The Practice of Contentment
It was the house - and the season - that waited for me
A Hearth Reflection
There was a season when we lived in a small, creaky house tucked on a generous block of land.
And for a moment, if I could, I will take you to this memory that is so dear to me.
Out the back, life quietly unfolded: An old apple tree - grafted with both Jonathon and Granny Smith branches - offered fruit for the whole season. Nearby stood a timber pergola built by my husband, his father and family friends. The children had their own sandpit, a mud kitchen and a ring of logs for outdoor picnics. We stacked apple crates to build them a cubby house and every summer we planted calendula to make salve, along with sunflowers and wildflowers that the ducks would nap beneath - nestled into the petals like stories waiting to be told.
There was also a big dirt mound at the back - nothing fancy, just a pile of earth - but to the children it was a mountain, a bakery, a fortress, a canvas for play.
Those years held barefoot days with friends, poetry teatime picnics under the pergola, bowls of fruit passed hand to hand and the kind of joy that doesn’t ask to be documented - only lived.
And yet, even with all this quiet magi unfolding around me, I struggled. I struggled with the feeling that it wasn’t enough until it was finished.
That the house should be fully renovated. That the tools should be packed away. That the dust should be gone before I could fully exhale.
Contentment didn’t come in a burst of gratitude. It arrived slowly, like light under a door - asking me to notice the goodness within the undone.
I thought I was waiting for the house to become what it should be.
But quietly, it was the house - the season - that waited for me.
I fell in love with the way things already were. With the way life asked me to meet it - just as it was, not as I had planned.
There was the tree, fruiting on schedule. There were walls, holding in the laughter. There were the growing feet, padding through the imperfect spaces.
And so I began learning contentment. Not in the distant “when it’s finished” or “when we have more,” but in the gentle gift of now.
Just as I’d grown to love the it, our home was taken- acquired by the government. We relocated across states, starting again in another house that, too, wants to become a home. And now, once again, I am meeting contentment daily - sometimes easily, sometimes not.
Because contentment is not a one-time thing. It is posture. A practice.
It’s choosing to give thanks when the walls need painting. It’s making soup from what’s in the pantry. It’s asking “What can I do to make someone’s day today?”
It’s looking out instead of spiraling in.
Contentment, I’ve found, is not passive. It is active. Tender. Sacred. And it grows best when tended in ordinary soil.
And while I’m still learning, there are a few small things that help me practice contentment - especially on the days when it feels far away.
What Helps Me Tend Contentment
Noticing the Enough
When I pause and really see - that the steaming cup, the child’s drawing on the floor, the scent of dinner, sipping morning tea, or walking at dusk all anchor me. They whisper, “This is a life, not a list.”
Creating with My Hands
Contentment rises when I make something - bread, salve, a story, a home. The doing becomes a prayer of presence.
Looking Outward
Asking, “Who can I bless today?” reorients me from lack to love. Sometimes a smile or a shared biscuit is the holiest thing.
Gratitude in the Mundane
Sometimes it’s not the big moments, but the small, repetitive ones - folding towels, wiping counters, stirring oats- that invite me to say thank You. These are the quiet places where gratitude can take root.
Rhythms Over Rushing
When I keep our days simple - a quiet breakfast, reading aloud, lighting a candle before dinner - it reminds me we are not behind. We are home.
Protecting My Spirit
Staying off social media until I’ve begun my real life (or not checking at all) guards my joy. Comparison has never made me more content.
Remembering This is a Season
Some days I whisper, “This is not forever, but it is for now.” And even now can be holy.
And perhaps it’s the same for you. Perhaps contentment is arriving in pieces, not perfection.
If you’d like to share - I’d love to hear:
What helps you tend contentment where you are?
May you find beauty in what is already here.
May your days slow just enough to let joy be felt.
And may contentment rise in you like morning light- quietly, faithfully, without demand.
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Your support helps me continue creating gentle, soul-rooted offerings like this. Thank you.
@keeper.of.the.hearth
Nurturing Winter: Gentle Rituals for Heart, Home and Hearth
If you were here with me now, I’d warm your hands by the hearth, offer you a steaming cup of spiced tea and invite you to settle in while we talk about tending ourselves through the heart of winter. We’d talk quietly about how the long nights of winter shape us, how they call us inward to tend our hearts and homes.
In the southern hemisphere, July draws us deep into the heart of winter. The days are brief and the nights deep, and sometimes our energy can feel just as low. While the world in the north might be celebrating summers height, here we are offered winters wise invitation to rest, replenish and nourish.
Tending yourself in winter can look like:
Slow food: stews, broths, root vegetables and warm herbal teas to build resilience.
Herbal allies: gentle supports like elderberry, rosehip, ginger and thyme.
Movement: stretching and gentle walks, rather than intense activity.
Cosy Rituals: candles, journaling or reading aloud by the fire.
Connection: checking in with friends and neighbors to ease any winter loneliness.
If you homeschool:
This season is the perfect time to weave in stories of winter, candle crafts, star-gazing and simpler rhythms that focus on warmth and connection. Let your family feel the seasons slower heartbeat.
In the coming weeks, I’ll be sharing more about creating a holistic, seasonal rhythm for your family through winter. This will include a special winter offering, a downloadable seasonal guide with practices, stories and recipes to help warm your hearth and heart all season long.
For now keep tending the quiet light of midwinter. Pour another cup of tea, stay close to the hearth and know you are not alone in this gentle slowing down.
To accompany this piece, I’ve created a seasonal gift for you, a lovingly crafted PDF filled with winter nourishment, rituals, and gentle reminders to slow down and soften into the colder months.
Sacred Winter awaits you here.
If you have found warmth, inspiration or companionship here by the hearth and you’d like to offer a small gesture or support. You’re welcome to gift me a cup of tea, cacao or a few coins toward tending this space.
Nurturing Midwinter: Tending the Hearth in July
If you were here with me now, I’d pour you a warm cup of tea, pass you a plate of buttery biscuits and invite you to sit by the hearth as we talk about the turning of the season.
As July deepens, the Southern hemisphere is held in the quiet heart of winter. Though the solstice has passed, the days are still short and the nights long and cold. This is a time to nurture ourselves with rest, warm food and moments by the fire.
In a world that often pulls us to move faster, midwinter invites us to slow down. To reflect. To listen to our dreams. To tend the hearth both at home and within our hearts so that we can emerge restored as the light returns.
Over the coming weeks, I’ll be sharing gentle seasonal stories, rituals and inspirations to help honour this season and carry its wisdom with you.
Settle in by the hearth with your favourite cup of tea, I can’t wait to share more with you soon.