Ten years sounds like a long time. Ten visits does not. A story about a father counting the number of times he might realistically see his parents again made me rethink how we measure time. It also made me think about my own children, aging parents, and even farming. Sometimes life isn't measured in years. Sometimes it's measured in visits and seasons.
The kids were home for the weekend, and I thought we were making the most of our time together. We shared meals, went about our days, and settled into familiar routines. But as they packed up to leave, I realized something important had been missing all along. Sometimes the busiest part of life isn't what steals our attention—it's the habits we don't even notice
Moving our youngest daughter into her first Manhattan apartment took six adults, a bike-riding friend, a lot of IKEA-style assembly, and just a little bit of chaos. A funny, heartfelt NYC family story.
This weekend we moved our youngest to New York City—and before the boxes and furniture, there was a train ride, a mistaken identity, some very public tip math, and a reminder that every season of life (and farming) comes with its own rhythm.
