital bed at age 5 when I was hit by a car. I still have hope, because I am still standing, and I am the driving force of this tiny little homestead. My door is open to travelers passing through, and the house is warm and cozy and there is a light here with a tenacity that refuses to give up and die. It will be shining bright through the month of December in celebration of the festivals of hope and light that happen every year at this time.
If you need a light, I have room here at Wildflower. If you need some hope… I have a never ending supply, you can find it all over the property. In the playfulness of the goats, the smell of the house, the little lights in all the front windows, and the fires burning in our hearth. Hope is a choice. I have made mine. So this year, the second Covid Christmas, is hitting and yes, we have suffered massive losses… But I know, the sun is going to rise tomorrow and some months from now spring will come. There are brilliant minds out there fighting this miserable virus for us. I have faith that eventually we will light ourselves a path through this. We are happy to light a step along the way for you while we light our path for ourselves.
Thank you for reading.
Hope is a choice, never forget that.
To plant, is to have hope for the future. This is what homesteading is at it’s core and foundation.
Hope through whatever difficulty you find yourself facing.
Amanda of Wildflower Farm