What the quiet taught us, and what we’re ready to carry into spring.

We mark time by the things we carry—
Wool socks by the stove.
Root vegetables tucked into soup pots.
The hush of snowy mornings.
The creak of a drying rack, the crackle of the fire.

And when winter bows out, it doesn’t just leave behind ice and slush.
It leaves behind wisdom.

What Winter Gave Us

Winter gave us rhythm—
Not the buzzing kind that keeps a phone screen lit, but the kind our grandmothers knew. The kind that followed a fire’s burn rate, a pot’s slow simmer, a sunrise that came a little later every day.

Winter gave us permission—
To say no.
To go slower.
To stop working at dark.
To let dinner be humble and home be our favorite place to be.

Winter gave us practice—
In presence.
In noticing.
In letting small things, soup, snow, silence, be enough.

What We’re Letting Go

We’re not taking everything with us. That’s part of the grace.

We’re leaving behind:

• The over-scheduling
• The internal pressure to “make use” of every moment
• The guilt for resting
• The voice that said “more” when “enough” was already beautiful

We’re sweeping out both hearth and heart.

What We’re Carrying Forward

From winter, we carry:

• The comfort of doing less, well
• A deeper appreciation for warmth inside and out
• A tenderness toward ourselves, our people, and our pace
• The sacredness of slowness

These are the roots under everything else we grow.

Because while spring brings doing, winter taught us about being.

Spring Comes With Its Own Demands. Meet It Softly.

Let the last days of winter close like a journal: page by page, thoughtfully.

Light one more candle.
Knead one more loaf.
Watch one more sunset without checking the clock.

You don’t need to leap into spring.
You just need to arrive at it, whole.

— Jenny