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When I first began to believe that this city girl could move to the country, it was because the noise had started to feel louder.
Not just traffic or machinery, but the constant grab for attention. The movement of more. More to do. More to manage. More to become. More to keep up with.
I think I noticed it most when I became a mom — not because my toddlers were noisy, but because living intentionally suddenly mattered so much more. I could feel how many things were making it harder to stay focused on what mattered. It is hard to think about the long game in noise. There is very little patience in noise. And somewhere deep down, I felt the need to step away before the noise became normal for me, and for our family.
Like many people, my heart associated the rural landscape with a deliberate, visual signal to slow down. There was distance between things. Less development. Fewer people. Less of most everything. And in that quiet, there seemed to be more opportunity to hear.
Farmer Jones and I have always loved entertaining, throwing parties, setting tables, restoring spaces, and cooking good food. We are dreamers by nature, not always well-suited for systems and routines, and probably a little too comfortable making very adult decisions with a game of Roshambo.
Kidding. Maybe.
But in the noise, even dreamers can feel pressure to be safe. Pressure to conform. Pressure to listen to all the reasons something is impossible. So for a while, we stayed busy in the decibels of doubt.
Then we moved to the closest place that felt far enough away: Grant Park.
And slowly, the desires that had been pushed down began to surface with more clarity. Cooking. Hosting. Building. Dreaming. Doing things with our hands. Out here, those things felt less like distraction and more like calling.
So we listened.
We listened to the desire to build a place together on the land — a place that would feed us in more ways than one. A place where others could experience the bounty of restored land, the gift of time, and the stillness that can surround the heart when you look out into wide open places, connect with growing things, and follow creation’s rhythms of seasons, growth, fruit, harvest, and supply.
After 11 years of building Locavore into what it is today, I have learned something important: rural living may provide some rails for staying away from the noise, but the noise still finds you.
News, chatter, circumstances, pressure, fear, disappointment, uncertainty — all of it can crowd out the presence we truly seek and the encouragement we need to stand, hold, or move forward.
The quiet we are desperate for is closer than close.
I love the story of Elijah. In the middle of his exhaustion and chaos, he needed help. Direction. Encouragement. Like most of us, he wanted a clear sense of God’s presence and nearness.
And God met him.
There was a great and powerful wind, but the Lord was not in the wind. Then an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake. Then a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire.
And after the fire came a gentle whisper. I love that.
Because a gentle whisper is rarely heard in the loud shouting of our hearts, especially when the chaos around us has settled into our spirits.
The beautiful thing is this: we can turn the noise down whether we are looking at the prairie or the skyline. Peace is not finally found in a place, or even somewhere deep within ourselves. It is found in a quiet and gentle Somebody who is near in all places, ready to be heard.
Now, don’t get me wrong. I will not be trading the tractor for the train anytime soon.
I love the sounds of the countryside — the birds in the trees, the very loud frogs around the pond right now, and Nacho, our free-roaming mini donkey, sounding his bray like a tiny, sentient guard dog every time an Amazon driver or guest pulls down the driveway.
Those sounds are pleasant. They are not noise.
But daily, I find myself wanting to focus on the Signal. To turn down the noise I create, and the noise I allow in. To keep listening for what is true, steady, and good as we continue this lovely adventure that has become our work and our expression.
Yesterday, I posted a little video from an earlier season with the words: your farm era is about to begin.
Now, I am certainly not advocating that everyone move from the city to the countryside. Selfishly, I like the quiet and the space.
But I do think we all need places and rhythms that help us step away. A physical withdrawal from the increasing decibels of hurry, pressure, and distraction can be deeply necessary.
Elijah was in a cave when he heard the gentle whisper. Sometimes stepping away really does help us hear.
And maybe that is part of what Farmer Jones, the kids, and I have been building all these years: a place where you can come and turn down a few decibels. A place to gather, eat, wander, dream, breathe, and listen.
Soon, we will open the farm again.
May 21 is Opening Day for Thursdays — our weekly invitation to step away from the noise and into the rhythm of the land.
We would love to welcome you back. Come turn down a few decibels with us.
Until Next Time,
-Mrs. Farmer Jones
Philippians 4:5–7
Let your gentleness be evident to all. The Lord is near. Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.
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