A couple of miles up the road, there’s a blue barn filled with flowers.
The owner sits in a handmade rocking chair, out back of the barn, crocheting long braids while a Maneki-neko waves from the counter. If you want flowers, there’s a cash box. Or Venmo. One of the only places left still using the honor code.
Last week, my dad sat opposite her and asked about the secret to keeping the plants we’d gathered alive.
She didn’t look up from her crochet, “Easy. Water and love. Plants want to live.”
My dad looked at her, then at me. “Hear that, Peyt? They want to live.”
If you’ve been here a while, you know exactly what he’s referring to. Gardening is not my... thing. I have a track record.
We don’t need to get into it.
The woman laughed as she said, “She’ll do just fine. The world’s going to be fine.”
Then she went back to her crocheting, as if she’d just solved everything
(For a moment, it felt like she did).
Today, the marigold is starting to bloom.
And friends, we’re taking it as a sign that we, too, will bloom.
I can’t take full credit for the marigolds’ success. It’s been a family effort. During the week, you can find someone from my family watering the plants from the blue barn, usually when we need to, you know…
But watching that marigold open up has me thinking about this whole season ahead.
I’ve been trying to figure out how to approach the holidays this year.
Usually, I hit the gas in October and don’t stop until Christmas Eve. Guides, lists, projects, all of it. Then January comes, and I can’t remember any of it, just that I was tired.
This year I want to try something different.
I’m not going to pretend everything’s fine when it’s not. The world feels heavy. The holidays on top of everything else? A LOT.
Creating spaces that actually wrap us up. Homes that feel like somewhere you want to be, not another thing to maintain. Intentional spending instead of panic-buying. The stuff that makes us feel held, embracing the little joys.
You’re still getting the guides, sources, and finds. Just a little different.
Three really good gift guides instead of fifteen. Small businesses are worth supporting. Recipes you’ll actually make. Traditions you might want to try.
Stuff that makes the season feel good, not just look good.
And building actual friendship here. Secret Santa. Cooking together. Figuring out how to get through these months without burning out.
Same content. More intentional about helping instead of adding noise.
Starting with…
For Paid Subscribers:
Welcome to the good stuff. This is the part where I share everything: the vintage site I’m gatekeeping, and the messy behind-the-scenes details. The unpolished takes. The links that’ll probably sell out. The stuff that doesn’t fit in a public post but feels like late-night texts with a friend who gets it.
This week:
The vintage source that’s almost too good to share
The only holiday collection I actually like so far
Screenshots from my cart (things I’m debating out loud)
Real client projects in progress
Secret Santa Idea