November Rain

As much as I spend all summer wishing for that blessed rain to fall from the sky (and avoid another summer like 2023), my soul is disheartened when I cover the thrasher, pile the lavender stalks - sorting which to burn, which to make wreaths, which to make firestarters. Staking each new babe so the winter’s snow won’t crush its tender branches. Pulling hundreds of feet of burlap for each plant to slumber under - the fabric guarding them from the bitter northeast winds that come down from the Selkirk Mountains. Gathering and cleaning all tools with mineral oil and sand - and arranging the greenhouse for when it’s needed once again. A sadness comes over me, knowing it will be another 6 months before my bee friends are back and the rows of lavender are once again buzzing with a cacophony of wings - the little workers moving from plant to plant to feed the colony.

And then, I refocus - and I find my happiness again. A sleeping lavender plant is a plant that is reserving it’s resources for a joyous spring. And while it sleeps, the gifts it gave to me become a treasure to someone else. This is production season at the farm, and we’re deep in making our beautiful sachets, bottling our aromatic Riverina Thomas essential oil and hydrosol, brewing the perfectly sweet lavender simple syrup and crafting our culinary sugar and Herbs de Provence, made completely from herbs we grow here at Dark Horse. Every bottle, every sachet, every ribbon, box and bag is lovingly curated for a special someone. I know that “there is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven.” Turn, turn, turn….

Today, in a bitter November sleet, I spied a bull moose eating apples that nature had placed on the ground just for his sustenance. He was magnificent, so incredibly tall and measured in his movements. I felt so lucky to be given the opportunity to see him, and live in a place where he thrives. And I feel so grateful that my life is in the soil, and in the rows, and in the flowers. Until the snow…