Setting the table for the birds - and for spring.

“Before enlightenment; chop wood, carry water. After enlightenment; chop wood, carry water.” - Zen Kōan.

“In every job that must be done, there is an element of fun. You find the fun and—snap!—the job's a game!” - Mary Poppins

Friends, it was a sh*tty weekend. [It was a great, beautiful, tiring weekend…with lots of literal poop in it.]

Baby there ain’t no shortcuts on your wayBaby there ain’t no highways in these partsYou know baby gonna have to drive yourself down every little windy roadIf you really wanna get to where you’re going

-Heather Maloney, No Shortcuts

I’ve been taking the scenic route back from yoga and meditation lately. Those of you who have an idea where I live might be thinking, “wait…isn’t is all scenic route?” And you wouldn’t be wrong. If I take the “fast” way, I turn from my nearly quarter-mile gravel driveway onto a bumpy private road, then a slightly bigger road, before finally getting to first one windy two-lane state road, then another.

The back way skips the center line completely, commanding the full attention of the driver. Meeting an oncoming car means both of you slow down, scootch over a little, give a courtesy wave, and drive on.

The “fast” way saves me about five minutes on a good day. The scenic route invites me to really take a good look around. To slow down and enjoy the journey. Road names like State Route 55 are replaced by signs that say things like “Parker Hollow.” You’ll pass more than one country church, too many cows to count, little streams. It may actually take a bit longer than that “extra” five minutes because the temptation is so strong to pull over and take a few photos. And really - why not?

I wish I could say that I started taking the back way out of a primordial pull toward calm and ease, but what really prompted it was a traffic accident on the main road that almost caused me to be late one day. Taking the “slow” way home actually saved me a few minutes - and was so much more pleasant that I continued to go that way, not always, but often. It was a nice reminder that faster isn’t always faster.

It’s been a year now - Earth Day 2025 - since I left my federal job and dug in to my “dream vacation”, which in my case looks like a wild garden patch of homesteading, health coaching, teaching yoga, cottage baking, logging some paid hours in front of spreadsheets (I did not, apparently, quite reach escape velocity from all aspects of my former work), and somewhere in there finding time for all the other things that nourish me.

I had big plans for this anniversary post. In one version, I’ve found my way to a soft life where I earn six figures in exchange for four hours a week of work. The growth gurus promised that could happen if I just manifested hard enough. I’ve discovered something weird, though, something that I think probably makes me a bad capitalist (but hopefully a good farmer): I seem to enjoy work, independent of the financial rewards (although this is probably a great time to note that you’re always welcome to throw something in the tip jar.)

A couple of weeks ago, I sat down with three friends who had also taken a version of the federal “Fork”, departing their careers sooner than expected, for a wide-ranging, hilarious, and soulful conversation that I plan - just as soon as I get to editing it! - to share with you all. Since I’m a much more enthusiastic interviewer than audio editor, all I can do for the moment is tease the highlights with a spoiler: turns out, none of us regrets the decision or wants to go back. Instead, we’ve been enjoying the surprising things that show up when every day is allowed to look slightly different. We’ve also all developed mild-to-severe allergies to being boxed in. And all of us are, in one way or another, taking the scenic route to whatever comes next.

This spring has been full of good reminders about the futility of taking shortcuts. The weather has continued to ping-pong hot to cold and back again. Trees that blossomed too early, responding to that first warmth, aren’t doing as well as those that held on a bit longer, biding their time. In my greenhouse, tomato and peppers impatiently begun in February now wait another few weeks - average last frost is May 11th, and setting them out too early would likely mean three months of wasted effort. A new rooster introduced to the flock with more haste than planned caused some temporary chaos before harmony was restored.

Taking my cue from the spring, and from the scenery along the back road, I too am meandering, biding my time, working to release attachments to “my” timing and plans and instead really watching to see what appears around each corner. A year out, I occasionally still wonder whether the main road might not have been a bit smoother, a little more direct, maybe even reduced wear and tear on my vehicle. But the thing is, I’ve stopped believing in direct routes. The time you save always disappears somewhere else. And the drive is much more fun when you don’t have to focus on staying between the lines.

Well, friends - this was the week - the one where spring SPRINGS assertively, launching you straight into let’s-do-all-the-things season, winter inertia suddenly forgotten completely as all the things that awaited nicer weather got done a-waiting.

One small salvation for me: a weekend of yoga classes and bread deliveries and various farm errands meant several hours in the car, sitting (a small luxury), simply taking in the view, listening to my audiobook (the un-soothing Midnight in Chernobyl, if you must know), and watching as the landscape turned ever-more technicolor shades.

When I wasn’t sitting in my private viewing gallery, I was: repotting tomatoes and clearing the wreckage from the blown-down coop and picking up a new rooster and cleaning the garage of winter detritus and baking and bulk-prepping dog food and checking on the sheep and visiting with neighbors and laying out garden beds and making another run into town for supplies and…

In lieu of a long post, I’m leaving you here with some snapshots and a 21-minute yoga nidra. After a very full weekend, what I really need is a nap. Maybe you do, too.

Below: 21-minute yoga nidra for finding stillness in springtime.

A note about audio content: I love Substack best for its long-form written-word posts, such a rarity these days on the internet, and usually listen in other places. If that’s you, too, you can also find some of my recordings on Bandcamp, Insight Timer, and YouTube.

I should probably get this out of the way first since I know Lamb Watch 2026 is of much interest: we still have just four increasingly-uncomfortable ewes, their sides wiggling like jelly as they laboriously trot uphill. I sincerely hope, for their sakes (and for the sake of spring cuteness) that the youngsters emerge soon.

Other signs of our progressing Appalachian spring this week:

* The Pink Moon on April 1st was true to its name: although I haven’t spotted any moss phlox, our woods and fields are full of other pinks and purples: Virginia springbeauty; purple dead nettle; apple, cherry, and peach blossoms; even a few shy bulbs I’d forgotten that I planted. Joining them soon: the dogwoods are beginning to bud, and - if I neglect my pruning - the multiflora rose, that I was so charmed by when we moved out here but quickly learned is a trickster who will gladly take over your garden and fence line, will be not far behind.

* The weather continues to alternate between “perfect San Diego beach temps” and “another round of freeze, haha suckers, you didn’t plant those peas yet did you?” In preparation for this week’s chill, we’ve moved a small heater into the greenhouse - after coddling 104 tomato and pepper seedlings for almost two months, and optimistically setting in some lavender, marigolds, and basil, this is not the week I prefer to start from scratch.

* The Illicit Ramp Guy is back. In my part of the country, one delicious thing to look forward to each spring is the arrival of ramp season. Ramps are a type of wild spring onion found in Appalachian forests, and this time of year they start to appear in butters and salad dressings and pestos and marinades all over. If you don’t have a good ramp-picking spot, you may have to find a guy willing to sell what he forages. Ours parks his truck below the underpass on the way to Walmart and puts out a cardboard sign with “RAMPS” sharpeed on it. The whole thing feels extremely shady, but you do what you must.

In my kitchen, the season’s offerings are still mostly confined to eggs - so many eggs. Thanks to the flock and a fondness for potatoes, we’ve been eating a lot of tortilla española. This week, an abundance of sweet potatoes on the counter (left over from our spoiled dogs’ breakfasts and dinners) and the appearance, not of ramps, but of wild chives in the yard inspired us to mix things up a bit. Below, my version of a sweet potato and wild chive tortilla, with a couple little tricks to make things less fussy. Unfussiness is, in my view, one of the beauties of a tortilla - just a few simple ingredients come together to make something greater than the sum of its parts.

Speaking of fussy - have you ever watched a goose prepare to lay an egg? Our Chinese white, Sasha (appropriately for a flock guardian goose, her name means “protector”), has an entire production. First, she enters the sheep barn, announces her presence, and evicts everyone - including the sheep. Then, she goes to her favorite corner and begins nudging around bits of straw, setting things up just so. Finally, she takes a proud seat, perfect posture, and waits. I’ve begun giving amazed friends the occasional goose eggs, which have unbelievable heft and really feel almost like a unit of currency. It’s funny, one mused, “goose egg” is vernacular for zero, nothing…but if you’ve ever held a goose egg, you know that makes absolutely no sense.

For my tortilla, I used a combination of goose, duck, and chicken eggs - when you have a mixed flock, a kitchen scale becomes very useful in cooking and baking - but you can of course use whatever your flock offers or you find at the store.

Classic tortilla española may or may not include onion. Here, I’m including onion and wild chives and garlic and pepper - partly because I apparently have no respect for tradition, and partly because the sweet potatoes want, in my view, to be offset by a little pungency, a little spice. You are welcome to scale back any of the seasonings to your taste.

Finally - classic tortilla is cooked on one side, then flipped and cooked on the other, and then flipped back onto a plate. This is a lot of high-stakes egg flipping, so I prefer to simply cook on a stovetop to set the bottom and sides, then transfer to an oven for the remainder of the cook. Just one flip, to serve - although if you’re flip-shy you could certainly serve the thing right-side up, right out of the pan.

Sweet Potato and Wild Chive Tortilla Española (serves 6-8)

Ingredients

* 8 large chicken eggs, or about 16 oz of whatever eggs you have (I used 1 goose, 2 duck, and 2 chicken…)

* 2 lbs sweet potatoes, peeled (about three medium sweet potatoes)

* 1 lb yellow or white onions (about three small onions)

* Generous handful of a fresh spring onion - ramps, wild chives, or green onions in a pinch, minced

* 1/4 cup olive oil

* 1 t salt

* 1/2 t coarsely ground black pepper

* 2 garlic cloves, grated (optional)

Instructions

* Thinly slice the sweet potatoes. A mandolin can help greatly with this task, but watch those fingertips and knuckles!

* Peel and thinly slice the onions, about the same size as the sweet potatoes.

* Steam the sweet potato slices: add a couple inches of water and a steamer basket to a large pot, then the sliced potatoes. Turn the heat on medium-high, cover, and cook until just tender, about 15 minutes.

* While you’re steaming the potatoes, sauté the onions. Use the full 1/4 cup of oil in a 9-inch cast iron pan (or your preferred nonstick oven-safe pan). Turn the heat to medium and cook the onions until translucent and tender.

* While the potatoes and onions are cooking, crack the eggs and add 1 t salt, the onions/ramps/wild chives, the pepper, and (if desired) the garlic. Whisk until eggs are light and frothy.

* Remove the cooked onions from the pan with a slotted spoon, reserving remaining oil and ensuring it thoroughly coats the bottom and sides of the pan.

* Allow sweet potatoes and onions to cool slightly, then add to the egg mixture and stir to combine with a rubber spatula (you want to leave the sweet potatoes as intact as possible.)

* Heat the skillet you just used for the onions over medium heat, ensuring the pan is nice and hot. Add the egg/potato/onion mixture, pressing the top with a spatula.

* Cook until the bottom and sides are set, about 10 minutes. Periodically use your spatula to pull egg away from the sides of the pan - you’ll know you’re ready when the egg comes away cleanly.

* Transfer to a 350-degree oven and bake until the egg is set through - about 20-25 minutes. Use a toothpick to check that you don’t have a runny-egg-in-center situation.

* Remove from the oven and find your most reliable heat-proof pair of oven mitts. Invert a plate over the top, pick the whole thing up, say a little prayer, and flip the tortilla onto the plate.

* Perfect tortilla? Congratulations! Imperfect tortilla? You will probably find that it still tastes great.

* Enjoy hot with spring greens…or cold the next morning right out of the refrigerator. Just, whatever you do, don’t make eye contact with the goose.

Be well,

Havala

p.s. - Here looking for yoga or health coaching? You can find my current schedule and offerings on my website.

p.p.s. - Contemplating that fall beach retreat? Early interest has been strong - just 10 spots (7 shared/3 private rooms) left! Early-bird rates are available for those who book by May 15th.

Below: a PDF of this recipe for your files. :-)

March is a fickle friend...

The cheerful yellows of spring.

At some point last year, I fell into an all-too-easy habit of letting my phone join in morning walks with Junior Pup. It started innocently enough, helpfully even. Experience enhancing. The Merlin app to identify bird calls; Seek for unknown plants; the camera to snap quick photos. But slowly, inevitably, the Distraction Creep began. Answering a quick text. Drafting an e-mail. Why not make a class playlist and do a quick Babbel lesson while we’re at it? Might as well catch up on the news before getting home.

If you’ve ever walked with an off-leash dog on a country road while distracted, you know that they are excellent at noticing that your attention has been diverted. One minute you’re composing a letter to your member of congress - the next your pal is a quarter mile away chasing a groundhog or, better yet, rolling in skunk poop.

Saturday, with an empty battery and a full mind, I left the phone at home and undertook the novel task of just walking. Instead of trying to capture a photo, I looked. Instead of trying in vain to make a sound recording, I listened to the gorgeous music of the thawing countryside.

Phones are garbage at discernment. In particular, I’ve noticed that every time I try and make a sound recording, no matter what sounds I’m trying to capture, the main thing I catch is the two-miles-away freeway which, even though lightly trafficked, has an unmistakable roar. Sure, the problem could be solved with better technology, but I have a suspicion that a giant bag of recording equipment and an enthusiastic 2-year-old lab might be a tricky combination.

Humans, on the other hand, are fabulous at what science calls “auditory selective attention” and frustrated partners the world over call selective listening. The good news is that we can choose what we tune out - and to what we tune in. Put the phone down on a walk and take a listen for a moment and you may notice that you can pick up small, distinct sounds: the rustling of leaves, the trickle of a small stream, individual bird calls. Once you try it, it’s a fun game:

What’s the farthest sound you can hear? What about the closest? Lowest? Highest? Fastest? Slowest? How many different sounds can you pick out?

Maybe you can’t get out of the house today, or your mobility is limited. You can still play - either by simply opening a window, or by putting on headphones and choosing any piece of music at all.

My favorite music of all, this week, has been the sudden, joyful chorus of wood frogs waking up from their long winter’s nap, signaling, unmistakably, the arrival of the season of stirring and rising sap and song.

Take a walk, go to your window, put on a piece of music you love. What do you hear?

Notes on a city trip for the country mice, eager anticipation of the thaw, and a simple, sunny mocktail recipe.

On loving ourselves, as-is.