First of all, let me express my heartfelt gratitude to those of you who have come to read this post.

Your support after my fairly long hiatus on this platform means the world to me.

The past 4 months have been a time of sadness, defeat, rebirth, and incredible growth for me.

As many of you know, we moved out of our beautiful home in the Cariboo at the beginning of June. It was a very hard goodbye. Many tears were shed, and I felt a true ache in my bones as we drove down the dirt road away from the comfort of our little log home in the wilderness.

We moved all of our things to where our new home is being built in the Similkameen Valley and then hopped over to my mother's new home on acreage in the Okanagan, where we planned to spend the summer.

Bryson was working about 2 hours away in another city every other week, and I spent my days market hopping with my wears and spending time with my sister and her family.

I met some truly incredible people while spending my days vending at farmer's markets. I learned so much about what steps I wanted to take to advance Clove & Hound, and I gained a real love for the amazing community who showed up each and every day to support each other.

We spent the cooler evenings tending to my mother's garden and the hot days bathing in the cool lake water and catching up with friends. The garden was in full bloom and was still producing when we left only a few days ago. We were drowning in zucchini, tomatoes, potatoes, sunflowers, lavender, cabbages, dahlias, beans, onions, garlic, and cantaloupe the entire summer. My sister is a canning queen and filled the pantry with countless jellies, pickles, ferments, sauces, and relishes. We ate well.

If you follow my YouTube channel, you might know that Trout disappeared two weeks into our Okanagan stay.

I began frantically posting his image on the internet, paying for online ads, stapling flyers to the post boxes and bulletin boards in the area, scouring the property day and night, talking to every neighbour who answered their door, and after weeks of trying to find him, Ruby came face to face with a coyote in the backyard. After a few bays, the coyote continued on its way and in that moment I knew that Trout was gone and that the coyote was coming back for another meal.

The wildfires had displaced so much wildlife in our province and it was terrifying watching the flames grow day after day across the lake. Bryson was working day and night helping communities evacuate, we watched as friends lost their land and homes, and towns we had once loved visiting burn to the ground within minutes. This, with the reality of never seeing Trout again, brought on a true world of hurt.

I fell into a depression.

It is a strange thing to share your grief with others, especially online, but what I have come to realize is that although grief is so deeply personal, it is also deeply known by everyone.

The knowledge of loving so fully knowing that someday, you may have to let go, even when you least expect it.

Mother nature is sunrises, wildflowers, and freshly hatched chicks, but she is also forest fires, a hungry coyote, a ruthless old hag.

After a month of seemingly endless sadness, I started researching therapists. I found a wonderful counsellor my age, and within 30 minutes of my first appointment, I felt an unbelievable sense of relief.

Slowly but surely, I started to find joy in the little things again. I rediscovered value in my work and felt excited to sit at my bench and create every day. I started designing stickers, crafting bolo ties, picking up my paintbrushes, and even began to work on my Airstream project and film the whole process. More on that later! I also decided to take the plunge and completely re-do my website. This included moving my shop from Etsy over to my own platform.

A week ago we moved over to the Similkameen Valley where we are awaiting the arrival of our new home which should be here in early November. The idea of a home being built in a warehouse is still a very new concept to me but I'm diggin' it.

It is tremendously beautiful here this time of year, and this weekend we will be heading out on a 22km hike with friends up into the golden larch-covered and snow-dusted peaks of high alpine. I promise to share that experience with you.

Sometimes this blog feels so one-sided and I wish I could have you all over for tea and cook you a farm-fresh feast and listen to all of your stories.

Maybe we can do that someday.

I'm going to sign off now and go split some wood to fill our shed for the upcoming winter.

Thank you so much for bearing with me and taking the time to lift me up day after day. For being nice people.

I couldn’t do this without you. You amaze me. Thank you for being you.

Tomorrow is a new day, grief gets easier, and there is always someone out there who will listen.

Let's talk soon.