eating cake
wedding toast
one of the boys
mimi and haze
running to gurney
dancing with gurney

Though the general ethic of our wedding celebration centered on sustainability—that is to say, non-disposability—there was one exception we were willing to make: disposable cameras. 

Film photography has played a special role in documenting our relationship & our lives, and we had hoped it could play into our wedding plans in some way or another. Due in part to our decision to change the date on very short notice, we ended up with what amounted to "crowdsourced" wedding photos. With a couple of very talented photographer friends leading the way, DSLRs in hand, our wedding guests captured the action themselves using cheap drug store cameras. 

Yesterday, when we went to pick up the film—with that bygone feeling of unknowing anticipation that comes with waiting to have your photos developed—we were overjoyed to discover rolls that had turned out even better than we had expected. In placing cameras in the hands of everyone rather than one, we are now able to (re)live so many beloved moments & faces that we may have missed the first time around. 



a messy table
mark and george

We set up an improv stage and improv-ed for hours. We made Top 10 Best & Worst lists for 2015. We articulated to one another how we feel the world perceives us. We consumed home brew and prosecco and more wine. We taught each other our best dance moves. We conducted blind taste tests with spices. We slow cooked pork shoulder and baked mini dark chocolate cakes with from-scratch whipped cream and goat milk caramel. We dunked homemade bread into honey, and in the morning we made two French presses. It was so full; so good.

We set the table in a way that would have looked great in photos. But it was 8 p.m. before supper was ready and a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc was already empty. So we forgot about photos and soaked up every moment of this best friend reunion. It was the sort of unkempt party that travels into the wee hours of the morning. The sort that begs to be reminisced over while fully extended on the couch, coffee in hand.

As a couple, we have worked to create a 400 square foot space that is overflowing with music, plants, and quality food. Always good food. When we eventually washed the copious dishes and vacuumed the rugs, we found ourselves remarking on how little money we have, yet we feel totally rich in experience and in food. That's the gorgeous reality of working in agriculture + food, in knowing farmers, in investing what little money you do have in growing (and brewing) your own.

Welcome, 2016. 

coffee mug
table setting
andrew in the morning
music and plants




8 o' clock rolled around and the idea of staying home—clad in pajamas and sheltered from the late November rain—sounded awfully good. Alas, I had scheduled the 2nd Annual Christmas Tree Chop, and even in my sleepy, warm condition, I recognized that I would regret a cancellation. With coffee & cocoa thermoses, a bag of mini donuts, and a brother who sharpened his hatchet just for the occasion, we set off.

Picking out the Christmas tree has always been my favorite act of the holiday season—more than Cookie Day, Christmas Eve dinner, or crafting my family's "Star Chart." Even now, knowing what I do about the (un)sustainability of commercial tree farming, I'm fully willing to acknowledge that it has always been a magical day. I have long prided myself on choosing a tree with perfect sap content, plumpness, and moisture retention. The major difference between recent years and years past is that I always used to pick our tree from the discounted section at Lowe's. In truth, it didn't even matter that the tree was coming from a big box store where the trees had certainly been shipped from far, far away; it was still total magic. 

Now, my family makes a day of it—spending 3x the amount of money for a locally-grown tree that must be chopped down by hand. It's special. It's festive. It's an investment that I budget for in advance. It errs on the side of sustainability, and it keeps the money in our local agri-tourism economy. I do love the rural life. And as a result, there's a beautiful Canaan fir (with great sap content) sitting on my sister and brother's stoop.