We are nearing the first anniversary of living on this land and homestead. We arrived at Ojo Conejo right before Halloween in 2022, right before winter hit and our property was covered in ice and frozen water for five months. We had no idea what our property even looked like or what the land would show us in the Spring. We arrived when the season of death was close and the ravens were loud. We arrived when the leaves were shivering off the trees and the sun was setting early. It felt like an ominous beginning — our eagerness to plant food in the ground had to wait. We were veiled in winter, the wood stove urging us to sit by her and wait.

Dear Home Depot Man,

When asked what you thought of my use of a ratchet strap, (YouTube a video right now on how to use this handy tool if you have no idea what I mean. You’ll learn a lot and also look really cool the next time you’re around someone who needs to use a ratchet strap and has no idea how to make it work.) you sighed and said, “Hmmmmm” and furrowed your eyebrows. You look like someone who has used a ratchet strap more than I have and so I immediately began to doubt myself. (Welcome to being a WOMAN at Home Depot) I said to you, “Oh, you don’t approve do you?” I challenged you as you sat back and watched me tie down a load of 34 cement boards into the bed of my truck. I used two ratchet straps and did not even get them stuck while I was tightening them. I was VERY proud of myself. But you, Home Depot Man, you did not seem proud of me. You seemed skeptical and judgmental.

I’m sitting outside on the patio, under an awning at Iconik on 2nd street in Santa Fe, eating steak tacos. The sun is hitting me just enough so that sweat is running down my calves and into my shoes. I am craning my neck so that more of the sun hits my face. I want all the sun I can gather from this September day. Fall is coming. Fall is here. And I still want the sweat and the heat. Bring it.

Here in Ojo Sarco, the summer nights are still warm and long. After dinner every night, we take walks through our village, the sun casting shadows on our backs and the sunflowers standing as tall as we are. The four of us; Heathar, Andrea (our friend from Mexico), Jack and myself — we walk in a line together down the road, moving from one side to the other when the rare car passes by, waving to each person as they drive home for the evening. Each night, we forget to return the plate our neighbor gave us when she baked us rhubarb pie and we promise that we will remember the following night, but we never do.

Yesterday I finished painting our 400 square foot casita. We’ve been working on painting this casita for the past five months. You would think that painting a 400 square foot building would not take that long, but it has — and we’ve even had many hands to help. In between learning how to butcher chickens, finishing graduate school and keeping a full time psychotherapy and astrology practice functioning, there has been painting. The trim on the outside of our casita is even done and let me tell you, it is a glorious shade of turquoise.

Monumental moments have happened here on the farm this week. For one, the UPS driver (who delivers much welcomed packages right to our front door) and I have become friends. This past week he said to me, “Wow, you’ve really done a lot to the place — it’s looking goooood!” He has been driving up our driveway for the past 15 years and he has seen what the previous owners did not do to this property and what we are starting to do to it. Having his perspective on our work here made me incredibly happy. I felt like it was one of the most validating nods to our dedication to bringing this land and this space back to life.