The First Stirrings—

Tani and I set out into the woods on Saturday morning with my handy cushion—a bright orange one that I use as a comfortable place to sit. I chose orange so it would be easy to find if I left it behind. I tend to do things like that. As you can see from the photo above, it does the job perfectly.

I had been counting the days for the snow to melt and the ground to soften—waiting for that moment to step into a new season of fieldwork at Tahilla. Not fieldwork in the academic or hands-in-the-earth sense, but a creative kind—guided by light, landscape, and feeling. My version includes a sketchbook, a few trusted books, a camera, and a willingness to walk, sit, and listen.

This is how Tahilla Gatherings begins—out on the land, where the stories live before they are written.

Tani and I wandered from place to place, soaking in the hush of an early spring morning, pausing in places that felt…welcoming. Rooted. Alive.

I settled beside our stony brook, where the mountain water runs clear and cold. Tani waded happily, pawing through smooth stones, while I sat on the cushion, stretched out my legs, and let the ground remind me of the season’s slow awakening.

It’s a view I normally pass without pause while following Tani’s energetic bounce through the woods. From a lower vantage point, I saw what Tani sees. I looked up into the trees the way one might search for stars on a clear night. The light, the movement, the subtle shift towards something new—it held me, quietly.

It brought back a memory of my first forest bathing experience a few winters ago, not far from here. That same childlike wonder returned. A sense that I had entered not just a place, but a way of being.

The woods, still bare having lost their winter white finery, hinted at what would come next. I thought of all that stirs in the in-between— the first birdsong, the soft thaw, the fragile beginnings. This is the season of listening.

My Creative Fieldwork Kit—

I ended our outing with a promise to return the next day. I realized my cushion—while handy—wasn’t suitable for long stays. On Sunday, I returned, better prepared. Tani watched as I packed what I now think of as my creative fieldwork kit.

one handy cushion, just in case
a light, easy folding camping chair
my iPhone
my camera
my crossbody carryall
my sketchbook
four pencils and an eraser
and three books:

-The Artist’s Way by Julia Cameron

-Six Walks: In the Footsteps of Henry David Thoreau by Ben Shattuck

-Changes in the Land: Indians, Colonists, and the Ecology of New England by William Cronon

one curious, attentive dog

We visited a few places I’d marked in my mind—a clearing with a long view of Pack Monadnock, the only spot on our property where the mountain reveals itself. We sat, and I sketched and read a little before wandering to the brook. Each stop felt like an entry in an unwritten journal.

Over these two days, I rediscovered the deep joy of pausing, of staying long enough to notice what usually slips past, of feeling the land speak—not loudly but insistently.

And I realized something else: how much I love how this land speaks to me. And how ready I am to share it again.

So I’m thrilled to tell you that our first Tahilla Gatherings of the season will be:

Coming Soon

The first Tahilla Gathering of the season

I’m thrilled to share that our first gathering of the season will be:

Framing the Unspoken: Photography and Storytelling

A Tahilla Gathering

Late Spring/ Early Summer

A day to explore the relationship between image and memory—using photography not to capture perfection, but to hold emotion. We’ll walk the woods and garden, camera or phone in hand, not searching for the right shot, but for the moment that stirs us. We‘ll frame not just what we see—but what we feel.

More details coming soon.

Later in the season, two more gatherings will unfold —Sketching Silence and The Quiet Pen. Both are rooted in reflection and story, shaped by quiet presence, and open to whatever may emerge from the page, pencil, or pause.

These gatherings have become grace notes in my life—small, luminous moments that lift and linger. They are a rhythm I return to, and I look forward to sharing them with you!

If you’re curious, I invite you to join the waitlist. You’ll be the first to know as each gathering begins to take shape.

Warm wishes from Tahilla Farm,
Jeanne