Old Stonehouse Farm

09/04/2026

09/02/2026

Rainy Days at Old Stonehouse Farm

There’s something special about rain on an old farm.

It softens everything.

The garden grows quiet beneath it. Tomato vines bend a little heavier, peppers hide beneath wet leaves, and the sunflowers seem to bow their heads and wait for the sun to return. The grass turns greener, the soil grows darker, and for a little while, the farm seems content to simply drink it all in.

Even Wilma seems to understand. She’ll stand and watch the rain, nose lifted toward the damp air, wondering when we’re going back outside.

And behind it all stands the old stone house.

It has watched more rainy days than any of us could ever count. Generations have looked through those windows at wet gardens and muddy fields, probably thinking many of the same thoughts we do today—we needed this rain.

Inside, rainy days have their own rhythm.

The kitchen gets warm while the world outside stays gray. The oven comes on. Something sweet starts baking. There might be cookies cooling on the counter while baskets from the garden wait nearby, filled with tomatoes and peppers that will eventually become sauces, dinners, or jars tucked away for winter.

That’s one of the beautiful things about farm life.

There is always something becoming something else.

Rain becomes green grass.

A tiny seed becomes a tomato.

A garden becomes supper.

Flour, butter and eggs become something warm from the oven.

And today’s work becomes something we’ll enjoy months from now.

Maybe that’s why I’ve always loved rainy days here.

They remind us that not all progress is loud or hurried. Sometimes the most important work happens quietly—beneath the soil, behind the clouds, inside an oven, or within the walls of an old stone house.

So today, we’ll let it rain.

The garden knows what to do with it.

And so do we.

Homegrown and homemade.
From our garden, our kitchen, and our little corner of the world.
Old Stonehouse Farm.

09/01/2026

Turn your face to the sun...

08/30/2026

Fall tones

08/27/2026

08/24/2026

It's such a privilege to walk outside with an empty basket and return to the kitchen with dinner!

08/10/2026

Strawberry Jam

As a child on the farm, when Mom picked strawberries, her little girl followed along behind her with a plan of her own.

Instead of putting all those beautiful berries into the basket, she carefully pushed some back into the soil, completely convinced that she was planting them and that soon there would be even more strawberry plants.

Mom must have known exactly what was happening behind her.

Maybe she smiled and kept picking.

Because sometimes childhood is better left uninterrupted.

The berries that escaped being “planted” rarely made it very far either. A sun-warmed strawberry picked directly from the plant was simply too tempting. No berry from a carton could ever taste quite the same as one eaten standing in the garden, warm from the afternoon sun.

We are preserving a little piece of summer.

And sometimes, without even realizing it, we are preserving the people we love right along with it.

08/10/2026

A photo over 40yrs old taken on the same porch we still husk corn on today!

Sweet corn had its own ritual.

Dad would pick it fresh from the field, and there was always the anticipation of what was coming next: piles of ears to husk, silk clinging stubbornly to your fingers, and kernels being cut from the cob to preserve.

But one of my favorite memories came before any of that.

Dad would pull an ear from the stalk, husk it right there in the field and hand it to his little girl.

Fresh sweet corn, eaten raw beneath the summer sky.

It was crisp and milky and wonderfully sweet—a little taste of the dinners that would soon fill our table.

08/04/2026

The beef freezers are restocked!! Stock up and save!