Slow living and conscious mothering rooted in a story of home.
A journal sharing our simple, seasonal, and intentional together.
Our journey towards a more conscious and considered, less hurried, way of living.
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A place to find joy in the little, fleeting moments. To give yourself permission to step outside the glorification of busy.
My mothering philosophy is rooted in raising my children to know and believe that they can live a life that is a direct reflection of their hearts. I believe this starts with changing the narrative that we embody as mothers and folks who are raising children.
I chose this path because I know that a community of mothers exists with a similar ethos. It is in this collective coming together, that I believe we can nourish a return to slowness, stillness, and seasonal living.
hi, i’m amanda
A visual storyteller + stylist.
A mother, homebody and full-time dreamer.
Seeking a slow life and sharing my stories of our ordinary together at home.
When I’m not spending my time raising our little women, I try my best to sink into life’s simple joys; baking, homemaking, gardening, and exploring by the woods and the sea. Foraging wildflowers, curling up by the wood stove in a well-loved, oversized-knit, and sipping a hot coffee before the rest of the house wakes.
guiding words
nourish | grow | nest | nurture | gather
how would you live then?
what if a hundred rose-breasted grosbeaks flew in circles around your head?
what if the mockingbird came into the house with you and
became your advisor? what if the bees filled your walls with honey and all
you needed to do was ask them and they would fill the bowl?
what if the brook slid downhill just past your bedroom window so you could listen
to its slow prayers as you fell asleep? what if the stars began to shout their names, or to run
this way and that way above the clouds? what if you painted a picture of a tree, and the leaves
began to rustle, and a bird cheerfully sang from its painted branches? what if you suddenly saw
that the silver of water was brighter than the silver of money? what if you finally saw
that the sunflowers, turning toward the sun all day and every day – who knows how, but they do it – were
more precious, more meaningful than gold?
— mary oliver
