Breakfast from the Mennonites, memories from the farm

Someday, I think I might take up yoga. The idea of standing in a stretchy pose and being all poised and nimble and calm is definitely appealing. I think about it on occasion, but then I remember the 9-month-old pulling everything off the coffee table, the puppy ringing the bell to go outside and the kettle whistling on the stove. I can’t imagine keeping all those balls in the air whilst standing on one leg and saluting the sun. But then again, yoga is all about balance, so it would probably do me some good. Yes, it’s decided. Someday, I’ll take up yoga.

Yogi or not, there is certainly something to be said for finding your own sense of calm and solace amidst the chaos of diaper changes and dinnertimes. For me, that peace and recharge has always come from our summertime journey up north. I’ve written about my grandma’s farm before, how my family road trips there every summer for a breath of fresh air and much-needed break from the everyday grind. It’s amazing what a place like that can do to make all feel right with the world.

For the first time in years, Jared and I didn’t make it there this summer, and I know we both are missing it. We’ve been reminiscing a lot lately about the cool, dewy mornings, the wear-you-out kickball games and the dark, quiet nights. It was during one of these reveries that we happened upon a batch of farm photos from last year that never made it on the blog, including a tasty sampling of breakfast photos from a batch of ready-to-bake cinnamon rolls that we picked up at the local Mennonite store.