A Family of Our Own Making

Summer

In a perfect world, we live on a shared property in an enchanting mountain valley. We

each have our own cozy cottage with a sweeping front porch. Pine and wild roses permeate the

summer air. Our children free range, spending their days hunting for forest fairies, crafting twig

boats to race down the rushing creek, or building log teepees beneath majestic evergreens, a

wildflower chandelier hanging from the centers.

We forage from our gardens, hands dusted with soil and hearts full of pride. We perfect

the sourdough and homemade jam alchemy, resulting in sticky butcher blocks from sun-ripened

berries.

“Whose turn is it to gather honey from the beehives?” We draw straws and laugh, as I

always end up with the shortest stick. They help me anyway.

“What’s for dinner?” someone asks, and the answer always sparks an adventure.

Together, we dream up a recipe, sifting through pages of our well-loved cookbooks. Then, we

hop on our bikes to the local farmer’s market and return, baskets overflowing with fresh, organic

bounty hours later.

As the sun dips behind the mountains, we gather around a rustic wooden table outside, its

surface weathered with time, big enough to hold all our families. Above us, cafe lights crisscross

like constellations, their soft light welcoming the incoming stars.

After dinner, we gather around a fire, the romantic glow softening everyone’s features.

The kids run through the dark with flashlights, lost in a game of night tag. Every now and then, a

smiling face flashes into view, a fleeting ghost.

“What should I play tonight?” my husband asks, reaching for his guitar. The answer

doesn’t matter; it only matters that we are here together, with music weaving its way through our

collective like a shared heartbeat.

Autumn

Autumn drapes the sky in falling gold. We wander into the woods, where the trail

beneath our feet glows in a carpet of amber. Someone hums Elton John as he bids farewell to

yellow brick roads.

“Who wants to lead today?” Little hands shoot up one by one like fireworks. The air is

thick with the earthy scent of fallen leaves and the aroma of wood-burning fires drifting from our

cottages. Coats are buttoned, and cheeks turn pink as we hike further.

“Come look at this!” an excited voice calls as a little finger points to the evergreens,

yellow aspen leaves resting on the branches like ornaments. We admire nature’s Christmas tree

as we discuss life, health, and spirit. Negativity and gossip don’t exist here.

We bring home the last of the chantarelles for a pasta dinner, nature’s nutty buttery gift.

Tiny feet drum against the forest floor as we near home, our kids racing to see who can get there

first. Their laughter mingles in the air, happy squeals and giggles.

“Why don’t you ladies relax?” The husbands say as we return, hugging the kids and

marveling at their wilderness treasures. A bonfire crackles in the yard—kites rest against the old

wooden fence.

We give them a grateful kiss before strolling to our cottages. One fetches water, another

queues up a folksy playlist, while the last two pour spiked apple cider into clay mugs.

Adirondack chairs creak as we ease into them; pillows rest along our backs. Whiskeyed

cider coats our throats and warms our souls as a rainbow of kites flies overhead.

Winter

Snow falls by the feet as the frigid winter air whips through our snow angel village.

Rudolph-red noses peep through warm layers, breath hanging thick in the sky like elfin clouds.

Silence surrounds us as we lie in our very own snow globe.

The faint buzz from snowmobiles replaces the quiet. Our kids jump up, little Yetis

shaking off the sparkling powder as our husbands glide toward us, a winter version of ants

marching. “Hop on!” they shout, their deep, raspy voices betraying their childlike enthusiasm.

We fly through the forest on blue and black sleds, magic hanging off every snow-covered

bough. Deer prance through white blankets as golden eagles circle above, our wild friends

joining in on the fun. Little arms wrap tightly around my waist as my baby girl hums Jingle

Bells.

On our way home, we stop at our makeshift ski hill and take turns slicing through silky

powder. Solar-powered string lights flicker against old pines as the snowflakes grow heavier

with the onset of twilight.

Later, we reconvene at someone’s house. It doesn’t matter whose, as we all share

everything. A roaring fire fills a stone fireplace. Hot cocoa and red wine flow as we playfully

argue over which movie. Frozen, it is.

As the embers glow and the husbands gather the sleeping kids, we sit around the kitchen

table for one last glass. Shared dreams for the future and nostalgic memories fill the hour,

knitting together in an unspoken sisterhood.

Spring

The muddy season arrives, but we embrace it. New beginnings and adventures lie ahead.

As the snow melts, so do the few extra pounds we’ve put on.

“Where are my wellies?” My little boy hollers from the mudroom.

“Go over and check Auntie’s house,” I call back because this is what happens. We live

separately but are so intertwined that we raise each other’s kids as our own. Our ancestors were

right; it takes a village.

Once our boots are on, we slip and slide down the driveway to gather eggs from the

chickens. Mud is inevitable, and we end up covered from head to toe, even making room for a

mud fight. The fond memories far outweigh the clean-up. What else are mess sinks for?

The mud eventually hardens, and we resume our nightly dinners outside. Wildflowers

awaken, and the bunnies return, their noses twitching as we walk alongside them.

The aroma of fresh banana bread wafts from a cottage as we gather around our communal

table, finalizing the details of our annual garden party. We have hired a local band, set the menu,

and are excited to welcome the greater community back to our cozy valley. This year’s theme? A

Midsummer Night’s Dream.

Each day ends the same—reading stories to the kids before gathering around the fire.

With husbands by our sides, we share uplifting stories and quiet gratitude. Among the trees, in

our beautiful village, we live simply. And in that simplicity, we create a family of our own making.