The season is changing again. In my part of the world, mid October means that autumn is fully here and summer is over. Leaves have turned yellow, burnt umber and ruby, and the air is drying out. It’s windy, and chilly air is back in the regular forecast. It happens every single year here in Minnesota, yet somehow it still catches me off guard…so often I am not ready for the change, or I’ve been hoping for a change so dramatic that when things do start to shift, I am left feeling disappointed instead of satisfied. The modernization of life has led to fewer physical chores for many people, but there is still plenty of work to do in the fall: School and work schedules pick up speed, the lawn needs to be mowed one last time, the furnace checked, the wood split, the groceries purchased, the house cleaned, the laundry done. Yet alongside the sometimes overwhelming list of to-dos, there is a sense of looming stillness that wants to be acknowledged. It can be hard to give quiet, more subtle, energy attention when it feels like there is so much left undone. I feel it. You probably feel it. Our colleagues, neighbors, and those we pass on the street feel it. Dominant culture says we need to be moving forward at all times, and that often leaves us stuck in overwhelm and urgency.

So, while we work and plan and race toward the end of the calendar year, checking things off the list (and often feeling pressure to be adding more), how do we tune in to stillness? How do we prioritize the need to slow down while continually being pummeled with the opposite message?

I could say meditate for 30 minutes every morning, write in your journal for 20 minutes every evening before going to bed, and spend at least an hour outside being physically active most days of the week. In an ideal world where people are always successful at meeting goals and everyone has the time and support they need to practice optimal self-care, doing those things would surely help. However, last time I checked, we don’t live in an ideal world. Many of us have a hard time meditating for five minutes, let alone 30, spend the 20 minutes before bed checking email or doing the dishes and use that hour we might have spent outside moving our bodies trying to accomplish something from the never-ending to-do list or working a second job to pay the bills.

There are no easy answers. If we want to be bleak, we could chalk life up to what we see on the surface and simply work on making it though using the old patterns that no longer serve. Most of us could muddle through and be ok, really. Maybe not truly happy with how things are, but we’d still find those little moments of success now and then and we’d probably figure out how to take time for ourselves on occasion or accept that it just isn’t in the cards. But what if we didn’t let ourselves settle? What if, even while practicing accepting what is in the moment, we committed to five minutes of sitting still and breathing once a week? What if we dusted off that old journal and wrote down three things we are grateful for every night, even if it was after doing the dishes and checking email, and even if we had to dig pretty deep to find something good? What if we did something tiny: too tiny to seem like it would ever make an impact?

Sometimes those tiny things can pierce the resignation that this is all there is. And light has a way of shining through even the smallest pinpricks in the dark cloak of wondering.

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Some unsolicited advice: As the seasons progress, keep working on your to do list. It’s probably not going anywhere. Meet your obligations. Say yes when saying yes is the best choice. But take time to rest. Practice saying no, especially if no doesn’t come easy. Go to bed ten minutes early. Walk outside for 90 seconds every Tuesday morning, Notice the details. Give thanks for the sun that filters through the newly bare tree branches and remind yourself that there is life gathering strength under the sense of passing away. Be gentle, practice compassion and let gratitude keep you grounded in the knowledge that change doesn’t have to uproot your entire life. Know that change can be small and still make a difference. When all else seems to fail, look toward where the sun rises in the east and breathe into a new day that is ripe with possibilities. Remember sometimes tiny things are the things that matter most.

Below is a recipe that will allow you to eat well, but also allow room for stillness and simplicity. Because eating well doesn’t have to mean spending hours in the kitchen.

Apple and Cabbage Slaw

Ingredients:

2-3 cups of shredded purple cabbage

3 tart apples, julienned

1 TB lemon juice

¼ cup apple cider vinegar

Pinch of grated ginger

1 TB honey

2 TB Olive oil

¼ cup toasted walnuts (optional)

Directions:

Whisk wet ingredients together (or shake in small lidded jar). Toast walnuts (if using) in a small skillet for 5 minutes. Toss both with apples and cabbage in a large bowl. Add salt and pepper to taste. Take a deep breath in through the nose, hold for a moment, and release the air back out through the mouth. Be where you are. Then, enjoy the tasty outcome of some simple actions.

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Knowing what we know about the state of the world (and for many of us, simply reflecting on what’s happened in our own personal sphere over the past several months) can make it tough to tap into feelings like celebration, joy, peace, and contentment. Depression, anxiety, anger, and a general sense of unease are common. There’s a lot wrong. And it’s fair (and necessary) to grieve that, and rage, and work on changing what needs changing. It’s fair, too (and necessary) to look for the good that is still present, even alongside the mess, that which we don’t want, the heartache, and the exhaustion that comes from doing the work of living in a world on fire.

Living an embodied life, being fully present for what is, remains important. To truly do so, we need to take care of ourselves, both mentally and physically. Moving regularly in ways that work for our unique bodies (walking or wheeling, swimming, and gentle stretching are great places to start), eating locally sourced, plant-based, simple foods (hello fruits/veg, lean proteins, and healthy fats, with limits on amounts of processed/fast foods), and finding ways to effectively manage stress and anxiety (mindful movement, meditation, getting outside, therapy, resting, reaching out for help, building life-giving community…) can help.

And while we look for the good that’s still present despite everything, and continue asking for support and extending help when it’s ours to extend, we can fortify ourselves with foods that bolster our capacity to thrive, navigate anxiety, and build resilience.

So, what foods help with that?

Foods rich in omega 3 fatty acids, such as fish (salmon, herring), seeds (flax, chia), and nuts as well as olive oil and nut butter can help ease anxiety symptoms by reducing inflammation in the body. Beans, fruits, veggies, green tea, and spices like turmeric and ginger include antioxidants which can also reduce inflammation. Foods that include probiotics such as sauerkraut, yogurt, kefir, and pickles help with the release of serotonin, which has a calming effect. And foods that are high in vitamin C, like citrus fruits, and veggies like bell peppers, brassicas, and leafy greens, help reduce levels of stress hormones in the body.

Here is a summery recipe that incorporates a few of those mood-boosting foods as we all continue building resilience while making a point to call out the good.

Citrus Kale Salad

Serves 2-3, depending on how much you like kale.

Salad Ingredients

One large bunch curly or lacinato kale, chopped

2 blood oranges (or any orange of your choice) peeled, sectioned and diced

¼ cup crumbled goat cheese

¼ cup walnuts or pecans (toasted if desired)

Optional Add-ins

Smoked salmon

Chopped basil

Fresh berries

Pumpkin seeds (toasted)

Dressing Ingredients

¼ cup olive oil

Juice of one small orange (~2 TB)

3 TB balsamic vinegar

3TB plain yogurt (optional)

Salt and pepper to taste

Chop the kale, and place it in a large salad bowl with a dash of olive oil and a sprinkle of sea salt. Massage the leaves with the oil and salt for a few minutes, really working in the oil. As you massage the kale, maybe you’ll also take a moment to roll your shoulders back and down a few times while inhaling and exhaling with intention, releasing the tension that often gets stuck in the upper body and jaw.

Chop and toast the walnuts. Add them to the bowl of kale, along with the goat cheese, oranges, and anything else that sounds refreshing. Toss gently. Keep breathing.

Take a moment to notice 5 things you can see, 4 things you can feel, 3 things you can hear, 2 things you can smell, and 1 thing you can taste. (Then taste it, mindfully!) Engaging with your senses helps ground you to the present, especially in times of heightened anxiety.

Put all dressing ingredients in a jar with a lid and shake to combine. Maybe you’ll put on a song you like or hum a tune yourself. Move your body how it wants to move as the dressing ingredients bind themselves together.

Drizzle the dressing over the assembled salad. Mindfully enjoy with a healthy dose of gratitude for what’s already good. Remember there may be hope for the world yet.

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As we move as a planetary collective into the final months of 2024 and beyond, the invitation is this: Use your agency in ways that add beauty to the world. Do at least one thing that brings a bit of peace to each uncertain day. Remember to breathe. Light a candle with dinner. Prepare and eat beautiful food in a way that makes you feel good.  Listen to the geese that honk overhead as they head south. Give yourself and your neighbor and the local wildlife some grace. Look at a hard thing from another’s perspective. Keep moving, even if it has to look different than usual. People (and all living things) all over the world are facing challenges: that much is certain.  But there’s also beauty being uncovered—from how folks are stepping up to help one another to the way the stars sparkle on a clear night.  As Frederick Buechner wrote, “This is the world. Beautiful and terrible things will happen. Don’t be afraid.”  

Beautiful and terrible things happen every day, and it's always been that way. Fear and anxiety are normal, and you are allowed to feel what you are feeling—but don't let fear drive. Feel it, and then turn to your support network, get some fresh air, and pay attention to the things in your immediate physical space. Look all the way up, and nourish yourself with the recipe for healing that you most need right now.

Here’s one version—add and omit as needed for your particular life situation.

Ingredients

(in no particular order) 

Open minds

Abundant willingness to change perspective

Righteous rage

Grief

Ownership of wrongdoing

Celebration of rightdoing

Humility

Deep listening

Informed, consistent action

Community participation

Reparations

Acceptance

Commitment to being a good ancestor

Joy (to taste)

Directions

Prepare a container of Love.

Combine in applicable amounts for each individual situation, always leaving room for mistakes and beginning again. Sprinkle desired amounts of Joy on top.  Continue for a lifetime.  Pass on to others, including future generations, as needed.  

Teaching the World to Survive

When your healing is imperfect 
it’s easy to beat yourself up
or knock yourself down
but beating yourself up
is a fight you can’t win
and knocking yourself down
is a sure way to stay there.
Instead, take your imperfect healing
and hold it softly, cradled
like a delicate speckled egg—beautiful yet breakable, 
powerful because of that vulnerability.
Hold it gently, offer a safe place,
a place it can live inside you
nestled as only imperfect things can nestle,
just there, against your heart, keeping time
with the pulse, life-force reminding you
healing isn’t something you’re graded on.
Healing is any wound, stitched and tended 
becoming a scar equipped to share stories
intent on teaching the world to survive.

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How to Satisfy One Kind of Hunger

Sip tea - hot tea
on a cold night, contrast
waking you up in new ways.

Move slow enough
to pay attention—real attention
to the curve of your hand holding the cup.

Let attentiveness
to one thing at a time
be a beacon in the dark.

*from Cold Spring Hallelujah

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While you pay attention, here’s a nourishing soup to add to your rotation.

Winter Squash Soup

Ingredients

1 small winter squash (butternut or buttercup work best), halved lengthwise, seeded
1 tablespoon butter
1/2 cup onion, diced
2 garlic cloves diced
2 cups chicken or vegetable broth
2 medium potatoes, chopped
3/4 cup heavy cream, divided
Thyme, salt, and pepper to taste 

(Pumpkin seeds and gouda cheese—optional)

Directions

Preheat oven to 400 degrees F. Oil a baking dish or cookie sheet. Place squash cut side down in prepared dish. Pierce with a knife several times. Bake until tender, approximately 35-40 minutes. Remove from the oven, scrape the butternut pulp into a bowl; discard the peel. In a large saucepan melt butter over medium high heat, sauté the onion for 5 minutes. Add the garlic, stirring constantly for another minute or two. Add the potatoes, broth, roasted butternut pulp, salt, and pepper. Bring to a boil then reduce heat to a simmer for 30 minutes (or until potatoes are tender). Add 1/2 cup cream, transfer to a blender, and puree until smooth. Return mixture to the saucepan stirring constantly over medium heat (do not boil) until heated through and serve. Garnish if desired with the remaining 1/4 cup cream and some toasted pumpkin seeds or gouda cheese. Serves 6.

May attentiveness to healing be one way to satisfy our hunger, and may peace become our only way forward.

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Summer is a season ripe with opportunities to move and work, and it’s also a season that offers new reasons to practice stillness and rest. It’s not always an easy balance to strike in the season of light, especially when you do a lot of work outside. It’s also a season of remembering to savor and a season [as all seasons are, in their own ways..] of pleasure when you practice mindfulness and intentionality, no matter what your work day holds. Paying attention with all of your senses makes a difference.

 A recipe for one kind of pleasure

First decide to be here 
and just here, but leave a little room 
for memory and hopeful expectation.
Then, slice a zucchini, maybe some garlic, 
to just the size you like it. Chop fresh basil 
into ribbons of scent, and slip 
a serrated knife through a fleshy 
orange tomato, one just off the vine, 
because that’s your favorite kind
and it’s ripe and ready to taste.
Let the juice go where it will
as you drop it all into sizzling oil
hot enough to alchemize 
such delight into nourishment.
Let the reminder of high summer
and the anticipation of right now
carry you into the ecstasy
of harmonizing with yourself.

Here’s a recipe to try your hand at harmonizing with yourself.

Sungold & Zucchini Spaghetti

3 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil

2 pints Sungold (or other) cherry tomatoes, halved

1 medium zucchini or summer squash, sliced into half moons

1-2 cloves garlic, minced or pressed

1 tablespoon red wine or balsamic vinegar

1 handful fresh basil leaves, torn or chopped

1 pound spaghetti or linguini

Sea salt and freshly ground black pepper

Parmesan cheese to taste

Prepare the pasta according to package directions. As the noodles cook, heat the oil in a large sauté pan. Add the sliced zucchini and sauté until golden on each side (4-5 minutes). As the zucchini cooks, tear or chop your basil, and be sure to inhale the scent of summer as you do so. Once the zucchini is done enough for your tastes, add the sungolds to the pan, along with the garlic. Cook it all while stirring for a few minutes, just long enough for the tomatoes to give off some juice. Add your basil and salt and pepper to taste. Drain the noodles if you haven’t already, and toss them with the veggies. Serve immediately, with your desired amount of parmesan cheese.  Serves 4 as an entrée.

Sungold

There are too many
of you to pick all at once
--after all, we’re just one small family—
but I try to keep up with your abundance,
your sweetness dropping
into my hands, onto the soil, 
bursting between my teeth,
a taste of summer
that I never used to like but do now.
Now I crave you when you aren’t here
and that makes me glad your season is short—
abundance is sweetest when bookended by desire.

Poems included in this piece are found in Just Wild Enough, a collection of poems by Heidi Barr, which is available now.

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This morning, in the waves of chilly air whistling in through the irresistible opening in the front window, I can hear birds chirping and frogs singing to each other. Life outside is in full swing as creatures of all sorts revel in the slowly warming temperatures–in celebration that everything is waking up. There are seed potatoes sprouting in a box by my feet, waiting to be planted and broccoli seedlings outside the back door getting used to the natural air before moving to their soil bed in the garden. Wildflowers of brilliant blue and bright white are popping up through old leaf cover in the woods. The great blue heron has made her homecoming to the shores of the lake. After a winter that lingered, spring has embraced the landscape again.

As I look out the front window, I see the section of field has been tilled under, eagerly awaiting those broccoli seedlings. They will get planted. We will water, mulch, compost and cultivate.. Plants will grow. Some plants will not.  Some will get eaten by the resident deer or raccoons. Neighbors will stop by, and conversations will resume. Relationships will build. We will spend time outside no matter what the weather forecast says. We will harvest and preserve. We will nurture a sustainable way of living. We will press on, even if we don’t do it right some of the time or if it starts to feel harder than we hoped it would.  We will add our voice to the community’s song in a way that harmonizes.

There are years when spring takes its time to come to full glory, but even in those years, eventually the landscape takes on tints of green, frogs resume their singing, and birdsong fills the air.  We harvest wild ramps and nettles and the first of the asparagus. The beauty of new life springs up all around us, and even the quiet nights hum with possibility. With each passing moment, all of life is gathering strength for the season ahead.

Despite what can feel like dissonance as the earth endures more and more industrial progress, the ancient rhythms of nature persist at casting shadows that have the potential to create symphonies. By listening deeper than usual, we can hear the cadence that connects everything.  Through the year, the rhythm of the garden keeps the song of life moving toward what matters. Each piece of creation, from fruit to flower to weed, adds a note to the hymn that is being written.

Here’s a very simple recipe, but one that adds a bright note to the song of the day.

Lemony Asparagus

• Ingredients:

• 1 lb Asparagus, washed and trimmed

• 1 TB Olive oil

• Juice of one lemon

• Parmesan cheese

• Salt and pepper

Heat oil in a sauté pan. Add asparagus.  Sauté for a few minutes, then add enough water to cover the bottom of the pan and cover.  Cook until the asparagus is bright green and tender, but not mushy. Remove from heat and add the juice of the lemon.. Sprinkle with parmesan, salt, and pepper. To make a full meal, serve with a fried egg and toast.

Heidi Barr is a writer and wellness coach with over fifteen years of experience in health promotion. Her work is founded on a commitment to cultivating ways of being that are life-giving and sustainable for people, communities, and the planet. She is the author of two works of creative nonfiction: Woodland Manitou and What Comes Next; two poetry collections: Slouching toward Radiance and Cold Spring Hallelujah; and one cookbook: Prairie Grown: Stories and Recipes from a South Dakota Hillside. She is also the coauthor of 12 Tiny Things and is the managing editor of The Wayfarer Magazine and curator of “The Mindful Kitchen.” She lives with her family in Minnesota, where they tend a large vegetable garden, explore nature, and do their best to live simply. Collisions of Earth and Sky: Connecting with Nature for Nourishment, Reflection, and Transformation is now available. Learn more at heidibarr.com.

In the northland, sometimes spring isn’t sure how it wants to show up - like the year it tried to make an early arrival one March, and we were out in the fields running around, relishing in the warmer weather while the snow melted with abandon. The seasonal ravine stream flowed freely, the moss turned vibrant green, and the robins returned. A new beaver family started swimming around on our side of the lake, and the swans and bald eagles visited with more frequency as the lake opened up.

But then, a few weeks later, it was back to freezing at night and only got up into the 40s during the day. The lake ice stopped melting, and the sun took a little breather before coming out again in full. The tiny blue flowers that always pop up first in at the edge of the woods decided to bide their time instead opening too soon.

It can be like that for us, too, right? We get super excited about all of those New Year’s resolutions as the calendar turns over, but then a month in, it’s back to the same old habits, and we’re wondering what happened to all of that energy. It’s like we ran around in the sun for a time, but then slipped in the mud and froze to the ground. That’s what happens when we try to do too much too soon. Because here’s the deal. January isn’t the time to make changes. (Cue the hallelujah chorus) I mean, think about it - everything is frozen solid, the days are dark, and our instincts say hunker down and survive. On the other hand, spring is the time to make changes - subtle, gradual ones, even when the season seems to get a false start, because the sun is regaining strength, the days are lengthening, and it’s time to plant seeds. But seeing those changes stick, well, that takes patience.

So, as this spring takes hold (whatever that looks like in your part of the world) identify what your life wants more of, and add just a little bit. Then when you feel good about what you’ve added, add just a little bit more. And so on. Small things have power when they are coupled with intention and persistence.

Here’s a recipe to help you practice mindfully welcoming whatever you need more of in your life this spring, one little bit of it at a time.

Risotto with Foraged Spring Greens

Serves 4 as a main dish | 

Time to prepare: 45 minutes

Ingredients

• 1.5 cups arborio rice

• 2 TB olive oil

• 1 cup chopped onion (or wild ramps if you’ve got ‘em)

• 3-4 cups vegetable broth (warm)

• ½ cup dry white wine (optional)

• 1 TB butter

• ½ cup Parmesan cheese

• 1-2 cups (packed) dandelion greens or nettles

• Salt and pepper to taste

Wash dandelion greens or blanch nettles, leaves only, in a pot of boiling water til just wilted and set aside.
Heat the broth on the stovetop on low - keep warm for the duration of cooking.

Saute the onion in the olive oil until softened, 3-5 minutes.

Add rice to the pan and stir to coat with oil. Keep stirring for 30-60 seconds.

Add wine if using, stirring until absorbed. Add broth ½ cup at a time, continuously stirring, adding more broth when the last addition has been absorbed by the rice. This step will take 20-35 minutes, and it’s a great opportunity to practice patience and pay attention to your breath and posture. When rice is tender, add 1 tablespoon of butter and the cheese. Stir to combine until cheese and butter have melted. Add the greens and serve with extra parmesan.

Enjoy the rest of the wine with your meal if you desire.

Heidi Barr lives in eastern Minnesota (Mni Sota Makoce in Dakota) near the St. Croix River — on ancestral and contemporary lands of the Wahpekute (Dakota), a place that also holds significance for Ojibwe and Ho Chunk people — with her family where they tend a large organic vegetable garden, explore nature and do their best to live simply.  

As a mother, spouse, gardener, wellness coach, and writer, she is committed to cultivating ways of being that are life-giving and sustainable for people, communities and the planet. Hiking through forests and across prairies, wading in streams, digging in the soil and surrounding herself with natural wonder helps her stay grounded in reality.  

Author of Slouching toward Radiance, 12 Tiny Things, Cold Spring Hallelujah, What Comes Next, Woodland Manitou: To Be on Earth, and Prairie Grown: Stories and Recipes from a South Dakota Hillside, she is also the editor of The Mindful Kitchen, a wellness column in The Wayfarer Magazine. Every now and then she coordinates with yoga teachers and organic farms to offer retreat experiences and always makes really good scones.  Her latest book, Collisions of Earth and Sky: Connecting with Nature for Nourishment, Reflection, and Transformation came out in January 2023.

In 2022, Heidi was a Poet of Place, a group of five regional poets who are advocates and ambassadors for poetry and creativity in the lower St. Croix Valley. 

Raise your hand if you have ever been impatient when it comes to seeing results. 

Everyone raises their hands, including me. 

Humans seem wired to strive, to grow, to seek improvement. (Even if we’re not actually wired for this, that’s what our culture teaches us to do. Unpacking that is a column for another day...) When it comes to growth, or perhaps we can say “positive evolution toward wellbeing”, so often the desire is to just get there already. Make the desired changes and be done with it. Yet every human is a unique, continually unfolding, work of art — YOU are a continually unfolding work of art — a life continually coming more fully into itself.  That positive evolution of maintaining optimal wellbeing is a lifelong project. It can feel like the road is entirely uphill and bumpy, but taking one step after another (no matter how small) keeps you moving toward the good stuff. 

You are living a life in progress, and life unfolds one step at a time. 

Note: Cultivating patience and the…

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Autumn in Minnesota is defined by leaves turning burnt umber and ruby, picking the last of the garden crops before the first hard freeze, and spending weekends preserving whatever vegetables and fruits have decided to declare themselves abundant. And it’s a time, perhaps, of invitation: To start to shift into a slower gear and remember that all of this abundance of harvest time is meant to be savored.

Mindfully sourcing, preparing, and enjoying that which nourishes the body can be one of life’s greatest joys, as well as one of the simple acts that helps a human being thrive in this modern world. Wellness means more than just eating enough vegetables and working out a certain number of times per week. True well-being is underlaid by presence—that is to say, how we show up to our days and what provides a foundation for the choices we make. For some, wellness means eating broccoli and getting to know the stairmaster. For others it means walking outside regularly and ditching the extra he…

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Many times the simplest foods are the most delectable. The first recipe we will feature in “Mindful Kitchen” has no recipe. (Very minimalist of us if you think about it.) The ploughman’s lunch is a dish with a recipe dictated by season and availability. It is an English meal traditionally composed of farm cheese, a pickled item, apples, boiled eggs, ham, and even a pint of beer is often found in the mix. In a modern return to the simplicity of ingredients, the ploughman’s lunch is the dish that allows you to indulge in seasonal delights. Celebrate the freshest fruits and vegetables alongside a couple of pickled items from last year’s harvest and some organic, free-range charcuterie. Serve it on large plates—family style—with coffee, a pot of aromatic tea, a bottle of wine, or a few pints of beer and there you have it!

A Spring Plate

• A Dozen Halved Fresh Figs

• English Cheddar Cheese

• Halved Hardboiled Eggs *10-12 mins so yoke is slightly soft

• Blanched Asparagus Drizzled with Olive Oil and a pinch of Kosher Salt

• Spring Onions

• Sliced Raw Fennel with Olive Oil

• Drizzle Sliced French Baguette

• Serve with a Dry White Wine

Summer Plate

• Prosciutto

• Cantaloupe Melon

• Goat Cheese

• Grapes

• Pita Chips

• Edamame

• Serve with Crisp, Fruity White Wine

Autumn Plate

• Fig

• Preserve Milk Crackers

• Gruyere

• Sliced Genoa

• Halved Hardboiled Eggs

• Oil Cured Olive of your Choice

• Apples Pears

• Serve with Mulled Apple Cider or Pitcher of Pale Ale

Winter Plate

• Wedge of Maytag Blue Cheese

• Dried Fruits (dates, cranberries, cherries, apricots)

• Sliced French Baguette Oil Cured Olive of your Choice

• Spiced Nuts

• Gingerbread

• Serve with a Bold Red Wine or spiced, hot chocolate