January Sky

January always feels different out here.

The sky has been heavy this week — low, dark clouds moving slowly overhead, like they’re holding something they’re not quite ready to let go of. When it looks like this, the farm feels quieter than usual. Sounds are muted. The loudest moments tend to be the dogs playing in the yard, the birds chirping and hopping through the leaves, or the occasional deer moving quietly through the woods. The trees stand bare and still, and even the air feels like it’s waiting.

This time of year doesn’t ask much of the farm, at least on the surface. The bees are tucked inside their hives, clustered together for warmth. There isn’t much for me to do there right now except trust them — and trust the work that was done earlier in the season to carry them through.

I’ve been noticing how uncomfortable January can feel. There’s a quiet pressure to push ahead, to plan, to do something just to feel movement. But the land doesn’t rush. It holds. It rests. It allows pressure to build without trying to resolve it immediately.

Candle and skincare making take on a different feeling in winter. The house is actually warmer this time of year — the heat steady and constant — which makes the work feel easier in some ways. Everything moves a little more slowly and deliberately. There’s more space between batches, more attention given to each step. Pouring wax, blending oils, working with textures and scents — it all feels quieter, more intentional.

That steadier rhythm has been teaching me something. Not every season is meant for output. Some are meant for tending, refining, and letting things rest before they’re asked to move again. I’m learning to let the work follow the rhythm of the season instead of forcing momentum where it doesn’t naturally exist.

Even though everything looks spare right now, this month isn’t empty. So much is happening out of sight — roots holding steady, colonies enduring, systems quietly doing their work beneath the surface. Growth doesn’t disappear in winter. It just moves underground.

January is a reminder that stillness isn’t the absence of work. It’s part of the cycle. A necessary pause before anything can move forward again.

For now, the work feels simple: notice the sky, listen to the quiet, and let this season be what it is.