Our Little Evening Ritual at the Farm

We’re staying out at Ocoee Farm this week since the kids are on fall break, and there is a little ritual we have out here that has become one of my favorite parts of our week, and it is so simple that I almost hesitate to call it a ritual at all.

Every Friday and Saturday night, when we are staying at the farm, we take an evening walk. We open the door, step outside, and just start walking. Sometimes it's just PJ and me, but most of the time the whole family comes along, and truly, those walks have become one of the places where I feel most like myself.

In the summer, we usually head out with a glass of rosé in our hands. The sun stays up late, the air is warm, and the farm seems to slow down along with us. We wander around the property while the kids run ahead, stopping every now and then to pick blackberries or check on the animals. There is something about walking around with a glass of wine while the sun is setting over the fields that makes whatever happened that week feel a little less important. We aren't answering emails or looking at our phones or thinking about what needs to happen tomorrow. We're just outside, together, watching the kids discover something or listening to the sheep or talking about absolutely nothing.

And then fall comes, and the rosé gets replaced with Cabernet. We pull on sweatshirts and jackets, sometimes hats if it's particularly chilly, and head out anyway. The walks feel different in the fall. The air is crisp, the hills start changing color, and there is that unmistakable feeling that summer is officially behind us. Instead of picking blackberries, we walk the hills and visit with the sheep. Sometimes we stop at the fence and watch them for a while, and sometimes one of the kids has some important sheep-related discovery that requires all of us to come over and investigate. There isn't anything particularly exciting about it, and that's exactly why I love it.

Most of the time, all five of us are together. The kids run and ride and wander ahead, then eventually circle back. PJ and I walk beside each other, talking about whatever comes to mind. Sometimes we talk about the house or the animals or something one of the kids did that day. Sometimes we talk about work. Sometimes we don't really talk at all. Every once in a while, the kids aren't interested in walking with us and it's just PJ and me, which feels like a completely different kind of gift. We get a few quiet minutes to ourselves, walking side by side with a glass of wine, watching the sky change colors.

I think that's what I love most about these walks. They aren't something we planned years ago or decided we needed to do as a family. They just happened over time. One evening became another, and eventually we realized that whenever we were at the farm on a Friday or Saturday night, we almost always ended up outside walking around the property together. It became part of the rhythm of the place.

The farm has always felt a little bit like an escape for us, but these walks are where that feeling really settles in. There is no rush out there. The world feels very far away, even though it's only a few miles down the road. We aren't thinking about Instagram or emails or deadlines or everything happening in the news or the million little things waiting for us back at home. For that hour or so, our only job is to walk.

And maybe that's why something as ordinary as an evening walk has become so important to us. Life with three kids, work, a business, animals, houses and everything else we have going on can feel very full. There is always something that needs to be done. There is always somewhere we need to be. But out there, walking those hills together, none of that seems quite as urgent.

I also know these are the kinds of moments I'll miss someday. The ordinary Friday nights. The kids running ahead of us. PJ and me carrying our wine glasses. The sheep watching us from the pasture. A sunset stretching across the fields. Someone picking one last blackberry. Everyone eventually making their way back toward the house as it gets dark.

It's funny how the places we feel safest and happiest aren't always created by some grand plan. Sometimes they're created slowly, through repetition, through little traditions we didn't realize we were making. For us, the farm has become that place. And these evening walks have become one of the simplest and sweetest parts of it.

It's our little escape from the world. Our safe place. Our happy place. And for a few minutes every Friday and Saturday night, with a glass of wine in hand and our family walking beside us, it feels like there is nowhere else in the world we need to be.